Saving Grace Page 2

  ‘Best not to let anyone else poke about with it,’ Gran said solemnly.

  ‘Right, okay,’ Emily said, thinking it an odd thing to say.

  Later, as Emily was preparing to leave, Gran prodded at the large jar clutched to Emily’s chest and told her in a hissed whisper that she was now in charge of something very precious and to take very good care of it.

  Emily nodded sagely while stifling a smirk, patted the jar, and said she would guard it with her life.

  After kissing Gran on the cheek, she left, driving home with the jar rattling beside her on the passenger’s seat. Precious! She silently scoffed, shaking her head. Gran had become so serious about the smallest things.

  That night, as Emily tucked the jar under some clothes at the back of her wardrobe, Rose Mayfair died while propped up watching the cricket on television, aged eighty-nine and three quarters.

  Chapter Two

  Emily stood next to her cousin, Elizabeth, who was a head taller, a few years older, much more sophisticated and – Emily had always felt – much better looking. She’d always envied her cousin’s extra height, larger breasts, and lean, long legs. Emily was slightly stockier and curvier by comparison, except in the bust region, where she thought it counted.

  Liz had been born and raised in Adelaide, but moved to Melbourne years ago, where she lived in a swanky inner-city apartment, drove a flash BMW convertible, and spent all her spare time eating out and shopping. She was a business analyst. No one in the family could explain exactly what that meant, except to say she earned stacks of money.

  Mention of her by the older generations was usually accompanied by rolled eyes and exaggerated gestures. Thirty-four, childless and single, Liz was regularly referred to as ‘Poor Elizabeth’.

  Part of Emily wondered if Liz was the one who’d got it right; maybe the rest of them were the ones who’d got it all horribly wrong.

  Together they nodded and murmured greetings to the mourners filing past them out of the cold dark church and into the brisk spring day. Small groups hovered nearby in the bright sunshine, away from the shade of the large, sprawling pine tree. Emily had been relieved to wake that morning to a clear sky for Rose Mayfair’s send-off. She and Elizabeth remained standing like statues a full minute after the last person had passed: a wheelchair-bound woman of their late gran’s vintage.

  ‘I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing her,’ Emily said with a wistful sigh. She’d spent the whole week in tears, with John telling her the old dear was almost ninety, what did she expect?

  ‘You’re lucky. I feel like I hardly knew her.’

  ‘She was my best friend. I could talk to her about anything,’ Emily sniffed. Well, almost she silently conceded. She’d never confided in her about how unhappy she was with John. She’d come close a few times, but now she’d never be able to. And she’d never know if Gran would have supported her leaving him, or if she’d shared Enid’s view that marriage was for life, no ifs or buts about it.

  ‘I’d sit on a stool next to her while she knitted, did the mending or her tapestry – until her eyesight went, that is,’ Emily said.

  ‘I just remember her at family functions – never making a fuss, just there. She and Grandpa always arrived with a boot full of biscuits and cakes. I don’t remember her ever really having much to say.’

  ‘That’s probably because she chose her words so carefully.’

  ‘I don’t think she even knew who I was last time I saw her.’

  ‘I’m sorry, that must have been hard.’

  ‘Was she as bad as Mum says at the end – that she’d completely lost her marbles?’

  ‘Not to me she hadn’t. The recent past was a bit of a mystery, but we used to talk about her early life and school days like it was only yesterday. I think our mothers just chose not to see it for what it was.’

  ‘Must have made for interesting listening.’

  ‘It did. But what amazed me the most was how she never lost her wisdom.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I used to talk to her about stuff. You know, problems, mainly just to get them off my chest. But sometimes, even if she wasn’t making much sense otherwise, she’d suddenly focus her eyes on me and say the most profound thing. It was quite spooky.’

  ‘Problems? You?’ Elizabeth laughed. ‘Isn’t this meant to be the simple life?’ she said, sweeping an arm around.

  Emily swallowed hard. Tears filled her eyes.

  ‘What’s wrong, other than being at a funeral, of course?’

