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‘That’s because you haven’t lived to satisfaction. I don’t think I grieved my husband very much. And it wasn’t because I didn’t love him – it’s because I did. And I was satisfied. We had fifty-two incredible years together. We built our own little world.’ Aggy’s eyes become distant as she reminisces. A frown pinches above her brow, wrinkling her forehead. ‘My daughter though – ah, it’s a different kind of love, anyhow, but I didn’t get all that time. Mothers aren’t meant to bury their children. We don’t have the right hands for it. Children soften your palms. A shovel will break the skin before it breaks soil.’
‘When?’ I ask.
‘She was forty, a good couple decades ago now. But the pain…’ Aggy runs an absent hand over her chest and looks out the window towards where two robins chase and sing to each other.
‘Aggy,’ I start tentatively. ‘How’d you do it? How do you live with the pain?’
Aggy’s smile is knowing and gentle. Her head tilts to the side. ‘You find a balance between feeling and moving. You’re allowed to be sad. You’re allowed to be angry and cry. You can’t shortcut feelings. Let yourself feel them. But keep moving. Staying still is for the dead.’
‘But how… how do you get the balance?’
‘Through failing. Through making mistakes and acknowledging them, apologising and then forgiving and learning.’
‘That’s quite a process.’
Aggy chuffs, ‘It is.’ She nods. ‘Taken me a good long while.’
I swallow. She squeezes my shoulder and I will the tears in my eyes to retreat.
Aggy gives me a tight smile. ‘You’ll be right, love.’
I touch the back of her palm, and she looks down at me with eyes so used to tears they don’t feel them coming anymore. They just appear and fall. She leaves them be.
‘The typesetting is good.’
Aggy smiles, takes my hand and kisses the back of it. Grateful for the change in subject. ‘Thank you, love.’
‘My pleasure.’
‘I knew it! I fucking knew you were up to something in here!’
Balls deep in the throes of editing, Aggy whips her head towards the sound of Delilah’s shrill voice. I cringe.
‘Hoot!’ John wheezes in the doorway. ‘Hoot!’ Admirable effort, but a tad late for that, Johnny Boy.
‘What is it you think I’m up t—?’
‘Shut up with your bullshit questions. You’re not going to annoy me enough that I’ll go away this time.’
Ah. She’s catching on. Time to throw her off.
‘I would never—’
‘Shut up. Shut up and get out. All of you disgusting rotting sacks of flesh.’ There’s fire on the tips of her ears, and flames lick down the waves of her hair. She’s pissed, but so am I.
Aggy starts gathering her things quickly; she’s rushed, and she keeps dropping her papers. One lands near Delilah’s shoe. John goes to reach for it, but she stamps it under her heel and turns it to ash.
‘Hey, cut that out.’
The walls have started to vibrate with a violent hum. The floor itself seems to tremble beneath me.
Without looking, I address Aggy and John. ‘You should both go,’ I say, keeping my eyes fixed on Delilah. Her cheeks are splotched pink, and her eyes keep darting towards the walls. A look of concern makes her brows pinch.
When Aggy and John have left, I take a deep breath and finally ask her,
‘Why do you keep me on if you hate me so much?’
Delilah’s worry evaporates and she glares at me through narrowed eyes. Her lip curls. ‘You were gagging for a job. I did it out of pity because you’re a loser that has literally nothing going for you.’
