by Liz Byrski
She moved towards him again, driven by the longing to be held, but he managed to keep her at arm’s length.
‘I’m going now, Bonnie,’ he said. ‘Lenore’ll be back soon.’
‘No, Jack,’ she cried, encircling his neck again. ‘Stay, please stay, I need you. Stay with me, please, Jack.’ She was clinging to him now, grasping at his hair, his jacket, his face.
‘Don’t go,’ she pleaded. ‘Stay with me, please stay.’ Panic rose in waves that broke into shuddering sobs. She clawed at his face, trying to drag him closer, her nails tearing into his neck and cheek. ‘Don’t leave,’ she cried, ‘I can’t … don’t leave me, hold me … please, Jack, hold me …’
‘Bonnie, please,’ Jack cried, trying to grip her wrists again. ‘Please stop. I’ll wait if you want but stop, please stop – ’ The hall light snapped on suddenly.
‘Whatever’s going on in here?’ Lenore asked, standing in the doorway, glancing from the misery etched into Bonnie’s face to the streaks of blood running down her brother’s cheek. ‘Seems I got back just in time. Now, which one of you am I supposed to be rescuing?’
FORTY-FOUR
It was one of those humid Sydney mornings when the light is a painfully white blanket of cloud. Lenore put a large glass of water and a cup of tea on the bedside table and opened the window slightly.
‘It’s after eleven, Bonnie,’ she said softly. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’
Bonnie struggled upright, dragging a pillow behind her, and leaned back against it. ‘Like death,’ she murmured, shaking her head and then stopping suddenly. ‘Shit! That felt like a load of crockery slipped off the shelves in my head and crashed.’
‘Drink some water,’ Lenore said, settling cross-legged on the end of the double bed and leaning back against the brass rail.
Bonnie gulped the water, wondering how much of what was in her throbbing head was memory and how much imagination. Her body felt leaden, with the exception of her stomach, which was distinctly volatile. Her eyes were sore and scratchy, and the room seemed to be swaying like the cabin of a ship. She had difficulty staying upright.
‘I’m sorry …’ she began, and Lenore held up a hand to stop her.
‘No need for apologies. We just want to know that you’re okay.’
Bonnie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. ‘What happened, Lenore? I think it was awful, but it’s such a muddle. I dreamt, or maybe I didn’t dream it, that I tried to seduce Jack.’ She opened her eyes. ‘And I think I hurt him.’
Lenore nodded. ‘You scratched his face and neck. It did bleed a bit.’
Bonnie’s hand shot to her mouth and she put down the cup. ‘What was wrong with me? I was like a madwoman. All day and the day before … since … since …’
‘Since you saw Irene with the baby?’
Bonnie nodded.
‘How much Valium did you take?’ Lenore asked.
‘No idea,’ Bonnie shrugged. ‘I remember packing my bag and taking something to make me sleep, going to the airport, going to Manly with Jack, then coming back here.’ She shook her head and winced again. ‘I think I took some more then. Then Jack and I were in a restaurant – drinks, maybe? Then what … ?’ She looked up in confusion.
‘You really want the details?’
Bonnie nodded.
‘All of it?’
‘Yes.’
Lenore told her the story from the moment of her call from the airport until she had arrived home to find them in the hall, Bonnie sobbing and screaming, Jack with blood running down his face, trying desperately to restrain her.
‘You had quite a lot to drink at the restaurant,’ Lenore said. ‘And Jack says you ate nothing at lunch and hardly anything at dinner. He blames himself. He says he should have seen what was happening and insisted on bringing you back here earlier in the evening.’
Bonnie sank her face into her hands. ‘And that was the end of it?’ she asked. ‘When you came back?’
‘More or less,’ Lenore said. ‘I put the light on and it seemed to shock you, and the taxi driver came running in to see what was happening. You staggered around a bit, bumping into walls, but …’ she paused, grinning. ‘You were quite aggressive and wouldn’t let us get hold of you. Then you crashed into the wall and fell. When we sat you up, you were sick and then you passed out. My neighbour heard the noise and came out; he’s a doctor. Jack told him you’d been acting strangely all day, hardly eaten anything but had quite a lot to drink, then we had a look in your bag and found the Valium. We weren’t sure how many you’d taken but then you came round and he thought you’d be okay. You seemed to be through the worst of it. You weren’t making much sense, but you obviously weren’t in a critical state, so we just brought you up here and I put you to bed. You’ve been sleeping for nearly twelve hours.’
