by Liz Byrski
‘It’s okay, darling, I can read a list. It’ll be fine,’ he’d said, stroking her shoulder. ‘We’ll be fine. We’ll miss you but we’ll manage, trust me.’
‘Oh well,’ she said softly now, her voice floating into the evening silence. ‘It’ll be chaos when I get back, but who cares? A couple of weeks of this and I’ll be fit for anything.’
Some small creature nearby scuttled away at the sound of her voice. Would this time alone really help? Who knows, perhaps it was too much to ask, but at least she would feel more able to cope when she’d had time to think about who she used to be and who she had now become. Jill stood up, inhaled another bracing lungful of mountain air and strolled slowly back down the hill towards the hotel.
*
It was so long since she’d been in the shed that Barbara had to fetch the big screwdriver from the kitchen drawer and lever it in behind the hasp to force it free. The door was stuck too and, as she put her shoulder against it and felt it shift, a shower of dry leaves, dead insects and dust descended on her. Stepping inside she brushed the debris from her shirt and stared at what looked like a pile of rubbish that she neither needed nor wanted. She should really clean it up, sort out anything useful, deliver it to the Salvos’ shop and dump the rest. But the prospect was far too daunting to take on alone, and she certainly wouldn’t ask George, who’d insist on her keeping everything in case it came in handy, or else secretly shift it over to his own shed. Maybe Adam would help her with it, and Toby, he’d probably love it.
She pushed past an old Esky and two folding chairs to where, under a dusty drop sheet, her bike leaned against the back wall. Tugging off the sheet in another shower of dust, she stood back. The bike was nowhere near as bad as she’d anticipated – in fact, there didn’t seem to be much wrong with it at all, but then, it had never really had much use. She’d bought it under pressure from a friend, a couple of years before she left the city. The friend was a keen cyclist and suggested they could do some long rides at weekends to keep them fit. Barbara was half-hearted at first, but after the first few rides she started to enjoy it, at which point the friend, who had met a man through a dating agency, decided to move in with him and shot off to Cairns, taking her bike with her. Barbara never managed to muster any enthusiasm for cycling alone.
She dragged the bike out onto the grass and put down the stand. The tyres were low and dry looking, there was grime and old oil around the chain, but otherwise, she thought, it was as good as new – or rather, as good as when she’d moved to Morpeth and put it away in the shed. She ran her finger through the dust feeling a small thrill as the electric blue paint gleamed in the sunlight. She glanced towards George’s house; she knew he’d be out all afternoon and had waited till then to look at the bike because she didn’t want him to see it until it was roadworthy. She wheeled it up the garden to the house, dragged it up the steps onto the back verandah, and then wheeled it through the central passage to the front door.
‘Whatever for?’ George had said when she’d suggested they should consider doing some bike rides in China. ‘I haven’t ridden a bike for years.’
‘China is the bicycle kingdom of the world,’ Barbara said. ‘Everybody rides bikes.’
‘That doesn’t mean we have to,’ George said. ‘In fact, just the other day when I was on the Internet, I read that the Chinese government is now encouraging the use of cars. You used to have to register your bike in China, but they’ve scrapped that. It’s symbolic of the move away from bicycles as transport and the growth of the car society.’
‘Really? Well, that may be so, but I don’t think we’ll be hiring a car in China and there are wonderful trips you can do on bikes. We could start getting into training.’
George, still somewhat frayed by the rigours of four weeks on the language course, didn’t look even remotely enthusiastic.
‘He will, of course,’ Barbara said when Terry, who ran the bike shop, came to collect her bike. ‘If you take this away and fix it up for me, you can bet your life that George will soon be in your shop looking at bikes.’
‘I don’t know,’ Terry said dubiously. ‘I don’t see George as a bike person. He just might not take to the idea.’
‘George has a very macho, competitive streak,’ Barbara said. ‘He hates not to be able to do something that someone else is doing. If he sees me riding a bike he’ll want to. And he’ll want to do it better, faster and wilder. You’ll see, once I’m on the road you’ll be selling George a bike, and he’ll be looking for something noticeably better than mine, top of the range. You should probably put me on commission.’
