Page 31 of Lessons in Love at the Seaside Salon
She knew his death would circumscribe her life but she hadn’t considered that it would mean she’d stay so very close to home because there was no one to drive her around. Everything became smaller, and she’s conscious that she needs to get out more, otherwise the boundaries of her world might close in on her so much they’ll crush her.
Her thoughts occupy her until the train pulls in to Hornsby, and she sees her son at the end of the platform. At six feet two, he’s easy enough to spot.
‘G’day, Mum.’ He stoops to hug her and Trudy notices some grey hairs – she shouldn’t be surprised, as he’s thirty-five now. When she had him she was twenty-two; at the time she felt so grown up, but when she thinks that Josie is nineteen, there’s no way she could imagine her with a baby in three years’ time. But who knows? Motherhood makes you grow up like nothing else.
‘Annemarie not coming?’ Trudy says, simultaneously miffed because she thinks it’s a slight and pleased because she’ll be able to have a proper conversation with Dylan.
‘Oh yeah, she is – she’s at the club with the kids. Thought we’d get a table early.’
‘Righto.’
Trudy takes his arm as they stroll and he fills her in on his work week. He’s in construction and there’s always something being built in Sydney. This city is not for her; no city would be. The beach, the village attached to it, the peace at night, the brightness of the stars – these mean far too much to Trudy and she doubts she’d find them in this city that seems larger and louder each time she’s here.
Arriving at the club’s dining area – it’s a cafe on its way to being a bistro – Trudy sees her granddaughters waving vigorously, then hopping off their seats and running over.
‘Nana, Nana, Nana,’ squeals the youngest, Bree, who is five to her sister Irene’s six.
Trudy pulls out the presents she brought them – books from the Terrigal newsagent, who keeps a selection.
‘Great idea,’ says Annemarie as she stands and gives Trudy a kiss on the cheek. ‘Now they’ll be quiet.’
Trudy can’t tell if Annemarie is happy about that or not, but she chooses to believe she is.
Once food and beverages are ordered, Trudy feels her shoulders relax and she smiles around the table.
‘So, what’s the news?’ she says. It’s something she says to her clients, who usually give her a recap at a million miles an hour then ask Trudy what they should do about their wayward child/ bitch of a sister/horrible co-worker or the bloke who won’t ask them on a date (the latter answer is easy: forget about him).
‘I’m learning to do nails,’ says Annemarie with a hint of pride.
‘Hm?’ Trudy glances from her son to her daughter-in-law.
‘Nails.’ Annemarie holds up her hands and waggles her fingers, which seem to end in bright-red talons. ‘Acrylics.’
Annemarie has, until now, shown very little interest in anything to do with grooming. She goes to the hairdresser for a trim every six months, which is about four months past the point Trudy would do it. Lipstick is a concept she has not fully embraced. And as for clothes … Well, Trudy may prefer an all-black uniform at the salon but outside of it she’s fond of a dress in a nice pattern and is a firm believer that a decent pair of slacks can carry a person quite a long way. So this nail development is unusual. Accordingly, Trudy looks to Dylan for an explanation.
‘She wants to run her own business,’ he says, smiling. ‘And she can do nails from home. Or in a salon.’
‘Right,’ Trudy says. He makes it sound easy, as if Annemarie can just do a little course and suddenly be the belle of the nails ball. Perhaps she can be, but in Trudy’s experience a beauty business – which is what she’d call it – requires people skills, creativity and a little nous, and Annemarie is not famous for any of those. She’s a wonderful mother – Trudy can’t fault her there, the girls are well looked after and polite – and she must be a good wife otherwise Dylan wouldn’t be so cheerful, but for any role beyond that Trudy has her doubts. Which makes her a mean mother-inlaw so she’ll keep them to herself.
‘I was inspired by you, Trudy,’ Annemarie says, her talons back under the table.
‘Oh?’
‘You’ve run that salon for so long. Years and years! So you must like doing it. And you had Dylan and everything.’
‘I did,’ Trudy says. ‘But I couldn’t have done it without Laurie supporting me. Not financially, I mean. Lifting me up. He was …’ Her voice catches and she bites her lip to stop becoming upset. What is it with her today and these tears that threaten to appear? Except she knows: it’s the reminders she keeps being given thatLaurie isn’t here. Of all the ways he helped her. She means it when she says he lifted her up. Everyone who is trying to make something of their lives needs a person who tells them they can do it, and he was that for her.
Dylan reaches over to pat her hand. ‘It’s all right, Mum,’ he says. ‘I know Dad was irreplaceable.’
Yes, he was.
Not that she has plans to replace him, and she doesn’t know how Dylan would feel about that if she did.
‘Sorry to upset you, Trudy,’ Annemarie says. ‘Girls, stop kicking your chairs.’
‘Sorry, Mummy,’ the girls chorus as their drinks are put on the table.
‘But would you mind if I ask you for some tips?’ Annemarie goes on. ‘You know – about how to start a business?’
