When she’d found a few options that she thought she could afford, Polly had made appointments to inspect them. The first agent was a woman by the name of Sue Haley who kindly offered to drive Polly around and show her some of the other properties on her books.
It had been foolish, in retrospect, not to realize that word would get back to Nora.
“I ran into a colleague at the shops today,” Nora said one evening. Polly had been at the kitchen bench shelling peas, and Nora was sitting on the sofa, bouncing Jess on her knee. “She mentioned that she’d shown an apartment to a Polly Turner-Bridges and wasn’t that a coincidence.”
Polly’s heart sank, but her mother didn’t seem angry. “I just wish you’d told me,” she said. “I felt so embarrassed. To stand there while that awful woman looked at me, gleeful to realize that my daughter hadn’t included me in her plans.”
Polly felt a wave of shame. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you.”
“I’m more upset that you thought you couldn’t trust me. I don’t expect you to live with me forever. I know how lucky I’ve been to hold on to you both for as long as I have. You’re always welcome here, of course, but I understand—you’re twenty-two years old, an adult in your own right, and a mother, for goodness’ sake!”
Polly had felt awash with relief and gratitude. All of her worry had been for nothing. Her workmate, Sharon, with whom she shared most shifts at the shop, had frowned when she said she was nervous about what her mother would say, and Polly had felt foolish when she tried to explain that her mother was different, that they were very close. It had sounded stupid, even to her own ears, more so when Sharon said, “Wouldn’t she be happy to see you enjoying your independence?” Polly hadn’t known what to say to that, and in the end she’d said nothing; obviously Sharon had missed the point.
“Have you found anything you like?” Nora asked.
“Not yet. They were all a bit...” Polly lifted a shoulder.
“I can imagine. If you’d spoken to me, I’d have warned you about Sue Haley. She’s well-meaning, and there’s a market for every kind of property, but an agent’s list is only as good as the agent herself.”
“I don’t need luxury,” Polly protested.
“I might be able to help,” continued Nora, as if Polly hadn’t spoken, lifting Jess onto her hip and going to her desk in the small office off the kitchen. “Something of a coincidence, but one of my favorite little apartments is becoming available next month. It would be perfect for the two of you. You probably wanted to do this all by yourself—I can remember being your age—but it’s right around the corner from Jessica’s kindergarten. I know you wouldn’t want to move her. This way, you’d still be able to walk there.” She held out a brochure.
Polly looked at the photograph. She knew the apartment block. It was one of the nicer ones up near the playground. Not brand-new, but a significant improvement on the flats she’d been looking at with Sue Haley.
Nora was right; Polly had wanted to do it by herself. She thought back to the thrill she’d felt, almost of danger, when Sue Haley had slowed her car out the front of a six-pack brick block of flats in a part of Sydney she’d never been to before.
But in choosing such an apartment just to avoid having to ask her mother for help, was she hurting Jess in some way?
“What’s the rent?”
“One fifty a week.”
“For an apartment with an en suite?”
“It’s very small. The second bedroom is little more than a glorified cupboard.”
Polly wasn’t sure whether her mother was telling her the truth or not.
“Why don’t you look, at least?” said Nora. “If you don’t like it, or it’s not suitable, you can give Sue Haley another call.”
Polly thought about it and agreed that she would go to see the apartment the following day. And of course, as her mother said, if she didn’t want to take it, she didn’t have to.
“Wonderful,” said Nora. “You can be independent without having to make Jess live in squalor. And, if you need me, I’ll be just around the corner.”
Jess arrived at the kitchen to find Polly lost in thought and clutching a handful of cutlery. She appeared to be in the process of un-setting the table. Jess felt a wave of frustration and quickly quelled it. She was tired and desperately sad; the surge of resentment she felt as she registered the disarray, the hint of uncertainty and dithering, had nothing really to do with her mother. At least, that’s what she told herself.
“Oh, Jess, hello,” said Polly, noticing her, gesturing uncertainly toward Nora’s table. “I’ve put a cold platter together. I thought that might be best for dinner. Something light?”
Jess ignored the hesitant rising inflection at the end of what was a perfectly reasonable statement. “Sounds good.”
“I know you probably don’t feel like anything heavier.”
“No.”
“But it’s important to eat.”
Jess smiled grimly. Fifteen minutes of patience, she told herself, and then she could go back upstairs and be alone.
