Читать книгу Idle Lies - Lian Knight - Страница 9

Monday, 2 October

IF A CEMENT MIXER had swung by and bulldozed her, Kate wouldn’t have been surprised. That would explain things. Right now her body felt like a pile of rubble crushed in the drying concrete, with no way of getting out.

Yesterday she’d spent the day in the park. It was better not to know. She had walked the perimeter so many times she lost count, and then she’d sat silently on a swing, rocking gently backwards and forwards. Her thoughts had run wild. Was this really true? What had she done wrong? How long had he felt like this, and why did he wait to drop this bombshell straight after their holiday? She agonised over the slightest hint, the most minuscule of indications that she should have detected, but her senses were dull and her body was numb. Eventually the sun had begun to set and she couldn’t bear the chilling air any longer. She returned to the house and turned the key in the lock with trepidation. Would he really be gone?

Yes, he certainly was. And to her horror so was everything else. The rooms were bare, and for the first time since they had moved in, she could see how threadbare the carpet was. Her steps in the empty house made the same eerie hollow sound they had the day they arrived. Except now there was no excitement, no thrill of something new, no joy of starting a life together. Instead, it looked like a squatter’s home. All that remained was their bed, the kettle, the toaster and a few mismatched pieces of crockery. She stood in the kitchen and stared at the two lonely appliances. Why had he spared these things? Maybe he had run out of space in the truck. It would have been packed to the hilt.

And now it was Monday morning, the start of the working week. She had to go to work. Yet every muscle in her body felt weighted down with fatigue, an exhaustion so heavy she could barely stand. Her heart ached.

She thought about ringing in, explaining that her husband had just left her and that she was dealing with the shock. Of course, she was not the only person this had ever happened to and plenty of others before her would have called and taken the week off. Or the month off. Or whatever time they needed. Their bosses would have provided loads of support and may even have offered counselling. No doubt her company would be just as considerate when she told them.

Yes, she would definitely call and take the day off. She had to sort out what she was going to do. This would be her new life. On her own.

She looked at her watch and blinked. It was only 5.30 am. She hadn’t been able to sleep and had risen early, deliberately averting her eyes from the side where Matt always slept. His scent still lingered on the pillow, wafting lightly over the bed. But the room was empty. The clothes that he usually left dumped on the carpet were gone, as were the ones in the cupboard and the winter jacket and pants in the hall. The chest of drawers by the door was gone too – the indents from the legs showed where it had once stood. Lying in the middle of the space was a small pile of her socks and underwear that had been tossed without dignity, exactly where they were emptied. The bathroom shelves were empty as well except for the stains that his shavers had made. The doors still lay wide open as if he had left in a hurry.

Doing her best to ignore it, she walked purposefully to the shower, gathering a freshly ironed uniform from the cupboard on the way past. Once dressed, she moved stiffly to the kitchen and flicked on the kettle, wiping a fine layer of dust from its spout. If only a genie would appear, she thought sadly. She could wish for her old life back.

How could he do this?

The kettle boiled but she held the button down, listening to the piercing whistle and watching the steam travel in swirls towards the ceiling. She felt strangely disoriented, detached from reality. Perhaps if she waited, her body too might release whatever was trapped inside, a silent numbness that was holding her tears and anger. She closed her eyes, but felt nothing except the hot droplets of moisture descending from the circling vapour. She stood motionless until her hand was burning, and when she could stand it no longer she let go of the button and put her fingers under the tap, feeling the cold, soothing water. But it was no use, the burning sensation had not given her a jolt. Her body still had a heaviness that extended far beyond a night of missed sleep.

Her eyes surveyed the room and the glimpse of the living area beyond. She would need to buy things. Mentally she began a list – she’d need a fridge, a couch and a TV, a washing machine, towels, sheets, knives and forks … and then there was outside. Her mind strayed to the garden and the long stretch of grass that met the picket fence. She’d need a mower. She wasn’t particularly handy with any type of maintenance activity and she’d never actually cut the grass. But mowing was just one of her problems. Matt had taken all of the tools.

She stretched her arms around her shoulders, resting her stinging hand gently against the soft fabric. A headache was building but there was nowhere to sit and ease it. She moved her fingers to her temples, stroking them gently. This was reality – her life with Matt was over. Even if he changed his mind and walked back in, the trust was gone. She’d always be wondering who now, what next. Her shoulders sagged. Staring at what was left and pining for what had been was not going to change it. She had to make a new start.

She took a deep breath and gathered her senses.

