At home, Erica went through her decompressing routine and then found herself standing in the kitchen wondering how to occupy herself. She was hungry, but struggling to face another portion of bean stew. But she was determined not to be wasteful. She searched the kitchen for wine she’d missed – or any alcohol – and came up empty. Probably best, she decided. A text from Steph came through and she leapt towards the diversion of her phone:
Heading out for a movie, want to come? Xx
Oh, yes, anything to rescue me from myself, she thought, starting to tap out the message. But then she stopped and held her finger on the delete key. She couldn’t justify the cost of a movie. Damn it. Her heart was heavy as she instead said: Thanks, but needing an early night. Have fun. Xx
Her chest ached as she warmed up her bean concoction and took the bowl up to bed with her to watch TV. She was so grateful she’d relented about her no TVs in bedrooms rule four years back when Stuart had been going through chemo the first time. She’d cancelled the streaming subscriptions the day after dropping the girls at the airport, so now only had access to free to air. As she flicked through the channels for something to catch her interest, she idly wondered if the TV was to blame for them not discussing their finances – or rather, Stuart not sharing information about their finances.
As she stared into her bowl and prodded its contents with her fork, Erica was surprised to find herself wondering how Kayla’s date with Matt was going. She’d have put money on them not being a couple. She was usually so good at reading people, too. Was she losing her edge there – as well as in every other part of her life? Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Look, they’re so much worse off than you, she thought, cringing at the news report of a family standing outside their burnt-out house, huddled together wrapped in blankets, helpless and frightened. Erica looked around her and shuddered at picturing herself in the same situation. It was one of the poorer suburbs. Candles again, apparently. Lit because of romance or to conserve electricity? she wondered and turned out the lamp beside her. She shivered down deeper into her quilt, tucking in her hands as she reminded herself she wasn’t allowed to turn the heating on again. She’d already used it to take the chill out of the house.
Chapter Eight
For her two days off, Erica experienced the strangest sensation of both desperately wanting to get out of the house and have some company but also the opposite with equal measure. After going for an extra-long walk, she used her remaining excess energy with vacuuming and dusting thoroughly and cleaning the bathrooms and toilets. She wanted to stay in but couldn’t make herself be still. In the end, she decided she could no longer avoid going out and shopping for groceries and putting fuel in the car. The car had plenty but Erica had an obsession about not letting it get below half, thanks to her and Stuart running out going across the Nevada Desert as a result of his over-confidence. Now she kept such an eye on the fuel gauge of any car she travelled in it was almost a tic. No amount of apologising and the more recent reasoning that they didn’t go beyond one hundred kilometres past the outer suburbs had had any effect on Erica’s concern.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she grabbed her keys from the bench. At the door from the house into the enclosed carport she hesitated. Trepidation came over her. It was like a deep growl rumbling around inside her. She really didn’t want to leave the house. Don’t be silly, she told herself. She was shocked by the strength of the force pulling her back. Thankfully in her next breath it was gone.
Anyway, she had to go. The car needed to be run at least once a week or she’d end up with a flat battery. Where had she heard that? Stuart? Nope. He’d been even more useless than her about the working of cars – and anything electric or mechanical. But he might have read it out to her sometime.
‘Righto,’ she said aloud as she settled herself into the driver’s seat of her aging white Volvo. As she did, she had the strangest sensation of it being a little unfamiliar. Don’t be ridiculous. She’d been driving this car for eight years, could even slay reverse parallel parking – in the words of Issy.
The supermarket – part of a small group of shops, including chemist, medical centre, bakery and small bargain warehouse – was just five minutes up the road. Erica used to quite enjoy grocery shopping and tended to wander up and down every aisle. But now as she sat parked, gazing at the supermarket just fifty metres or so away, the pull to reverse out and drive back home was almost too strong to resist. There was the little quiver of fear again when she thought about opening her car door.
