The Chance of a Lifetime

by kendra Smith

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ she said staring round at the kitchen, noticing the toaster with the frayed cord, dust on every surface, the bed linen piling out of the laundry room.

  She filled a basin with hot soapy water and wiped down a few surfaces as the kettle boiled. Taking the coffee outside with a plate of Hob Nobs for the kids, she looked over at Gramps. The boys were shrieking, swinging like Tarzan on the rope swing hanging from the weeping willow; the rope swing Gramps had built when he found out that she was having Andy. It’ll be fun, Katie, watching the boys in the garden… She grimaced with the memory, stared at Gramps sitting in his favourite spot – a bench by the house, next to the wisteria, watching his grandsons with a huge smile on his face. Little purple petals were scattered on the grass beneath his feet like confetti after a wedding; blackbirds twittered in the garden. What must he think? How can we take them away from him? My mum’s fine, thought Katie; off on her jaunts, has said she’ll visit Sydney next year, stay for a bit maybe, darling. But what about Gramps? He doesn’t have Mum’s joie de vivre nor credit card limit.

  ‘Hello, darling girl, how are you?’ Katie fondly looked over at Gramps, at his frail frame encased in a navy-blue jumper, his legs in familiar, grey, worn-out cords. But his eyes were twinkling as he looked at her.

  ‘Don’t get up, Gramps, I’m fine.’ She bent to kiss his soft cheek, and placed a hand on his. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Much better for seeing you and this lot,’ he said nodding to the boys who were now chasing each other with a bright orange watering can. Rory was in the middle, sitting on the grass, splashing around with a yellow pail of water Tom had put outside for him. She smiled and nodded. Just then Tom appeared.

  ‘All done, Dad, you are officially back online!’

  ‘Thanks, son. Right, I’ll be sending you a few v-mails then!’

  ‘Emails, Dad,’ corrected Tom, smiling.

  ‘Found this super site actually, Your Perfect Match! Oh yes, and Silverdating’s rather good too…’

  ‘Dad! They are online dating agencies!’ said Tom, alarmed. ‘Don’t go on those websites.’

  ‘Why ever not, son? Lovely ladies on there, you know. Some of them share my “Likes” on Facebook!’

  Katie looked over at Tom and he rolled his eyes. ‘Facebook, Dad?’

  She grinned, realised she had never brought it up all those months ago. She knew Gramps was lonely, but not that lonely… Suddenly she felt at odds. I can’t sit down and chat in this rural idyll, she thought. It’s far too hard to talk about online dating. I can’t sit here with my unfaithful husband and have chit-chat with his dad. I really can’t. She got up suddenly and started to head inside.

  ‘Mummy?’ Andy was beside her, tugging on her skirt and holding up a fuchsia flower. ‘Are these earrings?’

  ‘No my darling boy,’ she said scooping him up into her arms.

  ‘And why don’t they smell? They’re flowers. Mum? What’s your favourite smell?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She considered the question for a while and looked over at Gramps. ‘The middle pages of an old book, cut grass, and—’ she said, nestling into his hair ‘—the smell of little boys’ skin on a warm day.’ She laughed.

  ‘Do you know what my favourite smell is?’ he said wriggling on her hip.

  ‘No—’

  ‘Daddy’s pyjamas.’ He giggled, then planted a kiss on her cheek.

  There was that pain again; she caught Tom looking over at her, then he quickly said, ‘Katie, can you come inside a minute?’ When they were near the door he whispered to her, ‘Come and look at what I’ve found on the computer, Katie.’

  Tom was staring, with his mouth open. There were about twenty women on the Silverdating website, some with grey hair, some had very obviously dyed hair, and some of them had liberally applied their peach lipstick; all of them had a short bio underneath and a few wore pearls. Their ‘likes’ included things like: ‘seek cuddles, looking for friendship, prefer GSOH, enjoy gardening, love to travel’.

  ‘Katie, my dad is… is… actually dating. I’ve read a few of his emails. Before the accident he took one of these ladies to the cinema.’

  ‘Tom, you shouldn’t have read his emails!’ she scolded, staring at the photos. ‘It’s great news, Tom, really. Gramps is getting into the twenty-first century. You should be pleased!’