Terry shook his head. ‘If you say so, Barbara, but I’ve known George a long time and he’s never shown even a remote interest in owning a bike.’
‘Ten bucks says he’ll be in your shop before Christmas,’ Barbara said.
‘You’re on, but don’t blame me if you lose your money,’ Terry said, lifting the bike into the back of his van. ‘This is a nice one. Doesn’t look as though it needs much doing to it. I’ll drop it back later in the week.’
‘Thanks, Terry, and not a word to George, mind,’ she said, grinning. ‘I’m just going to start riding it. I shall lead by example and we’ll see what happens.’
‘So what’ll you do now?’ Gerry asked when he arrived to sign the contract for the sale of the house. ‘Have you decided where to go?’
‘Not yet,’ Diane said, pouring boiled water into the plunger. ‘Only four weeks to settlement, so I suppose I’ll just store things and rent somewhere while I make up my mind.’
‘There are some nice new units out near Nobby’s Point,’ he said. ‘Might be just your sort of thing.’
‘And what is that?’ she asked, not looking at him. ‘What is my sort of thing?’
Gerry stared at her and shrugged. ‘Well, you know . . . no need to be sarky.’
‘I’m not, and I’m not being funny either. I don’t actually know. I have no idea what I want to do or what my sort of thing is. I just know I need to get out of here. We lived here so long and I’ve loved it, and now I don’t. It’s a beautiful house but it’s the past and I have no idea what the future is about.’
He sat, watching as she carried the plunger and the mugs to the table. ‘Do you know if you’ll stay around here?’
‘Gerry, I told you, I know nothing. You wouldn’t understand because you’ve always been fired by something you wanted to do or to own. It was different for me. I was motivated by us, you and me together with Charlene, a family. That’s over. I don’t have that anymore.’
‘You could go back to work,’ Gerry suggested, and Diane saw that he didn’t like this reminder of what his actions had created for her.
She poured the coffee, explaining as she did the problem of hairdressers’ registration and the need for retraining. ‘No way out of that and I can’t get my head around being a junior again.’
‘Well, what about your own place?’ he said. ‘Your own salon, you run it, do some of the junior work but get one of the senior staff to retrain you. Different situation altogether.’
She paused, plunger in hand. ‘My own salon?’
‘Yes. Take over a going concern, refit, new concept, or simply find some new premises.’
‘My own salon? I’d never even considered it.’
‘You could now. You can afford it and if you need refitting or renovations, I’ll get that done for you. You don’t want to hang around that bloody woman’s office anymore, get yourself a business of your own.’
‘I like Heather’s office,’ she said, suddenly defensive. ‘I’m actually working there full time for a while, while someone’s sick.’
Gerry shrugged. ‘Okay, whatever. But you’re not going to stay there forever, are you? That person will get better and then you’ll need something else.’
‘I suppose so. I suppose it’s a possibility.’
A week later, Diane sat in her car outside a rather elegant looking hair salon. She’d been in there a couple of time
s for a cut and colour but, unimpressed, had taken her business elsewhere. It was, as far as she could remember, an interior that could easily be refitted in any one of a variety of styles. She opened the car door and got out. From this distance it looked quite attractive – a large, tastefully renovated Federation building, dark green walls with cream window frames and trims. Through the full-length windows she could see high ceilings and a dark slate floor. It had obviously had a makeover since her last visit.
Reaching back into the car she took out the information the real estate agent had given her and glanced at the figures; the turnover was good, the lease a little inflated. She stepped off the kerb to cross the road and then stepped back again. Why was she doing this? It was Gerry’s idea, not hers. Did she really want to take on a business of her own? Still reading through the information on the salon, Diane stepped off the kerb again, this time into the path of a car that had just swung in to park behind her. The driver hooted, making her jump back, mouthing an apology.
