Chapter Two
‘Mary! It’s so nice to meet you!’ Vivian pulled me into an incense-infused hug that was so overwhelming it made me slightly dizzy – both the smell and the embrace. I was really not a touchy-feely sort of person and I should have taken her enthusiasm as an early sign that this was not going to work.
‘Uh. Yes. Thanks. You too.’ I extricated myself and took a step backwards, lest Vivan’s urge to smother me in her body and aroma resurfaced.
At that moment, a dog the size of a small cow ran my way, almost bowling me over.
‘Jesus!’ I tried to shield my body with my hands. I was not a dog person either. The slobber, the hyperactivity, the neediness. All traits I had no affinity for.
‘Oh, look! He loves you! This is Walter! Walter meet Mary!’ Vivian was practically jumping up and down with joy (like Walter), as though she was introducing two of her long-lost children to one another.
‘Hello, Walter.’ My voice sounded like a robot. I reminded myself I’d already paid for one month’s rent up front. Shit. This was what desperation did.
‘Do you want a cup of tea? I’ve just brewed chai!’ Vivian was already leading me and Walter inside.
‘Thanks, I’m actually … I might see the room, or … “Granny Flat”. I’m just off night shift.’
‘Oh.’ She looked momentarily disappointed before recovering instantly. ‘Okay!’
She led me through her back garden, past about thirty wind chimes, three sets of prayer flags, at least four bird feeders and an uncountable number of rainbow-coloured windmills.
My senses were too overwhelmed to even appreciate the shoots of daffodils and snowdrops emerging in the rambling, overgrown areas next to the path.
A cat screeched and slunk around the corner.
A small, yapping fluffball – another dog!
– tried to eat my shoe. And I tripped over a garden gnome, falling straight into a water fountain shaped like a naked man.
I managed to stop my fall, but unfortunately, my hand had come to rest on a ceramic penis.
‘Home sweet home!’ Vivian exclaimed. We had arrived at a tin shed with a giant red heart hanging on the door that indeed read Home Sweet Home.
‘Uh-huh.’ I nodded, trying to see the positives in the situation. Like the fact I hadn’t stepped in any dog shit yet. Just to be sure, I looked at my shoe, because suddenly something was smelling suspicious …
My heart sank.
Vivian opened the door to the tin shed. ‘Isn’t it gorgeous?’
In all fairness, the shed had a sort of cosy charm to it that people very different from me might appreciate.
A Persian-style rug on the floor. Bookcases full of weathered-looking titles.
Candles on every flat surface. Dream catchers with peacock feathers and glass beads dangling in front of the small window.
A futon with red cushions and a velvety purple throw tucked over it.
It looked like somewhere a lot of people before me had spent many a day smoking bongs and watching the fairies dance in front of them. Entirely not my thing.
Vivian was watching me with eager anticipation.
‘It’s … wow. I don’t know what to say.’
She took that as a positive response. ‘I knew you’d love it! I could just tell you were the right person for it! Shall I bring the chai in here?’
The small yappy thing at my feet barked.
‘Uh … actually, maybe I’ll just settle in a bit.’
Vivian took her leave and I studied my new home.
Fortunately, I didn’t have many belongings, because there was absolutely no room for anything of mine.
And the futon, it would seem, was the bed.
Who knows how many bongs had been smoked on that thing and how many furry creatures had shared the night sleeping on it?
I still didn’t feel as if I had found somewhere I was going to be able to sleep, but there are standards of cleanliness and there is desperation, and unfortunately the latter was where I was now positioned; I’d been awake for twenty-eight hours and even I had a limited time in which I could maintain wakefulness.
By the end of the day, I would genuinely need sleep.
Grim. The situation was indeed grim.
My phone sounded with a new message and I reflexively checked it. I’d been so consumed by survival and blocking out the events of the previous day that seeing Felix’s name appear on the screen was like an unexpected kick to the guts.
Felix: Mary please call me. Are you OK? Let me explain. I love you.
I hated how those last three words still managed to rattle me, unsteady me.
I could see the version of reality where I picked up the phone and called him back.
