‘Kill what?’
The old woman sighed. ‘One day you’ll know the sins of the world, lass. And today it’s the killing we’re part of, but this one won’t trouble me as some have.’
‘What will the lady’s husband say?’
‘Some things a woman doesn’t need to tell her husband, pet. Some things a woman must decide for herself. Men carry their own burdens, but it’s the women who suffer them.’ Dorothea had no idea what her grandmother was talking about, but the tone of her voice, the thick atmosphere of the shed, made her close her eyes and put the words carefully into her remembering box.
‘This woman had no choice,’ Granny continued. ‘She has a man who takes what he wants and expects her to live with the consequences. And neither of them wants the wee one. It’s the menfolk you need to watch, girlie.’ She began grinding again. Almost as an afterthought, she added, ‘Never marry. You’ll thank me if you listen.’
Dorothea felt the sunshine plummet inside her. Marrying a lovely, handsome man like Daddy, someone happy and funny who would look after her, was the only thing she assumed she would ever do.
In the cool darkness of the shed, she tried to banish her grandmother’s words. ‘Mummy says we won’t be back often after we move.’ Dorothea’s fingers scrunched the seams of her dress, wiggling away the guilt at the mention of this secret; knowing she had erred.
Her grandmother stood sharply, reached for another jar.
‘Will you visit us when we move to London, Granny?’
‘No.’ The sun shone unexpectedly through the grimy window and the light fell on Granny’s hands, her dirty nails and thick, ugly knuckles. ‘It’s far away.’
‘But you’re our only family.’ Hot tears sprang into Dorothea’s eyes.
‘Your mother has family, girl. She just chooses not to see them.’
Eventually the pestle stopped grinding. Granny’s shoulders dropped slowly, as if she was softening the blow of this news for Dorothea. ‘Your mother wants a different life for you, girl. But I have things to teach you too. So, watch and listen. You have the second sight, Dorothea. You know things, just as I do.’
‘What things?’
‘Things that most don’t see.’
Therewasone thing she knew that Granny didn’t. ‘Daddy’s got a job with a man who wears a suit,’ said Dorothea, her pride about Daddy’s new situation fighting with her confusion. ‘At the races. He says it’s brilliant.’
‘Nothing good will come of him hanging round those nags.’
Dorothea felt herself flatten inside. Her daddy loved the horses and came home happy and gave her pennies.
‘Go into the corner there and get me that pile of cuttings. I have a lot to teach you, and we’d better hurry before your father gets back and sees you in here.’ Dorothea scuttled to the corner of the shed and leaned down to collect some branches of a bush with small yellowing leaves. She handed them to Granny.
‘You’re in Glasgow for another month. Plenty you can learn in that time. And he’ll be back come Samhain. I’ll tell him tobring you.’ Granny let her hand rest on Dorothea’s for a fleeting moment and the rough, thick weight of it was calming. She plucked leaves from the bush and placed them in a neat pile on the bench. ‘They call me the Cailleach,’ she said quietly. ‘One day, you will have this name. You need to watch hard and mind me now, little one.’
18
PHYLLIDA
1995, NSW SOUTHERN HIGHLANDS, AUSTRALIA
Phyllida rested the casserole dish on top of the fence post and unlatched Miriam’s front gate. They must eat, she told herself again. David was getting too thin with all this physical work at Miriam’s house, and not enough of Phyllida’s healthy meals to sustain him. And Miriam herself was terrifyingly undernourished. It would be so good if she could just eat some of this delicious beef casserole to give her iron and energy to get her through this grieving period.
It worried Phyllida, how smitten David was with this woman. Miriam was so much older and had, she suspected, been in some sort of relationship with another man very recently.
As soon as the pair had met at the funeral, Phyllida could see David was falling hard. Over the weeks he had been heartbroken on Miriam’s behalf at the mess her mother had left. In his brief interludes at home, he kept mentioning the unpaid bills Miriamwas still finding beneath newspapers and in drawers. The bank was on the verge of foreclosing on the house, and so now Miriam must sell it quickly or begin paying the arrears. No modelling jobs of interest had come through for her and so apparently she had decided to stay here in the village until one did.It’s only ninety minutes to the city. She could be back in a blink if anything comes up, Mum. She still needs to work.David had recounted this as if he had given serious consideration to the logistics of Miriam’s modelling career and housing situation and her general financial crisis. As if it was somehow his problem. A cold wave of concern had gripped Phyllida that day as she watched him retrieve the lawnmower from the shed to tidy up Miriam’s garden for another real estate agent’s visit. So much for his exam study.
He had been sleeping at Miriam’s for a month now, and she had forced herself to say nothing. To smile. To act as she told herself she must: a supportive mother allowing her child to find his wings. He was a man now, after all. Two short years ago he had left childhood behind. He was falling in love for the first time. She must accept it. Although it was a situation that even Roddy, who had come down to visit recently, had raised questioning eyebrows over. Roddy kept his own counsel, though.
Phyllida stepped onto Miriam’s deck. The timber was dilapidated, needing repair. She noticed a pile on top of a folded tarpaulin to her right: a large packet of sandpaper, a paintbrush and paint. She paused and looked around the garden. The hedges were overgrown, harbouring the hum of birds and insects in the pale afternoon light.
Phyllida balanced the casserole on a sideboard outside the open back door. It was an unusually mild autumn day. She wasabout to call out, to announce herself, but a movement stopped her. David was sitting at the table with Miriam, his hand on hers. The look he was giving her made Phyllida catch her breath. The devotion in it. Miriam leaned in to kiss him and Phyllida had to look away. The gentleness of her touch, her body reaching around Phyllida’s boy to hold him with arms as thin as a praying mantis.
‘You need to rest,’ Miriam told him. ‘You’re working too hard. Go on, off to bed.’