  ‘I am – I guess,’ he hesitated, ‘just thrown me a bit.’ Tom bent over and put his head in his hands.

  ‘Tom, it would be nice if he could find someone else, someone to make him shepherd’s pie again and whom he could “escort to the cinema”. Someone to laugh with, remember what that felt like?’ She reached out to touch his shoulder. ‘He’s lonely,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I know what that feels like,’ Tom whispered, looking round at her.

  46

  As they trundled through the traffic in Eastbourne, Katie stared out the window. It had been Tom’s idea. Let’s have a break down by the sea, he’d said. It won’t be too busy; you can do some swimming; the boys will love it. I’ll drive. I’m just so happy to be with all of you… Let Dad have a rest from the boys charging around; make the most of the good weather. She’d agreed because she wanted to immerse herself in a different world for a while, lose herself and her thoughts in something other than her troubled mind, let the glorious ocean wash all her troubles away as it did in Sydney.

  An hour into the journey the car was stuffy, windows steamed up, a very slight drizzle left on the windscreen. So much for the ‘Indian summer’ the papers had mentioned. Rory was yelling, as James and Andy had mistakenly hit him with one of their rulers from their British Airways in-flight pack.

  ‘Stop it, boys, we’re nearly at the beach!’ Katie craned her head round and stared at them all.

  ‘The beach? But there’s no sand, Mummy!’

  The pavements were crowded. Waves of pasty-looking holidaymakers with badly fitting summer clothes passed them by. Tiny children in bare feet tottered past clutching buckets and spades; the aroma of chips and vinegar filtered through Katie’s nostrils as she walked in her flip-flops along the pavement towards the beach.

  It was absolutely packed – not only was it adorned with that peculiar British icon – the stripy deck chair and windbreaker – it was also very full of people. Katie screwed up her eyes to see if there were any quieter spots further on. No, further down the beach was a fun fair, complete with teacup rides, and music blaring from the bandstand. God, for a deserted Aussie beach right now, she thought and then quickly looked around, as if the people on the beach could read her mind.

  ‘Mummy, where’s the sand?’ said Andy taking out the buckets and spades, and picking up a pebble between two fingers. ‘Why are we sitting on stones?’

  The Punch and Judy show next to them started up. Who’s stolen my sausages?!

  ‘Well, it’s shingle, darling.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shingle!’ She had to shout to be heard.

  ‘Don’t like shingle!’ roared Andy. ‘I want sand!’ he said sitting down grumpily.

  Tom looked at her and smiled. ‘Why don’t you take a dip? I’d go sooner rather than later if I were you, weather might not hold,’ he said staring up at the swirling clouds. Katie glanced over at Rory who was howling as he’d fallen over on the pebbles.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘You’re very brave!’

  Wading into the sea Katie felt the chill of the water reach her kneecaps, then thighs. She could feel her nipples stand to attention. The last time that happened… Her mind wandered off and she shook herself, tried to remember the last time she’d had sex…

  Everyone was looking at her. Golly, I feel very self-conscious in my goggles and Speedo swimsuit, she thought. I look so different from everyone else. Many of the beachgoers were standing knee-deep in badly fitting costumes, rolls of thick white fat bulging from the sides, watching children shriek in the water. Their children were shivering next to them, playing in the shallow waters, hair
matted to their head, dolphins, whales and other forms of Blow-Up Holiday Plastic from the Costa del Holiday were bobbing around in the water looking far too bright and jolly in the Costa Del British Pebbly Beach.

  Wading further out, Katie let the water cover her waist; it was the colour of a strong cup of tea. There was no soft sand underneath, no tiny fish whizzing by her ankles. She peered down. I can’t see a thing, she realised, slightly alarmed.

  With one movement she dived into the water, started to swim breaststroke, and took herself further away from the masses. She could no longer touch the bottom and started to do a couple of laps across the shore. She looked up, studied the Victorian guest houses along the front, the filigree railings, the bright flashing lights advertising fish and chips at a café. A plastic bag floated by her face and she brushed it away. She couldn’t help wondering what else was in the water.

