Page 50 of Weekends with the Sunshine Gardening Society
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
WatchingCharlie play in her parents’ garden after church, Elizabeth can almost believe that everything is the same as it ever was, that Jon is about to walk into the room behind her, put his hands on her shoulders and ask if she’d like a cup of tea or something else.
He took care of her, and he would say she took care of him too. When he was ailing he apologised for the fact that he would never be able to reciprocate the care she was giving him; that she was going to have to manage on her own after he was gone. She almost said no, he took care of her in his own way. But by then it wasn’t true, and she knew he was right: the scales had tipped permanently towards him. It’s not as if his death tipped them back, either, or changed the balance, because how do you weigh grief? Elizabeth can’t even work out the shape of it, let alone how to measure it.
Some days it feels like a blob sitting on her chest when she wakes up, and as soon as she moves to get out of bed it slithers off to the sides of her body and clings to her while she tries to move through the day. Other days it’s like a mist around her; there’s nothing she can grab at, so she can neither pin it down nor throw it out. At times she can be feeling quite okay then it manifests in the way Charlie laughs, so like Jon. Or when Jon’s mother calls and tries to give her orders about Charlie, and Elizabethwishes her husband were here to fend off the one person who can dismantle her, no matter how much she tries not to let it happen.
When Jon was dying, and especially once Elizabeth contemplated having to manage the house and garden on her own, she thought about moving back to Brisbane. That way her parents could return to their lives and she could reconnect with the place and people she knows best. What has stopped her is that Jon’s mother, Gladys, is there and Elizabeth knows that means Charlie will have to see her more than he does now. Which means Elizabeth will have to see her.
‘She means well,’ her parents keep saying, but Elizabeth isn’t sure that’s true. Gladys means tocontrol, that’s for sure, and if Charlie is within her orbit she will attempt to control more, knowing that Elizabeth abhors confrontation.
Jon was always good at standing up to his mother, because it had been just the two of them for a long time. Jon’s father – eerily – had died when Jon was not much older than Charlie. Elizabeth knows she should see her mother-in-law as a source of potential support, because she understands exactly what Elizabeth and Charlie are going through, but she can’t bear to. The thought of being anywhere near that woman feels like fingernails on a blackboard.
Maybe that’s because Elizabeth can’t bear to see her own grief displayed on someone else – because for sure Gladys is grieving as much as she is. It’s been appalling enough to lose a husband. Elizabeth doesn’t want to think about what it would mean to lose a child. She can never let herself entertain even a skerrick of an idea of it, because it would undo her.
Hearing footsteps behind her, she turns to see her mother entering the sunroom and smiles.
Drawing alongside, her mother smiles herself as she sees Charlie in the garden. ‘He’s doing well,’ she says. ‘You’vedone well, darling. I don’t know how you’ve coped with everything,but to see him happy …’ Her mother’s eyes have tears in them as she turns towards Elizabeth. ‘It’s a miracle.’
No, it’s not, Elizabeth wants to say. Partly because she’s not sure she believes in miracles any more. She prayed for one when Jon was dying. Prayed hard. Went to church more often, dropped to her knees in the kitchen, in the bathroom, in the laundry, tried to bargain with God. It’s not that she thought Jon was more worthy of a miracle than anyone else. She just had to try. Except he was, wasn’t he? This man who gave so much love to her, to his son, to her parents, to everyone around him? He was never unkind; he was generous. These are traits that should be common but they’re not, which to her mind made him special. And because he was special he should have been saved. The world would be so much better with him in it.
No doubt everyone thinks that when their loved one dies, but Elizabeth knows it’s true because the world seems so harsh now he’s gone. Even when people do nice things for her – like those funny ladies in the Sunshine Gardening Society – she slips back into misery. She’s not sure how to get out of it.
‘I’m lucky,’ is what she says to her mother, even though she doesn’t believe it. People like to hear things like that, though. Especially when they care about you. It’s the paradox of love: those who love you want to support you in your darkest hour, yet your darkest hour causes them so much pain that they’d rather not know, and you know they’d rather not know so you keep it to yourself, wondering how long you can stand it.
‘Charlie’s a good boy,’ Elizabeth goes on. ‘He’s stayed pretty cheerful.’
‘You have undoubtedly helped with that.’ Her mother’s smile is soft. ‘Come on – your dad has lunch ready.’
Elizabeth waves to Charlie to beckon him inside, and she sees him nod, drop the ball he’s been playing with and head for the side passage that will take him into the kitchen. He bounces inside, tufts of hair sticking up, almost like he’s electrified, andgrins as he sees his favourite sandwiches on the table: Vegemite and cheese.
‘Thanks, Grandpa!’ he says as he picks one up.
This, Elizabeth thinks, is where she finds the odd moments of light these days: in Charlie’s happiness in ordinary things. He loves insects, he loves flowers, he loves sandwiches. He coos at dogs and runs after birds. His world is right here in the present moment, and Elizabeth wishes she knew how to live that way rather than residing so constantly in the past.
‘You haven’t said much about your job, darling,’ her mother says as she cuts into her more grown-up meal of quiche.
Each day when Elizabeth picks up Charlie from her parents’ place, she tends to run in and run out. They don’t chitchat about her work. If they talk about anything it’s Charlie, and sometimes Elizabeth thinks to ask her parents about what they’ve been doing.
‘I like it,’ she says, and it’s the first time she’s realised this.
‘Well, that’s good!’ Her father grins and shows his crow’s-feet.
In Elizabeth’s mind he’s always had them, but she supposes he was young once, like her. One day she’ll have crow’s-feet and Charlie won’t ever remember her without them, and that will be a privilege of growing older in the way Jon never can.
‘You said something about Olive, early on,’ her mother prompts.
Thinking of Olive makes Elizabeth smile. ‘She’s entertaining. The other day she brought knitting. I said I couldn’t imagine she ever needs to wear wool around here, it’s so mild. She said she was knitting a jumper for her dog.’
‘What sort of dog?’ asks her father.
‘A greyhound.’
He nods. ‘Skinny breed. I can understand the need for wool.’
‘I want to know where she got the pattern,’ her mother says.
‘I think she’s making it up as she goes.’
