Other People’s Diaries (7 page)

L
illian took a deep breath, pulling air down into her lungs. It was cool, but warm whispers promised a hot day. Spring had lasted for only a heartbeat and already the long summer was underway.

She walked faster, relishing the feeling of her muscles stretching, her stride covering the ground easily. Her first thought each morning was whether or not the dizziness and loss of balance were back. Each time she swung her feet to the ground without the feeling that the world was tipping around her, she felt a rush of relief.

Around Lillian the city still slept. A morning walk had been her ritual for years. It had begun when Kyla and Daniel were small. She would bundle them out of the door early with three bananas stuffed in a plastic bag. They'd walk down the street to the creek, its bank shrouded in scrub.

In the early days she'd sing to them. She'd sing different things – children's songs and her own favourites. But it was always the morning song they asked for, the song she made up as she went along and was different each day. She'd delight them with references to themselves, and her memories of those mornings were of laughter and her arms wrapped around both of them.

As with so many other things, though, the children had grown out of it without her quite noticing when it happened. One day
she had realised they hadn't sung the morning song for a week and that most of the time she sat by herself while they climbed the trees and chased each other madly. And then the children had started sleeping in, not wanting to leave their beds.

So Lillian had started going alone. She'd been walking these streets for years, yet she never tired of it. She never went the same way, never saw the same thing. Except for Ross of course. Regardless of which way she walked she always saw him.

As if her thoughts had conjured him up, his tiny van appeared around the corner. He had to have spotted her in plenty of time. The street was long and straight and there wasn't another soul about. But Ross only began to slow down twenty metres from her, the piercing whine of his brakes hanging in the morning air.

Ross reminded her of a six year old boy, testing his nerve and his BMX to see how long he could make a skidmark. Far from worrying about the people sleeping in the nearby houses, he seemed to delight in as much early-morning noise as possible. Lillian smiled and stepped off the road.

‘Lillian!' he called out of the window. ‘How are you this beautiful morning?'

‘I'm fine, Ross,' Lillian smiled. ‘And you?'

‘Great,' he replied and Lillian marvelled at his unfailing enthusiasm.

Ross rested his elbow on the window frame. ‘It's a dark day for Liverpool,' he said, shaking his head.

‘I'll say,' Lillian agreed.

Ross delivered the local area's newspapers and Lillian had noticed him going about his rounds more than a year before they'd first spoken. Then one morning, Lillian had turned into a street to find Ross standing beside his van staring at a flat tyre.

She'd kept walking, expecting to exchange a brief nod and perhaps a small comment of commiseration. Instead, he'd looked at her and asked cheerfully if she'd like a cup of tea. ‘Reckon the lazy buggers can walk to the shops to get their paper this morning,' he'd said, grinning.

Before she could make her excuses, he'd pulled out a steaming thermos and matching mugs and poured her a cup of hot, sweet tea.

He had leaned against the bonnet, looking down the quiet morning street. Lillian had stood awkwardly to one side and they had drunk in silence for a few moments.

‘Did you watch the football last night?' Ross had asked.

She'd noticed the score when she'd been flicking channels looking for something to watch. Her son, Daniel, was a huge soccer fan and Lillian had thought that he would have been happy with Australia's performance against a higher ranked team.

‘A draw,' she'd said without thinking.

Ross had looked at her, silently impressed.

From then on he'd assumed Lillian to be a soccer fan. She hadn't bothered to set the record straight, figuring that they'd just wave at each other from a distance whenever they crossed paths.

But Ross kept pulling over for a chat whenever he saw her. Before too long it seemed impossible to tell him she really didn't like soccer. It was just easier to smile and nod whenever he raised the topic. Apart from soccer, Ross loved to read. Autobiographies were his passion and he and Lillian often swapped books and opinions.

Now, almost a year later, he looked at her earnestly. ‘I hope Benitez knows what he's doing,' he said. ‘He went and picked Harry Kewell again, didn't he.' Ross shook his head mournfully. ‘That damn boy spends too much time hanging out with his wife's soapy friends to actually get fit.'

‘Mmm,' Lillian murmured.

‘She's a looker, I'll give him that. She's an actress from some English soap or other. Was it
Brookside
?' He looked at Lillian enquiringly.

She shrugged, her expertise on soap operas no greater than her expertise on football.

‘Anyway. We won the Champions League – maybe this year we'll crack the big one.'

Lillian smiled encouragingly, despite having no idea what the ‘big one' was. As she did every morning she vowed to ask Daniel to tell her something about English football.

‘Beaut morning, isn't it?' Ross asked, looking over Lillian's shoulder at the curve of sky, its blue still soft and powdery at this hour.

‘Just lovely,' Lillian relaxed now she was back on comfortable territory. ‘It's going to be a hot summer though.'

‘Yep, you're right. Just as well I've got my airconditioning.' Ross stuck his arm through the open window with a grin.

Lillian laughed. ‘Not going to replace the van this year?' she asked, already knowing the answer.

‘Absolutely not,' Ross proclaimed. ‘I'd only bang it up.

‘Heard from the kids?' he asked.

Lillian shook her head. ‘Not for a week or so. How about you?'

‘Melanie was round with her lot yesterday. God they make a lot of noise. Bloody glad when they were gone actually.' His words were light-hearted. Ross loved his grandchildren and hated his ex-wife with equal passion. She had left him long ago for his business partner at the time.

For a friendship which existed only in short bursts on the side of the road in the dawn hours, they knew a lot about each other.

‘So you're okay then?' Ross looked closely at Lillian.

His words caused a sudden wave of panic in her. ‘No,' she wanted to scream. ‘I'm not okay. I have no idea how to handle this.'