Was she joining the ranks of people living with anxiety? Stop it: you’re being silly, she told herself, and pulled the door handle. As she stepped out, she remembered Renee’s advice of one step at a time and began a mantra of the steps she needed to take: walk to trolley bay, insert coin, push trolley into store, go through list, pay, leave, go home. Going home felt on par with a pre-shopping pick-me-up or ice creams with the girls in summer or hot chocolate in the colder months when they’d been small – fortifying for her and an inducement for them to behave. Not that the girls had really needed it – they’d rarely misbehaved. And then as they’d got older the three of them – and sometimes four of them, including Stuart – loved to people-watch.
Erica felt the beading of sweat under the four layers she’d worn to guard against the wintry day. Oh bloody hell. Hot flush. She longed to rip off all her clothes but obviously couldn’t, so undid her coat and flapped its edges. Damn it. Just fucking brilliant. Erica’s periods had always been light and relatively painless, so she’d assumed her menopause would be trouble-free as well. And she thought it probably had been compared with what she’d read from women online in forums. Horrible! Thankfully she hadn’t experienced the racing heart – or was that what her new fear actually was? Her most constant menopausal companion was the prickly heat, tingling of extremities and embarrassing breakouts of sweat – the weirdest place and sensation being on the backs of her hands. And in her hairline was pretty creepy, too, though, thankfully, her makeup seemed able to hide most signs on her face and neck. But perhaps the mood swings and all the other shit was still to come. At least the night sweats – her other most consistent symptom – were helpful with keeping her electricity bill down. Since turning forty-five Erica had not been able to get to sleep if the room was too warm; she needed chilly. Thankfully her hot flushes or sweats or whatever they were didn’t last longer than about a few minutes. Not as long as the apparent average of five minutes.
She was grateful for a relatively smooth ride so far and loved not having to worry about periods, but still really hoped to be spared the discomfort others had written about and professionals documented. Though Erica generally thought she was pretty robust in constitution and could only hope that would help.
The more annoying thing about aging was the deterioration of her eyesight. She remembered how her dad had joked that his arms were suddenly not long enough – nothing to do with his eyesight, he’d insisted. Now she knew exactly what he’d meant. And she so desperately wanted to share that with him. But there was no point. He didn’t get jokes now. Erica had reading glasses and was also the not so proud owner of a magnifying mirror in the bathroom. She’d initially loathed it – not it, but her need for it. What it represented. But it was such a great thing that she’d petitioned her management to get one for work. She knew of at least five of her older clients who had put one in their homes as a result of not having to now squish their noses up against the glass or stretch back and forth trying to get the right distance in order to view Erica’s handiwork without their glasses. For years Erica thought they must have been bunging in on – that glasses wearers had strange habits or something. Until she too had lost the ability to see as well as she had before. Now she had a whole new respect for what glasses wearers, especially the drastically short-sighted, went through.
Inside the supermarket Erica held her trolley in front as a barrier – from what, she didn’t know – clutching the handle tightly when she wasn
’t consulting her list on her phone, which she kept pulling out and tucking back into her pocket almost at every step. As she made her way around, she had to keep telling herself: Not so much, we’re just one now. And no luxuries or treats. She kept a tally as she went, determined to keep it to under eighty dollars. At least the basic maths kept her brain busy and the pangs of anxiety or whatever it was at bay.
Erica found shopping for just herself a very different experience and was still figuring out if it was a good or bad one when she arrived at the checkout to unload her trolley. While she waited her turn, becoming antsy to get home again and unable to be still, she noticed she was drumming her fingers and immediately stuck them into the pockets of her active wear jacket. How rude.
Of course the worse Erica wanted to escape the supermarket, which was starting to feel as if it were closing in on her, the more faffing about the person in front of her did, and the fewer names of fruits and vegetables the young staff member knew, and the more dings of the bell were needed, and the more waiting for the assistance of the supervisor must be endured.