  *

  On the drive back Tom was quiet, staring ahead, and she watched the beautiful English countryside unfold. Do I miss it? Yes. Do I miss the ocean and the surf? The sound of cicadas in the twilight of an Australian summer’s day, the vanilla scent of frangipanis? She realised that she did. And do I miss Tom?

  ‘Thanks for driving us – we’ve all had fun…’ Tom looked at her and they both burst out laughing.

  After a while of driving along in silence, Tom turned to her. ‘Gramps isn’t getting any younger, is he?’ said Tom quietly, cutting into her thoughts. He took his eyes off the road briefly and looked at her again. He then took a deep breath and carried on: ‘Think it’s time we looked at another alternative. Somewhere where he can be looked after, where he feels wanted… I’m worried about him, Katie.’

  ‘I know,’ she agreed carefully. ‘When I cleared out the kitchen, it was awful, Tom – food in the fridge that could have really made him ill, the frayed cord on the toaster…’ As she said this she looked round at Tom and noticed how tight he was clutching the steering wheel. He was a man desperately trying not to break down in front of his kids. He looked sadder today than she’d seen him in a long time. Yet she understood some of what he felt: the sadness, the homesickness. How has all this affected us? she wondered. It’s been such a rocky road so far – and what kind of terrain lies ahead? Your marriage can be shaky whether or not the earth beneath your feet is British or Australian. She watched Tom sniff, grip the steering wheel. She turned away, stared at the traffic ahead, squeezed his leg.

  ‘Daddy, why are you crying?’

  ‘I’m not crying, James, it’s the pollen.’ Tom wiped his eyes, yanked open the glove compartment, grappled for a tissue.

  ‘Yes you are. You’re sad because you and Mummy are arguing, aren’t you? Me and Andy thought it was so good. You know, we’re together, like before.’

  Katie looked at them both in the rear-view mirror. Rory was asleep and James and Andy were sitting head to head, staring in front. Her heart stopped. Like before? Had he heard? She and Tom had been in the store cupboard, for goodness’ sake. But last night was one of the worst; they had got to bed around 2 a.m., both exhausted. She stared at the crumpled tissue in Tom’s hand and remembered the argument.

  ‘How can I trust you again, Tom, how?’ They had been clearing up the mess in Gramps’s store room – biscuits dated ‘best before April 2001’, mouldy jars of marmalade. Katie had filled a bucket with hot water and Dettol, and had been methodically wiping around and around the shelves, her brain doing overtime. ‘HOW?’ she’d almost shouted, surprised herself, as Tom had walked in to get the dustpan and brush.

  ‘Katie, I don’t know. I really am not sure what to say to you other than I love you.’ He’d come up behind her then, held her arm firmly and taken the cloth from her. For a while, she had let him, felt some of the anger seep out of her.

  ‘How can you have loved me and done that, though?’ she murmured, resting her head on his chest. The smell of Imperial Leather assaulted her almost immediately and she had nearly been in tears.

  ‘Because we all make mistakes, Katie, all of us…’ he’d said, pulling back and suddenly the thought of Adam flashed across her mind: the smell on his breath, how much she had nearly… nearly… Suddenly she had been jolted back to reality by a packet of powdered soup past its use-by date, lying on the floor.

  Later, in Gramps’s tiny double bed, which they had been forced to pretend was ‘super, just fine,’ Tom had turned to her, held her in his arms and sobbed quietly. She had let him lie there; she had been rigid. As rigid as when you wake up after a bad dream at seven years old and don’t know if the Gruffalo-type monster from the dream is in the bed with you. She had let him sob next to her, said nothing. Maybe he could feel a little pain now. Maybe he could experience just a fraction of the hurt she’d been feeling these past few months. She had stared at the ceiling, desperate to hold him, but not trusting that she wouldn’t get hurt again.

  Suddenly she remembered where she was and grabbed the tissue from Tom’s hand and stuffed it in her handbag. ‘No, darling, Daddy is sad because of Gramps.’ She looked at her gorgeous children in the rear-view mirror, and smiled at Tom, mouthed: ‘Are you OK?’ He nodded and smiled back at her.

  ‘I know,’ James said, yawning, then leaning forward so his face was between them, between the two front seats. ‘Gramps could come to live with us for a bit, in Australia. Wouldn’t that be fun?’

