Page 39 of Thursdays at Orange Blossom House
‘The big red beast? It is.’
‘What do you need a car that size for?’ There’s amusement in Grace Maud’s eyes, if not her voice.
‘I need to drive my parents to places.’ Patricia smiles in such a way that she hopes indicates she’ll take no further questions on this subject. Her own form of armour.
‘I see.’ Grace Maud opens her car door. ‘Well, cheerio.’
Patricia gives her a wave as she unlocks her own car door, smiling as she thinks of how abrupt Grace Maud can be. Sometimes she doesn’t even say goodbye. Tonight both Patricia and Dorothy received a farewell. Maybe they’re getting under her skin.
As Patricia puts her handbag on the passenger seat she hears Grace Maud’s engine turn over. And over. And over.
She pushes open her door and walks to Grace Maud’s. ‘I think your battery’s flat.’
Grace Maud looks up with irritation. ‘I’m aware of that. I was simply hoping that if I kept trying, the engine might decide to change its mind.’
Patricia can’t help laughing, although that will probably irritate Grace Maud more. ‘Can I call the RACQ?’ she says. ‘Sandrine will have a phone.’
‘Oh, they’ll take hours at this time of night,’ Grace Maud says, although she makes no move to do anything else.
‘I could drive you home,’ Patricia offers tentatively. ‘You could come back for the car tomorrow.’
It’s the right thing to do, of course, but she and Grace Maud aren’t friends and she’s quite mindful of the fact that Grace Maud may not want them to become so.
Grace Maud makes a noise that sounds like satisfaction, then withdraws the keys and puts them in her bag. ‘That’s a plan,’ she says and, in a sequence of movements that are quite fluid for someone who was complaining not long ago that her legs weren’t working properly, she locks up her car and is at Patricia’s passenger door in seconds.
‘I’m not far,’ she says once their seatbelts are done up and Patricia is pulling away from the kerb. ‘Left at the T-intersection then keep going.’
Patricia smiles her thanks for the directions.
There’s no one else on the street – no humans, no cars. Cairns at night can still be like a country town, particularly in these residential areas full of shade-giving trees and architecture that’s a mix between climate-friendly dwellings of old and boastful dwellings built by people who made a lot of money in the 1980s.
‘So why are you driving your parents around?’ Grace Maud asks. ‘They’re probably the same age as me.I’mstill driving.’
It’s no surprise that Grace Maud is being direct – it’s something of a trademark – but Patricia is still taken aback. Mainly because this is the first time she’s been asked the question. The first time she’s had to explain the reality of her life now. Her siblings know what it is and barely care; her colleagues don’t know. Her friends are so distant from her that there’s no one to enquire.
‘I don’t know your exact age, obviously,’ Patricia starts, ‘but— ’
‘Seventy-four.’
‘You’re not far off them. And Dad’s still all right to drive. But Mum— ’
‘Cross over at the next intersection.’
‘Thanks. Mum wanders off.’
‘In the car?’
‘In her head.’
‘I see.’
‘So I drive them where they need to go,’ Patricia says, even though Grace Maud has no doubt figured that out for herself.
‘Then they’re …’ Grace Maud takes an audible breath. ‘Very fortunate to have a daughter who cares so much. Right at the second street.’
‘Thanks. And thanks.’ Patricia laughs but it’s a half-hearted sound. ‘Most days I don’t feel like I care enough.’
‘That’s what it’s like when you’re in the thick of it. You’re so wrapped up in all the things you have to do that you feel like you don’t have enough time to care. But the doing is the caring. I’m just up here on the left. Where the palm tree is.’