Bonnie put her hand up to brush away the tears, and winced at the tenderness of her right cheekbone.
‘You hit your face on the corner of the hall table,’ Lenore said. ‘You’re going to have a lovely bruise there, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, Lenore,’ Bonnie said, burying her face in her hands again. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Lenore put a steadying hand on her arm. ‘Don’t be. You were terribly upset, you couldn’t eat, it was understandable.’
‘I was terrible,’ she said. ‘And poor Jack – whatever must he think of me? How will I face him again?’
‘Jack’s fine,’ Lenore said gently. ‘He’s not the best in an emotional crisis, he’s a real bloke in that way. But he does understand, honestly. You don’t need to worry about Jack.’
‘But it’s so embarrassing,’ Bonnie sobbed. ‘Humiliating. I virtually propositioned him and I scratched him and drew blood, and all the trouble I’ve caused you … and I embarrassed you in front of your neighbour.’
Lenore hoisted herself up to sit beside Bonnie on the bed and put an arm around her shoulders, holding her firmly until the worst of the weeping had passed. ‘Bonnie, it really is okay,’ she said gently. ‘We’re just glad you were here with us, not with strangers. Jack and I are fine, and we want you to be fine too.’
‘I must go,’ Bonnie said suddenly, straightening up. ‘Get out of your hair, leave you in peace. This isn’t fair at all.’
Lenore took her hands again and held them firmly in her own. ‘It’s too soon,’ she said. ‘You need to rest some more, drink lots of water, sleep a bit more. Then you and I have things to do.’
Bonnie blinked. ‘What things? I have to go back to the Boatshed. You must want to see the back of me as soon as possible.’
Lenore shook her head. ‘Not at all. I’ve talked to Fran and Sylvia, everything’s fine at the Boatshed, and I’ve told Irene you’re here with me, and you’re staying on for a day or two. I mean it, Bonnie, you and I have things to talk about.’
‘We do?’ Bonnie slumped back against the pillow. ‘If I start talking, I might never stop,’ she said.
‘Exactly.’
‘I want him back, Lenore,’ she said. ‘I want Jeff back.’
‘I know you do, but he’s gone, Bonnie, and you have to leave him in peace.’
Bonnie nodded. ‘But it isn’t only Jeff.’ she paused, looking up. ‘You know, don’t you? Mum’s told you, or Sylvia has.’
Lenore nodded and took her hand. ‘I know.’
‘Oh Lenore, I want Lucy, I want my baby back.’ It was the first time she’d said it. The first time since she had stood and watched that tiny white coffin lowered into the ground. Holding Jeff’s hand, she had walked back to the car feeling as though some vital organ had been ripped from her body. ‘I want her back, Jeff,’ she had wept, leaning against him as they made their way to the car.
‘I know, darling,’ he’d said. ‘So do I, but she’s gone and talking about it won’t help.’
‘I want my baby back,’ she said again now, and speaking it at last she could hear the pain trapped in her own voice.
Lenore reached out and hugged her. ‘I know, Bon, I know
how that feels, I really do.’
‘He would never talk about it,’ Bonnie said, the tears flowing freely again now. ‘He wouldn’t let anyone else come to the funeral because he couldn’t bear it. There was just us, and when it was over he never let me talk about it again. He buried it, like we buried her. We had to move away, start again, he said, no one to remind us with their sympathy, with their concern. I wanted to talk about her, I begged and begged, but he’d just go and shut himself away.’ She paused to blow her nose. ‘I never stopped longing for her, Lenore. Not talking, pretending it hadn’t happened, just made it worse. In the end I didn’t even know how to talk about it. When Sylvia asked me, I felt as though I was acting a part … I want her back so much, and I still think about her every single day.’
