Trick of the Light Page 4

  ‘Do you want to go through all his things and pack them up or just look for something special?’ Erica said, standing at the threshold of their large walk-in robe. She stood back as Issy and Mackenzie went in ahead of her and to the bank of drawers.

  ‘What do you want to do, Mum?’ Issy asked. Both girls seemed unwilling to open any of the drawers. ‘Would it help you if we went through and sorted everything now, or would you rather do it when we’re gone?’

  ‘There’s no need for you to bother with it, it’ll give me something to do after you’ve gone.’

  They all sat down on the padded bench seat in the middle of the space and stared at Stuart’s side as if it was suddenly a process too daunting to contemplate.

  ‘His wallet and anything else personal is in the top drawer there,’ Erica said, nodding. ‘Perhaps we should start there.’ She’d already checked all the pockets and had gone through his wallet, so her reluctance wasn’t from fear or hope over what she might find. She just felt devoid of energy suddenly, of the will to face this. There was so much to do and think about when someone died, in addition to the grief and life carrying on. Sometimes it was all she could do to get out of bed, shower and get to work or come down into the kitchen and pretend to function as a human being rather than just roll over and pull the covers higher and hope, wait, for it all to go away or at least get easier or feel better.

  Thankfully there was routine to a certain extent to fall back on – muscle memory to keep her going. Though, unlike the finances hanging over her head, they could knock this task on the head probably in one afternoon and not have to think about it again. Nonetheless, she sat staring ahead unable to get up and start pulling the rows of crisp, neatly pressed shirts in their colour-coordinated sections from the racks. It wasn’t hard and there was nothing to fear, but still she sat.

  She watched, dazed, as the girls went to the drawer where Stuart had always emptied his pockets after finishing work for the day. It was a habit he had retained even after starting the business and working from home and not actually coming in from anywhere further than down the hall. It was a pretty empty drawer these days – ages ago Erica had used up the pile of loose change that had accumulated in the bowl – but she’d placed his wallet, watch, house keys and phone there after bringing them home in a bag from the hospital the night of his death.

  Sometimes she used to sit on this bench, like now, and watch him get ready for work, and had loved his meticulous and steady routine – always the same, no matter what the day entailed – even right up until his final stint in hospital. Whether it was business attire or golfing or anything else, he always worked his way down, beginning with his watch and finishing with his shoes, after putting his wallet in a pocket, the exact placement depending on his attire. Erica was wondering about selling his watch, which being a Tag Heuer might be worth something secondhand. She’d also deliberated over wearing it herself, but had found it so big and heavy it unbalanced her makeup application. She could get the bracelet adjusted and perhaps adapt to the weight when it didn’t move on her arm, but didn’t want to change anything about it. It was too personal to Stuart. She just really hoped one of the girls wouldn’t want it; the thought that it might leave with one of them and get lost or stolen caused a sharp physical pain inside her – no doubt more about concern for her daughters’ safety than for the actual item. She feared for them going off alone overseas – of course she did; what caring, loving mother wouldn’t? She was just really careful to not let that show.

  She now knew what her own mother must have felt when she’d left for the US all those years ago and was so grateful all over again that her parents had chosen to encourage her and hold their concern in. She’d never have gone if her mother, her darling mother, had asked her not to and thought her girls – sort of hoped – her girls would make the same choice. Of course, she hadn’t just lost her dad when she was embarking on her trip like her daughters had. She’d had both parents being equally supportive and had known they at least had each other when she left.

  ‘Mum? What’s this mean? On set?’ Issy asked.

  Erica blinked herself back to the present and took the small card Issy was holding out. She looked up in surprise at the wallet Mackenzie was wiggling back and forth, frowning slightly. She’d been through Stuart’s wallet, taken out the money and cancelled cards, and put this back for dealing with later, or not.

  ‘That’s me,’ she said.