  ‘I don’t know – everything.’ Emily cast a glance at John, who stood in a group with their male cousins, already clutching a beer bottle.

  ‘What is it with these country guys and always having to drink? Come on, let’s go for a walk,’ Elizabeth urged.

  ‘We’re meant to help set up for the afternoon tea.’

  ‘Do you always do as you’re expected?’

  ‘Pretty much; it makes life easier.’

  ‘Oh well, tell them I kidnapped you or something – come on.’

  After waiting for a couple of utes with barking sheepdogs aboard to pass, they crossed the road to the empty golf course and sat down on the slatted wooden bench at the fifth tee.

  They stared down the rustic fairway of naked brown earth dotted with tufts of barley and nut grasses. Tall weeds swayed in the breeze beyond the mowed area. Birds chirped. Crows crowed. Large limbs creaked overhead.

  ‘God I wish you didn’t live so far away,’ Emily sighed. She bent down, picked up a stick and started scratching randomly in the dirt between her black patent leather court shoes.

  ‘I could say you’re the one who lives so far away. And you could call or email once in a while.’

  So could you, Emily thought. ‘So how long are you staying?’

  ‘A couple more days. Tomorrow we’re going through everything, remember? That should be fun.’

  ‘John’s convinced we’re going to benefit – you know, financially.’

  ‘What rock’s he been living under – doesn’t he know there’s nothing left? Uncle Richard had the farm and everything of value signed over to him years ago so they could get Granny and Grandpa on the pension – crafty bastard.’

  ‘I know, but he’s got this idea there’s a fortune hidden in the sock drawer or something.’

  ‘And they say farmers aren’t creative.’

  ‘Gran always said you and I were to get her diamond rings – since we’re the only two granddaughters,’ Emily said.

  ‘Well, try getting them back from my mum – they’re probably on their way to the jeweller for redesigning as we speak.’

  ‘You know, I must have sat for hours watching her fiddle with them over the years. As a kid I was mesmerised, but as I got older I realised it was a thing she did when she was thinking, or holding her tongue. I learnt a lot about her from watching those rings twirl.’

  ‘Wish I’d known her better. Do you want me to say something to Mum about the rings?’

  ‘There’s no point. No offence, but your mum was always going to make sure she ended up with them.’

  ‘I know, and she doesn’t have a sentimental bone in her body. I’m probably a bit too like her in that regard,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘So what of Gran’s would you take if you had a choice? Or Grandpa’s, for that matter?’

  ‘The painting of the sad girl with the puppy. It was always the first thing I saw when I walked into the house. And I know it’s awful to say, but that girl was me – I always cried when Mum left me with them, I hated it. But Mum’ll take that too because it’s probably worth heaps. What about you?’

  ‘Her old recipes and a couple of the tapestry cushions – they kind of sum up who she was to me.’ Emily wasn’t sure why she didn’t mention the button jar.

  ‘I think that’s nice, and much more likely to happen,’ Elizabeth said, arching her eyebrows.

  ‘Well, don’t tell anyone, especially my mum,’ Emily warned her.

  ‘
Why not?’

  ‘She’ll want them if she thinks I do.’

  ‘I don’t think she’d be so …’

  ‘No one does. Everyone thinks she’s just oh so lovely.’

  ‘Ah, the old mother-daughter chestnut – none of us is immune. But it’s not just that and losing Gran, is it?’

  ‘What isn’t?’

  ‘Em, I might only see you every couple of years, but I can tell when things aren’t right. What’s wrong? Are you and John okay?’

  ‘Oh Liz, I made a big mistake marrying him.’ Emily expected another flood of tears, but they didn’t come. She examined her fidgeting fingers. ‘I knew it was wrong from the first night, but I hoped it would get better,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Maybe it will.’

  Emily shook her head slowly. ‘It’s been three years. It’s not any better. If anything, it’s worse.’

  ‘Well, leave.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Of course you can. You pack up your things, tell him it’s over, and drive into the sunset. You’re welcome to come to Melbourne and stay with me.’

