Page 16 of Weekends with the Sunshine Gardening Society
‘No suppose about it. Death is our only certainty.’
Von moves towards the couch.
‘I don’t remember you being this gloomy,’ Cynthia says as they both sit.
‘That’s not gloom! It’s fact.’ Von sighs as she manoeuvres herself deeper into the cushions.
Cynthia nods towards the upright piano in the corner of the room. ‘Are you still playing regularly?’
Von was her piano teacher from the age of six, and even when Cynthia decided it was no longer cool to play she still came to see Von, in her old house with her dead husband’s paintings all over the walls and her ferocious cats. The cats are long gone, and so are the paintings, it seems. Perhaps Von’s children, Bede and Audrey, have claimed their inheritance early.
‘Of course. Are you?’ But the look Von gives her shows she already knows the answer.
‘I haven’t had time.’
Von raises her eyebrows. ‘We can all make time for the things that are important.’
‘I guess that’s true.’ Cynthia looks out to the garden again and sees a brush turkey slowly plodding across the lawn. ‘You have a visitor,’ she says.
Von cranes her neck in response. ‘Oh yes, they love scratching up my garden when it’s nesting time,’ she says with irritation. ‘I’ve tried everything to get rid of them. But they were here first, so I understand why they’re so tenacious.’
Cynthia smiles. ‘You’re fairly tenacious too.’
‘This is true.’ Von props her cane against the couch. ‘Now, what’s going on?’
‘What do you mean?’ Although Cynthia knows Von can read her easily, she doesn’t want to give in that quickly.
Von waves a hand. ‘I know you’re happy to see me and you wanted to visit to say hello, et cetera, but since the second you walked in you’ve looked like there’s something you want to say and you’re not sure how to say it.’
‘Do you think I’ll be that perceptive when I’m as old as you?’ Cynthia teases. They’ve never taken each other too seriously.
‘Watch it.’ Von picks up the cane and shakes it in Cynthia’s direction. ‘These days I come with weapons.’
Cynthia laughs, relieved that their dynamic hasn’t changed, then she presses her lips together in a determined line, ready to make her confession.
‘My daughter is barely speaking to me,’ she says.
‘Oh, you too,’ Von says, her eyes twinkling.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Your daughter is a teenager, Cynthia. It’s herjobto not speak to you.’
‘Apregnantteenager,’ Cynthia mutters.
If there’s a flicker of surprise on Von’s face, Cynthia fails to catch it.
‘Oh, her too,’ Von says quietly.
Cynthia’s mouth drops open. ‘Von!’
‘Hm – what?’
‘That’s not very nice!’
‘But it’s the truth.’ Von shrugs. ‘One hesitates to say, “Like mother, like daughter … ”’ Her eyes twinkle again. ‘I’m teasing. But you have to admit it’s a little bit funny.’
‘No, I don’t. It’s outrageous.’
