Page 101 of Weekends with the Sunshine Gardening Society
‘I love you too, Von,’ Cynthia says. ‘And I mean that. I’ve always adored you – even when you scared me.’
‘Why did she scare you?’ Odette says, making a funny face at her son.
‘Because she was brilliant. Commanding. I was terrified of making a mistake in a lesson because I didn’t want to disappoint her.’
‘You could never have disappointed me,’ Von reassures her. ‘And you made your mother proud. She’d be proud that you’re in the society too.’
‘Is this society what you get up to on weekends?’ Odette asks. She hasn’t paid that much attention to Cynthia’s comings and goings, but that’s normal for a preoccupied new mother.
‘Yes. The Sunshine Gardening Society. Saturdays and some Sundays. Von was one of the women who founded it.’
‘Really?’ Odette looks impressed. ‘Cool. Mum always seems happier when she comes home afterwards so it must be good.’
‘Happier?’ Cynthia frowns.
‘Yeah. You always seem tense in the mornings, then you go off to that society thingy and come back happy.’
It’s an unsettling feeling to realise you’ve been so closely observed that another person has detected things in your demeanour you didn’t even realise were there. And Cynthia remembers thinking the same about her mother: how unhappy she seemed in the mornings, as if each day was bound to be a burden. Except she didn’t think it was unhappiness at the time so much as just the way her mother was.
‘I was like that,’ Von says. ‘The prospect of all that housework and mothering used to drive me mad. The society was something I could do that benefited others but also benefited me. Part of its charm.’
She glances at Cynthia as if seeking her agreement, and Cynthia nods in response.
‘Do we really need to get away from our lives so much?’ Cynthia wonders, thinking of what her father said about how her mother had nearly left them. He has never defined exactly what that meant.
‘It’s a good thing,’ Von says. ‘We can’t escape the drudgery of being here – the work of it. Relentless. It falls on some of us more than others. But if we can find something that brings joy, even for a short period of time – well …’ Von smiles, her wrinkles dancing. ‘Those are the moments of our greatest humanity.’
Cynthia thinks of the pleasure of putting her hands in the soil, of planting a young tree, of removing weeds that serve no purpose other than to irritate, of joint enterprise, knowing she’s working with others for a common good. Of being with friends and with Lorraine in particular. Of laughter and sunshine and a kookaburra’s call and a cockatoo’s screech, of the shape of a gum leaf and the delicate beauty of its blossom. Those, indeed, are the moments when she feels most human. Mosthere. If that’s what her mother felt, she is glad and she is grateful.
‘Now, let me have a cuddle,’ Von says, gesturing to Odette, and as Odette stands and moves to put Jordan in Von’s arms, Cynthia sits back and enjoys the moment.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Somedays Elizabeth feels like she’s moving through mud, like today as she’s digging up dirt in a garden bed attached to a house not far from her home. She notices her movements are slow and that it’s almost like she’s witnessing them instead of doing them. She’s an observer of her own life, she guesses, except there isn’t much to observe. Especially not this week.
It’s been a year and two months since Jon died and although that shouldn’t mean anything – each day is a remembrance of him just as it’s a difficulty being without him – she has been surprised by how much she’s focusing on it.It was over a year ago.That could be because the passing of one year makes her think of two years. Three. More. Forever. How can she bear thisforever?
If she forecasts the rest of her life, as Charlie grows up and moves out of home and on with his life, it’s bare. Which is not to say that she’s nothing without Jon, only that she’s not sure what’s to become of her. She’s not used to being alone. To feeling alone. Or lonely. She’s both a lot of the time, even with well-meaning people around her.
‘Get yourself a fella,’ Lorraine said the other day, then added, ‘Probably not good advice coming from a woman who’s chucked out her husband.’
Elizabeth couldn’t disagree. And getting herself a fella is not on her agenda, even though it’s a solution several peoplehave suggested, as if it’s the fella per se – any fella, doesn’t matter which – that’s the goal, as opposed to the one fellow in particular whom she misses. Her Jon. Telling her to get another fella is like suggesting she gets a different son. They’re not interchangeable.
Which is not to say that she doesn’t appreciate certain men if they cross her field of vision. Doctor Lopes is nice to look at; she even admires the much older Doctor Simpson’s compact muscularity. She’s still human, after all. But she’s not in the market for a Jon replacement, as she told Lorraine.
It’s Lorraine who’s squatting next to her in this garden today, picking up a snail to inspect it. Elizabeth hopes Lorraine won’t notice that she’s slower than usual and is sighing more; that today is one of those days when it’s hard to get out of bed and harder still to stay out of it.
Yet she’s here. She’s doing something positive for someone else, and by extension herself.
‘It’s good to move,’ her father said – somewhat pointedly, she thought – when he came to pick up Charlie this morning and found Elizabeth sitting on the kitchen chair, staring into space. ‘You’ll enjoy being outside in that garden.’ When he said it, all she could think about was going back to bed. She’d be letting down the ladies but they’d forgive her.
‘So what’s going on?’ Lorraine asks as she looks at the limp hydrangea in front of them.
‘Hm?’
‘Hell-ooooo.’ Lorraine taps lightly on Elizabeth’s skull. ‘I said your name three times and you didn’t answer.’
‘Oh.’
