Erica wrote from her heart about Stuart’s illness and losing him and her mother before him and how much she missed them. She went on to tell him the things that helped her cope – namely catching up with good friends – and how those she didn’t know well, such as clients at her work as a makeup artist, were a great source of comfort. She told him how much comfort the funeral folk she’d interacted with had provided her and thanked him for his selflessness in doing such a worthwhile job.
When she stopped suddenly, spent, having run out of words and energy, she was surprised by the length of her email. Should she send it or was she being ridiculous? Would he think her a nutcase? No doubt he had plenty of love and support from the community he lived in, which he’d described in his ad as welcoming, warm, loving.
But Erica suddenly felt she needed to let him know she was thinking of him. So she added, Anyway, I just wanted to wish you all the very best, Erica. And without another thought or time to talk herself out of it, she pressed send. Most likely the email would go to an agency and she’d be written off as kooky or something so he’d never see it, but nonetheless she felt good about sending it.
Her step was lighter as she went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Checking the time – thank Christ the bloody clock was still working and seemed correct – she realised Steph would be there in about ten minutes. Erica had just enough time to gather up Boris’s toys and check them against Steph’s list. She’d actually really miss him when he was gone. Sitting waiting, Erica thought she’d even chance giving him a brush. She gathered him up and knelt on the floor. When he began purring and then stretched out to encourage her to brush his back, she felt a sense of achievement. ‘It’s been a good visit, Boris,’ she said, leaning down and kissing him.
Chapter Twenty
Erica had all Boris’s bits and pieces packed and ready by the front door and was just deliberating over whether or not she should put him into his carry box when the doorbell rang. As she made her way down the hall, there was quite a large bang above her in the ceiling. She paused and looked up. Very loud for a possum, but perhaps the level of sound had something to do with the acoustics up there. She pushed it out of her mind – would deal with it if and when she had to. She already had too much on her plate.
‘Hey, Steph, how was it?’ she said, reaching for a hug as soon as she stepped into the hall.
‘Oh, you know, nothing exciting, as predicted.’
‘Okay. Great. Or were you hoping for more?’ Erica couldn’t seem to settle, was like a spinning top skittering around the floor.
‘It was fine. I just hated being away from home. And Boris.’
‘Well, he’s through here. I haven’t put him into his box yet.’ Eric was forced to stop and turn back when Steph gripped her arm.
‘Hey, Erica, are you okay? Has something happened with Boris? It’s just you seem, I don’t know, jittery.’
‘I’m fine. No. No, Boris has been great. Well, a bit unsettled, but I guess that’s normal being in a different place, right?’
‘Maybe. What’s he been doing?’
‘Nothing major. Just a bit twitchy; he wandered around, darted here and there and just didn’t seem relaxed. But I don’t know cats, remember. So Erica gave a loose shrug. ‘Anyway, he was in the kitchen last I saw.’
Now in the kitchen, Erica looked around the huge open space.
‘Oh, there you are,’ Steph said, bending down in front of the carry box where the cat was sitting. ‘Did you miss me? I missed you,’ she said. ‘Oh, big boy. Darling, what’s this I hear about you being sad?’
‘I didn’t say he was sad …’ Erica started but stopped.
‘Are you sure you’re okay, Erica?’ Steph said, peering at her, her arms full of orange cat. ‘Because, not wanting to be rude or anything, but you look like shit. I know, completely understandable given all you’re going through, but …’ She frowned.
Erica breathed deeply, tried to look normal. ‘Probably nothing a decent night’s sleep won’t fix.’
‘Well, if you’re sure? You can talk to me, you know. About anything.’
‘I know. Thanks.’
‘Are the girls okay?’
‘Yep. Good, as far as I know. Having a ball.’
‘That’s great. Well, I’d better get going. Thanks so much for looking after my boy. Sorry if he was a bother,’ she said.
‘Oh no, he was no trouble. Maybe he was just picking up on my stress or something.’
