Page 91 of Weekends with the Sunshine Gardening Society
‘Odette!’ Von calls. ‘Would you bring me your son? I love a baby.’
‘Bossy as always,’ Wilfred says drily as he approaches and sits beside Von before pecking her cheek. ‘Good to see you, Veronica.’ He pats her hand. ‘And good to have you here.’
Kathy notices his eyes cloud a little and he glances away before fixing his gaze on Odette, who is holding out her son to Von.
‘Hello, Jordan,’ says Von, staring down at the little bundle now in her arms.
Kathy is content to sit amongst the family activity, which now includes Pat chopping something noisily in the kitchen. Cynthia arrives bearing a champagne-filled glass.
‘Cynthia,’ Von says, ‘remind me to tell you about the Noosa Parks Association. I think you should talk to them about whether you can help with some parks.’
‘We already do.’ Cynthia glances at Kathy and shrugs as if to say,Don’t we?
‘Somelobbyingregarding parks.’ Von stops to coo at the baby. ‘There are rumblings about this and that person wanting to build on the parks. The society knows them better than most so you may be able to provide some information about why that would be abad idea.’
More cooing and Kathy is impressed by Von’s ability to switch between encouraging activism and coddling a baby. And she’s curious about this Parks Association. Her determination to do something to stop the riverside park being developed waned afterthat episode with Jemima on Hastings Street. It took her a while to recover from that: she lost her motivation to do anything other than feel sorry for herself and simultaneously feel ashamed that she was caught up in her emotions like some teenager.
‘I’ll talk to Shirl and Barb,’ Cynthia promises. ‘But let’s forget about it for now.’
Von looks slightly disgruntled but says no more, instead handing Jordan back to his mother.
Cynthia hauls Von off the couch and accompanies her to the table, where they sit and eat prawns and turkey and potatoes and salad and bread – a combination of traditional and tropical Christmas that Kathy has never experienced but which exemplifies her old and new life.
Hours pass as they talk about Noosa and how it’s changed, about the national park and the shops on Hastings Street, about Pat’s favourite surf break. Christmas cake is brought out and eaten, and by nightfall Kathy is on her way home, clear-eyed and clear-headed, and feeling like she could really settle into this place.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
ChristmasDay had started well, with Charlie opening presents and generally being cheerful the way children are on that day. Elizabeth had managed to find several of the items on his list of requests for Santa Claus, although there were some whose absence she had to explain as Santa not having had enough time to make or find whatever it was. Charlie was understanding, which is in his nature – or so she thinks, because for all she knows her child is perpetuating a charade every day of his life to help keep her on an even keel. He’s not once asked why it had to happen to him that his father died.
The good start is why the descent of the day into the maudlin nightmare it became was unexpected.
Her parents had seemed to anticipate that Christmas Day would be hard and after they arrived it was almost as if they were attempting to put on a vaudeville show, practically dancing and singing their way around the house. It was the most forced joy Elizabeth has ever seen, apart from at Jon’s funeral when some well-meaning relatives thought Charlie might enjoy being entertained with ball sports. It had taken her a great deal of self-control to not tell them that Charlie isn’t stupid and he realised his father was dead.
By lunchtime her parents were worn out from the effort of jollying their grandson along, and Elizabeth was so sick of cookingthat she didn’t want to eat, so they ended up going to the beach – along with half of the Sunshine Coast, it seemed. So then they were all irritated at having to park half a kilometre away from where they wanted to go, and their time on the beach was cursory and distinctly lacking in fun.
The experience left Elizabeth prone on the couch after Charlie had gone to bed, wondering what Boxing Day would be like. What the entire school holidays would, in fact, be like, because he’ll have weeks in which to contemplate his father’s permanent absence. She has, she can see now, kept him busy ever since Jon died, but these holidays are long and she can’t fill every second of them. For one thing, she has to work and therefore her parents will be doing the filling.
Today, however, Elizabeth woke up determined that things will be better. The first Christmas Day without Jon was always going to be wretched, and she should have just accepted that and not become so upset when it didn’t turn out to be the jolly-hockey-sticks affair of old.
Except is it so bad for a mother to want her son to have a good day? A really good day? Charlie’s days have been fair, she would say, over the past few months. They haven’t been good and certainly not great. She’s still trying to figure out how to be a parent on her own while not always feeling like she’s failing at it, because she’s sure that sense of failure creeps into everything she does. And she’s not a father; she can only ever be a mother. She worries that not having a father will cause Charlie harm that she can’t see, even if her own father is a wonderful role model.
There are also things Jon used to do with Charlie that she can’t, because she lacks the skills. Like now: Charlie is in the garden tossing a tennis ball in the air because he enjoys it, in the way that children often enjoy repetitive activities. Jon and Charlie used to toss the ball back and forth; she’d hear Charlie giggling and Jon making loud noises whenever he missed, pretending that hewas upset. But her own hand–eye coordination has never been good, so when she tries to toss the ball she drops it at least half the time, which is frustrating for Charlie.
There are noises coming from the garden now – non-Charlie noises – and Elizabeth considers the possibility that she’s hallucinating them. That remembering Jon in the garden has switched on a track in her brain.
The noises get louder and closer, and there’s a female voice. So it’s not Jon. She feels disappointed, then ridiculous for feeling it.
The voice belongs to Lorraine, as Elizabeth can see through the kitchen window, and she has a boy with her. Simon, most likely, as she’s mentioned that Terry is in his mid-teens.
‘Hi!’ Lorraine calls, her voice wafting in through the open back door. Then she’s in the room holding out a cake tin. ‘My mother’s Christmas cake,’ she says. ‘I thought you’d like some.’
‘Thank you,’ Elizabeth says, taking the tin.
‘I know we’re here uninvited but I thought you may be at a loose end.’ Lorraine gestures to the boy beside her. ‘Simon and Charlie aren’t so far apart in age, and I thought they could play together. Si, why don’t you pop out and see if Charlie would like to play cricket or something? Is that all right, Liz? We brought the backyard set.’
Lately Lorraine has taken to calling her Liz and while Elizabeth has never been fond of nicknames, she knows that using them is part of Lorraine’s personality so she has accepted the new appellation without a murmur of dissent.
‘It’s fine,’ she says. ‘The grass has been getting churned up anyway. Charlie’s out there a fair bit now the weather’s so warm.’