‘It’s all right, Diane,’ the driver called, letting down her window. ‘I wasn’t going to run you over.’ She took off her large sunglasses and got out of the car. ‘It’s me, Lorraine. I was only thinking of you the other day, wondering when you were going to come out of hibernation.’
Diane blushed. Lorraine and Gordon had been friends, good friends, whose kindness and support she’d rejected when Gerry walked out. ‘Sorry, Lorraine,’ she said, surprised and embarrassed by this chance encounter. ‘I must have seemed awful. I just needed . . . I don’t know . . .’
‘You needed time and space, darl,’ Lorraine said. ‘But it’s lovely to see you. Why are you standing on the side of the road staring at the hairdresser’s?’
‘If you really want to know, I was wondering about the business. It’s up for sale.’
‘Thinking of taking it on now you’ve sold the house?’
‘You know about that?’
‘Gerry told Gordon last week.’
‘I was thinking about it. It would make sense, sort of . . . but then, I’m not sure that I’m a businesswoman at heart.’
Lorraine slipped an arm through hers. ‘I was just parking to go and get some shopping, but have you got time for a coffee? We can chew it over, and I want to hear all about Charlene.’ And she steered Diane across the street and into the coffee shop next to the salon.
FIFTEEN
‘What do you mean – away?’ Heather said, cricking her neck to balance the phone between her ear and her good shoulder so she could rummage on the desk for her glasses. ‘Jill never goes away without you.’
‘Well, she has now. Toby, can you pull the sausages to the side and turn off the ring, please.’
‘Work, is it? A conference or something?’
‘Nope. Time out.’
Heather forced her attention away from the reason for her call and onto what Adam had said. ‘Time out? From what?’
‘From work, from the kids, from the house, from everything. But mainly, I think, from me.’
‘Understandable.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I didn’t mean the you bit, just all of it.’ She paused. ‘How long has she gone for?’
‘Two weeks. Left a couple of days ago.’
‘Two weeks! Is everything okay?’
There was silence at the other end of the line and Heather knew enough not to break it. Finally he said, ‘Not perfect.’
‘Presumably it’s something to do with your amazing communication skills.’
‘That and other stuff.’
Heather hesitated. ‘Anything to do with . . . you know . . .’
‘A lot to do with that,’ Adam said dryly, and she heard him move a chair across the tiled floor and pictured him sitting down, one elbow leaning on the draining board. In the background, Daisy and Toby were arguing about something, and there was the sound of the television playing in another room. ‘Hey, you two, go and argue somewhere else while I talk to Aunty Heather. Tea’ll be ready in five minutes.’
A door was slammed, the background noise faded, and Heather opened her mouth to say something and then changed her mind.
‘So,’ Adam said, ‘you wanted Jill. Can I help?’
‘Not really. Did you . . . did you tell her?’
‘No.’
‘Maybe you should.’
‘You made me promise.’
‘And you made me promise too, more vehemently as far as I remember. But that was a long time ago.’
Adam didn’t reply.
‘I could release you from your promise,’ Heather went on. ‘You can tell Jill.’
‘So I can speak about it, but you never will. Not even . . . not even to him.’
Heather’s shoulder throbbed with tension. ‘It’s not about Ellis.’ She heard Adam give a strange sort of grunt. ‘It’s not. Not this thing with you and Jill. Maybe now, you . . . both of us, owe it to her. And anyway, it’s not just my stuff. Part of it, a big part, is you and what you chose to make of it. I thought you’d sorted that out ages ago.’
‘So did I,’ Adam said, ‘but things happened and I find I haven’t.’
Silence again. Noisy, drumming, painful silence.
Heather cleared her throat. ‘Well, I really want to speak to her. Will I get her on the mobile?’
‘She’s probably out of range. She’s up in the Blue Mountains.’
‘Can I get the number of the place she’s staying?’
‘She wants to be alone.’
‘Adam, please.’
‘The Valley Hotel,’ he said, and he read out the number. ‘Give her my love,’ and he put the phone down.
