by Amy Andrews
David felt the urge to kiss her return. They were quite close and she was looking at him with big sad eyes. He pulled gently on their joined fingers and dropped a light kiss against her mouth. A fleeting touch of his lips.
He pulled back to gauge her reaction. She blinked at him and he could see her grappling with what had just happened. He could see confusion in her eyes as she blinked at him again.
Fran dropped her finger and thought, get the hell out of here now. He’d kissed her and something inside her was stirring that shouldn’t be. She was grieving, in mourning. Jeremy was gone. Her daughter was dead. It wasn’t right to be having these feelings. He shouldn’t have kissed her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised quietly, watching her closely as she continued to stare at him.
‘I’d better go,’ she said, standing and scraping her chair back abruptly.
He stood too. ‘Forgive me, I don’t know what came over me. You looked so sad and—’
‘I’m not ready for anything like this, David,’ she interrupted. She shot him a firm look to make it clear. ‘I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.’
‘Fair enough.’ He held up his hands. ‘It won’t happen again.’
Fran regarded him seriously for a few moments and then nodded. ‘I’d better go.’
David didn’t protest. He didn’t want her to go but he’d obviously rushed her and she was more skittish than ever. And if she’d felt what he had when they’d linked fingers and then kissed and, from her confusion, he was fairly certain she had, she was no doubt running a little scared, trying to work out her jumbled emotions.
As he watched Fran walk down the path he felt like he had made some real progress with her tonight, before he’d ruined it anyway. She’d obviously needed someone to lean on and he hoped she might just allow it to be him, eventually.
Sure, divorce was a complicated situation. It wasn’t like a death where there was no choice. Divorce usually signalled several years of heartache. And grieving the death of a relationship was just as real and difficult as an actual death, especially if it was compounded by large amounts of guilt.
But he was coming from an area of strength. He understood probably even better than she did about grief and its implications because he’d come out the other side. Fran had so much going on in her head. Would she let him in, especially after tonight? One touch of her pinkie and her soft lips and he’d realised he wanted to be let in—very badly.
CHAPTER FIVE
MABEL DIED ON FRIDAY morning with her family at her side. Fran had heard them all singing ‘Amazing Grace’ as she had passed by, doing the medication round, and the hauntingly mournful notes had resonated into the hallway, raising the hairs on the back of her neck.
Tahni, one of her daughter’s friends, with a voice like an angel, had sung the same hymn at Daisy’s funeral. It had been like Tahni was floating Daisy up to the angels on the wings of her melody and there hadn’t been a dry eye in the house.
Thankfully the next couple of weeks passed uneventfully at work. No one absconded. No one died. No one even got sick. Fonzie was revelling in his daytime role as house pet and it was a good, consolidating time for Fran. She got to know the residents and their families and her role. She was beginning to feel comfortable with what was expected of her and to make decisions herself, instead of asking for advice or following Glenda’s lead. She felt her old confidence coming back and it helped to ease her transition back into a functioning life.
In fact, her work kept her so occupied during the day and so tired at night that Fran was surprised at how quickly time passed. The last two years had crawled by, each day longer than the last, wandering aimlessly around the house waiting for the night so she could go to sleep and forget for a while.
She didn’t notice the weather warming up or her appetite improving or her clothes fitting better. She went to work, Earl fed her continuously, Miranda cooked her all sorts of treats and usually joined her in eating them. David, who took great pains to keep their relationship platonic, persuaded her to eat with them a few nights a week, too. He was an excellent cook and food actually started to taste better.
They fell into a routine that just kind of happened. Fran would bring Miranda home when David was called away or going to be late because it made sense and Miranda was hard to dissuade! Those were the nights Fran would go and eat with them. They were careful to not repeat their conversation of the first time they had talked. David figured when she was ready and it felt right, she’d talk.
Even having Mirry hanging around had lost its painful intensity. There were still the odd times, as David had described, when she did something, like twirl her hair around her finger, or said something Daisy-like, when a jolt of pain would unexpectedly stab her in the heart. But Mirry’s fairly regular presence had taken the edge off Fran’s extreme emotional reactions.