‘Yeah, maybe. They do that. Sensitive creatures. Aren’t you, darling?’ she said, snuggling Boris, who then began wriggling to get down. ‘Oh, you are a bit antsy. I see what you mean, Erica. Come on.’ She put him in his box and closed and latched the door. As she did, Erica watched on, pondering if she should mention the carry-box door locking by itself. But she was feeling bad enough and didn’t want Steph to feel worse about having left her baby with a complete incompetent.
Bang!
‘Lordy! You might need to check your side gate,’ Steph said. ‘My neighbour’s flew open and crashed against the fence the other night – just like that. Scared the living crap out of me then, too,’ she said with a laugh, putting her hand to her chest. ‘Bloody wind! It’s insane this year, isn’t it?’
Erica nodded. Of course. That’s what it could be. She relaxed.
Clunk. ‘And it sounds like it’s just closed itself again. The one next to my place did that too. Nice and helpful. So, all good.’
Erica’s phone on the bench began to ring. She leant towards it and then towards the hall, deliberating over whether to answer the unknown but sort of familiar number or let it go to voicemail. She wanted to help Steph carry Boris and his stuff to the car but also didn’t want to miss a call about a job. Despite telling herself people let calls go to voicemail all the time and prospective employers were unlikely to judge a job hunter harshly for it, she still felt ridiculously torn.
‘You’d better get that. It might be your big opportunity.’
‘But …’
‘It’s fine. I saw it all in the hall. I’ll close the door behind me. Go. Go,’ Steph urged, picking up Boris’s box and striding off down the hall with a wave of her hand.
‘Hello, Erica speaking.’
‘Hello, Erica. This is Walter Crossley from Crossley Funerals …’
Oh? Erica stiffened.
‘… Do you have a moment?’
‘Um. Yes. Okay.’
Erica went down the hall and into the study, waving back to Steph, who was just closing Erica’s front door behind her, having placed Boris on the verandah or in the car and come back for the second bag.
‘You sent me the loveliest response to my job ad. I just wanted to thank you for your email.’
‘Oh. That’s very kind of you.’
‘I felt compelled to pick up the phone and call you.’
‘I’m really sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said all I did.’
‘Oh no, not at all. I thought it was very kind of you. And I really appreciated it. Very much. I’m really sorry for your recent loss too.
‘I am too – for yours. Again.’ Erica let out the awkward laugh she was trying desperately to hold back. This whole phone call was becoming weird.
‘Thank you. Erica?’
‘Yes?’
‘I know you said the job isn’t for you, but is there any way I could get you to reconsider? I happen to think with your clear compassion, shown by your email, and your own recent experience of loss that you could well be perfect for the role. If it’s the thought of spending your days around dead people or perceptions of the funeral industry itself being a bit – How do I put it? On the nose? – please let me assure you that it’s a very worthy and also rewarding occupation. And I run a reputable establishment. Integrity is at the forefront for me. Please come and see for yourself. Come for a day, a week, a month … The town here is lovely and welcoming and the accommodation is comfortable. My wife did it up beautifully not long before her sudden death. I’m sorry
I can’t add further financial inducement …’
‘Honestly, it’s not the money. It does sound like a very good opportunity and I have to admit the idea of a complete change is very appealing. It’s just the distance. My dad has dementia and is settled and I’m not sure he’d cope with another move and I think Melrose would be a little too far for me to visit him regularly.’
‘Oh. I see. That’s a shame. And, yes, if there’s one thing that isn’t very well catered for out here it’s aged care and accommodation. I didn’t realise. I completely understand. I’m so sorry to have badgered you like this just now. I’m quite desperate to fill the position.’
‘I know the feeling. I’m desperate for a job too.’
‘Yes, I sensed that from your email.’
‘To be honest, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about your ad or job.’ Tears of frustration prickled in Erica’s eyes. Why was the only bloody job on offer one she couldn’t accept?
‘Well, if you’re ever up this way, please do drop in. It would be lovely to meet you in person.’
‘I will. I’d like that.’
‘Well, all the very best.’
‘And to you.’