  ‘Thanks, but it’s really not that simple.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Mum would say that now I’ve made my bed I have to lie in it.’

  ‘Great advice if you’re living in the nineteen-fifties – which you are not, in case you haven’t noticed.’

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t understand,’ Emily said, getting up.

  Elizabeth grabbed her cousin’s arm. ‘I’m sorry, that was insensitive. Don’t go. Come on, tell me what’s wrong – everything.’

  Emily sat back down and took a deep breath before pouring her heart out for almost twenty minutes while Elizabeth sat in stunned silence.

  ‘So let me get this right. You’re not allowed to have a job, he won’t let you be involved with the farm in any shape or form, and he thinks all your ideas are stupid. Well, all I can say is he’d have to be a damn good shag for me to hang around – though I’m guessing things are pretty crap in that department too.’

  Emily blushed. ‘Well, I …’

  ‘Oh God, you’re not about to say it’s your fault – that it’s a woman’s job to keep her man satisfied?’

  Emily turned away from her cousin’s incredulous look.

  ‘You cannot be serious! Em, what’s happened to you? You used to be so sure of yourself.’

  ‘I guess I grew up,’ Emily said with a shrug.

  ‘Growing up doesn’t mean losing your identity.’

  Emily continued staring at the random patterns she’d made in the dirt. Tears flowed steadily down her face and she dabbed at them with a ball of soggy tissues.

  ‘What you need is a puppy, or a kitten,’ Liz said after a long silence.

  ‘Come on, you hate pets. “Smelly, slobbery, bloody things”, I think you once said,’ Emily said, looking up and offering her cousin a slight smile.

  ‘Well it isn’t for me, is it? You always had cats and dogs. Anyway, aren’t they an important part of a farm?’

  ‘John’s allergic to cats. And we did have a kelpie – he shot it a few months ago because it wouldn’t come when it was called.’

  ‘What?!’

  ‘Apparently it’s the way they do things on farms.’

  Emily shuddered at the memory. First John had held the dog by the collar and laid into it with his steel-capped work boots. She had seen it all unfold from the kitchen window, and decided then and there that she could not – would not – have children with a man so cruel. If he could do that to a dog that had continued to show unconditional love despite rough treatment, what would he do to a baby who wouldn’t stop crying, or a child who dared talk back to him? She’d felt sad at the realisation that she might never be a mother.

  ‘Well it’s bloody barbaric from where I’m sitting.’

  ‘I love border collies – I think David Burton was trying to get rid of a couple the other week …’ Emily mused, more to herself than to Liz.

  ‘Do you have his number?’ Elizabeth asked, pulling her mobile phone from her pocket.

  ‘But I think John only likes kelpies.’

  ‘So? The puppy is for you.’

  ‘I don’t know …’

  ‘Jesus, Em, if you won’t leave the bastard, the least you can do is make your life bearable. You’ve just got through telling me how lonely and miserable you are.’

  ‘He’d be furious if I …’

  ‘Em, there’s no way to say this nicely, so I’m just going to get it out. He hasn’t ever hit you, has he?’

  ‘No.’ Not yet. Emily stared at her shoes.

  ‘Not that the emotional and mental abuse you’re already suffering isn’t bad enough.’

  ‘We’d better get back,’ Emily said, checking her watch and getting up.

  ‘You’re probably right,’ Elizabeth said. She looked at Emily intently before pushing herself up from the bench with her hands. ‘Seriously, though, think about the puppy. And remember, Em, it’s one thing to make the best of what you have, but quite another to make it better. If you’re going to lie in the bed you’ve made, at least make it comfortable.’

  Emily smiled to herself. It sounded like something Gran might have said.

  Chapter Three

  Emily stood in the oversize double garage that once housed her grandfather’s treasured Jaguar and farm ute. Stacked against the back wall were the items of furniture, garbage bags of linen and clothes, and boxes of household items and books that hadn’t fitted in Granny Mayfair’s single room at the nursing home. She wondered if Gran had remembered to miss all the treasures she had to leave behind.

