Chapter 18 Phyllida
PHYLLIDA
Phyllida rested the casserole dish on top of the fence post and unlatched Miriam’s front gate.
They must eat, she told herself again. David was getting too thin with all this physical work at Miriam’s house, and not enough of Phyllida’s healthy meals to sustain him.
And Miriam herself was terrifyingly undernourished.
It would be so good if she could just eat some of this delicious beef casserole to give her iron and energy to get her through this grieving period.
It worried Phyllida, how smitten David was with this woman. Miriam was so much older and had, she suspected, been in some sort of relationship with another man very recently.
As soon as the pair had met at the funeral, Phyllida could see David was falling hard.
Over the weeks he had been heartbroken on Miriam’s behalf at the mess her mother had left.
In his brief interludes at home, he kept mentioning the unpaid bills Miriam was still finding beneath newspapers and in drawers.
The bank was on the verge of foreclosing on the house, and so now Miriam must sell it quickly or begin paying the arrears.
No modelling jobs of interest had come through for her and so apparently she had decided to stay here in the village until one did.
It’s only ninety minutes to the city. She could be back in a blink if anything comes up, Mum.
She still needs to work. David had recounted this as if he had given serious consideration to the logistics of Miriam’s modelling career and housing situation and her general financial crisis.
As if it was somehow his problem. A cold wave of concern had gripped Phyllida that day as she watched him retrieve the lawnmower from the shed to tidy up Miriam’s garden for another real estate agent’s visit. So much for his exam study.
He had been sleeping at Miriam’s for a month now, and she had forced herself to say nothing.
To smile. To act as she told herself she must: a supportive mother allowing her child to find his wings.
He was a man now, after all. Two short years ago he had left childhood behind.
He was falling in love for the first time.
She must accept it. Although it was a situation that even Roddy, who had come down to visit recently, had raised questioning eyebrows over. Roddy kept his own counsel, though.
Phyllida stepped onto Miriam’s deck. The timber was dilapidated, needing repair.
She noticed a pile on top of a folded tarpaulin to her right: a large packet of sandpaper, a paintbrush and paint.
She paused and looked around the garden.
The hedges were overgrown, harbouring the hum of birds and insects in the pale afternoon light.
Phyllida balanced the casserole on a sideboard outside the open back door.
It was an unusually mild autumn day. She was about to call out, to announce herself, but a movement stopped her.
David was sitting at the table with Miriam, his hand on hers.
The look he was giving her made Phyllida catch her breath.
The devotion in it. Miriam leaned in to kiss him and Phyllida had to look away.
The gentleness of her touch, her body reaching around Phyllida’s boy to hold him with arms as thin as a praying mantis.
‘You need to rest,’ Miriam told him. ‘You’re working too hard. Go on, off to bed.’
‘I’d say come with me, but I am feeling pretty average.’ He smiled glumly.
Phyllida flushed with embarrassment, but worry quickly replaced every other thought.
She was surprised David hadn’t rallied since yesterday, when he’d popped home to get some clothes and mentioned how unwell he’d felt.
She’d given him a cup of soup, mixed in some healing herbs and made him sit until he promised he would have an early night.
The casserole she held in her hands now contained ginger, garlic and turmeric to soothe his stomach and his immune system.
She had assumed he would be better by now but, still, she had used her special bone broth as a base, rich in all the minerals his body might need if the illness persisted.
Now, Phyllida was frozen with indecision. She wanted to drag David home, to insist he recover from whatever was ailing him under her watchful eye.
David stood and, in the last rays of sunlight, she noticed his complexion was oddly bright. Perhaps it was the twilight reflecting his tan from all these hours in Miriam’s garden.
She rapped on the doorframe. ‘Hello,’ she called. ‘Special delivery.’
‘Mum?’ said David.
‘Hello,’ said Miriam.
‘I brought you over a casserole. With all the work you’ve been doing, I’m guessing there’s been no time to cook.’ She smiled and David smiled back.
‘Thank you,’ said Miriam. There was a brief silence. ‘David’s feeling a little off colour, but I’m actually starving.’ She frowned, as if perplexed by this scenario.
Phyllida wondered if the woman knew she was pregnant.
Possibly not. It had only been a month or so since the funeral when Phyllida had sensed the life inside Miriam’s womb, and perhaps it had only been a week or two before that day when the child had been conceived.
No doubt Miriam’s monthly cycle was sporadic, given the regular starvation the girl obviously inflicted on herself.
Phyllida reasoned she could do no more than offer food; for this woman and her unborn child, and for her son.
It was a complex situation but not hers to meddle in.
She would cook for them and hover at the edges, ready to offer whatever help was needed.
She wondered what Miriam would do when she discovered the pregnancy.
She wondered what David would think about the burgeoning presence of another man’s child.
‘That’s great, Mum. I’m about to have a quick nap then I’ll have some when I get up.’
‘It’s five o’clock,’ said Phyllida, testing the boundaries of her welcome. ‘Too late for Doctor Patel if you’re still feeling poorly, but perhaps you should visit him tomorrow?’
‘Stop worrying,’ said David. ‘I’ll be fine.’
Phyllida placed the casserole on the stovetop. All three stood in silence, and she thought of the crow that had eyed her carefully from the lower branch of the cherry tree as she came in the gate. ‘You must eat up then, Miriam dear. Your body knows what you need.’
Was the bird a warning that the child inside Miriam was at risk? If death was hovering, she must be wary. Be on hand. Listen to the earth, to the wind and birds, she reminded herself. Listen for your wisdom.
‘It’s beef and lentil,’ she said. ‘Nourishing. Complete.’