By the time her two months’ employment anniversary had arrived, Fran was beginning to feel like a local. As she walked into the nursing home one morning, everyone greeted her warmly…well, except for Catherine, who still called her Sister and nodded formally, but Fran thought she detected a faint smile from time to time.
Fran smiled at Ethel, who gave her a vague grimace back. She had taken a real shine to the dementia patient. Fran knew it wasn’t done to have favourites but there was something about the constantly worried old woman that spoke to her. Maybe as a mother who had lost a child she could better understand Ethel’s panic when she realised her babies were gone.
How many times had she woken in a cold sweat with a bounding heart in a blind panic about Daisy’s absence, only to realise the awful truth?
Fran fell into a routine of walking around the grounds with Ethel every morning, following the drug round. It was usually about this time of day that Ethel started to become agitated, worrying about her kids, and was most likely to wander. Fran found she could distract her quite easily as Ethel was an expert gardener.
Today wasn’t any different. ‘Come on, Eth,’ she said, guiding the worried old lady out the door with her, ‘let’s go for a walk. I need you to tell me about perennials.’
They wandered around the grounds for half an hour, Fonzie following them and chasing the occasional bird. Ethel stopped to give advice to Bill about his planting technique and pointed out areas where he had been remiss. He took it good-naturedly as always, and promised he’d get right onto it.
Ethel was telling her all about bulbs when she suddenly stopped and looked around. ‘Do you know where my kids are?’ she asked, looking Fran straight in the eye. ‘They were here only a moment ago…probably playing hide and seek behind those great Moreton Bay figs. Little devils.’ She chuckled and shook her head. ‘You got kids?’ Another piercing look.
Fran was so used to the question by now that it had lost its wounding impact. She’d been asked that question here at least twice a day. It was hard not to be asked in a home full of old people whose main focus was their grandchildren. She’d found herself a standard reply that deflected curiosity and usually put it straight back on them by asking them about their grandkids.
Today, looking into Ethel’s eyes that, for once, looked completely rational, she felt comfortable enough to tell her the truth.
‘I did. A little girl. Daisy.’ Her heart hammered like a train and she let out a strangled, pent-up breath. It actually felt good to acknowledge her daughter for a change.
‘What happened?’ asked Ethel, still lucid.
‘She died two years ago.’
‘Oh, dear, how awful for you,’ she said. She picked up Fran’s hand, brought it to her chest, held it close and patted it.
Fran’s eyes welled with tears. ‘Yes,’ she said.
They stood in silence for a moment then Ethel smiled at her blankly, looking down at their joined hands. She gave Fran a confused, why-am-I-holding-your-hand look and let go.
‘Come on, Eth, I bet Earl has some delicious biscuits just out of the oven.’
‘Ooh. Biscuits…m
y favourite.’
Fran’s step was lighter that day, bouncier than it had been for a long time. She’d confessed something she’d been holding close to her chest since she’d arrived in Ashworth Bay. And, surprisingly, she hadn’t shrivelled up and died.
In Canberra everyone who knew her knew the tragedy that had befallen her, and it had felt claustrophobic.
People had either wanted to talk about it or hadn’t, and she’d been unable to bear either. The talkers constantly opened the wound, tearing the sutures out with their bare hands. And the avoiders just made her angry.
Oh, she was grateful to them on many levels but, perversely, she had just wanted to yell, Say her name, damn it. Daisy. Her name was Daisy!
She’d escaped to Ashworth Bay to start a new life but also to get away from well-meaning family and friends. It was a triumph to be able to talk about her daughter. To speak her name without everyone holding their breath and waiting for her to fall apart. And she hadn’t fallen apart. But she had needed to get there at her own pace.
Not that she was ready to start talking about Daisy to all and sundry. If it had been anyone else but Ethel she wouldn’t have mentioned her at all. There was a safeness in confiding in someone with dementia. Ethel had forgotten her secret in less than a minute so there was no risk that she would gossip about it. The fact she was a divorcee had caused enough of a sensation and that was all she was prepared to share at the moment.
