Chapter 29
CHAPTER
On Tuesday evening, I send a spreadsheet through to Dougie, shut down my computer and leave the professor’s office. By the time I shower, change and arrive at the mess, everyone else has eaten. Jerry offers to rustle up a stir fry.
‘I’ll make Vegemite toast,’ I say.
‘You’ve been late every night for weeks. The professor wouldn’t expect you to work this hard.’
‘The desk work is a small price to pay for spending every morning and most afternoons outside.’
‘You’re a good egg.’
‘I don’t eat eggs.’
‘Course you don’t.’ Jerry grins. ‘You brew the tea. I’ll improve on Vegemite toast.’
There’s only Monopoly money at stake in the card games Dougie convenes, but he complains loudly when one of the players throws his cards on the table and the other players call time.
The two climate scientists, intent on sorting jigsaw puzzle pieces, don’t notice when I sit cross-legged on the armchair behind them.
I’m opening my iPad to check emails when Jerry puts my sandwich and a cup of tea on the side table.
‘Artichoke, gruyere and ham. Get that into you.’
I’m nibbling a cheesy corner of toast when I see that Richard, the good-natured son of my mother’s ninety-year-old neighbour, has sent me twelve emails. There are seven further emails from Mum’s email address. Throat tight, I put the sandwich back on the plate.
Richard explains in his first email that my mother had ‘an emotional breakdown’ on his mother’s doorstep that morning, and when he asked what was bothering her, she handed him a bulging A4 envelope.
She also gave him my email address and told him she was too upset to deal with the people who were harassing her.
Richard has scanned the contents of the envelope and sent them to me.
Some debts go back months, Richard writes in his email. No wonder your poor mum was in such a state.
There are also messages forwarded, possibly by Richard as another favour, from Mum’s email address.
Gas, electricity, internet and phone—invoices Mum is supposed to have paid out of her pension.
The medical bills, hypnotherapist, counsellor, psychologist and dentist are from different providers than those I usually pay.
‘Flick?’ Jerry collects my plate and mug. ‘Haven’t you got a bed to be going back to? The weather out there isn’t pretty.’
Keeping my eyes on the screen, I say, ‘I won’t be long.’
As Jerry turns off lights and shuts doors, I continue to scroll. There are two invoices, including one from an essential oils shop, where legal action and associated additional costs are threatened.
‘Night!’ Jerry shouts. ‘Close the door behind you.’
The final forwarded email is from Memorable Cruises Pty Limited.
Dear Mrs Atherton,
We were so grateful to have you with us on our Live Your Best Life cruise to New Zealand in October.
Due to the debit card difficulties you experienced on the ship, you have five overdue invoices. To clarify everything (I’ve been unable to get onto you by phone) I wanted to reach out and give you the specifics.
The cruise was on a payment plan, 50% pre-embarkation ($2,000.00—this has been paid) and 50% ($2,000.00) payable on completion of the cruise (unpaid, and interest rates apply).
Helicopter ride to the volcano—$900.00.
You selected an alcohol-free package but consumed alcohol (cheers!) on board. Beverage charges of $358.00 are outstanding.
Whale watch experience—$400.00.
Your package included a two-hour group meditation with Yogi Bishnu. Your subsequent private meditation session ($500.00) and two additional small group sessions ($200.00 each) totals $900.00 …
A huge sob works its way up my throat. Is meditation my breaking point?
The chairs and tables are a mass of blurry outlines as, shoes unlaced and iPad shoved into my bag, I walk around the tables to the door.
I turn the handle and push, but the door doesn’t budge.
Cursing, I wipe my face with my sleeve and push again.
Then, as the wind fights to close the door, I squeeze through the gap.
A wedge of icy sleet slaps me in the face. Gravel flicks into my sneakers. The door to the accommodation block swings open before slamming shut behind me. Go to bed, curl up in a ball, dream horrible dreams and deal with this in the morning.
I’m standing in the entrance, bag clutched to my chest, when Robin rushes down the corridor.
