Читать книгу The Essential Ingredient - Love - Tracy Madden - Страница 8

Loss echoed in the family home, a house that they had designed together. Already Chilli had noticed that there were no shouts of “Come here Chill,” from Rob’s study. And there never would be again. Shivering, she ran her hands up and down her forearms.

Chilli had always been happy around Rob and he had always been happy when he was around her. The thing was they always had the ability to laugh together.

She would go into his work frequently and he would run things by her, or he would work from home, calling out, summoning her from wherever she was, valuing her opinion. Living with Rob was constantly living with his work. It had been the life-blood of him.

Over 22 years of marriage, they had seen their differences eddy into complementary tics. They even calibrated their moods when working together, so they didn’t sink the house into misery. Whenever she was in high alarm, Rob was calm, and when he was agitated, she was the soul of cool. It wasn’t deliberate, it simply happened that way. They balanced each other beautifully.

But what was she to do now? Her life to date had been defined by motherhood and being a wife. Shuddering, she closed her eyes and shook her head, for what felt like the millionth time that week.

As Chilli gazed about the living area and the tranquil indoor sphere garden with the water feature, she realised that this was the only area in the house that really reflected Rob. He had been inspired by a magazine article featuring a house in Miami. It too had the sphere garden and indoor glass water feature. That was it! He had to have it. Everything else in the house, he had left up to her.

Switching the light on over the espresso coloured timber and opaque glass bar, she almost gasped with surprise at how many flowers there seemed to be, as they were doubled instantly by their reflection in the huge mirror behind. Taking her time, she read each of the cards and admired each arrangement individually.

The funeral director had given her a book with the names of everyone who had attended. Perched on a caramel toned leather Le Corbusier sling chair, facing out to the river, she read every name. At the time it had seemed a blur and there were a sea of faces. So many had come to pay their respects, Rob would have been touched. Even the man from their fruit shop had come. She had only ever known him as Andy. He had signed his name and put Andy’s Fresh Fruit in brackets after it. That was nice, she thought.

She ran her finger down the list as she read. There were people they hadn’t seen in years, old neighbours, business acquaintances, sub-contractors, Sam’s friends and their parents, the list went on. It had been a huge crowd. She was moved, and pleased for Rob that so many had come to pay their respects.

With her arms tightly folded across her chest, she roamed out onto the terrace. The outlook across the pool to the river and the banks opposite normally had a wonderful sense of serenity, but tonight it felt cold and lonely.

She knew she was delaying going to bed. The bed seemed so big and cold without him. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t ever slept on her own when Rob was away, she had, but this was different. He wasn’t coming back. It was funny the little things that she missed already. Things that she had either taken for granted or didn’t notice until they were no longer there.

It hadn’t mattered how they started off sleeping when they first went to bed - at some time during the night, they always ended up on their sides with her back against the front of him, spooning. One of his legs wedged between hers. One of his hands inside her nightdress cupping a breast. They fitted together.

She shook her head to clear it. Her mind came back to the present, and she was startled to see that in the last few days her bougainvillea shrub had blossomed. In daylight, its crimson coloured, flowering bracts were so intense, they were almost neon like. They had planted it just over a year ago, in memory of her black pug dog, Kitty.

Rob had surprised her with Kitty for her 30th birthday. He knew she had a void to fill and arms as well. He’d walked into the kitchen, with something tiny bundled up in an old, flannelette baby’s blanket and handed it to her saying, “This little girl needs a mummy.”

Peering out from the blanket was the blackest of faces. The creature’s tiny wet nose had looked like something you’d buy in a craft shop to stick on a toy. Her huge round glassy eyes stared unblinkingly out of her flat face, her rose petal tongue slightly poking out; the only colour showing. Her ears were like pieces of black velvet and she had that beautiful puppy smell.

Kitty was her beautiful roly poly baby girl, and she loved every part of her, even the tightly curled piggy tail.

