Page 83 of Lessons in Love at the Seaside Salon
The only time her mother did give her some space was when Trudy and Evie visited.
‘I’ll just duck out for a while and leave you to chat,’ Erin said, taking her book with her, so Josie knew she was going for a while.
They pulled up chairs on one side of the bed, which was considerate, because then Josie didn’t need to turn her head from side to side to talk to them.
‘How are you going, pet?’ Trudy reached across and patted her hand.
There was such care in her voice and on her face that Josie started to cry.
‘Um …’ she said, sniffing and wiping her face with her hand until Trudy gave her a tissue.
Neither Trudy nor Evie looked uncomfortable, which Josie was so glad about. There’s nothing worse than crying involuntarily and having people look as if they’d rather you sink into a hole in the ground.
‘Better out than in,’ Trudy said with a reassuring smile. ‘I still cry over my Laurie and it helps me feel better.’
Josie has barely heard Laurie’s name mentioned but she knows he’s Trudy’s late husband. So she guesses that Trudy has a lot of sadness about that. More sadness than her mother has about the babies she lost, although that’s quite heavy too. And probably the reason why Erin won’t leave the hospital unless Josie is asleep: she waited so long and went through so much to get Josie, then Josie almost did herself in over an argument about a boy who hasn’t even been to see her.
Not that she wants him to see her in this state. No bloke would be attracted to a girl with her lower half in a cast and a WEE BAG at the end of the bed. She cringes each time a male doctor comes in to check on her – and there have been a few, which makes her feel like a freak show, everyone coming in to gawk – so she absolutely, no way, does not want Brett to see her.
Except …
Except she wants to know he cares. Is that weird? That she doesn’t want to see him but she wants to know he wants to seeher? Shouldn’t there be a word for that kind of feeling? Maybe there is. She isn’t good at words, after all.
While Trudy was here she wanted to ask if he’d been by the salon, but she didn’t. It’s been over a week since the accident, though, so wouldn’t he be wondering where she is? The last time they saw each other he’d promised to arrange a drive to Newcastle so they could go to Merewether, which is one of his favourite beaches. He thought she’d love the baths there.
Turned out she didn’t have to ask Trudy, because she volunteered some information.
‘Your young man,’ she said, and Josie held her breath. ‘I saw him outside the shop on Tuesday, but he didn’t come in. I was with a client so I couldn’t go out to tell him. Haven’t seen him since. Have you seen him, Evie?’
Evie shook her head. ‘No, but I’m usually gone by the time Josie finishes. Gotta get Billy.’
So that was that. The visit was nice but Josie was tired after ten minutes and glad when her mother re-entered the room and suggested she needed a rest.
‘We understand, pet,’ Trudy said. ‘Talking takes work, and you need your strength to get better.’
After they were gone, though, and it was just her and her mum again, Josie felt lonely. Which was strange, because her mum was right there, but it was the sort of loneliness that comes from thinking no one understands what you’re going through and there’s no way to tell them. She used to feel it at school when girls were mean to her. There was no one to talk to about it, no one who could say, ‘Yes, I’ve been through that myself.’ She just had to put her head down and get through it.
She does remember one thing from history class that keeps coming to mind, and her teachers wouldn’t believe it if she told them that’s what she retained. It’s that thing Winston Churchill said during World War II: ‘If you’re going through hell, keepgoing.’ She’s not in a war, of course, but there are times when lying here in this bed, unable to get up, feeling like she’s wasting away and wasting her life and wasting her time and wasting everyone else’s, is a form of hell. Or maybe she’s just bored. Anyway, that thing Churchill said helps, because it reminds her that she got through the hell that was school so she can get through this too.
If only Brett would call. Or something. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so alone.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Whoever said time heals all wounds clearly had shallow wounds, Evie thinks, as she half-smiles at Sam when he passes while she’s mixing colour. He keeps looking at her like some tragedy has occurred and all right, yes, she might have indulged in the idea that him not loving her is a tragedy but she hasn’t said it to anyone else in those terms. It’s also not a tragedy in the scheme of things. The Holocaust was a tragedy. And tragedy isn’t even the right word for it, because it was millions of tragedies all bundled up in one word. A word that, among others, reminds her she has wounds to heal but they’re wounds because she’s still here. She has a chance to make them better, and she’s trying to do that.
What does not help is the pressure she feels to keep being Sam’s friend. He almost tries too hard to stay in her good graces when she really just wants to sulk behind her chair, at her own pace, in her own time, and once she’s done she’ll likely want to be his friend again, but for now … there are still those wounds to heal.
‘Coffee, darl?’ he says as he passes her again.
This time she wants to stomp her foot. He knows she has a client – that’s why she’s mixing the colour! Why would she want a coffee? She never has a beverage when she’s with a client. Mainly because she doesn’t have enough hands to work and sip at the same time.
At least stomping a foot – an action – is an improvement on sulking, which some would call inaction.
‘No, thanks,’ she says through a fake smile, holding up the colour pot. ‘Busy.’
‘Sure. Sure, sure.’ He flashes his teeth at her. ‘Just let me know when you want one and I’ll make it.’
Why?She wants to yell at him.A coffee won’t compensate for breaking my heart.