Erica detested the idea of self-serve – she didn’t want to inadvertently do people out of a job and also didn’t see why on her days off she had to wait on people without being paid to. But now she was beginning to see the appeal and wondered if she should succumb. And online shopping and having it delivered, too. That was always an option. But she preferred to select for herself. A woman who owned a fruit shop had once shown her how to select the perfect mandarin – those that were heavy for their size had the best flavour and juiciness. She also liked to select a range of bananas and had a very precise window of colour in which she enjoyed them.
Erica finally left the store, pleased at having kept her total to a few dollars under her budget and also that she’d resisted the urge to flee and leave her laden trolley there. And that almost everything had been packed to her liking. But as she made her way quickly across the car park, rising panic propelled her forwards to the point she almost began to run. It took all her will to bring herself and the laden trolley to a halt and proceed more sensibly, but she did it. Sweat wasn’t just prickling, it was running down her back, under her clothes and into her undies. God she was glad she’d worn black leggings. Hopefully it didn’t look from the back as if she’d peed herself. She was often surprised at how, when checking the amount of perspiration, it didn’t seem to fully match the size of wet patch – it tended to be a more psychological fear for her.
Sometimes she’d wondered about spraying antiperspirant deodorant all over herself, but didn’t in case it created a much worse problem. She’d seen so much horror as regards chemicals and sensitive skin during her studies and elsewhere since.
She hated sunscreen and every time she put it on cringed at the chemicals she was exposing herself to – even the zinc versions, which were apparently a better option. But though the powers that be were always changing their minds on these things she’d decided long ago that that risk was the better option than premature aging and the risk of melanoma and the like, so she slathered it on.
She forced herself to take a few breaths, looking around her to make sure one of the cars she was behind didn’t suddenly reverse and skittle her, and saw what looked like a familiar figure up ahead. ‘Kayla,’ she called, but the hunched figure dressed all in black kept going. Erica thought the person paused for a moment and might have cocked her head. But she could have been mistaken. It might not have been her. Probably every second uni student dressed all in black and was slight these days. But still, Erica was sure it had been Kayla. And she would have heard her; she was only two rows of cars away and the stiff breeze was blowing that way.
She wondered why Kayla had avoided her – because now she thought about it and pictured the scene in her mind, Erica was sure the girl had sped up after her call, increasing the length and pace of her stride. Oh dear. Maybe the date she’d gone to so much effort and expense for hadn’t gone well. Otherwise, surely, she’d want to tell someone who knew about it. Erica remembered what the fresh flush of love felt like. It was what had sustained her all these years with Stuart and through teenage angst and everything else before him. A rush of sadness pushed Erica on towards her car.
She looked around the car park as she loaded her groceries into the boot, trying to get another glimpse of Kayla. She really hoped she was okay. But she couldn’t see any young people dressed all in black.
Erica left the car park with the same sensation of darkness closing in behind her – slightly fearful and eager to get back inside the safety of her own home. Thanks a bloody lot, menopause! Or was it something else? Erica had no idea. What she did know was that pulling into her carport and watching the roller door come down behind her felt unbelievably good. Relief surged through her when it stopped at the bottom with a slight clunk and shudder up the corrugated steel.
As she got out and began unloading the bags into the house, she was glad the girls weren’t with her to see how ridiculous their mother was being. Though maybe it was all inside her and not visible to others. She’d often looked in the mirror while experiencing a hot flush and been surprised to find her colour hadn’t changed despite the heat engulfing her.
Oh dear, Erica thought as she acknowledged she needed a sit on the couch and cup of tea after emptying the groceries into the pantry and fridge and returning the bags to the car. And in all her keenness to get home, she’d forgotten to get fuel. It was on her way and on the correct side of the road, but she must have sailed past while thinking about something else. Oh well, she’d do it when she went to see her dad the next day. A hint of guilt went through her as she considered giving that a miss.