The pug quickly became her shadow. During the development of the house, she’d tell the dog, “Miss Kitty you are going to love living on the river,” and she did. For hours the little pug would sit on the terrace and watch as boats went past. It was as if she had waited her whole life for this. She even loved the ski boat, accompanying them every single time, whimpering while Sam skied, until she was picked up, assuring a better viewing position.

At night Kitty slept on the black leather lounge in the bedroom, on her own black, faux mink rug. Sometimes it was hard to see where the little pug ended and the rug started. And during the night, it was unclear who snored the loudest, Rob or Kitty? Rob had insisted Kitty, but Chilli wondered how that little nose could have possibly competed with his.

The first night Rob had brought Kitty home, was the first time that Chilli had noticed her grandmother was starting to show her age. Excitedly, she’d rung Grand-mere Celeste to tell her of the new family member. Her grandmother had said, “Jean Pierre is a good name, why don’t you call him that?”

Chilli explained that it was a female dog.

In a far off voice, her grandmother had said, “I would like to hear someone say that name again. I once knew someone special called Jean Pierre. He had black hair too.”

Chilli had laughed telling her grandmother how funny she was. Grand-mere Celeste didn’t laugh with her, and kept rather quiet.

Just over a year ago, they’d come home and been unable to find the black pug. They’d searched everywhere to no avail. Hours later they found her dead, curled up under the lily pilly hedge near the pool.

Kitty was taken to the pet crematorium and later her ashes were returned in a box, with little paw prints and a small amount of fur as a keepsake. Accompanying the ashes was a certificate of cremation stating: ‘With fullest dignity and respect, Kitty dearly loved, loyal and faithful friend and companion of Sam, Mummy and Daddy was cremated and sent on her journey.’

Her ashes were buried in the garden overlooking the river, and they planted the crimson bougainvillea as a memorial.

Chilli walked over to the bougainvillea. “I’ve not only lost you my darling Kitty, but Daddy as well. It was too soon for him to go. Sammy and I will miss him dreadfully.” Her body shuddered with involuntary sobs she couldn’t contain.

It was only six days since Rob had left, as Chilli preferred to think, but already it felt like forever. She ached with missing him. Her heart was filled with an enormous pain engulfing every fibre of her being. How did she go from having a noisy household to just having herself, in such a short time? Despondently, she walked back inside, locked the door and turned off the lights.

In the bedroom she looked at the bed and decided against it. Instead she curled up on the black leather sofa; it felt snug and secure.

Her thoughts turned to the very first time she’d set eyes on Rob. He was her brother Eddy’s, rugby coach. He was 25. To her at only 18, he seemed like a god. At six foot two, with blonde fashionably long hair, blue eyes and tanned skin, he was a rugby player himself. Eddie and his team said he was an awesome bloke.

Chilli had thought him absolutely gorgeous, and turned out to be the most supportive sister in the world, by not missing one of the games, just to catch a glimpse of him. To her dismay, he appeared to take no notice of her all season, never uttering a single word to her.

Eddy told her Rob worked for his father in the local butcher shop. When the rugby season was over, she convinced her mother that she should take a more active role in the household and wished to assist with the shopping. The very first time she went into the butcher shop, to her surprise, Rob spoke to her. He leant across the counter and said, “Hey, its Eddie’s cute little sister Millie.” Blushing, she informed him that she was Eddie’s big sister, and her name was Chilli. He said that he meant she was tiny, and from then on he called her Chilli Dog. Before long it turned into his Hot Chilli. He could have called her anything, she was so in love. To her he was bigger than life. He was bigger than big.

Within a few weeks they began going out regularly, and as far as she was concerned, that was that. It took some time to reconcile her parents though, who thought she was far too young for such a serious liaison.