  Katie stared at the dashboard, tried to gather her thoughts on this. She could feel Tom’s eyes boring into her cheek, sense that he was smiling, but she didn’t look round. Gramps live with us? How could Gramps live with us? Where would he live? How would it work? It would be a disaster, wouldn’t it? He doesn’t like the heat; he won’t make any friends at his age… She opened the window to let the breeze in; she felt it lift and lower her wet hair and she shivered.

  47

  It had been a month since they had all arrived back in Sydney in early October. As the plane banked over the harbour, she remembered how she felt when she first saw Sydney splayed out before her. Surprisingly, her heart didn’t lurch as she watched the Opera House below, the busy activity in the harbour, the bright blue 5 a.m. sky as they came in to land. She didn’t feel like throwing up; she felt, in fact, quite calm, and had realised that the view was spectacular.

  Tom had gone back to Brisbane; caught a connecting flight from the airport – he had had a major conference to convene the next day, had to lead it with some of Asia’s biggest clients. He had wanted to make sure Trent Financial were in the head of the queue for the business, had to tie up loose ends at the office. He’d said he would phone, be down to visit ‘the boys and Gramps’ soon. She had felt uneasy as he’d pecked her on the cheek, wished her luck, told her to look after Gramps. She’d squeezed his hand, expecting more, but he’d walked off, turning only once to wave at them.

  She had watched his broad shoulders, listened to his footsteps clip away in the airport hall, longing for him to turn around again, run back, hold her, anything. But he had walked purposefully towards the gate, clutching his boarding card. She had been sad then, felt that they were missing part of some whole, as the boys stood with her, felt like she was somehow not complete without him. Andy had been clutching at her skirt in one hand with his blanket in the other. But then, suddenly, she had to deal with Gramps and that had taken her mind off everything for a while.

  They had asked him to come back with them after their trip to Eastbourne. There had been one hundred and one thoughts in Katie’s mind on the way back from the coast. Reasons why it was crazy to entertain Gramps coming back to Sydney. Tom and I aren’t even together, she reasoned. Not that Gramps knew. Then there was the fact that Gramps hated the heat; she needed more help with the boys, not someone else to look after. In fact, the last thing she needed was more stress. She had folded her arms in the car, thinking it was a ridiculous idea.

  And yet, when they had got home, James and Andy had bounded into the lounge and announced to Gramps that he was to come.

  ‘Gramps! Gramps! You’re go
ing to come back and live in Australia with us!’ they’d shouted before Katie had even got into the lounge.

  The look on his face was what settled it for Katie. How could she refuse? He had seemed so pleased, was almost in tears. Gramps had tried to get to his feet. ‘Well, if you’re sure…?’ He had wanted to hug them all, but Tom made him sit down, went to fetch the champagne Gramps insisted on opening.

  There had been several visits to the doctor’s after that to check he was fit to fly, blood tests, a holiday visa to get, passport photographs, packing his things, clearing out the fridge, throwing out old items in the cottage – the one clothes cupboard Katie didn’t touch was Margaret’s. She let Gramps and Tom do that by themselves; one rainy Wednesday they tackled the chore of sorting out her clothes. They put a huge bin bag of her old clothes in the hall for charity, and one suitcase of ‘special’ items of hers up in the loft.

  Katie had gone to Oxfam the next day and handed over the clothes. After that she bought Gramps a few new things for the trip: lightweight trousers, a hat and a few books for the plane trip. She also organised a company to come round once a fortnight to look after the place, keep on top of things and finally, she redirected the post. ‘How long for, Tom?’ she had said as she filled in the form.

  He had looked at her and said, with some pain in his eyes, ‘I really don’t know, do you?’ She had hastily written down six months and thought they could review it later.

  When their taxi pulled into Ponderosa Avenue, there was a car pulling out of their driveway. The scruffy blue Volvo estate stopped.

  ‘Hi guys!’ said a voice Katie recognised. As she swung her legs out of the taxi, she looked up to find Carol beaming at them all and holding a hessian bag in her hand.

  ‘How you all doing? You must be flat-out exhausted!’ She ruffled Andy’s hair. ‘How was England, Andy?’