‘And, Erica, if you’re not already, perhaps consider other jobs in the funeral industry nearer to you.’
‘Okay. I will. Thank you. And thank you for calling, it was really lovely of you.’
‘My pleasure. Thank you for your message. You made my day. Bye for now.’
Chapter Twenty-one
As Erica went about the rest of her day she was unable to shake Walter Crossley and his job from her mind, and returned over and over to thinking how could she make it work. There was still a gentle tug within her; a connection to him and to his work. It didn’t help that a heap of rejections of her latest batch of job applications tumbled into her inbox seemingly in one bulk lot. Within half an hour she’d crossed off every outstanding reply from the spreadsheet she’d set up and was devoid of hope.
The other thing that remained with her all day, following her around like a tail, was how much she missed Boris – or perhaps not Boris, specifically, but the company – not human companionship, she didn’t think, but a quiet presence. When she stopped and thought about it, she realised that was causing her even more pain than the lost job opportunities, which she hadn’t felt overly optimistic about in the first place – though she’d hoped. Or perhaps her disappointment with that and yearning for Boris was all balled up together and she was just being a pathetic sad sack. She forced herself through ten more applications, putting her thoughts of What’s the point aside in favour of It’s a numbers game. My number will come up soon. And, you’ve got to be in it to win it. Renee would be proud, she thought as she laced up her runners for a walk and then left the house, only just stopping herself in time from calling back down the hall to the now non-existent Boris that she would be back soon.
As she automatically locked the door behind her and made her way out the gate and into the world outside her property, she marvelled at how quickly – just a matter of hours – Boris had come to feel part of her home and life. Suddenly walking alone didn’t feel the same either, even though Boris hadn’t come with her. Something had changed within her. What was it? Were the gears grinding on her life about to change for the better? Bloody hell, I hope so. It wouldn’t take much – it’s pretty bad right now.
And then she paused mid-stride, almost stumbling over her feet and lurching off the kerb and onto the road. She’d just walked out of a lovely home filled with all the mod-cons and creature comforts. She was able to walk and use her arms and legs. She still had her brain – though to be fair she wasn’t entirely sure about that; she still felt twitchy and unsure she could trust her memory, or anything, really. And while she had the additional weight of huge financial problems, she also had the buffer of the accountant and financial planner taking the heat on her behalf. Imagine having bailiffs or debt collectors beating on your door, pushing their way inside? Did they do that or was it just in movies? She actually shuddered, picturing herself being roughly pushed aside by her own front door, unable to hold it. Yes – phew – not there yet. But how long until I am?
The thought she might have to choose between a job and her father hurt with the force of a knife under her ribs. And then it turned into an ache of frustration and sadness. Arthur would help if he knew, and he could, easily. But even if, in a moment of lucidity, she could get him to understand her situation, never in a million years would she take money from him. Even if he somehow miraculously understood enough to sign a stat dec or something. Moments of lucidity were lovely but didn’t supersede his diagnosis. And all the willing and love in the world wouldn’t change the outcome for him. Hopefully when she was his age there would be a cure. Though with the muddying in her head of late, maybe it was already too late. She tried hard to silently laugh it off. Don’t go there. But, Jesus, some weird shit had been happening and her mind was a tangle of loose, dangling threads. She rubbed her hands over her face, took a few deep breaths and trudged on.
The one light in her otherwise dull day was that tonight she’d managed to make herself eat the last of the bean stew thing she’d been avoiding in the freezer. She took the achievement as a small win, allowing a smile at how small a thing caused her to celebrate. And she almost enjoyed it, or at least didn’t spend an eternity chewing and thinking it tasted like cardboard. Perhaps her taste buds were adapting to her straitened circumstances without wine and processed foods because she detected flavour now. Her meal might have been almost enjoyable but for the loneliness that followed her to her en suite, where she was joined by thoughts of the funeral director and the job he wanted her to do.