Right. She would deal with the essentials. A new fridge was number one. Then she’d get what she really needed – IKEA had rooms of household stuff and she could immerse herself just looking at the designs and colours while she thought about what she needed. She’d decorate this house in a fresh new style that reflected the new Kate. She’d make it a new home.

If he could have a new life, she could too.

Her struggling spirits lifted reluctantly, clearing the ground by a few inches before another weight brought them crashing down.

Loan repayments. What was she going to do about these? She couldn’t afford to buy anything with this burden and her mind became a blur just thinking about it. If she couldn’t manage these on her own, she’d have to sell the house.

The house would have to go. It was going to happen anyway. He’d want his half of the money and she couldn’t buy him out so there would be no choice. Selling a house was not something she had ever done, and she had no idea where to start. The pain in her temples descended to her chest and gripped it. She couldn’t contemplate this right now.

Breathe.

She took small gasps, holding the air a little longer each time until she could feel the muscles gradually release. She stared at the cooling kettle.

Yes, she would ring in and take the day off. She had to consider a new way forward, whatever that was, a life that reflected energy and vivacity. Shopping would at least be a distraction. She needed to be distracted or she would sit, and think … and cry.

Tears brimmed.

She looked at her watch through a watery haze and her heart sank. It was just 5.40. Only ten minutes had passed, and the stores would not open for several more hours. Waiting was not going to help. She needed to be busy, surrounded by noise and people and things to do. She needed to be at work.

Looking down, she realised she was already dressed for it.

The nurses station at the end of the corridor was alive with activity. A phone rang continuously, two visitors were asking questions and a printer whirred, spitting documents. An elderly man attached to a portable drip sat nearby in a narrow walkway reading the paper, a blanket covering his knees. Two trollies arrived simultaneously into the remaining space from opposite directions, and the orderlies stopped to work a way through without disturbing the array of medical equipment.

In room 44, Kate surveyed the clipboard at the foot of her patient’s bed and tried to concentrate on the notes the night shift had left. Her eyelids felt heavy, her shoulders ached and her head pumped like the symptoms of flu. Only this wasn’t a temporary illness.

This was forever.

She sighed and read for the third time that the last observation was at 2 am and that a Panadol was given at supper.

Her patient studied her intently, nestled under a pile of blue and white cotton blankets. Although a frail woman of ninety-four who looked every bit her age, she still had the eye of an eagle and the spirit of a crouching tiger. Her body might have been failing her, but her mind was not. She monitored the wellbeing of everyone who came in and out, and something was troubling this young woman.

‘What’s the matter, dear?’ she asked. Her voice crackled. ‘You’re not your normal self.’

Kate rested her hand on the page to keep the spot and looked up, her face suddenly saddening. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs McCloster. My husband left me yesterday.’

There it was. The words had tumbled out before she had a chance to gather and filter them. She admonished herself and the pain retaliated, returning to her chest with such vigour it threatened to paralyse her.

The old woman tried to push herself onto the pillows. Kate shut the file, reached in the cupboard and pulled a spare pillow from the top shelf, settling it carefully behind her patient.

‘Thank you, dear,’ she said, clearing her throat. Her words were barely audible. Kate waited while she composed herself.

‘Call me Betty,’ she said at last. ‘I understand. My husband left me too.’

Kate reeled slightly. ‘He did?’

‘A long time ago.’ she said gloomily. ‘The war was nearly over.’

Kate stood silently at the side of the bed. Betty was such a kind and thoughtful woman, Kate couldn’t imagine anyone leaving her. ‘Was he conscripted?’ she asked.

‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘He never went to war. He just emptied everything out of the house and moved in with the woman next door.’ She sank into the pillows, her face suddenly pale and drawn. Kate could see she was recalling the details as if it had only happened yesterday.

‘Oh, Betty,’ said Kate. She took the visitor’s chair from the window and pulled it across to the bed, seating herself on the edge of it. For a moment she contemplated how she would have coped with that. Her own husband leaving her for another woman was bad enough. Moving next door to live with her would be horrendous.

The old lady coughed a little and continued. ‘She was a clever businesswoman, rare for her time – she ran her own bookkeeping business. She was shrewd and cunning, and too good for her own boots. Older than my husband.’

An older woman. Would that be better or worse? She tried to imagine this Bridie person in another twenty to thirty years. What was it that attracted Matt to her? Was it her fresh looks or personality that tempted him? She couldn’t know – she realised she knew nothing about her. How old, how young, what she looked like was a mystery. Would he still want her when she was no longer his new fling? She couldn’t tell. Her muscles gave an involuntary flinch.