But she smiled shakily instead. ‘I'm fine thanks, Ross. No problems at all,' she lied, glancing away.

Ross looked at his watch and sighed. ‘I'd love to talk some more, but I've got to go.' He gestured at the stacks of newspapers in the back of the van. ‘I'm a bit behind this morning. See you tomorrow.'

With that he was gone, leaving behind the smell of burned rubber.

M
egan couldn't believe how many different ways there were to encourage a team.

Her three nieces had been bitten hard by the cheerleading bug and she had just endured forty-five minutes of bum wiggling and invisible pompom waving. The most frightening move had involved them doing a handstand while simultaneously winking. Still, it was better than what was waiting for her inside.

Growing up the youngest of four, she was used to criticism, but these family get-togethers tested even her armour. It didn't help that Ben, her brother and ally against all things family, was living overseas.

At least her mum had seemed genuinely happy with the autographed copy of Alice Day's book. Even though it had paled into insignificance beside the gift of a return flight to the Maldives from Jennifer, Megan's eldest sister.

Jennifer had spent the first twenty minutes after she'd arrived telling Megan how there were no good teachers any more because their training was so inadequate. To hear her tell it, her kids were being educated by brainless robots, all of whom coincidently had it in for her children. Jennifer's husband was busy telling his obligatory racist jokes, every one of which he prefaced with, ‘I'm not a racist but this one is really funny …' To make matters worse, Megan had foolishly opted to drive, which meant she couldn't
numb the pain with vast amounts of alcohol. Consequently, she had been delighted when she'd been invited to be an audience for the family cheer squad.

‘I got booty, I got class
.

Betcha, betcha love my ….'

‘Do you think they get extra curriculum points for this?'

Megan barely suppressed a laugh as her other sister Jane, who was only two years older than her, crawled onto the ancient trampoline.

‘Probably …'

The three girls in front of her were trembling on the brink of teenagerdom and they were so beautiful it almost hurt to look at them. All blonde hair and long legs. And yet, despite the suggestion behind the words and movements, Megan was sure they had no idea of the power they were about to wield.

For a moment, the two sisters watched the show in silence.

It was Jane who spoke next. ‘Remember how Dad would clout us if we used the word “stuffed”?'

This time Megan did laugh.

‘And “bum”? I don't think kids even use those words now. Too boring.'

‘I used to be convinced Dad didn't actually know any really bad words,' Megan said. ‘And that was why he fixated on words like “stuffed”.'

‘Yeah, I know. I always had my doubts, though. I saw him swear once when he was mowing and a stone spun up and hit him on the shin. I was too far away to hear what he said, but it didn't look polite.' Jane smiled at the memory.

‘We should ask Mum if he ever worked out we used to drink the booze in the liquor cabinet and replace it with water,' said Megan.

‘Course he did,' Jane answered. ‘There was never anything much in them to start with. Didn't you ever wonder why we didn't get drunk?'

‘Really? Why didn't he ever say anything?'

Jane shrugged. ‘Dunno, guess he figured it was keeping us busy.'

There was another silence, this time broken by Megan. ‘Mum's not looking much better. I've barely seen her smile all day.'

‘What can you expect? Dad's been dead less than six months. She's hardly going to be out dancing on tables.'

‘I know … I just hate to see her so … beaten.'

Jane shrugged. ‘You try being married forty-eight years and then have your partner die.'

Megan exhaled quickly. ‘Well at least that's not something I need to worry about any time soon.'

‘Why, what's happened to that engineer you met a little while ago?'

‘Nothing's happened to him. It's just that he's already married.' Megan said the words without thinking and instantly wished she could call them back.

‘What?' Jane spun around, giving up any pretence of watching the cheerleaders.

Megan tried to play it down. ‘It's no big deal.'

‘No big deal! Megan, are you insane? If Mum finds out, she'll kill you.'

‘Jane, we're not ten any more. I'm a grown-up, you know.'

‘Well, not a very good one obviously. Who the hell sleeps with someone else's husband?'

‘Would you keep your voice down?' Megan looked around, but the cheerleaders were practising handstands against the fence.

‘Jane, I swear if you tell anyone I'll never speak to you again.'

Jane looked at her silently for a second. ‘Think about it, Megan. What is in it for you with this guy? It's not like you have years to waste on a married loser. You need to do something about your life. Everyone was talking about it before you arrived.'

‘They were
what
?' Megan's words were icy and Jane started back-pedalling.

‘Well, not really talking about you. Just commenting really …' Jane met Megan's cold stare and gave up trying to pretend. ‘On how you have no direction … no kids.'

‘Neither do you!' Megan couldn't believe her family had been discussing her.

‘Sure I have no kids – yet. But Stewart and I are going to start trying next year.'

‘Well whoopie for you!' Megan was stung. ‘I have direction. Plenty of direction. For your information, I'm a founding member of a group that is working toward changing lives.'

Jane looked doubtful.

‘It's all about the little things,' Megan added, trying to remember Alice's exact words. ‘About trying to make things better by putting small pleasures back into life …' She trailed off, hoping Jane didn't ask for more information.

‘Right.' Jane looked doubtful. ‘That doesn't sound like you.'

Megan ignored her. ‘It's run by Mum's favourite writer actually – Alice Day.'

‘Goooooooo Reading!!'

Megan wasn't sure if her nieces were finished or just perfecting a move but she was delighted by the distraction. She stood up on the trampoline and wolf whistled.

‘Great work, girls,' she said as she slid off the side of the trampoline and headed toward the house. She needed a stiff drink, even if it meant she had to walk home.