Page 64 of Thursdays at Orange Blossom House
‘Mum, please.’ Tom wraps his arms around his wife.
Perhaps itistoo soon. Perhaps she has been unkind. But what she sees here – the evidence that there aren’t even remnants of her family members left – makes her realise that she is, most likely, profoundly alone in this world, and she needs to act fiercely to look after herself.
‘I think I’ll take myself home,’ she says, although she knows that will upset Cecilia even as it pleases Tom and Viv.
She walks briskly to the car, buckles herself into the passenger seat, and waits for Cecilia to realise it’s time to go.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The knock on the door is firm and loud enough to be heard over the radio that Grace Maud has taken to keeping on all day. ABC Classic FM. Less vexing than talkback radio but with enough strident symphonies to keep her engaged with the day.
Another two taps. A pause. Three taps.
Grace Maud waits, hoping whoever it is will leave. This area isn’t known for door-knockers of the religious or sales persuasion, but it doesn’t pay to take chances. She doesn’t want to be trapped into talking to someone whom only rudeness on her part will dislodge. Not that she objects to being rude on occasion, but she doesn’t have the energy for it today.
Another two taps.
There’s no way anyone can see her from outside: the pane of glass on the front door is at the top, over the head of all but the tallest people. So if she stays very still they’ll eventually leave.
‘Grace Maud!’
She sinks a little into the couch. It’s not a door-knocker.
‘Grace Maud, it’s Patricia and Dorothy!’
Lovely. A double ambush. She had thought that neither of them would believe they knew her well enough to come looking for her when she didn’t turn up to class. That way she wouldn’t have to tell them what’s happened.
It’s so much easier to handle bad things when one doesn’t have to talk about them. She knows the new fashion is totalk about your feelings– she blames Americans and their fondness for ‘therapy’, as popularised on television shows and in movies – but Grace Maud has survived very well by saying not much at all about her feelings. After Ellie Maud died, Tom wanted her to ‘talk about it, Mum. Come on, don’t bottle it up’. But Grace Maud wanted to bottle it up. Her grief was hers, and she wanted to keep it to herself. It would disperse if she talked about it, and she wanted to keep it close, because that meant keeping Ellie Maud close.
There is no evidence, Grace Maud thinks now, none at all, that talking about grief makes it any less intense. It just makes it shared. And a problem shared is not a problem halved. It’s a problem shared.
‘Grace Maud!I know you’re home – your car’s here!’
This is a trick statement, as the car is parked in the garage at the rear of the property. But she admires Patricia’s pluck.
Her body betrays its lack of stretching as she pushes up from the couch, and her hips tell her that she needs to move them more as she slowly walks to the radio to turn it down.
Another two taps on the door.
‘I’m here,’ she says imperiously, hoping this will signify that she really doesn’t want to be bothered and that they should leave as soon as possible.
As she opens the door she sees Patricia looking very much like the schoolteacher she is.
‘I’m surprised you’re not waving a finger at me and saying, “tsk tsk”,’ Grace Maud says. She turns and walks back towards the sitting room.
‘No “hello” then?’ Patricia says, and Grace Maud hears the door close quietly.
‘Hello,’ she says over her shoulder.
‘We didn’t want to bother you,’ says Dorothy with that apologetic tone in her voice that drives Grace Maud mad on occasion. The girl is far too sorry for everything. If you give people excuses to blame you for things, they’ll take them.
‘Then why are you here?’ Grace Maud glares at both of them as she sits heavily.
Patricia frowns. ‘Grace Maud, I really don’t think this is like you,’ she says.
‘Then you don’t know me.’
‘I’ve seen you in downward-facing dog every week for the past few months. I think I know you pretty well.’
