Page 100 of Weekends with the Sunshine Gardening Society
‘Where was I?’ Cynthia says. ‘Where was Kit? Or Dad?’
‘School. Work. I never said they were evening drinks.’ More twinkling.
Cynthia can only hope to still be that amused by life when she’s Von’s age.
‘Because we did the gardening on weekends,’ Von continues, ‘and then we were always running off to do housework and cooking and preparing children – if they were still school age – for the week ahead, the occasional weekday slot was all we could find. Lunches, they were, although we didn’t eat much.’
Cynthia can’t remember her mother eating much of anything ever. Diane was rake thin, and always seemed disappointed that Cynthia didn’t similarly starve herself. But try as she might Cynthia was usually too hungry for that.
‘Hi, Mum,’ says Odette as she walks into the room carrying Jordan.
‘Darling.’ Cynthia beams.
They’ve been getting on so much better lately; Cynthia can barely remember the distance between them.
‘Hello, Odette,’ Von says as Odette settles on the couch, holding the sleeping baby to her chest.
She narrows her eyes. ‘You look a great deal like your grandmother. I meant to say that the other day too.’
Odette looks at Cynthia then back at Von. ‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘No one’s ever said that. But she was lovely.’
‘She was,’ Von says with a nod, then her gaze turns to Cynthia. ‘No one’s told the child she’s the dead spit of Diane?’
‘Well, we …’ Cynthia isn’t sure what to say.
When Odette was young the resemblance wasn’t clear, and she doesn’t know if Wilfred said anything when Odette came back six years ago. Cynthia herself feels so remorseful about not being here for Diane when she was dying that it’s never felt appropriate to say anything to her father about the fact that a version of her mother is still walking around.
‘You don’t like to talk about her,’ Von surmises.
‘That’s not true!’ Cynthia says, too quickly, because they don’t talk about her much.
‘You don’t, actually, Mum,’ Odette says with a frown. ‘Nan and I got quite close after I came back. But after she died Pa never wanted to talk about her. And you haven’t said anything either.’
Cynthia gazes towards the garden. ‘I suppose I haven’t,’ she murmurs. ‘She was a complex woman. I don’t know that we were ever friends.’
Cynthia realises this is why she’s never really learnt how to be friends with Odette. She’s mothered her, yes, because she knew how that went. Transitioning to friendship, however, isn’t something she experienced herself.
‘Diane was hard to know,’ Von says. ‘That’s the way she liked it.’ She pats Cynthia’s hand. ‘Not your fault. Or your doing. But she loved you.’
‘She never said it,’ Cynthia says softly.
‘Youdon’t say it either,’ Odette adds, then she presses her nose into Jordan’s tiny head. ‘I’m going to say it all the time.’
‘I say it!’ Cynthia protests, although she can’t remember the last time she did. Or the first. She never told Pat she loved him, just let him tell her.
‘You don’t, Mum.’ Odette doesn’t look upset about this; in fact, she looks slightly amused. ‘I mean, it’s fine. Dad says it all the time.Allthe time.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘In front of people. So it’s not like I’ve never heard it.’
‘I never told you I love you?’ Cynthia could have sworn she said it when she kissed Odette goodnight, when she sent her offto school, when Odette was crying due to some hurt small or large. Or perhaps she only thought it, and the words have never formed on her lips because they were never said to her. Is that how families work – we repeat the patterns of each generation unless we find the fortitude to change them?
‘I love you,’ she says now, and the shape of the words in her mouth is familiar yet not.
‘You don’t have to say it,’ Odette says as Jordan starts to stir.
‘I know I don’t have to. I want to. I love you, darling. Enormously.’ Cynthia wants to hug her but that would be ostentatious.
‘I love you too.’ Odette grins. ‘See – it’s easy.’
‘Does no one have a word for me?’ Von says, looking from one to the other.