  Her heart began to ache as she stared at the image of her taken twenty-five years back on the day she and Stuart had met – instantly bonded by their shared South Australian accents and being so far from home. It was a fragment – her cut out – of a larger photo of the film set. The full image was in one of the albums in the cupboard. She was almost side-on – watching the action. He’d managed to capture her as she’d turned towards him – the awe of what she was seeing clear in her expression. He’d always joked the look was for him – his incredible brooding dark looks – and she’d agreed, never one to burst his bubble. That too. But it was really about her being in her happy place. Being thrilled to be on a film set and to have contributed to the exciting industry, even in a small way. She’d just done the makeup for the lead actors, having been called in at the last minute when someone had taken sick. She was out of her depth, but had somehow managed to step up, still her shaking hands and get the job done. And in time. Thankfully she had practically glued herself to the lead makeup artist’s side to learn as much as she could. She sighed at the memories and the thought, Ah, those were the days.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Sorry, what?’

  ‘What does on set mean? We know that’s you,’ Mackenzie prompted.

  ‘Did you go on a tour of Movie World on the Gold Coast?’

  ‘No. That was taken in LA.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right. I forgot. You met Dad over there, didn’t you?’ Mackenzie said.

  ‘That’s right.’

  The girls were suddenly seated either side of her, gazing up like they were much younger than they were. ‘Tell us.’

  ‘That photo is of the day we met,’ she started, allowing herself another sigh before continuing. ‘That was my very first gig. I was watching the actors. Your dad had come along as a guest of the producer.’

  ‘What do you mean, the producer? Was Dad famous once?’

  ‘You mean more famous than to us?’ Erica said, tilting her head and smiling gently. ‘Yes and no. He was helping them raise the money for the movie. He did a good job, too. That was before we had to move back.’

  ‘Because his parents were in the car accident and needed looking after, right?’ Mackenzie said.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Erica said.

  ‘The movies. Cool,’ Issy said in awe. ‘Did you go with him, then? To meet the movie producer?’

  ‘No, she was already there – it was the first time they met. Keep up, Issy,’ Mackenzie said. Erica didn’t need to be able to see Mackenzie’s eyes to know they were rolling. She idly wondered how long until Mackenzie’s bossy side annoyed Issy so much they parted ways on their trip. Mackenzie tended to get bossy when she didn’t know something – it was her defence mechanism.

  ‘Sorry, yes,’ Issy said, as was her fallback.

  ‘I was on the makeup team and there to see –’

  ‘Hang on. What? Did we know this?’ Mackenzie asked. ‘That you were in the movies? O-M-G, Mum!’

  ‘Not in, darling. On set. Watching. I did the makeup. In fact, it was my –’

  ‘So, what happened? Why aren’t you famous?’ Mackenzie said.

  ‘You don’t get famous for doing makeup – it’s behind the scenes. And they came back because of the car accident, remember? You just snapped at me for –’

  ‘Shut up, Issy. I know that. But …’

  ‘Girls,’ Erica warned gently.

  ‘But you work in makeup in a department store.’

  Erica flinched at the condescending tone. ‘I do.’ And I’m not proud of
it. Actually, no, that’s not true. I am. But it wasn’t my dream – far from it.

  ‘And you’re really good at it,’ Issy said.

  ‘Thanks, sweetie.’ Erica almost laughed at hearing herself in her younger daughter – the way she always tackled disappointments by picking out a positive and highlighting it. ‘Mackenzie, dreams and aspirations, priorities, change. It was a long time ago.’

  There had been a couple of times over the years when she’d wondered if now was the time for her to consider pursuing that industry again. But it seemed that every time, when she’d almost found the nerve to broach it with Stuart or to phone or email someone influential from the past, something would happen to derail her – Stuart getting sick, her parents having problems that were eventually diagnosed as dementia, having to find suitable accommodation and then moving them in. Losing her mum had been the biggest before Stuart’s death. Something more important had always come up. And she hadn’t minded all that much. There had only been a couple of times when she’d had anything close to a longing to pick up where she’d left off – mainly when she’d been up breastfeeding alone with the rest of the house in darkness, sometimes when Stuart was away travelling for work, and more recently when Mackenzie and Issy were talking about careers. But the prospect was always too daunting, and only got worse the more time that passed. And gradually she’d come to realise it was quite possibly more about having a dream to dream about than actually pursuing it.