Within the year, they were engaged, planning their wedding for the following year. Everything came crashing down when she realised she was pregnant. They were madly in love, so it wasn’t a problem for them to bring their wedding forward, but she knew she had disappointed her father. There was also a tiny regret that she did not have the wedding she had been planning since she was a little girl. Instead, it was a rather small affair. Although, once she had her gorgeous baby boy in her arms, there was not one ounce of regret regarding her own wedding, until the day Sam was married.

Everyone had constantly told her that she was so lucky. Like everyone else they’d their hurts and disappointments, but they had been lucky in love. Rob had worked hard to get them where they were today. After Sam was born, he’d begun investing in property and over the years had become a developer. He had worked so hard and risked so much and where was he today?

Stifling her sobs into the pillow, she shook her head.

*

Once Sam and Miranda returned to the restaurant, Chilli decided she didn’t need Tiffany to come and stay. But she did ask the young woman to promise for the next few months to spend one night a week with her. What she needed was time alone to grieve. By asking Tiffany to come one night a week, Chilli knew it would appease her family, and she would enjoy her niece’s company.

The first few weeks Chilli hibernated. She didn’t want to leave the safety of her home. Well-meaning friends and relatives dropped by and telephoned, but really she didn’t feel like talking. What was there to say? Everyone said she needed time, but what was time going to do?

There were a couple of nights she found herself curled up in Rob’s silver BMW, in the garage, with a blanket around her, sobbing. The car still smelt like him and she felt close to him there. Her hands would hold the steering wheel, imagining his hands there, knowing it was one of the last things he touched.

She sorted through the glove box and storage compartments and found old packets of half eaten mints, a couple of pens, business cards, a lighter – surely he hadn’t been smoking again? Pieces of paper with hastily scribbled down numbers, a golf tee and three screwed up chocolate wrappers. Reclining the seat, she pushed the button on the CD player and listened to Lee Kernigan, a favourite of his. They had different taste in music, but she didn’t mind any more.

With her eyes closed, she would imagine him there with her. She could smell him. It gave her comfort. And then she’d wake after a couple of hours stiff and sore. She never told a soul.

For the first time in her life, Chilli ate simply for the sake of it. Sam and Miranda watched over her at the restaurant and were always sending tasty little portions home for her to reheat for dinner, but she tasted nothing.

Dinnertime had always been important to Chilli in her role as a wife and mother. Designing a meal around seasonal fresh produce was something she took seriously. A quick trip to the shops on the way home each afternoon to decide what looked good and building a meal around it, knowing her family would enjoy it, was important to her. Taste, colour, texture, aroma and presentation guided her. She cooked with great care and love, and looked forward to the conversation and friendly banter around the table. Suddenly this job no longer existed.

At first, when Tiffany came to stay once a week, she did her best to look after her aunt, but she soon realised that it was good for Chilli to prepare and cook a meal for the two of them.

Even though there was a 21 year age gap, the two females had much in common. Some time back, Tiffany had encouraged Chilli to join her gym and day spa. The first night that Tiffany stayed over, she told her aunt of her plan for the two of them to go to the gym together the next morning.

At 5.45 a.m. Chilli knocked on her niece’s door, cup of tea in hand, already dressed. Tiffany hadn’t meant quite that early, however, off they went and were the first to arrive, helping to open up.

This became Chilli’s routine; arriving at the crack of dawn, ready for a workout, followed by a session at the day spa.

The day spa was a ladies only traditional spa, where participants were naked and had a towel to sit on or drape over themself if needed. All the barriers were down. There were women of all ages and sizes. She was just Chilli there; no one knew Rob, although they were all aware of what had happened. As soon as she stepped through the frosted glass door and inhaled the mixture of orange, patchouli and ylang ylang aromatherapy, she relaxed. It was truly a nurturing experience.

Some mornings she didn’t to utter a word to anyone, needing the solitude; other days she found the support of talking and listening to the quiet voices soothed her devastated heart. She came to realise that under these circumstances, women were wonderfully supportive.