As she cleaned her teeth she thought about the gorgeous building with its little flat above and suddenly really liked the appeal of compact living. Was it a sign she could, or should, downsize? But that would be giving in, wouldn’t it? And letting the girls down. It was early, but she could no longer bear being alone in the big sprawling house. And suddenly it felt cold, or, more accurately, unfriendly. Bed at least felt safe and contained and warm.
As she got into it, she could imagine not ever wanting to leave it again. Erica missed her streaming channels right then with a force that almost caused her to cry. She’d gone through the old movies saved on the PVR and was now left with viewing she and Stuart were meant to be doing together – mostly shows and movies that during every bout of hospital stay she vowed faithfully to hold off seeing until Stuart was home.
She loved them – they were her favourites – but they were now tainted. Each one she started she had to stop after just a few minutes because they made Stuart’s absence so enormous. Was everything going to be contaminated by grief? Yes. Probably. She knew the answer. This was the new normal. How long until the pain dimmed enough for her to watch these shows again? She remembered how Renee had said she couldn’t watch her favourite series after breaking up with her last boyfriend because it was too painful a reminder. Erica couldn’t remember the name of the show. The way Renee had said it had seemed a little grandiose. Now Erica could see she was trying to mask the pain or gloss over what others might see as trivial. What was a breakup with a guy after just a few months, or TV shows, for that matter, in the scheme of life? First world problems. But Erica could see that everything was valid. Every little thing you felt was real and it was yours. No one could compare or contrast, no matter how they tried. You felt what you felt.
Erica searched for a new easy-going, cheerful show on free to air that could be hers alone. But she was unsuccessful.
It was too early to go to sleep but she was too distracted, too sad and too dejected to try any more of anything for the day. At least she’d got through it. Tomorrow will be better, she thought, leaning over and turning out the light.
***
Erica woke feeling completely wrecked, not unlike her teenage self after pulling an all-nighter and getting drunk enough to throw up. She ached all over and her need
for a wee was now almost as bad as when she’d had to hold a full bladder for an ultrasound and been kept waiting half an hour after her appointment time and was actually dangerously close to bursting. The only thing stopping her and pushing her willpower beyond reasonable limits had been the desperate need to avoid embarrassment.
Light was peeping around the edges of the bedroom windows and in from the en suite. She pushed back the covers and climbed out, pausing to squeeze her thighs together against the pressure inside her so close to spilling. She longed to run the few strides to the loo but couldn’t risk it. Grimacing, she struggled with her undies with hands and a brain that wouldn’t work and only just managed to get the fabric out of the way and herself sat down before the torrent poured out of her. She was so relieved that she also let out a long deep sigh.
Erica wandered up the hall and into the kitchen and went to the kettle. With mug in hand she strode back and forth in front of the glass doors, unable to make herself sit still. She turned and took in the interior of the house.
Her heart and feet seemed to stop at the same moment at seeing a light underneath the door to Mackenzie’s bedroom off the hall. What the hell? Stop it, she told herself as she became sure she could hear what sounded just like someone moving around. She’d just come past there and heard nothing. This was definitely her mind playing tricks. Or had the light been there every morning because Mackenzie hadn’t closed the blinds? Was that it? They’d left the house in daylight in time to visit her dad before going to the airport, hadn’t they? God, it felt like an eternity ago, not just, what, a couple of weeks?
She stared at the strip of light, her insides trembling. She couldn’t drag her eyes away from it but couldn’t make herself go down there either. It was yellow, wasn’t it, not the same natural glow as out here and in the rest of the hall? She became annoyed that it was unnecessarily increasing her power bill – just as annoyed at herself for not noticing it before as at Mackenzie for leaving it on in the first place. Or perhaps I did it after I vacuumed in there the other day. But surely she’d flicked the switch on her way out? Erica tried to go down there and deal with it. But her feet wouldn’t move. She tried to breathe deeply, but her breath was caught just below her throat. Her mind again began to run through all the scenarios she’d seen in movies. And then it snagged on two questions: What’s behind the door? Is someone in the house? Her heart thumped spasmodically – twitching, juddering – and she couldn’t get past the questions.
Trick of the Light Page 21
