Page 58 of Weekends with the Sunshine Gardening Society
But the knocking comes again and here’s Olive, peering in at her and motioning for Elizabeth to roll down the window like she won’t take no for an answer.
‘What’s going on, duck?’ she says once the window is down a few centimetres.
Elizabeth continues to roll it the whole way as it would be rude otherwise. She sniffs and it’s one of those wet, snortysniffs that happen when you’re crying and it’s running into your nose, and your sinuses feel like they’re in on the act as well. Charming. And not something she wanted anyone else to witness.
‘Um …’ she says, wishing desperately for that tissue.
Olive fishes around in her handbag and brandishes a welcome white square. ‘It’s clean,’ she says, thrusting it into the car.
‘Thanks,’ Elizabeth mumbles then blows her nose.
Olive lets out a noisy sigh and puts a hand on her hip. ‘This is no good,’ she says, and Elizabeth’s heart contracts in fear: is she going to be sacked for crying before work?
‘No good at all,’ Olive goes on, shaking her head vigorously. ‘Lovely young lass like you, sitting here in a mess.’ She pulls on the door handle and opens the door wide. ‘Come on, out you get.’
‘But …’ Elizabeth dabs under her eyes with the now-sodden tissue, and quickly grabs her handbag and the keys out of the ignition lest Olive physically remove her from the vehicle.
‘Come inside and I’ll make you a cup of tea and we’re going to talk about it,’ Olive says briskly, winding up the window before shutting the car door.
Once they’re inside Olive dumps her bag on their desk and hastens to the small kitchen out the back. Elizabeth follows her slowly, and watches as she boils the kettle and makes a pot, not daring to say anything because Olive is quite clearly in charge of whatever is going on here. Instead she listens to the radio that is on almost constantly, to the end of that Whitney Houston song that everyone loves.
‘Now,’ Olive says as she sets the pot, cups, saucers and a small plate of Venetian biscuits on the table, ‘out with it. Come on – first patient will be here in ten and I want a full confession before then, or I’m going to ask Marco to prescribe you some Valium. And youdon’twant to start down that road,believe me.’ She rolls her eyes.
‘It’s noth—’
‘Don’t you dare say “It’s nothing” – I’m no fool.’
Olive pours the tea and offers a cup to Elizabeth.
‘All right,’ Elizabeth says, swivelling the cup on the saucer. ‘But it may sound ridiculous.’
‘Sweetheart, I like to take holidays on cruise ships. Wait until you’ve been around four hundred people with gastro who are still trying to get free drinks,thentalk to me about ridiculous.’
Elizabeth laughs involuntarily and she can tell from the smile on Olive’s face that this was the intended outcome.
‘All right,’ she starts again. ‘I … Well …’ She stops and sighs. She’s never said this to anyone and it really does sound silly when she thinks about it.
‘Go on.’ Olive sips her tea.
‘I … I didn’t think I was a widow. As in, I never use that word for myself.’ Elizabeth sighs again. ‘No one else called me that either. And it sounds so awful, doesn’t it?Widow. It’s so heavy. So … final.’
She looks down at her tea, as if it holds answers to questions she hasn’t formulated yet. ‘This woman at church said something the other day. You know how some people love to say things to upset people?’
‘Oh yes.’ Olive makes a face. ‘After Morrie died this woman in my crochet group told me it was so sad that my life was over now he was gone. Imagine!’
‘What did you say to her?’
‘I said, “Like bloody hell! He’s dead, I’m not!”’ Olive nods once. ‘I was sad. Course I was. But my life wasn’t over, because it wasmylife, not his. He wasn’t my entire world. I knew who I was without him.’
She looks Elizabeth hard in the eye. ‘Widow is just a word, duck. I can’t believe that someone as bright as you would let some idiot at church make her feel like this.’
Elizabeth’s bottom lip starts to tremble and she’s not sure why. Maybe it’s because Olive understands and, as well-meaningas her friends and family are, they don’t. They can’t. They’re not … Well, they’re not widows.
‘I don’t mind you crying,’ Olive continues. ‘It’s normal. Healthy. But what I will not tolerate is you crying because someone else said something stupid. Well, you can indulge it if you want to, I suppose.’ She flaps a hand. ‘But what’s the point?’
She takes another sip of tea. ‘Unless you like to wallow.’ She narrows her eyes at Elizabeth. ‘But you don’t strike me as the type.’
‘I’m not,’ Elizabeth says firmly, because it’s the truth.
