Page 50 of Thursdays at Orange Blossom House
‘Your mother and I always hoped you would ask us for help,’ he says. ‘But you two …’ He pats her again, then withdraws his hand and sits up straight. ‘So independent.’ He smiles kindly.
‘Whatever you need, just tell us,’ her mother says. ‘You have never asked for anything. She would not even let us help her buy her first car, Friedrich, did she tell you?’
Frederick laughs and shakes his head.
‘So stubborn sometimes.’ Her mother smiles but Dorothy sees that concern again, mingled with fear. Maybe one day, far in the future, she too will know what it’s like to never stop worrying about her child.
‘Just tell us how much you need and we will go to the bank,’ her father says.
‘And if you need …’ Her mother stops, swallows. ‘If you would like someone to come to Brisbane with you, well …’ She shrugs. ‘I will have the time.’
‘Thank you, Mama,’ Dorothy whispers. ‘Thank you, Papa.’
She wants to put her head in their laps, like she used to. Usually after she’d been teased at school for her German accent and long hair. If the other kids weren’t calling her ‘Sauerkraut’ they were calling her ‘Rapunzel’.
Her mother would let Dorothy be upset for about ten seconds, then she had to put it behind her. It seemed heartless then. Now Dorothy sees that her parents were possibly trying to shield her from their own hurt. They had brought their daughter to this land where all she found was insults.
‘I have cake for you,’ her mother says, her eyes crinkling as she smiles. ‘In the kitchen. Tea? Coffee?’
‘I’ll help you,’ Frederick says, standing.
But it’s all five of them who go into the kitchen to wait for the kettle to boil, making small talk about local news while Cornelia watches, her eyes flickering from mouth to mouth. And all the while, Dorothy lets herself feel what is rising from her toes to the crown of her head – an awareness she can almost hear Sandrine coaxing her into.
The past is gone. The future is unknowable. All she has is now. And her now is profoundly different from the past of even a few minutes ago. So perhaps her future will also be different to the past she has known.
Perhaps it’s time to let that past go and believe that she deserves the future she wants. The one that waits for her in the clinic in Brisbane; and the one that is here, in this room, with the people who love her.
She feels a tap on her arm again and Cornelia starts signing so quickly she almost doesn’t catch the start of her sentence.
You will be a wonderful mother, she says. Then she glances at Clara and back to Dorothy.You have been to me.
Dorothy’s breath catches. Cornelia rarely says anything sweet to her. They joke with each other. They stick to facts. Emotion is not something Cornelia enjoys. Dorothy will take it as it’s offered, though.
Thank you, she says.And I love you too.
Cornelia rolls her eyes, pinches Dorothy’s hip then picks up a piece of cake and takes far too big a bite.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
‘You’re here late again.’
Patricia looks up from a pile of essays to see Dennis walking into the staffroom, a quizzical look on his face. She smiles weakly. ‘It’s easier to do the marking here than at home.’
A look passes across his face but she can’t read it.
‘What about you?’ she says. ‘Cricket training?’
He shakes his head. ‘Swimming. I just brought a bunch of them back from the pool.’
‘I would have thought you could go home, then? No need to be in here.’
She glances down at the essays. She doesn’t want to be rude, but the longer he talks to her the later she’ll be leaving, and she told her father she’d be home by six.
‘Thought I might see you,’ Dennis says cheerily and she glances up sharply.
Does he mean that? Or is he like that odious maths teacher, Mr Blake, who tells every female teacher, regardless of her age or marital status, that she ‘brightens my day each time you walk past in that skirt’. No point telling Gordon about it, of course, because Gordon is the one who made the rule that all female teachers have to wear skirts.
Dennis looks innocent enough, however.
