Chapter 13
13
Ruth
The weather remained hot and everything wilted, including me. The herbs and tomato plants in tubs on the patio drooped in the heat no matter how much water I poured onto them. In the cafe, ice creams and cold drinks were all anyone wanted. We ran out of bottled water and I had to scurry to the supermarket to buy more. The start to summer had been mild and we’d yet to acclimatise, or that’s what I’d been telling myself and anyone else who’d listen.
By Friday afternoon, Allie’s usual bounce and optimism was at an all-time low. She was trying hard, I could see that. She hadn’t mentioned her ex-husband again and I hadn’t asked if he was still staying in her sleep-out. She came the closest to being her usual self when she commented on how cheerful Mia had been.
‘She was like a different kid when she came home on Sunday. She actually spoke to me first. Then on Tuesday she went out, said she was putting her name down for night fill at the supermarket on top of the days she’s working here. Okay in the holidays, I said, but definitely not when school starts again. She’ll need to knuckle down if she wants to get through Year 12 with reasonable results. It doesn’t come as easily to her as it does to Cody.’
‘What does she want to do when she finishes school?’ I said, with a twinge of guilt because I already knew and I was prying.
‘She’ll go to university,’ Allie said as if there wasn’t any other option. ‘A tertiary education will give her the opportunities I missed out on.’
‘Is uni what Mia wants?’
‘No,’ Allie said and winced. ‘All she wants to do is see the world. God knows where she gets the travel bug from. Whenever I broach the subject of university, we argue and she storms out and won’t talk to me for the rest of the day. Or the week, depending on how heated the argument was.’
‘For what it’s worth, Allie, I did go to university because it’s what my parents wanted for me. It was okay, but it was the hospitality and bar course I did at TAFE that took me around the world, not the arts and communications degrees. And I didn’t need a university education to establish and run a successful small business.’
‘Yes, but you’ve had that education and no one can ever take it away from you. A university education will open doors for Mia that have always remained tightly closed for me. And I don’t just mean employment opportunities.’
I took in Allie’s mutinous expression. No question where Mia’s stubborn streak came from. I wanted to smile but I didn’t.
‘Mia is a good worker. She has plenty of drive and determination. I’m sure she’ll make a success of whatever she does. The point is that a university education is not the be-all and end-all some people make it out to be. I’ll admit that, during my working life, some of the jobs I’ve had wouldn’t have been possible without a university education. On the flip side, I wouldn’t have made Rosie’s work without the experience I’d had in the hospitality industry.’
Allie’s expression was hard to read. Had I gone too far? Should I apologise for butting into something that was none of my business?
Then she said, ‘Point taken, Ruth. A parent only ever wants to see their children flourish and hopefully not make the same mistakes as they did.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘And you know, you’re never too old to go to university.’
That brought forth a bark of laughter from her and a smile from me. An unexpected influx of customers sent us back to work and I think Allie was relieved.
After she’d left for the day, not noticeably happier than she had been, and Laurie had done the floors and taken out the rubbish, Angie turned up with her arms full of my clothes. She’d come by on Wednesday morning and I’d shown her to the spare room, pointed to the bed and told her to help herself. ‘If nothing there takes your fancy—’ I’d said as I slid open one side of the double wardrobe, ‘—you’re sure to find something here.’
Her eyes had nearly popped out of her head. ‘So many clothes,’ she’d whispered and given me a wide-eyed look of wonder. ‘Have you actually worn them all?’
‘Why else would I have them? Mind you, I haven’t worn many of them in the last five years. More’s the pity.’
She’d blinked and her mouth had moved as if she’d wanted to say something but didn’t quite know what. An hour later she’d left laden with a selection to try on in front of her own bedroom mirror.
‘I think I’ve found the perfect dress,’ she said now, her eyes sparkling. ‘It’s a tad tight but I had a quick squizzy and I think there might be room in the seams. Okay if I take these through and put them back in the wardrobe? And then see what you think about what I’ve chosen?’
‘Just leave them on the bed. Do you have time to try it on now? I’ll finish up here and come through.’
