Page 47 of Weekends with the Sunshine Gardening Society
‘Where’s young Charlie today?’ Shirl says to Elizabeth.
‘With my parents,’ says Elizabeth. ‘He spends a lot of time with them.’
Barb smiles benevolently. ‘That’s good for the boy. And I’m sure they enjoy it.’
Elizabeth smiles quickly in response then looks around. ‘What would you like me to do?’
‘You can pick up whatever we cut off and drop it in the wheelbarrow,’ says Barb.
Nodding in answer, Elizabeth stands back and waits as Shirl starts hacking.
Lorraine decides to be friendly. It’s a character trait of hers – some would say defect. Like her teachers. They always told her parents she was ‘too ready to make friends’ because she talked in class a lot. But her parents never tried to change her, and being ready to make friends was how she and Cynthia buddied up, so Lorraine has never thought of it as a defect. Hopefully Elizabeth won’t either. Lorraine hasn’t had a chance to chat to her much before, mainly because Elizabeth tends to work alone in her own garden and she’s a little stand-offish, if Lorraine is being honest. Which Lorraine understands. Grief and all that. Not that she’s been through anything as bad as Elizabeth but she tries to understand.
‘So, a kid-free day?’ Lorraine asks as she also stands back. Her instruction from Shirl is to wait until a passageway has been cleared then they’ll all get in and do what they can.
‘Yes.’ Another quick smile. ‘My parents are happy about me doing this. They said it’s good to get out and do something a bit different.’ Her eyes cloud over.
‘Must be tough,’ Lorraine says, ‘when it’s just you. No time for yourself. I’m lucky because my eldest is old enough to watch his brother – when he can be bothered. And my mother-in-law lives with us.’ Lorraine’s trying to focus on the positives of that.
‘Oh? You’re brave.’
Lorraine glances sideways at Elizabeth, trying to work out if she’s joking. ‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘Maybe. Probably.’
She thinks about Cora tut-tutting her way around the kitchen while Lorraine cooks dinner, and how she’d like to yell at her to get out yet restrains herself. Is that bravery? Or martyrdom?
‘I could never live with my mother-in-law,’ Elizabeth says, folding her arms, although Lorraine notices she is clenching and releasing her fists.
‘Is she close by?’
A quick shake of the head. ‘No. Thank goodness. After Jon died she wanted me to put Charlie in a boarding school – that’s what she thinks of me as a parent.’
Lorraine ponders the idea of putting Terry in particular in a boarding school and finds it quite appealing. Not that they can afford it. And it’s not like he’d get a scholarship. Oh well, another dream denied.
‘Did Jon go to boarding school?’ Lorraine asks. She’s never had this much of a conversation with Elizabeth so she doesn’t know if she’s crossing some kind of line.
‘Yes. And he hated it. Which she knows.’ Elizabeth gestures in Shirl’s direction, clearly wanting to change the subject. ‘She’s making progress.’
‘God love her, she’s a little Trojan,’ Lorraine says with a laugh. ‘And that’s my cue. I’ll bring you back some good rubbish.’
‘Thanks.’
Lorraine starts wading into the garden, past Shirl’s fallen vines, then turns to look over her shoulder. Just to check on Elizabeth because she feels like she should.
Elizabeth is standing just as she left her, those fists still going, only now her lips are pressed together and Lorraine could swear that she looks like she’s about to cry. Crying probably comes with the widowhood territory, though, so Lorraine shouldn’t worry about it. Except she does. And she decides that Elizabeth will definitely be the next friend she tries to make.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Thisis as cold as winter here will ever get, Cynthia thinks, as she takes Von’s arm and steers her onto the path that accompanies the river. In that respect she’s swapped one temperate place for another, although that’s where the comparisons to Los Angeles end. Her former home is a company town, and everyone seems to be from somewhere else – as, of course, she was – and trying to get something. Trying to beat others to roles, to jobs, to projects. Everyone is your friend and no one is. Or maybe Cynthia just didn’t know how to make friends there, nor have the opportunity because Max always wanted her to be at his beck and call – which included throwing parties and holding dinners so he could network with people in the industry. None of those parties benefited her; if anything, they made Max more determined to have her do more for him, because her greatest talent, it seemed, was making him look good. And there was no one she could talk to about it.
All those years she missed Lorraine like a limb, but she let her go. After a few letters Cynthia didn’t answer she felt like it was too late. Now she knows it wasn’t. That, most likely, it would never be. She’s so grateful to Lorraine for taking her back.
Grateful too that Von is still alive and they can spend this time together – although Cynthia has resisted Von’s heavy suggestions that she return to playing piano. While she may have the time topractise now, she doesn’t want to inflict that on her father. She remembers what it was like when Odette wanted to learn violin; her ears can sometimes feel like they’re still recovering.
‘So,’ she says, tightening her grip on Von’s arm as they near a broken-up bit of path, ‘what have you been up to?’
‘Apart from being old?’ Von’s tone is wry but Cynthia knows there’s some truth to it: she hates being old.
‘Wasn’t it you who told me that being old is just a state of mind?’ she says.