When David found her that afternoon she was sitting with the women who were watching their favourite soap opera. Ethel was in the recliner beside Fran, rubbing her handbag with her ever-present cloth, the Ibsen triplets were there and Miranda was in the thick of it.
Even Sid had been drawn into the lounge room at the gales of female laughter. He had sat silently rubbing his chest, a frown firmly in place. Fran had offered him some medication to ease the burning sensation but he had refused miserably.
‘Good news, everyone,’ David said as he entered the room. ‘I’ve just heard from Penny. She had a baby boy last night. Seven pounds, three ounces.’
There was general excitement from everyone and the Ibsens started organising what to knit now they knew the sex of the baby. David winked at Fran, who was grinning at him. They’d not heard any more from Penny since that time a couple of months ago and he was relieved that she had seen fit to go straight to the hospital yesterday rather than call on him.
‘Betty is first up for you today,’ said Fran as she watched Mirry hug her father and climb onto his lap as David sat in his daughter’s chair. She felt a little pang in her chest at their closeness and remembered how close Daisy had been to Jeremy.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll just watch to the ad break.’
Mirry snaked a finger into her curls and twisted one absently around and around as she watched the television. The gesture had far less impact on Fran now than it had early in their acquaintance. It was kind of nice to see it now and reminded Fran of happier days.
‘I’ll go get her,’ Fran said, because suddenly she was feeling a little fragile emotionally.
David looked so comfortable with his life. He was wearing another awful Mirry tie—mission brown with cane toads all over it—but it didn’t detract from his attractiveness. He looked nice and safe and warm and she suddenly envied Mirry. Being curled up on his lap looked like the best place in the world to be at the moment.
David gave Mirry one last squeeze before getting up. It was easy to forget with the elapsing of time how sick his little girl had been. He never wanted to take her for granted. ‘Grandma should be here to pick you up for your sleepover soon. OK?’
‘Sure, Daddy.’
She smiled her big, big smile at him and he got a chill up his spine, remembering how he’d so nearly lost her, too. ‘You be good. Don’t forget—’
‘My tablets,’ Mirry finished for him. ‘Relax, Daddy, I’ll remember. And, anyway, Grandma won’t let me forget either.’
David laughed. That was true. Jen’s mother was fanatical about them. Marlene Ashworth had no intention of losing another member of her family and certainly not her only genetic link to her darling daughter.
He sat down next to Ethel to have a quick chat. Fonzie was lying in his usual spot at her feet. It wasn’t just Fran who had developed an attachment to Ethel. Maybe the puppy instinctively knew that Ethel was a wanderer and needed to stick close? Or maybe he was just following his mistress’s lead?
‘How was your walk, Eth?’
‘Hmm, dear?’ she said, her blank eyes looking at David vaguely as her hand continued to rub at her bag.
‘Your walk. With Fran?’
‘Poor Fran,’ she tutted. ‘Losing her dear daughter like that.’
David’s smile slackened for a second. Daughter? He shook his head. Ethel had dementia, she’d no doubt got her information all muddled. He smiled at her and patted her hand.
‘Have you seen my kids?’ she asked him.
Poor Ethel. ‘They’re still in school,’ he said, and when she gave him a smile of relief he knew he couldn’t feel guilty for his little white lie.
Fran called at Betty and Ted’s room to fetch Betty. She’d been surprised when she’d first met Betty. She and Ted could often be heard bickering and Fran had expected a bit of a fishwife but she was the exact opposite—small and petite with elegant hair and beautiful nails.
‘You ready for the doc, Betty?’ asked Fran, sticking her head around their door. Betty and Ted were one of the few married couples at the home. The married accommodation was self-contained and almost double the size of the single rooms.
‘She doesn’t need the doctor,’ Ted griped.
Fran watched as Betty shot him a look that would have done a Shakespearean shrew justice. ‘Be quiet, Ted, you grumpy old man. I’m going and you’re going to thank me for it.’