On one of the first mornings, Lisa, a massage therapist, told her that they’d had a cancellation for a massage for the following hour, asking if Chilli would like it. Anything to fill the time had been her most constant thought of late. She cried the whole way through, the gentle rhythmic kneading releasing even more of her grief. Lisa continued, and encouraged her to just let it all out. Chilli thought she might be letting it out for the rest of her life.

She felt the touch had been powerful and when Lisa insisted at the end of the session that it was complementary, Chilli accepted gratefully. Her father had been right, people wanted to do something to help, and accepting help when offered was a way to make them feel better in return.

However it seemed depression and loneliness were her constant companions.

Within a couple of weeks it was time for her to return to work at Montgomery’s. Tiffany had done a great job of stepping in, but it was time for Chilli to go back. Work was great therapy. It was busier than she had imagined and it kept her going all day. It wasn’t as if Rob had been there during the day once they were up and running, so at least this part of the day seemed normal to her.

After work each day, she deliberately delayed returning home to her empty house by stopping at her local shops. Unlike the past, this was not to buy groceries for dinner, she hardly cared about that, this was to fill in the next hour or so. The little Italian coffee shop that she loved was there. She’d order coffee and a baci, a bite sized chocolate biscuit, and sit with a magazine, and try to pass an hour or so.

Today she told Steve the owner to hold the baci. She had lost her taste for the sweet biscuits. Dipped in white chocolate, sprinkled with chopped pistachios, and sandwiched together with milk chocolate, they had been a favourite. No, she couldn’t care if she never ate another one of them again.

It wasn’t long before she ran into her elderly gentlemen. They politely showed their concern for her, asking if they could do anything or if she wished to join them.

Remembering what her father had said about accepting help, she said that she would join them, but hoped they wouldn’t think her rude if she didn’t talk much. She was happy to listen to them and she also had some reading to do. They set her up at the end of their table.

With a wave of his hand, John Johnson, the golfer, hailed the waiter and ordered another coffee for her. “And bring her a biscuit too. What would you like, would you like a rami or a baci or an Italian shortbread? The ramis are good today. They are my favourite, full of spice, with that hint of clove and that wonderful surprise of sweet syrup inside.”

But Bill the retired barrister argued, “No, she should try the pistaccis. You’d like one of those, wouldn’t you?” He pointed. “They are those crescent shaped biscuits on the bottom shelf, flavoured with orange peel and crunchy pistachios on top. Just the thing with coffee.”

Normally, descriptions like that would get her tastebuds going, but her mouth was too dry for eating. “Thank you, but I think I will just have the coffee today.”

Eventually, they began to quietly talk among themselves. Every now and then, they were joined by another contemporary. They would introduce Chilli and then tell the person not to bother her, she had important reading to do. But, the subjects they discussed were interesting and every now and then, she’d put her magazine down to listen or ask a question. She got used to the fact that Bill always argued with everything. He’d spent his life in a courtroom doing so and he obviously enjoyed it. John Johnson was the most well travelled and always had a story. As for Merve, he seemed to have a photographic memory and everything came back to figures.

Over a period of time, she began to open up and talk to them more, always rushing there whenever she’d had a meeting with the accountant or the solicitor, keen to get their advice.

Bill gave her good solid questions to ask, ones she would never have thought of. He made the legal jargon seem less threatening. Merve’s expertise with figures was invaluable and challenged her own accountant. And John Johnson told her many stories, most of which didn’t have anything to do with anything relevant, but they sounded interesting.

They had her sorted. They advised her on the share market, they argued endlessly about politics, they discussed world economics, they debated religion, they gave updates on current court cases and who was doing what, they talked tax, superannuation, investments. Every now and then she’d retreat to her magazine and they respected this. They made sure she was not disturbed when she needed solitude.

They continued to order biscuits for her. At first they’d order one, cut it in half and tentatively place it on the saucer of her coffee cup. It was as if she was an injured bird and needed hand-feeding. After a while they began giving her the whole biscuit. She ate but tasted nothing.