‘What did you do?’ she asked, adjusting the pillows.

Betty closed her eyes and then opened them again and gazed at Kate. ‘What could I do? He was twenty-five but I was just nineteen, with a tiny baby. I came home from church and the house was bare. I had no family to help me, we had just moved from Adelaide for Frank’s work,’ she said, almost hissing his name.

Kate’s face lit with surprise. She had never heard her patient speak a bad word and now she mentioned her husband with such bitterness, terrible feelings she had harboured for years. How would she feel about Matt after that length of time? Would she mellow and forgive him? Right now, she couldn’t. Coming into a barren house would have been a terrible shock for a young mother, just like she had felt when she opened the garage door. She had an immediate connection with the old woman and heartfelt compassion for her – neither of them had seen this coming.

The old lady signalled for a glass of water so Kate filled a plastic tumbler on the tray table and handed it to her. ‘Go on.’

‘Not many women went to work in those days,’ Betty continued. ‘I couldn’t afford the rent and I had to find a way to survive. I stayed and got a boarder in. Luckily she brought some furniture with her so we had somewhere to sit.’ She stopped to catch her breath. ‘Later I minded other people’s babies. It was a day-care of sorts although some mothers stayed as well – it became a kind of hostel for unmarried mothers.’ She gave Kate a sideways glance. ‘You know it was scandalous back then to have a baby out of wedlock.’

‘I know,’ said Kate sympathetically. ‘What happened to Frank?’ She wondered if the topic of her husband’s future life was taboo. Whether it was or not, it was too late. With her dog-tiredness, her ability to choose her words was escaping her.

This didn’t seem to upset the old woman. ‘He lived with her for as long as it lasted, which was about ten years, and they had two children – a boy and a girl,’ she said. ‘I never knew their names. I used to see him come and go every day from my window and he didn’t so much as look in my direction. I always took good care to sneak in when no one was around so that I didn’t have to speak to them.’

Good grief, thought Kate. She never even knew his children’s names. He lived next door for years with a heartless woman who could steal a young girl’s husband and flaunt him right under her nose. She hoped Matt would have the decency to move far away.

Kate straightened the top blanket and patted it gently.

‘I don’t know where he went after that,’ the old woman went on. ‘Another man came regularly to the house after him, a younger man again.’

‘Oh,’ breathed Kate.

‘My daughter visits regularly,’ Betty suddenly said brightly, sensing her shock and changing the subject. ‘She’s my rock. She’s coming in today.’

Kate managed a weak smile and reminded herself of Betty’s daughter. She had met Margaret, silver-haired and a little stiff in stature, who came in twice a week to see her mother. She seemed to be incredibly balanced for someone who had watched her father and half-siblings grow up as strangers just metres away. What did she think of the rest of her family living close by, estranged? Maybe she didn’t know, or maybe she just shut it out.

‘That’s wonderful,’ she managed. ‘Did you have more children?’

‘No, I never remarried. I wasn’t prepared to go through it again. I got on with my life.’

Kate wondered where Frank McCloster was now. She did a quick sum in her head – he would be nearly one hundred years old. Probably dead. For a brief moment she contemplated whether being dead would be a better option than dealing with the anguish she was going through. No. She couldn’t think like that. She needed to move on, just as Betty had done.

Looking down at her hands, she realised she had been fidgeting while she listened. This had not escaped Betty’s attention and the old woman looked at her sternly through her pale watery eyes. ‘You can get over this,’ she said, pulling a weathered hand out from under the blanket and resting it on Kate’s. ‘Do you want him back?’ she asked.

‘No.’

‘Are you certain?’

‘Yes.’

Kate bowed her head. While she was sure the hurt would go, the bond they had shared was broken and would never be the same again. She didn’t think she could ever forgive.

‘Then you need to forget about him,’ Betty said in her husky voice. ‘This is the next phase of your life. You can make it brighter if you want.’ She paused, catching her breath, and looked at Kate expectantly. The first rays of the morning sunshine beamed through the window, striking the pillows and highlighting her long white hair like a wise and cherished angel.

‘Thank you,’ said Kate. ‘Such wonderful advice, I am grateful.’ Straightening, she edged the visitor’s chair back against the window and resumed her professional bedside manner. ‘I’ll let Margaret know you’re ready to see her as soon as she comes in. Would you like your medication now?’