The January Wish

by Juliet Madison

  Sylvia fiddled with the collar on her shirt. ‘I have?’

  Joyce’s eyes looked inquisitively at hers.

  ‘I am a bit tired I guess, coming straight back to work after the conference.’ She looked down at her sandwich. ‘And Richard and I broke up.’

  ‘Oh Sylvia, I’m so sorry!’ Joyce walked to the table and placed a comforting hand on Sylvia’s arm. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘No, thanks. I better keep focused on work today.’ Sylvia straightened and took a bite of her sandwich.

  ‘Right then.’ Joyce went to the door. ‘But if you need a chat, I’m all ears.’

  Sylvia erupted in laughter, crumbs bursting from her mouth onto the floor like missiles.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘Sorry, it’s just that I’ve had enough of ears today.’ She relayed the story about the beetle incident. Normally she wouldn’t discuss a patient with anyone, but somehow this didn’t seem like a big deal, and she doubted Marisa would sue for revealing the details of her son’s bug predicament. Joyce wasn’t a gossip anyway. She was the type of person you could trust with your life. Although Sylvia tried to keep a strictly professional relationship with her since they began working together, she couldn’t help but become friends with her.

  ‘Oh, I can hear Karen. I better go and let her know what I’m up to with things.’ Joyce turned on her heel and left the room. Karen was the other receptionist who came in the afternoons, allowing Joyce an hour for lunch, and making the build-up of work in the second half of the day more efficient.

  Sylvia finished the last of her sandwich just as Mark walked in. She surreptitiously wiped her mouth to remove any remnants of the missile launch from moments before. Was she going to be devouring food every time they crossed paths?

  ‘How’s the set up going?’ she managed to ask.

  ‘All done. How’s your day so far, better than yesterday?’

  Sylvia thought back to yesterday’s events. In less than twenty-four hours she’d met her daughter, been dumped by her boyfriend, and met a charming stranger only to discover she’d be working alongside him every day. What would be next?

  ‘So far so good,’ she replied, throwing the plastic wrap from her sandwich into the garbage bin and missing. Why had she suddenly become a complete slob and klutz all rolled into one?

  ‘Good to hear.’ Mark smiled. ‘Well, it was nice to meet you…again.’ He gave a polite nod in her direction. ‘I guess I’ll be seeing you.’

  ‘I guess you will.’ Sylvia smiled awkwardly, aware of her heart beating a little faster than it had been a few moments ago. As Mark left the room she realised that he wasn’t what she expected the new practitioner to look like. She didn’t think he looked like a naturopath, although she also wasn’t sure what a naturopath was supposed to look like. A vision of an old bearded man with an oversized multicoloured shirt popped into her mind until she shook it out. Sylvia’s father had warned against following any form of health care except the standard medical system. He’d heard stories of some healer who’d caused the death of one of his patients, and had sworn against those sorts of people ever since. But he was the world’s most paranoid person and had also sworn against Butterman’s Breads after discovering an uncooked lump of flour in a loaf he’d bought.

  Sylvia returned to her room, but not before sneaking a peek into Mark’s room. As soon as she opened the door she wanted to swap rooms with him. Was he an interior decorator as well? Or could he be…gay? It was possible. But Sylvia couldn’t help thinking it would be a shame if that was the case. He was an attractive man after all, and she bet he’d been popular with the girls throughout his life.

  The desks had been rearranged so they no longer cut the room in half, and he’d brought in his own chair—an upholstered suede armchair, obviously for the patient’s comfort. Sylvia’s patients didn’t sit in her room long enough to get comfortable, but she’d heard naturopaths spent way more time with theirs. There was a massage table against the far wall, and above it hung a sign reassuring the patients that all the acupuncture needles were disposable and only used once. Funny, that people shied away from needles in her room yet paid for them willingly in Mark’s! There was also an odd-shaped lamp in the corner, one of those crystal salt lamps, and a gorgeous framed print of a sunset over the ocean hung on the far wall. It added a welcoming touch as you entered the room.

  Displayed on the wall over Mark’s desk were several framed certificates of his qualifications, and even a mission statement. A mission statement! She began reading it, and almost fell backwards as Mark suddenly came into the room.

