Chapter Six
Fin
Eurgh.
Pep-talk time and my coffee’s gone cold. As I look into her face, I realise it could be more serious. She’s been pretty quiet all week and I’d thought it was because she’d been busy, but now I’m wondering if she’s been brooding.
Looks like I’m getting the consequences of my actions talk.
‘What’s up?’ I return mulishly, hugging the cooling cup to my chest. ‘Is this about the lumberjack?’ Also known as Rory; a part of my past she has no idea of. Oddly, that moment at the beginning of the week was one that made me feel almost human again. Those moments are few and far between these days.
‘Why’d you ask?’
‘I dunno. Maybe I didn’t behave appropriately.’
‘Appropriate how?’
‘I wasn’t very widowly, I suppose.’ Following her further into the room, I curl myself against the edge of the sofa as Ivy’s brow furrows, the spoon paused mid-air before continuing to her mouth. Then, with a dramatic roll of her eyes, she slides into the chair opposite while mumbling something that sounds a lot like, ‘notladihamichum.’
‘What was that?’ I almost don’t ask, mesmerised by the pink and green pieces balanced on her spoon and the bits of—is that marshmallow?—about to become masticated mush.
‘I said,’—she swallows—‘no one’s expecting you to become Lady Havisham.’
‘Pretty sure she was jilted, not widowed,’ I reply, placing unnecessary emphasis on the word.
‘It’s not the circumstances, it’s the reaction. You can’t mothball yourself away at twenty-six.’
‘Twenty-five.’
‘Daftie, you’re barely a sneeze away from your next birthday. And while God knows men should be a mile off your radar right now, honestly, I’d be happy if you just popped to the shops once in a while.’
‘I go out. I went to the post office on Tuesday.’
‘Tuesday two weeks ago. And that was the last time you left the building. Why don’t you start running again?’
‘Too cold.’
She harrumphs, narrowing her gaze. ‘I’m not saying it’s not natural, your behaviour, because grief is a strange and terrible thing. But at some point you’ve got to start moving forward, you know?’
My words halt because I don’t know. How do you move on when you feel like you’re stuck? Living in some kind of strange limbo, no longer living your life, but some elderly aunt’s instead? It might almost be appropriate to sit indoors in a mouldy old wedding dress, because I feel ancient enough. How on earth do you move on when you just don’t know where to begin? Or who you’re supposed to be?
‘It’s time.’ She places her cereal bowl down with the gravity of a gavel. ‘And as much as I appreciate your help in getting the salon off the ground, you can’t live with me forever.’
‘What? You’re making me move out?’
‘You need to start to make a life for yourself,’ she says, ignoring my panicked expression. ‘And you need to get a job before your skills become outdated.’
‘I—I’m taking a breather. Sidestepping, or whatever it’s called.’ I’d read an article about it while manning the reception downstairs. That the article was in Cosmo, I decide not to share. ‘Apparently, taking a sabbatical is the new corporate thing.’
Judging by her expression, she’s less than impressed, so I try a different tact. ‘Look, if you need me to start contributing to the bills—’
‘That’s not it,’ she says, waving away my words. ‘Besides, you can’t afford to.’
‘Kick me while I’m down,’ I complain.
‘It’s the truth. But you need a job for the sake of your career, not to mention your sanity.’
‘I’m not sure I—’ Words cease to be available, because I’m not sure, period. Everything is suddenly frightening; this conversation, the future—all of it. My heart begins to seriously pound, and since when have I needed to concentrate to enable continued breathing? Trapped, I think I feel, as I place my cup down and begin to spew words. ‘I thought about doing that waxing course.’