All of Chilli’s friends had rallied around and invited her to everything that was going on. And, although she was grateful to them, she missed Rob all the more when she was with these couples.

An invitation had come in the post from Cherie for her husband William’s fiftieth birthday party. Only a small occasion with friends she’d known for years.

On the afternoon of the dinner, Chilli began having second thoughts about going, but felt she couldn’t really back out on such short notice.

It was only five couples plus her. Of the five couples, four were still married, but one, Dan, had a new partner, Di. The Montgomerys had met Di before and quite liked her. But unfortunately, the night was not a great success. From the moment she arrived, the tears welled up, but she did her utmost best to quell them, feeling it wasn’t fair to put a dampener on William’s birthday.

Noticing that her friend was far from being herself, Cherie tried to involve her, handing her an anti-pasta platter to pass around. On the terrace, William had fired up the barbeque, and the other men had stepped out to join him. There appeared to be some good-natured teasing going on, until she walked out to them, then a sudden quiet settled over them all.

Clearing his throat, William spoke first. “So how’s it going Chilli?” he asked, head down busily scraping at barbeque plate.

“Fine thanks,” she said trying to put him at ease. The last thing she wanted to do was to make other people feel uncomfortable.

There was a pause, so taking a slow deep breath she tried to muster up some enthusiasm and sound like the old Chilli.

“Okay guys, this crumbed cauliflower is delicious. Try it. And the char grilled octopus is great too. Dan have you got a piece? Look at the capsicums, beautiful red and juicy, pop it on the bread with the creamy goat’s cheese. There you go.”

The men eagerly helped themselves and she caught the look of relief in their faces. They began chatting once again. Oh yes, everyone was happy now, here was the old Chilli back on more familiar territory. Here was the Chilli that they loved, the one with a passion for food.

But the trouble was, she wasn’t the old Chilli. She no longer knew who she was.

Back in the kitchen, Dan’s new partner was regaling them with stories of ‘Dan this’ and ‘Dan that’. ‘Dan just makes me so happy’ and ‘Dan and I are so in love’. And as much as she felt this was lovely for Di, it just contributed to making Chilli feel lonelier and sadder by the minute. It was selfish of her, she knew. But that hollow feeling in her stomach was growing bigger by the minute.

“You know, one day Chilli, you may meet someone else,” Di went on, “and wouldn’t that be nice. You deserve to be happy again.” Di beamed at her.

For a split second, Chilli closed her eyes. Her stomach felt as if it wanted to heave. And then exhaling, she looked straight across at Di. “Do you know Di, I don’t think that I will ever be interested in meeting anyone else. Rob has given me enough love to last a life time.”

Cherie jumped in quickly, clapping her hands. “Beautifully said Chilli. That’s one of the nicest things I’ve ever heard.” She swiftly continued, “Now girls, we’d better get this food out to the men.”

There it went again, another reminder. Chilli’s brain registered, ‘the men’, and she wanted to yell, “But mine’s not out there!”

And so it went on. The truth was, she didn’t begrudge any of them anything. She wanted her friends to be happy. It was just that she didn’t fit there anymore.

Throughout the night she noticed the look on her friends’ faces. They felt sympathy, but also relief, relief that they were not her. Thank goodness they had their husbands to go home with. Desolation settled over her and she realised that life was a game of Russian roulette, and it’s always someone’s turn, and boy is everybody grateful when it is not theirs.

That night, she fell into bed and surrendered again to grief’s wild ride. All accidental deaths are simultaneously absurd and tragic. When she’d lost the most important person in her life, through the most random of circumstances, she’d come to realise pretty damn fast that everything was fragile; that so-called security is nothing more than a thin veneer that can fracture without warning.

She’d always felt that there was nothing like a good cry to expunge all of the pent up sorrow you carry around with you, but when she finally bought herself under control, and faltered into the bathroom to splash some water on her face, she found herself thinking that it had done her no good whatsoever.