‘I have about half an hour. Lily’s with Zach. They’re getting tea. She watches him, entranced, and they eat half the vegetables raw.’
‘What a cutie,’ I said. I held open the doors and she went through to the house and into the spare room.
Five minutes later, I joined her. She had her back to me when I walked into the bedroom. Gone were the shorts and T-shirt she’d been wearing. She turned around slowly.
‘What do you think?’ she said, head tilted to one side.
‘Ooh, don’t you look lovely! Zach won’t be able to take his eyes off you.’
She’d chosen a silk cheongsam in swirling blues and greys. It’d been custom made on a visit to Hong Kong. I couldn’t remember when I’d worn it last … at least fifteen years ago. It was perfect for her colouring, highlighting her blue-grey eyes, and the simple style suited her shapely figure. It looked better on her than it ever had on me. But she was right: it was a snug fit, especially around the middle. I could see the seams straining when she lifted her arms.
‘Comes with having a baby,’ she said, dropping her arms and patting her barely there tummy.
‘Slip it off and let’s see what can be done. And leave the other clothes, I’ll put them away.’
Fifteen minutes later, Angie left with me promising to make whatever alterations I could over the next few days. The fit would remain firm but at least she’d be able to breathe and move about without the risk of a seam splitting. We’d talked shoes and accessories and what she was having done with her hair. She was grinning from ear to ear when she waved goodbye.
‘Thanks, Ruth. Am I ever so glad I ran into you in Kadina. I want to look special for Zach and if it had been left up to me, I’d probably have been wearing the grey dress again.’
‘You will look gorgeous for him,’ I said and felt a bit of a lump in my throat.
In the wake of Angie’s visit, I felt decidedly flat. She’d radiated a quiet calm and joy. If ever she’d had any qualms about giving up her single, transient lifestyle, which I believe she had, there was no evidence of it now. Although I was thrilled for her, I could acknowledge the sliver of envy that accompanied the benevolence. Not that I’d ever wanted to marry or have children; I simply hadn’t. It wasn’t her offspring I coveted; it was her joyfulness. The unambiguousness of it and the way she’d said she wanted to look special for Zach. That was what I envied: there was another person in her life that she cared about enough to want to look special for them.
It came to me while I was returning the clothes to the wardrobe. I’d last worn the cheongsam out to dinner with someone I’d wanted to look special for. Clearly my take on how special I’d looked was different from his because there hadn’t been a repeat invitation. Then again, he’d turned out to be nothing special. That’d clicked when he said, ‘Isn’t that one of those dresses Asian women wear?’ The way he’d said Asian had had the hairs on the back of my neck prickling.
As I slid the wardrobe closed, I caught my reflection in the mirrored door. My inclination was to avert my eyes and walk away, but I didn’t: I met my eye in the mirror. And then before I could dissuade myself of the whimsy, I’d stripped off the work-worn polo shirt and capris and slipped into the cheongsam. The silk was cool and smooth, sliding across my skin with a gentle sigh. It fit like a glove; looser, if anything. I stared at my reflection, not consciously thinking, not until the first tear squeezed past my defences. What had happened to the Ruth who’d once worn this dress to look special for someone else?
‘Gone, that’s where,’ I whispered to my reflection and scrubbed away the tear. ‘She’s long gone.’
Angie had said I always managed to look stylish, even in my work gear. I’d taken it as a compliment. Apart from Mum, and she’d been dead nearly six years, I could not recall a single time in the past decade when anyone had made a sincere, positive comment about my appearance, not before Angie said what she did. How sad was that? Did it mean that no-one really noticed me any more? That I was just there ? Taking up space? Visible to others only if they’d decided I could be of service them? What a depressing thought.
I changed back into my work clothes, carefully arranging the dress on a covered coat hanger. There were a few chores left to do in the cafe and then I’d hunt out my sewing machine and oil it up, ready to alter the dress for Angie. I hadn’t used the machine for months. Aprons to wear in the cafe were the last items I’d sewn. The sewing machine was just another thing that had been left to collect dust and become dry with disuse.