‘You don’t remember?’
Jenny frowned and looked out the window. She shook her head.
‘It’s okay.’ Meg tried to keep her irritation out of her voice. She’d already missed one deadline this week. She felt her phone vibrate and looked at the screen.Pete Garcia. Damn. ‘I’ve gotta take this.’
Jenny sat down in the armchair by the window as Meg stepped into the corridor.
‘Pete, sorry I had to—’
‘I’m getting a bit sick of the excuses, Meg. There are plenty of freelancers who would kill for the work. I need your story—’
‘I know, it’s nearly done. You’ll have it in half an hour.’
‘I was meant to have it an hour ago!’ He sighed. ‘Honestly, if it was anyone else, I’d tell them to forget it.’
‘I know, I’m sorry.’ Meg glanced in at Jenny. Her eyes were closed. Was she sleeping?
‘Just make sure I’ve got it by six.’
He hung up.
The room was darker when Meg returned. Jenny’s forehead was smooth, her mouth slack. The tension in her shoulders was gone and her hands lay motionless in her lap. Peace.
Meg took her laptop from her bag and sat on the bed, tapping softly at the keys.
She was doing a final read through half an hour later when a white-haired orderly appeared at the door, pushing a trolley. The smell of overcooked vegetables filled the room. He gave Meg a warm smile, then looked at Jenny.
‘Dinner’s here!’ he called out.
Jenny stirred as he placed a plastic tray on the little table beside her. She didn’t even glance at the plate with grey vegetables and some sort of meat, Meg assumed, under a pool of gravy. Her mother was somewhere else entirely, miles and decades from this small garden-view room. Meg could see the veil.
That’s how Jenny had described it when Meg first broached the subject. A veil, between herself and the world. By then, they’d been avoiding it for months, carefully sidestepping it in conversations, both working hard to convince themselves that it was easy to think it was April rather than March, or accidentally put the kettle in the fridge. But then Meg saw the post-it notes on the cupboards and drawers in Jenny’s kitchen.Cutlery.Plates.Water glasses.Wine glasses. God forbid Jenny couldn’t find a wine glass. And then Meg couldn’t pretend anymore.
‘I knew you’d come,’ her mother said, pulling Meg back to the present with a jolt.
‘Of course I’d come, Mum,’ she said, feeling like a fraud. It had definitely been more than six weeks since Jenny had moved into this room. How had Meg only visited once? But her guilt was pushed aside by the prickle of resentment that always followed.
‘Did you drive from Hartwell,’ Jenny asked, ‘or did you get the train?’
‘Where?’ Meg said, unable to keep the frustration from her voice. The orderly reappeared with a cup of tea.
‘Hartwell!’ Jenny exclaimed. ‘Do you still live in Hartwell?’
‘I live in Marrickville, Mum.’
‘Just play along, love,’ the orderly whispered to Meg. ‘It’s better that way.’
Meg tried to meet Jenny’s gaze, but she was staring now, just over Meg’s shoulder. She studied her mother’s striking eyes. Two concentric circles, golden-brown surrounding the pupil, the outer ring a dark blue, the markings of central heterochromia, which Meg had inherited from her. It was like looking at herself in the mirror, although Meg’s markings were more pronounced.
And then, the veil lifted.
Jenny frowned. ‘Meg,’ she said, her voice lighter now. ‘How long have you been here?’
Tears prickled behind Meg’s eyes. ‘Not long.’
‘Will you stay?’
Meg looked at her laptop.