  To the left, just inside the roller door, was an untidy pile of items from the nursing home – they’d had only twenty-four hours to empty the room, such was the demand for aged accommodation in the small town.

  Emily was relieved to be the first to arrive; it gave her time to silently remember her gran, grieve for the imminent loss of her worldly possessions, and breathe in her fading scent for the last time in peace.

  Standing there looking at the empty armchair, Emily pictured Rose’s crooked smile and felt her throat tighten.

  The thought of her mother and aunt going through Gran’s things like scavengers caused a few tears to spring forth and trickle down her cheeks. But it had to be done. It was either that or haul it off to the local tip for all and sundry to rummage through.

  Emily smiled, imagining those her mother and aunt referred to as ‘ferals’ sipping tea from Granny’s Wedgwood cups, having tossed the saucers back for being a ‘pain in the arse’. Gran, with her benevolent yet cheeky soul, would have got a kick out of that.

  Emily’s thoughts were cut short by a voice behind her. ‘Thought you would have been halfway through by now.’

  She turned to find her mother, aunt and cousin standing in the light of the open roller door.

  And let you miss out on the pick of things – I wouldn’t dare, she almost said, but instead, with a smile plastered on her face, replied, ‘I was merely awaiting your instruction.’

  ‘Well, we’re keeping the furniture, jewellery and anything of value. The rest can go to the op shop – unless you have any objections, Enid,’ Aunt Peggy said to her younger sister.

  Elizabeth and Emily shared knowing grins and rolled their eyes.

  ‘Sounds about right to me – just toss everything else in the middle and we’ll bag it up later.’

  Before long they were all scurrying about like vermin, clouds of dust rising into the air after being released from the folds of plastic bags, drop sheets and the flaps of cardboard boxes.

  The piles of clothes and accessories, books and assorted household items grew in the middle of the dusty concrete floor.

  ‘It’s a pain we have to go through everything, but I suppose we must,’ Peggy said half an hour later as she stood up and put her rubber-gloved hands to her hips.

  ‘This dust is killing me,’ Enid announced, pausing to blow her nose.

  ‘S
ooner we get on, sooner we get finished,’ Peggy said, and returned to her pile.

  Emily would have preferred to do the task alone. She’d have given Gran’s things the respect they deserved. Every now and then something discarded caught her eye and she’d rush to retrieve it for her own growing pile just outside the roller doors. She noticed Elizabeth was amassing a pile of her own as well. It was considerably smaller, but Emily was pleased to see her rich city cousin wasn’t totally devoid of sentimentality. Liz was collecting mainly fiction books and kitchenalia: scales with cast iron weights, rusty hand beaters with wooden handles, chipped enamel mixing bowls, and an old Mixmaster – things that held no particular interest for Emily as she’d been given all new stuff for her wedding. Maybe Liz was keen to add some rustic touches to her apartment.

  Occasionally, a commotion from the far side of the garage caused the cousins to glance over at their mothers squabbling over something or other. The arguments between the sisters never lasted long as, invariably, Peggy would strike the winning blow by trotting out the line that she was the elder and therefore should have first right of refusal.

  While the older two women were otherwise occupied by one of their tussles, Elizabeth and Emily took the opportunity to escape into the sunshine and fresh air for a short respite from the dust.

  ‘Reckon I’m not far away from the recipes if you still want them,’ Elizabeth said quietly.

  ‘Thanks. Thought of anything you want?’

  ‘Other than the painting, you mean? Actually, I wouldn’t mind some of her costume jewellery – it’s so in in Melbourne at the moment.’

  ‘I’m going through a heap of bedroom bags right now – they’re probably in there.’

  ‘Better get back to it before we’re told off for slacking,’ Elizabeth said, making her way back inside.

  Enid slipped out to get lunch about two o’clock, and arrived back from the shops with brown paper bags glistening with oil from the pies, pasties and sausage rolls within.

  ‘Sorry, it’s all the roadhouse had left, and the bakery was shut,’ she offered as she slapped the bags onto the dining room table.