Something about my agreeing with him, or the way in which I do it, seems to aggravate him further.
‘I’m trying to help you, you know. Mum and Dad are doing you no favours letting you mooch around here doing nothing.’
I continue gardening, now starting on the weeds and nutgrass that quickly spread out of control, strangling our edible plants during the warmer months. It is wild how winter is now the best season for growing; that cannot be a good sign, climate-wise. I relocate some of the marigold seedlings that have sprouted up, seeds that must have lain dormant since last year’s warmest season. They are good at their job of repelling pests and attracting pollinators. I think about being a marigold, hiding deep in the soil until the conditions are right for me to thrive.
‘Hey, are you even listening? You can’t expect to be able to do nothing forever.’
Even as I become aware of how this interaction is escalating, I do not feel part of it. It is happening to someone else, somewhere nearby. I am alert to potential danger, but aware or perhaps not aware enough to know I have little control over how things will unfold. Much like the grasshoppers, who must sense I am trying to catch them, I stay still. My world is tiny, green buds rising from dark earth.
‘You really have lost the plot, then,’ he says, continuing his mission to get something from me, the essence of which remains a mystery.
No sudden movements; I find the secateurs to trim the parsley plants that are beginning to go to seed.
‘Ignore me all you want; everyone agrees. I told Mum I would help you get work, but I’ll let her know you’re not interested in my help.’
‘Okay, you let her know,’ I reply.
I am aware that my doing poorly, being out of myself, is the reason I am not able to engage with this conversation, but I may have also accidentally stumbled upon the healthiest way to respond to this version of my brother. To find myself so sick I have become well, all the way around like a circle – what a bloody miracle. Or maybe it is avoidance, because I know I will get my feelings hurt interacting with someone who does not have the capacity or inclination to see any other view than their own. It is a knot I cannot brush out, so I save myself the effort of trying. After saying a few more things at me, Luke goes to get ready for tonight’s event, leaving me to my garden work. I take myself to a place where my garden work is appreciated.
Mum and Dad come out to admire all of the effort I have put into the garden beds they have not had time to maintain.
‘You’ve transformed them,’ Mum says, taking time to admire the careful way I have wired each tomato plant to allow for maximum sun to reach the fruit.
‘Well done, sweetie. It’s never looked so good,’ Dad adds.
I pick them snow peas and green beans to snack on, and run some of my plans for further planting past them.
‘I was thinking we could add an archway, and I could grow passionfruit vines around it, so it feels like a secret garden,’ I say.
‘I could build you an arch,’ Dad suggests.
‘You loved that book,’ Mum says with a smile.
We mark out the space for the arch, and Dad promises he will go to the nursery to pick up two new plants later on. They can see that my being out here is helpful, healing. I am so thrilled they are pleased.
The white car pulls into the driveway next door and I am back in my body, skin alight. I cannot help but stare, and then catch myself, trying to find an angle for my face that allows me to continue watching through peripheral vision. The car comes to a stop, and the driver door opens. I see slides, tan legs, a polo shirt, and a cropped head of hair emerge. Each detail is a further affront to the memories I harbour, until I realise it is Martin I am observing. My shoulders loosen, and my attention returns to the plants.
‘Nora, is that you? The prodigal daughter returns.’
I look up with my best effort at feigned surprise. Martin is standing at the fence line, one hand on his hip and the other shielding his eyes from the sun.
‘Oh, hey Martin,’ I say, giving a small wave.
I turn the nozzle of the hose to give the plants another round of watering; it will not hurt in this weather. If I keep my feet rooted to the spot, our relative distance will limit the depth and hopefully length of conversation that is thrust upon me.
‘I didn’t know you were home. Back for Christmas, then? Olivia and Luke as well?’
He is not taking the hint, only projecting his voice louder to continue our chat.
‘Yep, the gang’s all here. And you?’
‘Ah yeah, just the week, not like Fran. Have you caught up with him? I’m not sure he knows you’re home.’
‘Not yet.’
‘I can send him over now if you like – might be the only thing that’ll get him out of his room.’
I turn off the hose and shift to face Martin, trying my best to remain in one piece.
