Authors: Cate Kendall
He was mortified that his innocent question caused fat
tears to roll from her eyes and down her cheeks. 'Sera,
what's wrong?'
'I'm not good enough for you, Tony, don't you
see? I just can't keep up anymore. I'm tired of trying
to be perfect. I see what happened to Mallory, to Bella,
and to half the mums at the kids' crèche and I am so
worried that I'll be left too. I look at you and you take
my breath away. You're gorgeous, you're clever, accomplished.
Look at your business going from strength to
strength, you've got private school education, your
mates are in the "right" circles. I'm just a tarty little
strumpet of a shop-girl who never deserved you in the
first place and I'm terrified I'm going to lose you. I
think I've been steeling myself against the inevitable,
getting ready for the moment you leave me for someone
younger, prettier, smarter. I've been detaching myself
from you, from us. I mean, I know you're not that kind of
bloke, Tony, don't get me wrong, but beautiful women
can be very persuasive and you're an absolute goldmine to
any predatory prospectors out there.'
Tony sat and listened in disbelief. 'You can't be serious,'
he finally said.
Her downturned mouth told him she was.
'Sera, when I got home tonight and saw the house was
empty . . . Where are the kids, by the way?'
'Movie with Nana Joan.'
'Cool. When I came home and saw that note on the
coffee table, do you know what I thought?'
'No, what?'
'I thought you'd left me, I thought it was all over red
rover, you'd taken the kids and gone.'
'What? As if I'd do that, and just leave you a note.'
'It's what I thought. And you know I nearly chucked
with grief. Right there on Mum's Jason recliner.'
Sera laughed at that vision.
'And then, when I saw you were playing your funny
little game with me, I could have screamed with joy and
laughter. I was so relieved and so happy that I hadn't lost
you.'
'So both of us were worried the other was going to
leave?'
'Yeah, it looks like it.' They looked at each other
sheepishly when they realised how silly they'd been, and
how their miscommunication could have actually threatened
their relationship.
'So best we talk about things in the future, then, before
it's too late?' Tony asked his wife.
'Definitely,' she agreed.
'So you liked the treasure hunt?' she asked him as she
picked up her menu.
'Yeah, the clues were hard, though,' he said.
'The last one was pretty easy,' she said.
'You know, I never even read it. When I saw it was the
final one, I guessed you'd be here.'
'You're kidding. I'm that obvious?' She laughed.
He reached into his top pocket, took out the scrap of
paper and read the last clue she'd left him.
We fell in love
You thawed my heart
You proposed to me here
Over ricotta tart.
'Oh, all right, Bella, I'll ring her, stop bloody hassling me,
will you!' Sera's tense tone was more about being stuck
in afternoon traffic in Bondi Junction. But also, she didn't
need a lecture right now. Since their big blue in the hotel,
her relationship with Bella had settled into a completely
different, far more solid place, but it didn't stop Bella
continuing to nag Sera about their mother, or make Sera
want to talk to her parents more than she ever had.
Bella's tinny voice from the car speaker competed
with the roar of the bus that went past Sera's car. 'I'm not
hassling you, it's just that she sounds a bit down and needs
a friendly ear, that's all.'
In the past Sera would have meekly agreed with Bella
while internalising her resentment. At least now she could
snap back her frustration.
'Look, sorry I sound snippy; bloody traffic. What's
Mum's problem this time?'
'The caravan park is putting up the rent and she's beside
herself.'
'So I suppose she wants money?' Sera said.
'Well, she didn't mention it. Just talk to her, will you?'
'I'm really busy, I'll see how I go.' Sera wasn't about to
make any promises. They said goodbye and hung up.
Sera sat at the same red light she'd been stopped at
for three changes now. She drummed her fingers on the
steering wheel and flicked on the radio to distract her
thoughts. She stabbed each button to change the inane
chatter and commercials of each annoying station, then
punched the off button.
Bloody Mum and Dad, she thought. Can't they sort out
their own lives for a change? What's the point of them, I
mean really? Parents are supposed to be there to help their
kids. Not the other way around. Look at me, she thought,
that's my job, I run around after my kids constantly and
love it. It's my duty, it's what I'm here for. So where's
the payback? When do I get to be a little girl, indulge in a
whinge and get some support? It's just not my job to be
a counsellor for every petty problem the woman has.