‘Flick, what on earth?’
My teeth chatter. I rub a hand across my eyes. ‘I’ll have a shower and go to bed.’
‘Why are you upset?’
A stifled hiccough. ‘Mum is in debt. Worse than usual.’
Taking my arm, Robin walks me to my room then opens the door to the bathroom.
‘Hop in the shower,’ she says kindly but firmly. ‘I’ll get your PJs.’
‘She can’t keep doing this, can she? It’s not fair.’
‘That woman …’
‘She has compulsions. If I didn’t help her, I don’t know what would happen.’
‘From the little you’ve told me, she lacks self-awareness. She won’t change until she suffers the consequences of her actions. As it is, she’s abusive.’
I swipe tears away. ‘She loves me in her own way.’
‘That’s no excuse.’
‘Do I enable her?’ My words run together.
‘Your mother takes advantage of your kindness.’ Robin’s voice is gentle as she prises open my fingers. ‘She manipulates you into facilitating her bad behaviour.’
‘I think that’s a yes.’
‘If you continue to prop her up, she has no incentive to change.’
‘Losing Matt—’
‘Your brother’s death was also a loss for you. There is no monopoly on grief.’
‘She tries to fill the void.’
‘At your expense.’ Robin stands back. ‘What else is going on? Why did you miss dinner again?’
‘I have a lot of desk work.’
‘That’s what you said last night, and the night before. Why are you working these extraordinary hours?’
The lump in my throat gets bigger and bigger. ‘There’s something I’m doing and maybe I shouldn’t be doing it but it’s only short term.’
‘Does this something concern Seb Thorsen?’
‘When I see him in person, I’ll tell him. Please don’t say anything.’
‘You have enough going on without him making things worse.’ She steps around me to turn on the hot tap. ‘Let’s get you warmed up.’
‘My iPad and camera are in my bag. I’d better—’
‘I’ll see to it.’ She points through the steam. ‘In you get, Flick, before you freeze to death. I’ll also put the kettle on.’
I stand under the stream of water, wash and condition my hair and lather my body. I shut my eyes, breathe slowly and count to ten. Twenty. Thirty. Is that meditation?
Live your best life.
My mother told me she’d paid for the cruise with the birthday money I’d given her to fix her car. She asked me to pay for a helicopter ride and I told her I couldn’t afford it. I gave her spending money and asked her to keep within her budget.
As I turn off the taps and reach for a towel, the tears start again.
‘Flick? Are you all right in there?’
I put my face in the towel and bite back another sob. ‘I’ll be there soon.’
Do I have to pick up the pieces all over again? Like I did after I was sentenced for theft and assault? Like I did when Will took me down to the river for sex? I sniff, hiccough, sniff again.
My phone rings and Robin picks up.
‘Seb. Has the weather calmed? It still turns my stomach to think about the journey over here.’
Sebastien has been stuck on a ship for the past four days.
He’ll be here in twelve hours if the storm clears.
I wrap a towel around my hair and another around my body but as soon as I open the door, my eyes stream again.
If I hear his voice, things will only get worse.
I wipe my nose and lean against the wall.
Then I point to the phone and shake my head.
‘I’m afraid Flick is unavailable,’ Robin says.
‘Why?’ Sebastien’s voice comes through clearly.
Robin huffs. ‘She doesn’t have to answer to anyone, including you.’
‘She’s there, isn’t she?’
‘You’ll see her tomorrow.’
‘Robin! Put her on.’
‘That’s not possible.’
‘I need to know she’s all right.’ He’s speaking through his teeth.
‘I assure you, she’s perfectly well.’
‘Is she hurt?’
‘Physically, no.’
‘What do you—’
‘The poor girl is exhausted.’
‘Put her on.’
‘No.’
‘Has Dougie upset her?’
‘Dougie Gabot? I very much doubt it. He and Flick get on well.’
‘I’ll hold until she can talk.’
‘You’ll see her soon enough,’ Robin says firmly. ‘Goodnight, Sebastien.’