  ‘Oh, sorry, I was just—‘

  ‘Having a stickybeak?’ He grinned. ‘That’s okay, I checked out your room too, before you arrived. You know, you should really move your desk into a different position, it’d be much better Feng Shui,’ he said, picking up some envelopes from his desk.

  ‘Foong what?’ Why did he always use words she’d never heard before? Hang on… ‘Oh, you mean that Chinese design thing?’

  ‘Yes, that Chinese design thing.’

  And why was he always grinning?

  ‘It’s all about the flow of energy in the environment; it can make a huge difference to how you feel and what happens in your life.’

  How desk placement could affect her personal life she had no idea, but she nodded anyway.

  ‘I should lend you a book about it, it’s really quite interesting.’

  Hmmm…maybe he was gay. He just seemed too…nice, and too…cultured. But he looked every bit the rugged, masculine man.

  ‘Anyway, I just came back to get these.’ He raised the pile of envelopes he’d picked up from his desk. ‘I almost forgot. I have to get these change-of-practice forms sent.’

  ‘Oh, Karen can put them in today’s outgoing mail if you like,’ Sylvia offered.

  ‘No, it’s okay. I’m going down the street anyway, might as well do it myself.’

  Sylvia stepped out of the room first, and Mark followed. ‘Hope the rest of your day is slightly better than so far so good,’ he said, before turning and walking out of the clinic.

  Sylvia hoped so too.

  After lining up for ten minutes, Mark bought a set of stamps for his mail. Why they didn’t have stamp vending machines he didn’t know. It would be so much easier for people who needed stamps and nothing else. It seemed post offices were a catch-all for all sorts of merchandise these days. Whatever happened to the simple go in, buy a stamp, maybe some envelopes, and post a letter or parcel? Now you could pay bills, get passports, buy gifts, and send money overseas.

  Tarrin’s Bay was a small town compared to where he lived before, but the line-up in the post office belied the fact. It was just like his father’s pharmacy. They stocked all sorts of bits and pieces nowadays. Every opportunity to increase sales was taken advantage of, and the business could no longer function simply as a place to get your medicines.

  If only life was as simple as it used to be.

  Mark had grown increasingly weary with modern life and the twenty-four hour lifestyle that many people lived, which was part of the reason he’d moved from fast-paced Welston to Tarrin’s Bay. The Town of New Beginnings, the tourist brochures said. It had all the conveniences of modern life, but they were nestled among a beautiful landscape of lush green hills on the outskirts of town which gave way to rugged headlands and beautiful beaches in the heart of town. There was something about being near the ocean that made you remember the simple pleasures in life, the things you often took for granted. Mark needed this place. Most of all, he needed to try to get his life back on track, without living in the shadow of his past. But as he found himself irritated by the smallest things whenever he was alone, and craving the kind of company he’d had with Sylvia last night, he knew that was easier said than done.

  Chapter 8

  As promised, Grace was waiting outside the clinic when Sylvia finished work. A denim mini-skirt hugged her thighs, and she wore a red three-qu
arter sleeved top, hardly noticeable for the sparkling silver scarf wrapped twice around her neck, yet still hanging to her knees. All teenagers seemed to dress like that these days, summer outfits meshed with winter accessories; a juxtaposition of seasonal fashion. And in winter they’d wear woolly tops that exposed their midriffs, while complaining the weather was too cold.

  ‘Hi Grace, you ready?’ Sylvia smiled.

  ‘Yep, where should we go?’

  ‘I was thinking Bayside, it’s just around the corner.’ Sylvia pointed. ‘On Friday nights they have a beautiful buffet. I wasn’t sure what type of food you like, and they have a bit of everything.’ Sylvia wondered what Grace’s favourite food was, and what she’d liked to eat as a child. Maybe she’d been a fussy eater and gave her parents grief, or maybe she was adventurous and ate anything at least once.

  ‘Sounds perfect,’ Grace replied as she turned and began walking.