She glanced at her watch. She still had an hour before she
needed to pick up the kids. Chantrea was in town; she might
pop in and have a chat with her. Chantrea's no-nonsense
attitude could be brutal at times, but at least you got guidance.
She texted her. The reply came back immediately.
Yep, drop in, just grabbing Sally from crèche, back in 5.
*
Dara Kim opened the door. 'Come in, come in, Chantrea
will be back very soon. Look at you. Too thin. You girls
all too thin. Why don't you eat? Come here, sit down. I
will feed you.'
All the protestations in the world wouldn't stop Dara
from unloading the fridge, so Sera sat at the kitchen table
to enjoy a moment of being mothered.
She looked around the tiny little kitchen. She loved the
craziness of Dara's knick-knack collection. One entire shelf
was devoted to animal salt and pepper shakers. Another wall
groaned under the weight of photos of Sally and Chantrea.
Souvenirs from the family's travels around Australia took
pride of place on another bookcase: a gold nugget from
Broken Hill, an opal letter opener, a koala snowglobe, a
Santa-in-boardshorts ornament.
'Here, you eat this,' Dara said and shoved a dish of rice
and very fragrant chicken in front of her. 'You want tea?
Green tea? Black tea?'
'Yes please, a black tea with one sugar would be
lovely.'
'You don't want milk in it, do you? Milk in tea, still
can't understand that rubbish.'
'Er, just a dash would be great.' Sera felt like apologising
for her appalling western taste.
A derisive puff burst from Dara's lips as she slapped the
milk carton on the table. 'You do it,' she said, as if it were
too disgusting a request for her to participate in.
Having set her guest up with all she could possibly offer,
Dara sat down opposite Sera.
'So how are you, Dara?' Sera asked as she lifted her
chopsticks. 'Working hard still?'
'As always. I did fifty hours last week, but I don't
complain.'
'You're good, but you're allowed to, you know,' Sera
said and tucked into the chicken. It was delicious. What
was that herb?
'No, how could I complain? Look at this wonderful
life I have. Look at this wonderful city I live in and my
Sally, what a princess. I'm sure she's royal, you know, the
bearing, the grace. Very talented girl. Nothing to complain
about. Too much complaining nowadays. People are too
greedy, want too much.'
Sera noticed Dara grimace as she stood to pour the
boiling water into the teapot.
'Are you in pain, Dara? Does your leg hurt?'
'Oh, it's nothing, just my knee. Doctor says I might
need an operation. But it's nothing. I'll survive. It's the
lifting. We don't have a boy at the shop at the moment so
I have to lift the big boxes. But they'll get a boy soon who
can do that, then all will be okay again.'
'You're amazing.' Sera didn't like to let on that she
knew about Dara's past from Chantrea, but the woman
was something like a hero to her. What she'd endured,
how she'd managed to single-handedly set up a new home
in a new country for her daughter. 'I wish my mum was
like you.'
'She is,' Dara said simply and looked point blank at
Sera.
'Oh, no, she's not. You haven't met her. She's nothing
like you.'
'She's a woman. She's like me. She's like you. Same.'
'But she's not a real nurturing type of mother, you
know? She's always got her own problems, she complains
a lot, she doesn't seem to cope with life like you do.'
'She's a person. She has . . . what's that new word? . . .
issues too, maybe she doesn't have friends to talk to. Maybe
she trusts you and wants to share with you.'
'Well, I hadn't thought of it quite like that before,' Sera
said. 'But it's really her job to be there for me, and my job
to be there for my kids. You know, the cycle goes on.'
'Oh, pshaw. You should be a grown-up by now. What
are you? Twelve?'
Sera looked up at Dara, startled. She could see where
Chantrea got her forthright manner from. 'No, it's not like
that at all, it's just that she's always whining on the phone
to me about stuff. And never listens to me at all.'
'That's what she's like. She is the person she is. What
about that Jacqueline woman, she's your friend isn't she?'
