‘I’d say come with me, but I am feeling pretty average.’ He smiled glumly.
Phyllida flushed with embarrassment, but worry quickly replaced every other thought. She was surprised David hadn’t rallied since yesterday, when he’d popped home to get some clothes and mentioned how unwell he’d felt. She’d given him a cup of soup, mixed in some healing herbs and made him sit until he promised he would have an early night. The casserole she held in her hands now contained ginger, garlic and turmeric to soothe his stomach and his immune system. She had assumed he would be better by now but, still, she had used her special bone broth as a base, rich in all the minerals his body might need if the illness persisted.
Now, Phyllida was frozen with indecision. She wanted to drag David home, to insist he recover from whatever was ailing him under her watchful eye.
David stood and, in the last rays of sunlight, she noticed his complexion was oddly bright. Perhaps it was the twilight reflecting his tan from all these hours in Miriam’s garden.
She rapped on the doorframe. ‘Hello,’ she called. ‘Special delivery.’
‘Mum?’ said David.
‘Hello,’ said Miriam.
‘I brought you over a casserole. With all the work you’ve been doing, I’m guessing there’s been no time to cook.’ She smiled and David smiled back.
‘Thank you,’ said Miriam. There was a brief silence. ‘David’s feeling a little off colour, but I’m actually starving.’ She frowned, as if perplexed by this scenario.
Phyllida wondered if the woman knew she was pregnant. Possibly not. It had only been a month or so since the funeral when Phyllida had sensed the life inside Miriam’s womb, and perhaps it had only been a week or two before that day when the child had been conceived. No doubt Miriam’s monthly cycle was sporadic, given the regular starvation the girl obviously inflicted on herself. Phyllida reasoned she could do no more than offer food; for this woman and her unborn child, and for her son. It was a complex situation but not hers to meddle in. She would cook for them and hover at the edges, ready to offer whatever help was needed. She wondered what Miriam would do when she discovered the pregnancy. She wondered what David would think about the burgeoning presence of another man’s child.
‘That’s great, Mum. I’m about to have a quick nap then I’ll have some when I get up.’
‘It’s five o’clock,’ said Phyllida, testing the boundaries of her welcome. ‘Too late for Doctor Patel if you’re still feeling poorly, but perhaps you should visit him tomorrow?’
‘Stop worrying,’ said David. ‘I’ll be fine.’
Phyllida placed the casserole on the stovetop. All three stood in silence, and she thought of the crow that had eyed her carefullyfrom the lower branch of the cherry tree as she came in the gate. ‘You must eat up then, Miriam dear. Your body knows what you need.’
Was the bird a warning that the child inside Miriam was at risk? If death was hovering, she must be wary. Be on hand.Listen to the earth, to the wind and birds,she reminded herself.Listen for your wisdom.
‘It’s beef and lentil,’ she said. ‘Nourishing. Complete.’
19
PHYLLIDA
1995, NSW SOUTHERN HIGHLANDS, AUSTRALIA
Phyllida took a deep breath and opened the door to the village surgery.
The receptionist looked up from her desk. ‘Hello, Mrs Banks. Lovely to see you.’
‘Hello, Janelle.’ Phyllida smiled and hoped she sounded suitably normal. She didn’t feel normal in the slightest. She felt floaty and odd.
‘I notice the bookshop’s been closed for a couple of days. Everything all right, Mrs Banks?’
‘Oh, yes. Just … a few things happening.’
‘And my Angus has missed David too. He’s always so kind when I take him in after soccer games on Saturday. Finds Angus exactly the right thing to read. Such a gorgeous young man you’ve raised.’
To her dismay, Phyllida’s face began pulsing with heat and her eyes welled up.
A panicked look flitted across Janelle’s face. ‘Sorry, Mrs Banks. Are you all right? Why don’t you take a seat over there.’
Phyllida blinked hard. She pasted on a smile. ‘I’m perfectly fine, thanks, Janelle. Really! I think it must be the hormones.’ She looked around at the waiting room. A mother and child she didn’t know sat in the corner and old Beany Sampson was slouched in a chair with his eyes closed. She leaned in and whispered, ‘When you get to my age, darling, everything falls apart. Don’t take any notice of me.’
‘You’re only fifty, Mrs Banks,’ said Janelle, gravely. ‘Not that old.’
The toddler on the other side of the waiting room let out a wail as her mother threw a block back into the toy box, tucked the child under one arm and followed Doctor Withers into his consulting room. ‘I remember those days.’ Phyllida watched the child kick and scream her way down the hall. Without warning a tear ran down her face. She swiped at it. Janelle handed her a tissue. ‘I’ll let Doctor Patel know you’re here, Mrs Banks. Do you need a glass of water?’