  Sylvia’s head buzzed with curiosity. There were so many questions she wanted to ask her daughter. It seemed strange to be calling Grace her daughter, but she was her daughter, biologically at least. She wanted to know so much about her—what her childhood was like, which school subjects had been her favourite, whether she had a boyfriend, and whether the couple Sylvia had entrusted her daughter’s life to had done a good job of raising her. First impressions suggested they did: she didn’t look like a wayward youth or drug dealer or anything. She appeared a happy, healthy young woman. Anyway, there’d be plenty of time for questions, and Grace was sure to have plenty of her own.

  ‘Welcome ladies,’ a waiter said as they stepped into the air-conditioned comfort of the restaurant. ‘There’s a table for two over there.’ He pointed to the far wall. ‘And you can help yourself to the many delicious choices at the buffet.’ He then pointed in the other direction. ‘Non-alcoholic drinks are self-serve too, unless I can interest you in a wine perhaps?’ He tipped his head forward in a kind of bow, as if the wine choices would topple from his head.

  ‘Thanks,’ Sylvia replied, wondering whether it was appropriate to drink or not. Grace was eighteen; she was old enough to drink. Weird to imagine your little girl having alcohol though. ‘Um, no wine for me tonight,’ Sylvia said, before glancing at Grace.

  ‘Oh, none for me either.’

  They made their way along the buffet table, ladling food onto their plates. Surprisingly, Grace went for the opposite of what Sylvia chose. While Sylvia loved the look of the chicken cacciatore and Mediterranean vegetables with a crusty bread roll, Grace opted for the barramundi in coconut sauce and a risotto, among other things.

  They sat at a corner table and Sylvia clinked her glass against Grace’s.

  ‘Cheers,’ they said at the same time.

  ‘So, Grace, where are you from?’ Easy enough first question. One down, several thousand to go.

  ‘Northern suburbs of Sydney originally. Then we moved to Melbourne when I started school and Dad got a new job.’

  Sydney. Sylvia remembered her time in Sydney. Although born and bred in Tarrin’s Bay, her parents had moved her to Sydney when they discovered she was pregnant. Her father had been offered a new position at a private boy’s school, originally turning it down so as to not uproot Sylvia from school in Tarrin’s Bay. But when she told them her news not long after, he saw it as an opportunity. Not only for his career, but for taking her away from the ridicule and embarrassment that was bound to bombard a pregnant sixteen-year-old in a small town. Sylvia often wondered if he really did it to save face himself. After all, as a school principal he was a well-respected member of the community. Having any pregnant teenager at the school, let alone his own daughter, could have ruined his reputation.

  And so no one ever knew, except Sylvia’s best friend, Larissa. As soon as they moved into their new house in Sydney, Sylvia enrolled into distance education and completed Year Eleven at home. Grace was born conveniently at the start of the following year, allowing Sylvia to return to regular school for Year Twelve. She didn’t make many friends at her new school. Didn’t want to. Her only aims were to achieve the marks needed to get into medicine at university, and to keep busy to avoid thinking about what she’d been through. It was amazing she’d been able to endure it all, but luckily there hadn’t been much morning sickness, and by the last month of pregnancy school had finished for the year.

  ‘I lived in Sydney a while myself after you were born, and that’s where I got my medical education. After that, the ocean drew me back here I guess.’ Sylvia poked a piece of chicken with her fork, but it rebelled and slid off the plate onto the floor. ‘Oops.’ She leaned over discreetly to retrieve it, wrapping it in a serviette and putting it to one side.

  Grace chuckled. ‘I’m usually the type of person that does that!’

  Like mother like daughter.

  Sylvia paused for a moment. ‘I just realised I don’t know your last name.’

  ‘It’s Forrester,’ Grace replied proudly.

  Grace Forrester. Sounded good. Although, she probably would have chosen a different name had she kept her. Maybe Lily, or Christina, or Daniella, but she’d never let herself consider it. Whenever she’d hear a nice name, she’d force the idea out of her mind before getting carried away. The less she bonded with the being growing inside her the better…so she was told. But Grace, Grace was a good name. She was glad her parents had chosen it for her.

  ‘So your parents…um,’ Sylvia said, searching her overflowing mind for the right words.

  ‘Were they good to me?’ Grace interjected.