'Well, yes, she's my friend.'
'Well, at the brunch at her house, she was going on and
on and on about her two boys. Very good to have boys,
yes, very proud woman but not very humble. She wouldn't
shut up about them.'
'Oh, yes, Dara, I know, but that's fine, that's what she's
like. She needs validation. I actually feel sorry for her, she
doesn't get any attention from her family, she doesn't have
parents anymore, she needs her friends to listen to her.
I don't mind at all being her sounding board. And you
know, she's getting so much better now that she has her
business up and running. And now that she has a group of
girlfriends to listen to her, she doesn't seem to shout for
attention anymore.'
'Hmmm,' Dara said cryptically and just sat and stared
at Sera.
Sera understood that was her cue to think about what
she'd just said. 'Oh, you think I should give my mum the
same respect. That's different though. She's my mother.'
'Not mother, woman – woman first. If you treat her like
you treat your friends, you would get along much better.'
Just at that moment Sally barrelled into the room and
threw herself at her grandmother. '
Gaela Yay
!' she said from
the depths of Dara's bulk.
'
Gaela
Sally, little one, how was crèche?'
'Very good. I am the best at collage. See?' She thrust a
piece of board with all manner of backyard detritus glued
all over it at her grandmother.
'This is very good.'
'Yes, I have to agree,' Sally said. 'And now I'm going
to stick it on the wall in my room. Hi Sera, bye Sera,' she
said and was out the door.
'What a nice surprise!' Chantrea said as she walked in
the room carrying bags of shopping. 'Sorry I took so long.
I had to stop at the supermarket. Wine?'
'No, I won't darling, thanks anyway. I have to fly, I've
got to pick mine up now. We'll catch up soon, promise.'
'But I just got here!' Chantrea said. 'Didn't you say you
wanted to talk about something?'
'Nope, changed my mind, sorry. I'll call you. Bye,
darling. Bye, Dara, thanks so much for the snack and the
chat.' Sera hugged the two women and left.
As she walked down the long drive to where her car was
parked in the street, she felt like she was taller, stronger,
more independent. Dara had made so much sense just
then.
Why hadn't she seen it from this angle before? Marlene
was a woman, with her own upbringing, her own story,
her own life all coming together and making her the person
she was today. Sera needed to readjust her thinking. This
person was struggling with her own difficulties, feeling her
own joys. They were all in this together. What on earth
had Sera been expecting?
As soon as she shut the car door, she pressed speed
dial number four on her mobile. After two rings it was
answered. 'Hello?' came her mother's voice.
'Hi, Mum, it's me. How are you?'
Joan found it was impossible to be in the house with the
builders constantly crashing and banging about. There was
too much noise for her to watch television in the living
room – not to mention the filthy mouths on the lot of
them – so she'd had to remain in her bedroom.
She'd read the
Women's Weekly
and
New Idea
from
cover to cover and realised with a start it was already 2 pm.
She was well overdue for her daily ablutions. Buggered if
she was going to use the downstairs bathroom. With the
amount of times those bloody great men lumbered down
the hall to do God-only-knows-what in her private bathroom,
one of them would be sure to burst in on her. If she
went upstairs to use the family washroom she'd be guaranteed
her privacy.
And today of all days. Her right hip was really playing
up. It had stopped her from getting around a lot lately. Not
that anyone cared. Sera was forever gallivanting around
town and poor Tony was working tirelessly of late. Poor
dear.
She'd booked in to see the doctor, but since her regular
doctor had retired she'd had to visit some young upstart
who looked like he was straight out of primary school and
clearly his inexperienced flibbertigibbet of a receptionist
knew nothing, otherwise she wouldn't have made a woman
in terrible pain wait until Friday for an appointment.
Joan mumbled and grumbled her way up to the stone-tiled
haven and took her time drawing a lovely hot bath.
She poked in the bathroom cabinet for some Epsom salts
to ease the ache in her hip. But nothing so practical existed
in this Aladdin's cave of luxuriant lotions and potions, she
noted with displeasure. There'd have to be thousands of
dollars worth of top-end nonsense here, she thought as
she picked up one, wrinkling her nose at the ingredients.
