Page 62 of A Midlife Gamble

‘It’s not Tony,’ Kay said as she looked up. She turned first to Helen and then Caro. ‘And it’s not you, or Caro either.'

No one answered. There was amongst them all the understanding that it wasn't their cue.

And then Kay leaned forward, her chin in her hands and said, ‘I came here to look at the stars.’

Over the top of her head, Helen and Caro looked at each other.

Marianne looked straight up at the sky. The ever-blue, ever-starless, painted Venetian sky.

‘There are none,’ Kay shrugged.

Tenderly, Helen moved to place her hand on Kay’s back, but before she could, Kay straightened up and flung herself back against the bridge. ‘I’m just a loser!’ she cried. ‘A failure, and a loser.'

Drawing her hand back, Helen's eyes went blank with astonishment. Never, in all the years they had known each other, had she heard Kay talk like this.Loser? Failure?The spectacle those words conjured was ugly, and, used in the same context as the name Kay, ludicrous. Such a clear misfit, she couldn't take them seriously, couldn't even summon up a denial because that would mean allowing that there might, in the smallest quantity, have been a truth to be found. Kay, who, nearly all her life, had pushed ambition and self aside? Who spent her days and energy giving to others? A loser? A failure?

Neither Marianne, nor Caro, offered up a response either, and with their silence, Helen knew they were thinking the same thing. ‘Kay,' she said and took Kay’s hand, folding it within her own. ‘What happened?’

‘Tony,’ Kay answered, 'said I was a winner.’ She began moving her feet up and down, splashing water across the landing board. ‘He said I was a winner and I should have believed him. But I didn't.'

‘Tony,' Marianne said hoarsely, 'is a liar!’

Kay stared straight ahead. ‘I had one chance. I could have won five thousand dollars. The odds were in my favour, and I’m a mathematician, right? I know about odds, it’s what I’ve spent my life teaching and understanding!’ A tear rolled down her cheek, followed swiftly by another. ‘I didn’t take it,' she whispered. 'I could have won five thousand dollars, but I didn’t take my chance. It won’t come again. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that chances don’t come round a second time so not only am I a loser, I'm a coward too.'

'No. Kay…’ Helen started. But she could hardly make her voice heard because Kay had inched in a semblance of truth after all. Chances didn’t come round a second time, and so the words…loser, coward…had somehow become loaded, or at least were not harmless. And they wounded Helen. Wounded them all. So they sat, silent and flattened and unable to find a way to stop the hurt.

‘I could have won that money,’ Kay cried. ‘Ishouldhave won it. I could have taken dad and Alex on holiday. I could have begun Alex’s fund, given him a real start so he won't be on his own completely. It would have been enough, and I knew that and even though I knew that and I knew what the odds were, I was still too scared! I'm a coward. There’s no other explanation. I’m a coward and a loser, and now it’s too late… There won’t be another chance. It won’t come again. I’ll die. And it won’t ever come again…’

And although the air in the pretend square was as still as the air in a bottle, and there were no stars above, and no insects or birds, animals or humans, a force that was nevertheless alive took Kay’s words and shredded them, ripping them into jagged and mutilated pieces, so they became unbearable. Her head dropped onto Helen’s shoulder.

And just as she had with every wounded child who had ever crossed her path, Helen scooped Kay in. Wrapped her arm around Kay’s back and lifted her chin above Kay's shoulder and held her, as Kay sobbed and her body trembled. And beside them, Caro sat silently and Marianne shook her head, a lone tear spilling down her cheek. And they knew from wisdom that was hard-won not to breach the moment. That these pauses were knots that kept their bracelet of friendship tied. Memories that would always bind them. Because, if in the beginning what they had found in each other was not much more than a sympathetic mirror for a life that hadn't met expectations, it had in these later years transformed into a granite-like awareness that being present was enough. Keeping the thread intact was all that was required. So they sat and they waited and eventually, when they thought she was ready, Helen tried again.

‘Kay?’

Kay peeled herself away from Helen’s shoulder and looked up. ‘I came to look at the stars,' she said. 'I thought if I can’t leave Alex anything else, at least I know I’ll have left him love… Because I do. I love him so much.’ Her voice broke. ‘You said it was sad, Caro.’

Caro looked up.

Kay nodded. ‘At the ranch, you said it was sad the stars were dead, we could still see their light but they were dead.'

‘I didn’t mean anything,’ Caro said, her voice tight and small.

And again for a long moment no one spoke.

Then Kay whispered. ‘I don’t think it’s sad, you see. In fact, it gives me hope.’ Her face glistening with tears, she smiled. ‘If it can happen with light, I think it can happen with love. I believe that. I believe that even if I'm dead, Alex will still have my love. He will, won’t he?’ And the plea in her eyes made it look as if they were breathing. The hope that flared and receded, flared and receded.

Helen nodded, she couldn’t speak, the weight of her own grief would not allow it, because what Kay was saying was ringing its truth in her ears, louder than a thousand slot machines could ever hope to. Love didn’t die. Didn’t she still carry the weight of her love for her lost son with her, every single day?

‘He’ll still have it, Kay,’ Caro managed. She stretched her hand out to grasp Kay’s.

Helen looked down at their joined hands. And Caro too carried her own small portion of the kind of love that would never admit defeat.

‘He’ll always have it, Kay,’ Marianne said and now she reached across, her hand on top of Caro’s, on top of Kay’s.

‘And us,’ Helen managed, her voice cracking. She added her hand, so now they were joined, the four of them. ‘You’ll stay with us too, always Kay. Always.’

27

Twenty minutes later, tired and bedraggled, they made a sombre sight as they walked slowly past the deserted bars and shops and cafés. The thin echo of Marianne’s sandals slapping the floor was the only sound. Silent and subdued, no one else had bothered to put footwear back on and they walked, swinging shoes by laces or, in Helen’s case, laces tied together and hung around her neck. She was exhausted, so many thoughts about the day trying to be heard that she’d given up and concentrated now only upon the floor, which felt smooth and cool, the way the soles of her feet peeled back and pressed down again, peeled and pressed down. The feeling had become a mantra, a rhythm that was carrying her, sure as night followed day, all the way to a more than welcome bed. Even the sharp ridges of the escalator hadn’t been enough to penetrate her dream-like state. Down she floated, ever downward.

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