  ‘Well, yes, I guess that’s what I’m trying to ask!’ Sylvia tried to hide her awkwardness by taking a sip of water.

  Grace’s eyes became shiny, and she blinked a few times. ‘They were. They are. I mean…’ Now Grace was the one taking a sip of water and looking awkward. ‘I have a wonderful father, and I had a wonderful mother.’

  Had? Sylvia stopped chewing momentarily.

  ‘My mum died last year,’ Grace explained, fiddling with the napkin on her lap. ‘She’d had heart problems for a few years, and well, they eventually caught up with her.’ She wiped at the corners of her eyes with the napkin, blinking tears away.

  Sylvia’s heart dropped into her stomach with a big plop. ‘Grace, I’m so sorry.’ Instinctively she touched Grace’s hand, which was holding a spoon loaded with risotto. ‘I don’t know what to say. I can’t imagine what that must have been like—is like, for you.’

  ‘It’s okay, things are getting better slowly, and Dad is my rock. He’s always kept the family together. We’ve been through a lot, but we’re a strong bunch, and I know my mum would have wanted me to get on with life and make the most of it,’ Grace said.

  My mum. Strange to hear your daughter calling someone else ‘Mum’.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you have a supportive father in your life, and I’m sure you have many special memories of your mum.’ Sylvia swallowed the lump that was becoming a permanent resident in her throat.

  ‘I do. In fact, I’m making an album to give to Dad at Christmas.’ Grace shuffled in her seat and rounded her shoulders. ‘I know we’ve had Christmas barely a month ago, but at the next one I want to give Dad something special to remember Mum by. So, I’m putting together an album of photographs and memories. The first half will be of happy times when Mum was alive, the second half I’m going to fill with new memories I’ll be creating this year. Kinda like, to show Mum what I’m doing now, to show her that I’m making the most of my life.’ Grace took that moment to whip out her phone, and took a picture of the restaurant. ‘No time like the present!’

  Sylvia smiled, touched by Grace’s thoughtfulness and amused by her spontaneity. ‘I’m sure your dad will love it.’

  ‘I hope so, I mean, I don’t want it to upset him with all the memories and that, but I think as time goes by it’ll be something he’ll look at again and again. And hopefully the photos of my life will remind him there’s always hope for the future.’ Grace leaned forward in her chair and took a
mouthful of risotto.

  I can’t believe she’s my daughter. Sylvia silently acknowledged her gratefulness for the couple who took her daughter home as their own. The couple who cared for her, fed her, taught her, and obviously loved her. She wondered how Grace would have turned out had she taken the responsibility of bringing her up herself. Would she be the same girl that sat here now? Would she dress the same, speak the same, and like the same food? Would she be making a memory album of her if she’d been the one who’d died?

  A few quiet moments followed while they ate their meals, and the restaurant became busier with groups of people coming in and lining up for the buffet. Did people think they were mother and daughter? Or perhaps aunt and niece? It was strange to be having dinner out with an eighteen-year-old girl. Sylvia only ever went out with Larissa, a current boyfriend, or colleagues for a work function. And occasionally her parents on the rare occasions they came to visit, or when she visited them. Since her father’s retirement a year ago, Sylvia thought they might visit more often now they had more time on their hands, but it seemed they’d filled their spare time with golf, day trips with friends, and nights at the theatre. Not to mention the adult education courses they had enrolled in. She couldn’t understand why after a lifetime of working in schools her father would want to become a student himself, let alone study the oriental horticultural art of Bonsai. Her mother, yes, but she was happy to go along with anything.

  After more conversation about general topics and a dessert of lemon meringue pie, Sylvia wondered when she should see Grace next. Should she be taking her under her wing and inviting her to stay at her house? Would a parent want their daughter staying in a caravan by herself? She couldn’t decide the right thing to do. Deciding on a course of action with a patient was relatively easy. You assess the priorities and target each issue step by step. But she wasn’t trained for this.

  ‘You know, I’m loving the caravan park, everyone is so nice and friendly, and the bathrooms are actually quite decent. I’ve put up a few pictures in the caravan too, just to make it more homely,’ Grace said.