  ‘Well, I’m not going to let anything change my life when I decide what I want to do,’ Mackenzie declared a moment later, standing up.

  Famous last words, Erica thought, but instead said, ‘Good for you.’

  ‘Issy, you’re only going to be a mum, anyway – there’s nothing else you seem to want to do,’ Mackenzie said, causing Erica to cringe again.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with “only” being a mum,’ Issy said indignantly.

  Erica wondered if Issy was responding to an expression she’d let slip onto her face.

  ‘It’s the twenty-first century, Issy, the world is your oyster; you need to make the most of it,’ Mackenzie said.

  ‘I don’t have to do anything, Mackenzie!’

  ‘All the work the feminists have done to get us equality and opportunities …’ Mackenzie said, standing over Issy with folded arms, looking down on her sister and shaking her head.

  ‘What, I’d be letting the side down? Is that what you’re saying?’ Issy said with raised eyebrows and tilted head. She crossed her arms tightly across her chest.

  Erica thought she should probably intervene but couldn’t muster the energy. And anyway, soon she wouldn’t be with them. They had to learn sometime.

  ‘Weeelll …’ Mackenzie said with a lopsided shrug.

  ‘Weeelll, I think my having the choice and freedom to make it is what it’s all about, actually.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Mackenzie said with a dismissive wave of her hand. And right then Erica was hugely relieved she hadn’t let the girls in on the family’s teetering financial situation. She could imagine Mackenzie instead declaring, ‘And look where that’s left our mum.’

  ‘You should write your memoir,’ Issy said suddenly. ‘Or, I know, write down what you know about Dad.’

  Erica knew it shouldn’t hurt, but it did. Even her daughters unconsciously shared this age-old view that women only really began to exist when they became mothers and that doing so wiped out anything, any individual achievement, that had come before. Just a mother. She couldn’t stand the term mumpreneur – it shat her off to high heaven every time she came across it. Men never had their status as father mentioned in the same word as what they did for a living. So many in the media liked to say it wasn’t true, but women were still often second on the ladder – if that high up at all.

  ‘That’s what you could do with all that time you’re going to be spending on planes and trains and waiting around,’ Erica managed.

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ Issy said.

  ‘Hmm. Maybe,’ Mackenzie said.

  ‘Come on, let’s deal with this,’ Erica said, with all the cheer she could muster, which was quite a bit, she thought.

  ‘Maybe I’ll keep a couple of Dad’s T-shirts to sleep in. And maybe some of his socks,’ Issy said. ‘Would that be okay, Mum? Sort of take him with me,’ she added sadly and quietly, sitting back down beside Erica.

  ‘That’s a good idea, Issy,’ Mackenzie said kindly, then pushed the drawer closed and sat down beside Erica. Their thighs were warm against hers and their shoulders moved against her upper arms as they breathed. In a few breaths their breathing was in sync and they were fused. Erica concentrated on blinking back her welling tears.

  The three of them sat in silence staring up at the racks of clothes in front of them. Plenty of men owned more clothes, but right then Erica couldn’t imagine it. They might as well be embarking on climbing Mount Everest for the size of the task looming large in front of them.

  ‘Mum?’ Issy said, ungluing her arm and turning slightly towards Erica, and breaking the spell of silence and inactivity.

  ‘Yes, darling?’

  ‘You’ll say if you’re going to sell the house while we’re away, or whatever, won’t you?’

  Erica tried not to look caught out – like the rabbit on the road staring into the headlights. Her heart hammered. ‘What do you mean?’ she said, buying time to calm herself. Have I failed to protect you from the stress, the truth, after all? Have I failed as a mother? Oh shit.

  ‘Well, Mackenzie said Issy added, hurrying to fill the stretching silence that Erica suspected was becoming noticeably tense to them too.

  ‘What, Mackenzie?’ Erica took great care to choose her words carefully and keep her tone even.