Heather stared at the silent receiver and returned it to its cradle. She hated this stand-off with Adam. She wanted to shake him so furiously that his teeth would rattle and all the old hang-ups would come to the surface, break up and disappear. She knew he was trapped, and she knew why, but his inability to face it and sort it out infuriated her. Did he have any idea at all how responsible it made her feel? It just wasn’t fair.
She smoothed out the paper she’d written the hotel number on, picked up the phone again, dialled the first three digits and then stopped. This wasn’t fair either. She had only wanted someone to talk to and the day they’d had lunch, she’d realised that all this time – years, in fact – she and Jill could have been friends, real friends. They still could, but not now, not this evening, this was Jill’s time. Heather put the phone down, stored Jill’s number in her mobile, and looked around to make sure she had everything she needed. It was stupid, anyway; Jill would have thought she was stupid, needing to talk, needing Dutch courage before heading off to spend a weekend with the man she loved in his gorgeous treetop house. A moment of panic, that’s all. She picked up the small suitcase and walked out of her office through the late afternoon quiet of the Parliament House foyer.
‘You driving back to Newcastle or flying?’ asked a colleague who had just summoned a taxi.
‘Flying, but to Ballina, I’m spending the weekend in Byron Bay.’
‘Lucky you,’ he said. ‘Share this cab to the airport?’
She slipped into the back seat and checked her briefcase. She absolutely had to read Ellis’s business plan before she got there. It was important to him and she couldn’t avoid it any longer. Thank heavens for travel; she should be able to get through it at the airport and on the flight.
‘Ready, are we?’ asked the driver. ‘Domestic terminal?’ and he pulled out into the traffic.
Adam pulled the frying pan back onto the heat, put a bowl of mashed potatoes into the microwave to reheat, and finished cooking the sausages. He liked this, deciding what they’d eat, knocking up a meal, organising the kids.
‘It’s ready,’ he called. ‘Go and wash your hands.’
‘Brill, Dad, mash,’ Daisy said, sliding into her seat. ‘I love mash. In fact, I think it’s my favourite food in the whole world.’
‘Last time we had it, you told Mum it made you feel sick,’ Tob
y said.
‘That’s because hers had lumps in it,’ Daisy said, lifting a large forkful up to her mouth.
‘This probably does too,’ Adam said.
‘Mmm. It does actually but they’re nice lumps.’
‘You’re only saying that to suck up,’ Toby said. ‘You still have to eat some salad with it. Doesn’t she, Dad?’
‘She certainly does, you both do,’ Adam said, pushing the bowl towards Daisy. ‘And I don’t want to hear another word about it.’
Daisy spooned a minute amount of salad onto her plate with the expression of one who had been asked to eat slugs. ‘I hate –’
‘I said not another word.’
‘She always argues with Mum,’ Toby said, adopting a superior tone and helping himself to larger portion of salad than normal.
‘That’s because Mum is always here,’ Adam said.
‘Why has Mum gone away?’ Daisy asked through a mouthful of potato for what Adam thought was probably the tenth time in two days.
‘I told you before. She’s gone for a rest, to get away from us lot, from looking after us all.’
‘I suppose I’ll do that when I’m married,’ Daisy said with a sigh.
‘Fat chance,’ Toby cut in. ‘Who d’you think’s going to marry you?’
‘Cut it out, Tobes,’ Adam said. ‘Now, what do you think about this. Aunty Barbara wants some help cleaning up her shed, so I thought we’d go down on Friday evening and stay till Sunday afternoon.’
‘Awesome,’ Toby said. ‘I bet she’s got heaps of brilliant stuff in that shed.’
‘And we’ll take the bikes,’ Adam said.
‘We can’t ride bikes and clean the shed,’ Daisy said.
‘We certainly can and, what’s more, Aunty Barb is coming cycling with us. She’s cleaned up her bike and she wants some company while she gets used to riding it again.’
‘She’s awfully old to ride a bike,’ Daisy said. ‘She might fall off.’
