Page 67 of Thursdays at Orange Blossom House
Annette wafts in at one point and cursorily asks if she can help, but Patricia knows this is a performance and her own part is to say, ‘No, I’m fine’. She isn’t fine – she’s panicking about the timing of bringing everything together at the table – but she doesn’t actually want Annette in here with her.
Patricia opens the oven door to check on the turkey. She hates turkey. Such a dry, tasteless bird. No one likes turkey, yet they persist in having it for Christmas lunch because they’ve always had it. There are so many things in this world that persist because they always have. She never used to question that practice as much as she does now. Thanks to yoga, probably. Specifically, to Sandrine asking them why they should hang onto their stiffness, their aches and pains, simply because they’ve always had them. Because they’re safe.
When Patricia started to feel the tightness in her neck and shoulders release – when she unfurled, almost literally, from that cave she’d created with the top half of her body – it was terrifying, because she finally understood that she’d been hiding inside herself all that time, fearful of showing herself to anyone and not being loved for what is really there. So she understands how other people can be reluctant to let go of something that they believe has been in their interests for a long time. Yet she also knows what came on the other side of that release: not just freedom of movement but an epiphany. She held onto something that wasn’t serving her for too long simply because she was unsure of what was on the other side, even though it had a very good chance of being better.
Since then, she’s seen so many opportunities in the world around her for people to change, to improve, when they’re holding onto something old. The teacher in her wants to share her knowledge, but the civilian part of her knows that’s rude. All she can do is lead by example.
Except she’s prevented from setting an example in her own family because none of them will let her lead. They’re happy to load her up with all the responsibility – of cooking today, of looking after their parents – but they won’t allow her to make the decisions that could alleviate her burden just a little.
‘How far away is it?’
Patricia turns at her brother’s voice. ‘About half an hour,’ she says, trying to fluff up her hair.
‘Seriously?’ Peter goes to the fridge, opens it, pulls out a tinny. ‘I’m starving.’
‘Well, if you’d deigned to help me, it could have moved faster.’
He looks at her as if she’s said something disgusting, then starts laughing. ‘Yeah, right. That’s not my job.’
‘What is your job, then?’
She hadn’t meant to get into this today but she’s hot, her dress is sticking to her legs with sweat, she’s sick of doing everything and he’s provoked her.
He grins and opens the tinny. ‘To eat.’
She wants to slap him.
‘Peter, would it occur to you for a moment that I have my hands full here? And I don’t just mean Christmas lunch.’
A slurp of the beer. ‘Jeez, now I know why John stayed away this year. Did you give him this lecture last year?’
‘It’s not a lecture,’ she says quietly. ‘It’s a statement of fact.’
‘Splitting hairs,’ he says with the shorthand of siblings.
‘They’re your parents too. I shouldn’t have to do everything on my own.’
‘I have a wife and kids.’ He says it so matter-of-factly, laying it down like the trump card he knows it is.
‘So if I were married and had children and you were single, you’d be living here and looking after them?’
He stares at her, and she knows it’s the first time this idea has been put to him.
‘No point discussing that,’ he says, ‘because it’s never gonna happen.’
She knows that he’s referring to her being married with children more than the idea of him being the one to care for their parents.
‘Do you need a hand?’ Annette asks again as she enters the room.
‘I’m not ready yet.’
‘Still?’ Annette makes a face. ‘You’ve been in here forhours.’
‘Because ittakeshours, Annette,’ Patricia snaps. ‘When’s the last time you cooked Christmas lunch all by yourself?’
Annette’s mouth opens, then she too goes to the fridge and pulls out the salad.
‘I’ll put the dressing on,’ she says.
