They’d spent most of their time on the allotment, which Deb loved. She remembered Grandma Elise saying she wasbrown as a tree trunkfrom being in the sun all day – Janice had made her wear a hat and sunscreen, but her skin still darkened every day– and she came home every day with a little prize for her good work: a bag of ripe, cherry-red tomatoes, a tub of small, sweet strawberries and, once, a whole carrier bag of runner beans. Janice had raised an eyebrow at the bag and said,what the hell am I supposed to do with these? You don’t like green beans.
But, because Grandma Elise had grown them with such patience, and because Deb had helped to water them and train them up the wooden frames her grandmother had made, Deb had saidyes I do. Even as a child, she’d sensed that there was tension between her mother and her grandmother. If someone had asked her then whose side she would have chosen, it would have been Grandma Elise’s.
That day, in the kitchen with the carrier bag of runner beans in her hand, Janice had saidYou’re just like your grandmother. Changeable. One moment you hate green beans, the next moment you love them. She’d dumped the bag on the table with a sigh.She’s always been like that. She’d say black was white and up was down, then switch as soon as you agreed.
I’ll eat them, Deb had insisted.Grandma isn’t like that. Neither am I.
Don’t forget, I know more about Grandma than you do.Janice had raised an eyebrow.You’re more alike than you know.Janice had hesitated, perhaps gauging for a moment whether Deb was old enough to understand what she was going to say.There are things she’ll never tell you. Things that you couldn’t understand, sweetheart,she’d said, in a more gentle tone.Reasons for why Grandma is the way she is.
Grandma Elsie –Elise, Deb thought, she should really use the name that her grandmother had preferred – had, in Deb’s opinion, suffered from depression. Possibly, it was post-natal, or perhaps just depression overall. Not that there was simply a “just” when it came to something like that. Deb knew thatdepression could destroy a person. She was grateful that she’d never suffered with it, but she knew people that had.
She was damaged.The words rang in Deb’s ears.
‘That’s a horrible thing to say.’ Deb knew she was on thin ice, being so direct with Janice, but she had loved Grandma Elise, and she felt that she couldn’t let it go without defending her memory.
There was a pause on the line; Deb wondered if she’d gone too far.
‘Oh, God. I know.’ Janice sighed, after a moment. ‘And I loved her. But she was difficult. And all the fuss about the name…’ there was another pause… ‘Eh. Water under the bridge.’ There was a shrug in Janice’s voice, but Deb knew that it was a pretence. If things between her mum and Grandma Elise really were “water under the bridge” then she would have no problem being open about it.
‘Poor Grandma,’ Deb said.
‘Hmph. You don’t know half of the stuff that happened in my childhood.’
‘I would if you’d tell me,’ Deb protested. ‘Was it that bad? At least Grandma was there for you. She looked after you.’
‘Hmm.’ Deb could tell from her mum’s voice that she was frowning. ‘Let’s just say that I was fed and had clothes and went to school, darling. But all the bedtime stories and gardening and baking and hugs… she saved that for you. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad she did. But, as I’ve said, that wasn’t the woman I knew. She… lost a lot, as a child, and I don’t think she ever really recovered.’
‘That’s vague. I know she had to move house when she was young, but that’s not that bad, is it?’
‘Well, it was more than moving house, sweetheart. But I don’t think we should get into it now,’ Janice said.
‘You never want to talk about Grandma.’
‘No. It’s best left in the past,’ Janice said.
‘Fine,’ Deb sighed.
‘Well, this ended up being a deep conversation,’ Janice chuckled. ‘Are you all right, darling? Missing Grandma?’
‘A bit. And you. It’s just been a bit of an upheaval, coming over here to work, and what happened with Dan.’
‘I imagine. But you’re strong. You’ll manage.’
‘Hmm…’ Deb thought for a moment about the strange appeal ofnotmanaging. How nice it would be, not to be so capable. To be one of those people who just let other people do things for them.
But, it just wasn’t who she was. Hewn of the same granite as Elise and Janice, with the same ramrod spine.
Was this why she was single again? She’d snapped, eventually, at Dan’s terrible behaviour. Maybe, another woman would have taken it for longer.
Maybe another woman would have had children, and been married, and settled down like you were supposed to.
There was something in the back of Deb’s mind that she wasn’t quite ready to verbalise – not yet. A shadowy sentiment that said something like,maybe the women in our family are too hard, too stubborn and intransigent to be truly loved.
Or, let ourselves be loved.
Maybe we aren’t natural mothers. Not the maternal type.
‘All right, Mum. I’ve got to go.’ Deb felt a lump in her throat as that horrible thought emerged. She didn’t want to explore where that sentiment led: what did it say about her? ‘I love you.’