We made do with a tub of cold cream in my day, she
thought.
She found a sample of Clarins bath gel and poured a
liberal dose into the water. 'Probably have me break out in
a rash,' she muttered as she sank into the hot water.
After a long soak, Joan emerged from the bath feeling
a lot less cantankerous. She finished drying herself and
wrapped her body up in her old favourite chenille dressing
gown, then wandered into the master bedroom to look out
over the construction site. At least the idiot builders were
packing up early and heading off.
The roof of the new renovation covered what used to
be her beautiful patio. A huge lump of sadness came up
into her throat. She knew that Tony and Sera were planning
on landscaping a beautiful courtyard at the rear of
the property, but that didn't reduce the pain she felt about
losing the patio.
They didn't know how much it meant to her. They
didn't know what had happened there so many years ago
and how that had changed her life forever. But how could
they? How could anyone know? Only one other person
had been there and even he didn't know the full story.
She pulled herself out of her miserable trance and left
her memories in the broken patio.
Halfway down the steep staircase, Joan stepped on one
of the kids' toys. Her right foot folded into an instant
sprain that threw out her failing hip. She fell forwards
and tumbled gently down the stairs to lie in a heap at the
bottom. She tried to move, to crawl to the phone, but the
searing pain from her dislocated hip prevented even the
slightest movement. She was stuck. In agony. And there
was nothing she could do. Nothing at all, except wait until
someone came home.
*
Oh my head, Sera thought, climbing the stairs from the
carport, loaded down with shopping bags and with two
children in grizzly tow. What a day. What an enormous,
ridiculous day. She'd had one too many at Icebergs the
night before.
Since getting up at six am, she'd completed enough
tasks to make a ward-nurse look like a lay-about. The
builders had arrived at seven, as always, and having grown
quite accustomed to kicking off their work day with
early morning caffé lattes, espressos and cappuccinos, were
unable to pick up a tool until Sera the barista had done her
duty.
Maddy had a last-minute show-and-tell requirement
involving a permanent marker and sticky tape. The makeshift
laundry kitchen was having ventilation issues so
the burnt toast smoke not only filled the house but also
triggered the ear-splitting smoke alarm, accompanied by
Harry's terrified scream.
Joan moaned and complained about her dicky hip;
Tony had to fly, with apologies, to another building site.
'What's wrong with this bloody building site?' Sera had bitterly
complained a little too loudly to his retreating back,
which had sparked an entirely unnecessary marital spat.
They might have just had fantastic make-up sex, but they
were still a normal couple.
Then her day seemed to just get worse. Each Freedom
Furniture sent her to another more out-flung Freedom to
view a couch in a particular colour of Greige that was guaranteed
to be on the floor. But at each outlet she found the
couch had been mysteriously misplaced by a Stone couch.
Not Greige at all. Very different. And the five-centimetre-square
fabric swatch the staff kept showing her was hardly
sufficient information for a furnishing decision.
She'd only just made it in time for her afternoon shift at
DJs. It was pension day, so the department store was full of
old ducks clucking over gloves and hats, sampling creams
and perfumes and enquiring after each of her product lines
in the most minute detail before purchasing a bottle of
Vaseline Intensive Care and popping off to Dot's Diner
for the Soup and Sandwich Senior's Special ($4.95 on
Tuesdays).
Then the builders rang to say they were knocking off
early because the materials they needed hadn't been delivered.
She'd winced. Her fault: she'd forgotten to order the
splashback last month.
She was the last to pick up her kids at crèche, and the
children certainly weren't going to let her get away with
that. With empty tummies and exhausted bodies, they
squabbled relentlessly on the way home. 'Why is red?'
Harry asked her repeatedly, growing increasingly enraged
by her apparently insufficient answers.
When Sera finally reached the back door, she was emotionally
and physically drained. She put the key in the lock.
What else could possibly go wrong today?
At the base of the stairs lay Joan's bizarrely twisted body
in a crumpled heap. The voice that floated up from the
depths of her dressing gown was muffled and weak.
'About time you got home. Where in the hell have you
been?'