  ‘Bloody blabbermouth,’ Mackenzie said with clear exasperation. ‘I just said that you might want to sell because the house is so big. That’s all.’

  ‘But you’re planning on coming back, aren’t you?’ The words slipped out in a hurry, pushed out by the jolt of alarm behind them.

  ‘Of course,’ Mackenzie said.

  ‘Definitely,’ Issy said with great exaggeration. ‘I miss my room already.’

  ‘What a ridiculous thing to say, Isabella!’ Mackenzie said, and blew her breath out loudly.

  ‘Issy, you don’t have to go. Or you can go later, even. It’s entirely up to you,’ Erica said.

  ‘But we’ve got our flights booked and paid for.’

  ‘We could try to claim on the travel insurance on compassionate grounds.’

  ‘She’s just being a wuss. It’ll be good for her,’ Mackenzie said. Erica noticed the slight twang to her voice that told her Mackenzie – the older, bolder of the two – was scared she might have to go alone. Erica wanted to point out that in that case, perhaps she should consider being kinder to her sister. But she didn’t want to start another row.

  ‘I am not. And, anyway, you changed the subject,’ Issy said.

  ‘Fine. Whatever,’ Mackenzie said. ‘The house. Mum, do you want us to pack up our things? In case you get lonely and want to take in a boarder or do Airbnb or whatever?’

  ‘I don’t want someone in my room,’ Issy said the words so quietly Erica almost didn’t hear them.

  ‘What was that?’ Mackenzie said.

  ‘I don’t want a stranger in my room,’ Issy said, defiantly.

  ‘Well, it’s not really up to you. It’s Mum’s house.’

  Erica stared up at Stuart’s shirts, wishing with all her soul he was there.

  ‘Yes, but it’s my home.’

  Out of the corner of her eye, Erica saw Issy’s bottom lip wobbling and then the glistening of a single tear, changing colour as it rolled down her cheek. Unable to speak past the lump lodged in her own throat, she summoned the energy and lifted her arms and put one around each of her daughters and pulled them to her. And as she did the lump shattered and her own eyes began to leak.

  In a matter of seconds, the three of them were shuddering with rac
king sobs and in a huddled tangle of limbs, holding each other awkwardly.

  It took several minutes for them to recompose themselves and to have dried their tears.

  Again, they were sitting in a row on the bench facing the full racks ahead of them.

  ‘Dad would want us to still go, wouldn’t he?’ Issy said.

  ‘I think he absolutely would,’ Mackenzie said.

  ‘Yes, but only if you want to,’ Erica said.

  ‘Well, he wouldn’t want you sitting around pining for him and putting your life on hold, either, Mum,’ Mackenzie said.

  Erica cringed inwardly; tried to tell herself Mackenzie was hurting and didn’t mean it the way it came out.

  ‘Your dad wouldn’t want any of us doing something we don’t want to do because of him. Sweetheart, he knew how much you loved him. But sadly, he’s gone now. You can’t live by what he would or wouldn’t want you to do. He, we, I, hope we’ve raised you to be true to yourselves. To be good, honest, brave and strong young women. That’s what he would want – and what I want. You’ve proven it already. We’ve had our little family shattered, but that doesn’t mean we can’t pick up the pieces and glue us back together a bit and carry on. We have to.’

  ‘With Dad as the glue – the clear bits in between that we can’t see?’ Issy suggested.

  ‘Exactly. He’s with us in our memories and in our hearts. We’ll never forget him, but we owe it to him and ourselves to go on as best we can.’

  ‘And, Mum?’

  ‘Yes, Mackenzie.’

  ‘Um, about carrying on?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘If you do get lonely, like really lonely, it would be okay with me if you started dating. I mean, obviously not yet, but later … I mean, we might not be back for a year.’

  Erica’s shoulders slumped a little lower.

  ‘Yes. A lot can happen in a year,’ Issy said. ‘But you wouldn’t get married without us, would you?’

  ‘God, Issy, really? Oh, you are too much!’ Mackenzie said.