He’d know the things to say that would make me forgive him, maybe realise it was my fault too; I had been distracted and not given our relationship the energy it needed.
We’d make up and we’d both say sorry. And I could go back, back to my clean flat, back to the ease of a relationship with Felix that made life feel a sort of flippancy I’d always been so drawn to.
Back to my soft bed and someone warm beside me.
But the pain was fresh enough that anger stopped me taking that road, the road that would have felt so easy. I don’t know if it was anger at Felix or anger at myself. My brain was too tired to think much at all, so I forced myself to focus on the critical goal: sleep.
I walked out of Vivian’s and straight to the Harris Scarfe bedding section, where I bought a cheap, but nonetheless unused, sheet set, pillow and doona. I walked back up the hill with the oversized bag hanging off my back like some kind of fucked-up Santa Claus.
The bedding situation was now, at the very least, tolerable. And that night, I was finally able to disappear into the short but blissful oblivion of sleep.
‘Hello, Eb,’ I answered, putting my ear buds in as I walked. It was 1:20 p.m., ten minutes until my afternoon shift started.
‘Mair!’ My sister’s voice was on loudspeaker and I could hear the chaotic voices of her three children in the background. ‘You didn’t call me back yesterday. You’re forgetting about us, aren’t you?’
‘Sorry.’ My stomach gave a guilty lurch. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine. But Molly has croup again. Should I start steroids?’
My sister’s family was a constant source of medical questions and I was glad that I could help her. I should have called her back yesterday.
‘How bad is she? Does she have stridor?’
Ebony gave me a long description of cough character and snot details, and how little sleep she’d had for the past few nights.
I couldn’t help but think about how little sleep I’d had for the past few nights.
Walter barked incessantly, and the little furball (whose name was Mandy) had a tone so high pitched and relentless not even the earplugs I pressed deeper and deeper into my ear canals could drown out the sound.
‘Are you listening?’
‘Sorry.’ I chided myself for thinking about my situation instead of Molly’s croup. ‘Did you say it was day two or three now?’
‘You’re not listening at all! Day two. She’s doing that strangled cat sound when she breathes in. Like even right now, while she’s watching Bluey.’
‘Okay, let’s start the steroids.’
We talked for a few more minutes about croup and rehashed when to take Molly to hospital.
‘How’s Mum?’ I asked when I felt I’d finally fulfilled my attentive aunt duties.
‘She’s okay. I think.’ The line changed – I’d been taken off loud speaker.
‘We visited last week. She’s started some art classes, seems pretty excited about that.
’ Ebony’s tone was vague, giving me no meaningful insight into how my mother really was.
My sister knew what I was asking, but she was almost dismissive in her response.
Images of my childhood home flashed in my brain and I had to physically suppress the need to know the state of it. How did it look? Was it clean or chaos? Was the recycling bin full of bottles? Or was it suspiciously empty?
‘Do you think she’s … drinking at the moment?’
‘I don’t know, Mary,’ Ebony snapped. ‘Sometimes you just need to turn a blind eye, right?’
Ebony hated being the conduit for me assessing my mum’s wellbeing.
And I hated putting her in that position.
My frustration at being so far away swelled.
Ebony’s approach had always been very different from mine: enjoy the good bits; deal with the consequences later.
I could never turn off the anxiety of what was to come.
I forced myself to swallow my concerns and not press her for any more details.
‘How does the garden look?’ I asked instead. This was safer territory.
Ebony chuckled. ‘Like a fucking jungle.’
That came as no surprise. I was the only one who had ever taken interest in the garden.
‘Well, maybe I’ll have a trip home soon and tidy it up. See all of you.’
‘It’d be a shame for your flowers to die,’ Ebony agreed.
‘The daffodils should start popping out soon. I bet they’re already coming out of the ground.’
‘I wouldn’t know. It’s all grass to me.’ Ebony’s tone was teasing, but I could hear the affection back in her voice.
I felt a pang at the fact I’d miss the daffodils emerging this year. It was always a sight that gave me a weirdly powerful sense of hope. Like my own personal prayer or something.