Chapter Nine
As Erica locked the screen door to the house behind her to get to work on Tuesday, she had a sudden urge to head back inside, and was a little shocked at the strength of the emotion gripping her. She’d pushed through the desire to stay coddled at home – the windy weather didn’t help – against this thing growing inside her. That’s how it was: increasing with ferocity and then seeping out again, like air from a balloon. Thankfully the cord attached to her dad had been too strong to let her stay home yesterday. Even if she couldn’t share her problems with him and he couldn’t offer a solution, just sitting beside him somehow helped ground her for that hour. His words soothed her. Oh how she longed to confide all, but she couldn’t run the risk of upsetting him nor have him upset her with one of his regular throwaway lines that seemed to be on a loop. He was like the doll with the string Erica had had as a child that you pulled the head off, attached by a string to the bottom half, and as it wound itself back up it said things like ‘ooh, I’ve lost my head over you’ and ‘there we go again’. She was being overly sensitive. She knew that. But knowing didn’t help. Emotion wasn’t something you could turn on and off like a tap. She supposed some people – those who pretended or feigned empathy – could. But that wasn’t real. In her darkest days after Stuart’s death, Renee had gently laid a hand on hers and told her, ‘At least you feel. Be grateful you have the capacity to love, no matter how much it hurts.’ Right then and even now Erica wished she didn’t, but she couldn’t tell Renee that. Her friend meant well. Erica didn’t think she’d lost anyone other than very old relatives.
Erica took a deep breath and put her keys in her handbag and headed for the bus while telling herself, You love your job, remember.
Not wanting to leave that morning and the day before, and the angst that had chased her right back again from the shops, and from her dad’s facility, and which only subsided once she was safely back inside her home, didn’t have anything to do with the things she was doing while out. Well, that was what she thought. She just didn’t want to be out. Maybe she was joining the ranks of those who lived under the shadow of anxiety. Maybe it was just being too stressed and strung out.
Erica threw herself into her usual seat on the bus, pleased to see the familiar navy blue jacket of Alicia, and said more brightly than she felt, ‘Good
morning.’ And then her stomach did a somersault when Alicia turned to her and it wasn’t her at all. The expression was slightly fearful, as in ‘Where are your manners? We don’t address people on public transport.’ A bit like in lifts. So startled was Erica, she almost blurted, ‘Oh, where’s Alicia?’ and only just managed to stop herself in time. Because of course this random stranger wouldn’t know. This was the bus, not a desk at school. Erica beamed back at the male twenty-something, whose frown deepened before he returned to his smartphone, huddling just that little bit closer to the window. She almost laughed, thinking he probably thought she might be a little ‘not all there’.
She wanted to remind him that his generation were the ones getting into Ubers driven by strangers and talking to strangers online, so a simple hello on a bus in a public space was hardly something to freak out about.
Erica was disappointed that when he got out, the young man she’d shared her seat with didn’t thank the driver. And thinking it made her feel old and crotchety. But at least the thought and her annoyance propelled her into work. Thankfully Louisa was busy bending the ear of another colleague. Erica did a double-take at realising the young man was unfamiliar. Typical Louisa to swoop on every good-looking bloke that came her way. Erica could tell Louisa was flirting and not just being chummy with a colleague by the angle of her hips – pointed towards him – and the way she twirled her hair with her finger and pressed and rubbed her lips together. Erica smiled to herself at thinking the poor guy looked trapped – and practically was, considering Louisa was planted at the end of his counter and didn’t look to be leaving any time soon. To escape, he had to squeeze past and most probably their hips would touch if he did. Poor guy, Erica thought, as she got on with her pre-start routine.
As she moved about her area, she glanced up to see the guy literally trying to make his way past Louisa. As he looked away, the expression on his face changed. He actually appeared frightened: more trapped animal than rabbit in headlights. Erica was horrified to see Louisa move towards him as he moved. She was actually blocking him in. Deliberately. Oh my god. Seriously? In two long strides she was beside them.
Trick of the Light Page 11
