Page 12 of Weekends with the Sunshine Gardening Society
‘When my friend gets here, thanks,’ she replies finally. Her friend. It just slipped out. Who knows if they’ll be that again.
It was her mother who had urged her to call Cynthia after a few days. Rose had always liked Cynthia and used to say she was good for Lorraine because she did her homework on time and didn’t get detention, unlike Lorraine’s other friends.
‘I’m sure she has a valid reason for not writing back,’ Rose said. ‘She was always so correct about things.’
By that Rose meant that Cynthia wrote thank-you notes and always cleaned up after herself when she visited. Normally Lorraine couldn’t stand goody-two-shoes but Cynthia wasn’t one of those, not really – she just liked to cause a minimum of fuss, she said once. If she did things properly there was no fuss.No fun eitherwas what Lorraine always wanted to say, but she didn’t because she really did love Cynthia and knew she was lucky to have a friend who would put up with her being a bit hopeless about time and deadlines and things like that. There was just so much to do, wasn’t there? People to chat to, trees to look at – Lorraine could get distracted by anything if you gave her a chance. The teachers used to say she was a daydreamer. Well, that stopped as soon as she had Terry. Can’t daydream with a baby because they need you too much and they die if you don’t take care of them properly.
‘Lorraine?’
She blinks herself back to the present and looks up to see Cynthia standing with the sun behind her and a nervous smile.
And she should be nervous: Lorraine hasn’t forgiven her, not by a long way. Cynthia is going to have to come up with some serious grovelling if that’s to change. Rose might have talked her into meeting up but that’s only the first step. Because the truth is Lorraine’s been feeling abandoned by the person who’s known her the longest outside of her family.
She squints into the light. ‘What happened to your hair?’
Probably not the sort of hello Cynthia was expecting but what else do you say to someone when you haven’t seen them for years and you don’t want to be too friendly because you want them to work for it?
Cynthia’s smile falters. ‘I cut it.’
‘I can see that.’ Lorraine stands. ‘But you’ve always had it long.’
More faltering. Uncertainty. Cynthia’s eyes half-close then open. ‘Um … hello? Maybe we could start there.’
‘Oh. Yeah.’ Even if she’s trying to make Cynthia work for it there’s no need to completely forget her manners. ‘Hello.’
They stand looking at each other, and it’s only now that Lorraine thinks Cynthia could have made any number of remarks about howshelooks – wider, saggier, her dark brown hair streaked with grey, bags under her eyes, and she’s not even forty yet. Those kids are sapping the life out of her. Them and her mother-in-law and life in general. Why is there always so much to do? This afternoon she has to go over the books for Mike’s business, and tomorrow she has to help him out by mowing some lawns because he’s double-booked himself and Mr Someone from Eumundi needs a gutter cleaned. Odd jobs, that’s Mike’s trade, and he’s good at it. Too good, given the amount of work. At least they’re not worrying about money. Just time. There’s never enough of that.
Cynthia smiles, and it’s one of those sad smiles people have when they’re about to say something you won’t like or that they’ll regret. That’s how it always is in the movies, anyway. Lorraine doesn’t smile sadly at people. Come to think of it, she doesn’t smile much at all. Too busy to smile. Or maybe she doesn’t feel like it. She hasn’t stopped to figure that out.
‘I’ve really missed you,’ Cynthia says, and she squeezes Lorraine’s forearm.
‘Is that why you stopped writing?’ Lorraine snaps.
Oh, that was mean. She knew it as she was saying it. So why did she say it? No need to be so short with Cynthia just because she’s not ready to be best friends again. Yet. She’s tired, that’s it. No filter when she’s tired. Mike always says:You should take a breath before you speak, darl. To his credit, he cops her barbs at him on the chin; it’s the things she says to other people that he warns her about. She should take more care, she knows that. Before her life got so busy she used to be nicer. Or maybe not nicer. Kinder. More considerate.
‘Yes,’ Cynthia says, and her chin lifts a little. ‘Actually, it was.’
Lorraine frowns. ‘That makes no sense.’
‘Shall we sit?’ Cynthia gestures to the table.
Lorraine nods and sits heavily.
‘Every letter from you reminded me of what I’d left,’ Cynthia says softly. ‘And I couldn’t afford to doubt that I’d made the right decision. I’d put all my eggs in that basket and …’ She looks away and shrugs, then smiles ruefully. ‘They were getting scrambled. It was easier to try to forget that you were here and I couldn’t see you. I thought if I stopped writing you’d eventually stop too.’
‘It worked,’ Lorraine says, then huffs. ‘You duffer.’
Cynthia’s eyes widen. ‘Duffer? Me?’
‘Yeah.’ Lorraine tries smiling. It doesn’t feel so bad. ‘So … it wasn’t the right decision, I’m guessing? Given you’re back.’ No point pussyfooting around it.
‘It was for a while.’ Cynthia gazes towards the river and sighs. ‘Until I met my second husband. Max. I think I’d stopped writing to you by then so you wouldn’t know his name.’
Lorraine shakes her head: no, she didn’t know it. Wilfred has never mentioned it.
‘He was wonderful,’ Cynthia says. ‘Charming. Good-looking in that film-industry way.’
Having no idea what that means, Lorraine frowns.