The tears were burning her eyes now, and every ounce of strength had drained away. It was such a relief to say it after all those years, to say it without risk of disapproval or reprimand, without watching as the door was closed on her.
Lenore handed her some more tissues and looked closely into her face. ‘That’s what we have to do, you see, talk about it. You’re going to rest a bit more now, then get up and have a shower and I’ll make you something to eat. Then, I think, we might get in the car and drive somewhere near the water, find ourselves a beautiful spot to sit in the fresh air, and we’re going to talk, you and I, about our lost children, and about being frightened of being ourselves, and we’re going to cry buckets. We’re going to do that quite a lot in the next few days, and you’ll start to feel just a little bit better every day. And one day, probably quite soon, you’ll be able to look at Rebekah, and pick her up and cuddle her. It’s hard emotional work, Bonnie, work that should have been done years ago. The pain, the longing, well … they never go away, but it will feel different after this, I promise you, really different.’
‘I think we should take the decision now,’ Sylvia said. ‘Bonnie’s been gone a week and she won’t be back until Sunday. It’s only three weeks away and either we need to plan and advertise a Mother’s Day lunch now, or we decide to close and let the staff have the day off. We can’t wait any longer.’
‘Okay,’ Fran said. ‘I vote we close. I don’t want to be part of that horrible commercial Mother’s Day thing. If we close we can have a picnic, same as last year.’
They were sitting with a pot of tea at a corner table in the restaurant, which had closed an hour earlier. In the kitchen, Sean and the staff were cleaning and setting up for the next morning. Tan and the waitstaff were laying the tables for breakfast.
‘Bonnie may not approve,’ Sylvia warned. ‘She’ll say it’s not good business practice.’
‘And she’ll be right but I don’t care,’ Fran said. ‘It’s important to us, to me especially, for Mum’s sake, a memorial picnic. And the staff deserves the chance to be with their families. We could invite Sean and Graeme – their mums are in Ireland and New Zealand.’
‘And Tan,’ Sylvia added. ‘Her mother’s in Vietnam, and I’d like to ask Veronica.’
‘Okay then,’ Fran said with a grin, ‘that’s settled, executive decision.’ She pushed the files aside and leaned on her elbows. ‘What have you decided about the fashion label?’
‘I want to go ahead. Bonnie’s prepared to back it, so it’s an incredible opportunity. It’s what I always wanted. I’ll do as Bonnie and Lenore suggested, go to Sydney and meet a couple of Lenore’s people, get some advice and some feedback. After that I’ll trust my design instincts and Bonnie’s business sense.’ She leaned back in satisfaction. ‘It’s so exciting, Fran. When we first started here I felt strange, a bit out of it. You had the central involvement, trading on your name and reputation, all your creativity. Bonnie had the ownership and the organisation of everything. Now I know it’ll be different, that I can contribute something creative, build up my own work as part of it.’
‘I’m so glad,’ Fran said. ‘It’s selfish of me, but I kept hoping Kim wouldn’t persuade you to go to England. This will be wonderful for you, Syl, so exciting.’ She leaned forward, glancing around, lowering her voice a little: ‘Poor Bon. I hope she gets through this all right. So much for the saintly Jeff. I can’t imagine how she survived not talking about it all those years.’
Sylvia nodded. ‘It’s a relief to know that he wasn’t entirely perfect,’ she said. ‘It would have been terrible for him too, but just think how crippling it was for both of them. I know this sounds horrible but I can’t help wondering if her desperation about losing the child was what made her cling to him so much. Blinded her to his faults. Irene says he was a very lovely man and a good husband, but terribly uptight about a lot of things.’
‘Yes, she told me that too,’ Fran agreed. ‘Bonnie always makes him sound so perfect, but I actually like him better now I know he had some faults.’
‘Me too. I suspect there are lots of men of our generation like that; totally unable to confront their emotions. Colin was the same. It must be terrible for them, but it’s not much fun for the women who marry them either. D’you think she’ll be able to handle working with Jack after the other night?’
Fran poured the last of the tea. ‘Lenore says Jack’s really cool about it. She’s told Bonnie to just face it head on when she sees him. Make a joke of it and he’ll respond to that. It sounds like good advice, if she can manage it.’
