Page 10 of A Town Like Clarence

‘Better make it two sugars as well, love. This knit one, purl one stuff is taxing.’

Hmm. Maybe low blood sugar ran in the family. She filled two mugs, dug out the hidden block of chocolate, then paused. ‘Roger’s not here with you, is he?’

‘Rog? Oh, no, pet. Turns out he wasn’t a keeper.’

‘I thought he was the love of your life.’

‘Me too, sugarplum.’

Kirsty set the mugs on the table, shifted the plant to save the furry green leaves from being squished by the mag, and took a seat. She tried the silence tactic. Terri could be pretty cagey when she wanted to be, but she was also a chronic chatterbox, and her way of dealing with problems was to give them to someone else.

Her teaspoon clinked.

Her mother’s cup rattled on the tabletop.

The fridge motor hummed.

Far out, this was getting her nowhere. ‘Are you on the pokies again, Mum? Is that why you had to get here in a tearing hurry? Is someone chasing you down for money? Because we talked about this, and I have a mortgage now. You promised me, once I had a mortgage to pay off, no more bailing you out.’

Her mum gave a deep sigh. ‘It’s not that. Well … I’m a little stretched at the moment, of course, but I’m managing. You’ll be so proud, Kirsty. I cut up my credit card bills the last time they arrived.’

Kirsty sank her teeth into a hundred calories of fat and sugar and cocoa bean. ‘It’s thecardsyou’re supposed to cut up, Mum.’

Her mother gave her knitting needles a wave. ‘Details, Kirsty. I’m trying a new therapy and I think this one’s a winner.’

Mmm. Her mum’s ‘therapy’ plans to ditch the pokies and get a steady job and have more than ten dollars saved up in her bank account were always a winner for the first month. A bit like her boyfriends were always her true love and her problems were always due to the curse. Whatever.

Kirsty was all-in with supporting her mother, so long as she didn’t have to live with her. Sharing a house with an addict who helped herself to your savings from time to time was not fun … Been there, done that, drew some boundary lines, and moved on.

Her eyes dropped to the Vinnies bag. ‘You’re knitting your way out of addiction, I take it.’

‘Don’t knock craft if you haven’t tried it, Kirsty. Craft is cathartic.’

Kirsty snuck a look down to where her fingers were fiddling with the foil wrapper. Yep. Still trembling, despite the sugar hit. She’d take her eye out if she tried knitting her way out of this weird concussion or stroke or carbon monoxide poisoning thing she was having. ‘If you’re not here because your landlord is on your tail, what was so urgent that you had to break in?’

Her mother mumbled something into her mug of tea.

‘I didn’t quite catch that.’

Her mother sighed. ‘It’s the curse, sugarplum. I had a bad feeling when it arrived in the mail and the mailman made me sign for it. When does that ever mean good news? I wanted to up stumps and do a runner. I really,really, wanted to, but I didn’t. For you. I think this knitting is helping me grow as a person, you know?’

‘The family curse made you break my laundry window.’

‘No, Kirsty. This letter made me break your laundry window.’ Terri rifled around in the bag, through the clashing skeins of wool, then pulled out an old-fashioned envelope with flowers printed on the back. It was the sort of thing that might hold a condolence card.

In it was a letter, typed, but printed with a faint shadow, as though the printer had a wobble and the owner hadn’t the means or the energy to get it fixed.

To the child born to parents Theresa Fox and Trevor William Bluett

Kirsty shot a look up, but her mum was staring into her mug of tea as though it held the key to a luckier future. So Kirsty read on.

Dear Granddaughter,

Trevor Bluett was my son, which makes me your grandmother. I do not know if you will ever read this letter, but I have been encouraged by my doctor to set my affairs in order, and so I write this now in the hopes that it may one day fall into your hands.

You will forgive me, I hope, for not knowing you (or even knowing your name).

I would have liked to, but after your father died, your mother left the district and we (my husband Douglas and I) did not learn of your existence for some time. Of course, the circumstances with your mother, as you will know, were difficult.

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