Fran raised her eyebrows at their exchange—this sounded interesting indeed. She accompanied Betty part of the way and started to peel off as they passed the medication room.
Betty stopped her. ‘Actually, Sister.’ Betty was the only person other than Catherine who insisted on calling her Sister. ‘Would you mind coming in with me to see the doctor? It’s rather…personal and I’d feel better if I had another woman with me for moral support.’
‘Of course, Betty,’ said Fran, smiling reassuringly, ‘Everything OK, I hope?’
‘Yes, dear.’ She smiled. ‘Or it soon will be with any luck.’
Fran’s mind boggled. Was it a female problem? Or something else?
It didn’t take long to find out. Betty got straight to the point. ‘I’d like some Viagra for Ted, please, Dr Ross.’
Fran swallowed her gasp of astonishment too late. Betty pierced her with one of her quelling looks. ‘Just because we’re in our eighties, Sister, that doesn’t mean we still don’t like to have some loving every now and then.’
‘Of course not,’ said Fran, suitably chastened, not even game to look at David.
‘I mean, for goodness’ sake, he couldn’t keep the damn thing down when we were younger, but these days…well, let’s just say the mind’s willing but the body’s not able.’
‘Right,’ said David, keeping a straight face lest Betty decide to become shrewish at him. ‘Can I ask why Ted isn’t here?’
‘Oh, why do you think, Dr Ross? He’s a man of a certain generation and you just don’t discuss those kinds of things. Bloody stupid, I told him. Move with the times, I said.’
‘Quite right,’ said David, risking a look at Fran who was finding the ceiling exceedingly compelling.
‘Would you like me to have a word with him?’
‘That would be most satisfactory,’ the old lady said. ‘He will be a suitable candidate, won’t he? We did an internet search on it and he doesn’t have any blood-pressure problems.’
Fran raised her eyebrows at Betty. She knew they had a computer in their room but she’d just assumed it was there for the grandkids to play with when they visited. She winked at David
.
‘It could just be his diabetes, Betty. Let me talk with him. I’m sure we’ll have you both back up to speed in no time.’
‘Oh, thank you, Dr Ross,’ said Betty, standing. ‘I know it may seem silly and trivial and I don’t expect the world, but every now and then…if the mood is good then it’s rather a pleasant sleeping pill, wouldn’t you say?’
‘The best,’ David agreed, and walked Betty to the door.
‘Well, that’s something you don’t see every day,’ he said as he shut the door.
‘No,’ said Fran, standing to leave, a grin playing at her lips. ‘It’s a first for me.’
They smiled at each other and Fran joined him by the door. They reached for the knob simultaneously. Fran felt his warm hand on top of hers and they both apologised together, but he didn’t loosen his contact.
David cleared his throat as he looked down into her pale blue eyes. They looked so much more expressive than on the day he had first met her. ‘I’ve been meaning to say how great you’re looking these days, Fran.’
She nodded slowly and smiled a small smile. ‘I’m feeling better. A bit more like a member of the human race instead of a…zombie.’
Zombie was a very apt description, David thought as a wispy piece of her hair fell loose from her braid across her face. He hesitated slightly before gently lifting it away with his index finger and tucking it behind her ear. He contemplated kissing her again but he’d lost so much ground last time he didn’t want to risk it again.
Fran felt her breath catch in her throat. The small touch was gentle yet caused a squall of sensations inside her. Standing looking down at her was a man who had helped her more in two months than anyone had in the last two years. He was a kindred spirit and even though she knew it was wrong to have feelings for another man in the midst of her grief, she was attracted to him.
She licked her lips nervously and noticed how his eyes widened at her unintentional signal.
Oh, to hell with it! ‘Fran,’ he whispered as he lowered his head towards her.
His lips touched hers and they were so gentle, so compassionate she shut her eyes, afraid she might cry at the sheer beauty of its simplicity. But then they were moving away and Fran wondered for a brief moment if she’d imagined it. She opened her eyes to see him smiling down at her.
