‘I suppose. I mean we’ve never really revisited that time, had the conversation, and there are still things that, I don’t know, erm ... things.’ She stumbled on her words, wondering how to explain that sometimes she still had the breath knocked out of her with naked fear of all that might or could happen again. And how the memory of that hurt was enough to make her want to curl up and hide. It felt impossible to phrase without it sounding like she expected Charles to cheat, which she categorically didnot. It was more like a muscle memory, like one scalded who is wary around hot water. It felt a lot like unfinished business, she suddenly realised. ‘I guess things became more civil between us, but easier? I’m not sure.’
There was a moment of silence before Bear spoke.
‘I can’t settle, Mum. I’m exhausted. I need to go back to the flat and sort things with Petra. We need to unpick our lives and I owe her a longer conversation than a quick chat in the car and while I was carrying her bags up to the front door. I want to tell her everything calmly, so there’s no surprises lurking, and I want to make sure she knows that I’m there for her and how much I’ve really loved our love and our friendship. She’s great. She’s just not for me. And I’m not for her.’
Harriet was struck by his maturity. His empathy and his desire to end this relationship with kindness, knowing it would make all the difference in the future, help Petra, in time, reach acceptance too. It was a balm to some of her concerns.
‘I’m so proud of you, Bear. Truly proud of the person you are.’
‘Thank you.’ He stared at his feet, still a little awkward at accepting the compliment.
There was a knock on the door as Charles entered, wearing an apron that was splattered with what looked like tomato sauce and she couldn’t help but admire a slice of red onion that nestled on his scalp.
‘Need a bit of help, Harry!’ He pulled a face. ‘Tried to make pasta sauce and the whole saucepan has exploded.’
‘So I see.’ Her gingham apron looked ruined.
‘Yes, you’ll also see it on the work surface, the stove, the wall and one or two major splats on the ceiling.’ His expression was part sheepish, part highly amused.
‘How, Charles, how?’ She stood up and prepared to get scrubbing.
‘I don’t know!’ He laughed. ‘One minute I’m adding oregano and the next I’m diving for cover.’
She turned to her son who looked a lot better than when he’d arrived, with a little colour in his cheeks and a more upright demeanour. ‘Forget what I said about me treasuring this husband of mine.’ She laughed. ‘The man is a complete doofus!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
TAWRIEGUNN
AUGUST2024
With the window open, bringing some relief to the stagnant air, Tawrie drew the curtains to keep the daylight at bay, hoping her mum might find some rest in sleep. She lifted the chair from behind the old desk, creeping across the carpet, sidestepping the clutter of clothes and crockery that made for a tricky obstacle course, before placing it down beside Annalee’s bed. Her mother’s eyes were closed. It had been a long, long night for them all.
The bedroom door opened and Freda crept in with a mug of tea.
‘You look exhausted, love. Was it busy at the hospital?’ she whispered.
‘Thanks, Nan.’ She took the mug into her hands and held it close to her chest, a warming thing against her heart where a chill lurked. The hot drink was restorative nectar. ‘It was busy when we arrived, then quiet for much of the night while we waited for her to get X-rays done and checked over and things.’
‘It’s good she sleeps.’ Her nan peered at Annalee.
Her mother was a pitiful sight, sitting propped up in the middle of the bed, leaning back on her pillow mountain. An insubstantial slip of a thing who looked as if she might float away, had she not been weighted down by the duvet and blanket that Tawrie had folded over her legs. Her tiny body sustained by little more than alcohol fumes, and her wobbly head loose on her thin neck. It tore at her heart to see Annalee so frail. The cut across the top of her right eyebrow, now artfully stitched, and her split and swollen top lip only added to her sorry state.
Tawrie chose not to share how her mother had railed against the doctors who tried to examine her, had practically fought with the paramedic who wheeled her into the A&E department, and how she and Uncle Sten had spent the best part of the previous twelve hours apologising on her behalf, and offering profuse thanks to everyone they encountered, as if their gratitude could somehow balance Annalee’s blatant lack of grace.
It was conflicting. The pitiful sight that evoked such compassion, yet knowing the reason for such a disaster was her drinking. This edged with anger that it wasn’t the first time she’d been called upon to come to Annalee’s rescue, and she would bet her final dollar that it wouldn’t be the last.
The whole ghastly event coupled with a night spent wide awake, wired, had made Tawrie wrestle with some uncomfortable truths. She had thought being in close proximity, on hand, meant her mother wouldn’t come to real harm. Yet she’d only been yards away from her when that tumble could have ended with a snapped neck and there wasn’t a darn thing Tawrie could have done about it. This realisation that she couldn’t, no matter how much she willed it, keep Annalee Gunn safe – or her nan or her dad, for that matter – was as enlightening as it was galling. But the fact was, these grown-ups were responsible for their actions, not her. And if she accepted this, then didn’t she also have to accept that she was the only person responsibleforheractions. And if this were the case, then it also followed that the only person holding her back was herself. It was a lot.
She saw with absolute clarity, as she watched the hands of the clock go round and round on the wall of the accident and emergency department, that if she ever wanted to get out of the middle lane of mediocrity, if she ever wanted to achieve her dreams, be like the nurses who bustled along the strip-lit corridors, she had to act. Her happiness and her future lay in her hands, not anyone else’s – especially not in Ed Stratton’s.
The thought was at once scary and liberating.
‘Connie’s been calling and texting.’ Freda’s words made her focus on the now. ‘She said don’t worry about last night and don’t worry about going in today. She’s called Jan in to cover your shift.’
‘Okay. I’ll call her in a bit.’ It was a relief to know that she too might be able to rest, for a while at least. It was a reminder that she was also due down at Hele Bay Beach for her swim, and the last thing she wanted was to worry Maudie and Jago. Opening Facebook on her phone, she left them a message on the crappy Peacocks page, knowing they probably wouldn’t get it until they got back from their dip, but it was the least she could do. If only they were mobile-phone savvy – it would be so much easier if she could call them.
‘I’ll leave you to it, darling. If you need me, I’ll be downstairs.’ Freda creased her face into a gentle smile of understanding.