*

Chilli began running on weekends. It started off as a walk and before she knew it she was running. Never in her life, other than when she was a child, had she run for more than 20 minutes. But now, she felt like she could run all over Brisbane. Deep inside, she knew she was trying to run away from something. Pain.

Saturday was a divine morning to be outside, but Chilli hardly noticed. Upon letting herself out the front door, she broke into a run. About 45 minutes later, it hit her. She realised that all her grief centred on the realisation that she could never escape the bereavement that had struck her. She might have moments when she could cope, when the harshness temporarily lessened, but the real problem with her grief was its perpetuity. It would not go away. Although on one level she was crying for her loss, she was also crying because she’d now realised she was stuck with a loss that, try as she might, had become an intrinsic part of her.

This realisation seemed to fall on her like a brick wall. She saw spots before her eyes, her step faltered and her mouth went dry. Perspiration broke out on her upper lip and the back of her neck was clammy. The panic reared up and was terrorising. She didn’t know whether to run faster, find somewhere to hide, or lie on the ground and give up.

With her knees trembling, she found a bench outside the bakery and sat down. Not sure what to do, for a few minutes she sat, big eyes watching as others went about their day. But they felt too close and were going too fast and talking too loud, crowding her. She closed her eyes, desperately gasping for air. Panic kept washing over her in waves until finally, her pounding heart slowed. And then exhaustion hit. She yawned. She wanted to lie on the bench and sleep...

“Chilli!”

It took her a moment to realise that someone had spoken her name.

“Chilli hello. How are you?”

Shaking her head as if to clear it, she looked up.

The man smiled. “It’s Jeff, Jeff Bryson from the plane. Remember we chatted?”

Still looking at him, she didn’t say a word.

“Are you okay? Don’t tell me, you’re waiting for your husband and he’s late again.” He gave a laugh.

In a small voice she said, “No, actually he’s dead!” Just at that moment Solange and Jack came out of the bakery.

“Chilli!” Solange had overheard what Chilli had just said. She took one look at her daughter and knew instantly that something was wrong. But before she could speak, Jack jumped in.

“What’s going on? Are you alright?” he asked, concerned. “The car’s this way, let’s give you a lift my girl, you look a little pale.” Carefully, Jack placed his hand under Chilli’s elbow and led her away. She didn’t look back.

Solange called after them. “I’ll be along in a moment Jack.”

“Hello.” Solange extended her hand, “I’m Chilli’s mother Solange Buchanen. That must have been a shock for you, what Chilli just said. I’m so sorry.” She shook her head, “She’s not herself.”

Jeff’s eyes had followed Chilli and her father. “Please, please don’t apologise. I feel dreadful. My God, when did it happen?”

“About eight months ago now. He was hit by a car.”

Jeff shook his head. “God, that’s dreadful. I can’t believe I made a comment about him being late.”

“You weren’t to know,” Solange said kindly. She touched his arm ever so briefly. “Now, I’m sorry I just can’t place you. How is it that you know my daughter?”

“I don’t really. Earlier in the year, we sat next to each other on a plane trip back from Melbourne. We chatted. She said some lovely things about her husband and family, and when I saw her just now, I remembered who she was.” He ran a hand through his thick wavy hair. He felt a sense of embarrassment about being so forward with Chilli, but at the same time, incredible sadness for her.

“I know when you’re talking about. I believe that was the night Rob was killed. He never made it to the airport to pick her up.”

“Please, please apologise to her for me, will you? She may not even remember who I am... Don’t say anything.” He thought for a minute. “Oh no you’d better, or she’ll think I was just some weirdo trying to upset her.”

“Please,” again Solange rested her hand on his arm. “Don’t you worry. You weren’t to know. I’d better go and get her home though. Goodbye.”

“Yes, bye.” Jeff stood rooted to the spot, watching Solange walk away.