‘So, what’re you two dames plotting now?’ Sean asked, ambling over to their table.
‘Mother’s Day,’ Fran said with a smile, gesturing to him to join them.
‘Ugh!’ he said, pulling out a chair and sinking his head in his hands. ‘Don’t talk to me about it. I know, I know I have to come up with some special menu.’
‘How about sandwiches of sliced bread and tinned ham,’ Fran said, ’with a Thermos flask of sweet tea?’
‘Heaven!’ he said. ‘Sounds like when I was a kid and we used to go to the beach in Galway, and sit on a rug.’
‘Exactly,’ Fran said. ‘And that’s what we’re going to do this year, all of us, only not in Galway. A day off, a picnic, plastic plates, sand in our food.’
‘A day off?’
‘A day off. All of us. We’ll close for the day.’
‘Lord! What’ll Bonnie say? She won’t like it.’
‘She’ll love it,’ Fran said decisively. ‘At least, by the time I’ve finished with her, she will.’
FORTY-FIVE
Sylvia lay on the same tartan rug in almost exactly the same place as last year, remembering how she had felt that day. She had been numb with the shock discovery of Colin’s deception. Telling Fran and Bonnie that night had been the defining moment. Would she have been able to do it without them? Their friendship had given her courage, a place to go, the chance of another life. It was hard to imagine that she could have coped without all that. A shadow fell across her face and Irene settled into the canvas chair that Lila had occupied last year.
‘I wondered if you’d fallen asleep, Sylvia,’ she said.
‘No, just thinking,’ Sylvia said, sitting up. ‘Thinking about all that’s happened since we were last here.’
Irene smiled, looking out to where Mike and Hamish stood talking, ankle deep in the shallow water. ‘You were a married woman this time last year,’ she said.
‘And you were a single one,’ Sylvia countered.
‘A great and surprising change for both of us,’ Irene said with a laugh. ‘A reminder that anything is possible. Dear Hamish, who would have thought it? I gained a partner, and I also feel I gained a second daughter, Sylvia. I can’t quite tell you what it’s meant to me having you around. I hope you’ve finally made up your mind to stay put in the cottage.’
‘I’d love to,’ Sylvia said, ‘although I still can’t get past the feeling that I’m taking advantage of you.’
Irene shook her head. ‘It’s a two-way thing. I have the pleasure of your presence, which is also a safety net for me, and the cottage is being used. I’m really enjoying all the comings and goings – with
Bonnie, you, visits from Fran, Caro and Rebekah, and occasionally Jodie. Even Marjorie seems to be trying to get in on it. You’ve all made that great big house come alive again, just as you did when you were teenagers.’
‘And we’re just as much trouble,’ Sylvia said with a smile. ‘I don’t know how I’d have got through this year without you all.’
‘Oh, you would, dear,’ Irene said. ‘It’s amazing how tough and resilient we women are when we have to be. But loving friends help to take the edge off it all. As, I believe, you very wisely said to Bonnie at one point, in the end we’re always alone, but there’s no doubt the company along the way makes a big difference.’
A few feet away, Bonnie sat on another rug, listening to Tan telling Veronica about her family in Vietnam. Their voices were pleasant, melodious; she wasn’t listening to the words, just the rise and fall of the sound. Last year she had felt a pain so sharp it was like a knife turning inside her, and while she had focused on losing Jeff, it was much more than that. It was about Lucy, and Jeff’s death had felt like acid poured onto the old wound. Once he was gone she was free to talk about it but didn’t know how to break her silence. She lay back on the rug and stretched her arms above her head. It still hurt, of course, but just as Lenore had promised, it was different, softer, more textured, something she could acknowledge, talk about, explore. They had all been right, her mother, Fran and Sylvia, when they told her it was time to let go, start a new life; she had tried and she had the Boatshed to show for it. But in the end it had been those days with Lenore that had taken her to a place where she knew it was all right to be alone.
‘I always thought that Jeff knew best,’ she had told Lenore, ‘that men knew best about everything, really. That’s what we were brought up to believe, and it’s hard to shake that off. I thought he would always do what was best for both of us and that I had to live up to that.’
