Page 115 of Weekends with the Sunshine Gardening Society
Cynthia thinks it’s hilarious that they’re getting along so well, because Lorraine had told her about the cold war that came before it. But Lorraine isn’t finding it so funny because now she can’t complain to Rose about Cora, and she doesn’t really want to put all of her complaining onto Cynthia. Although maybe Cynthia wouldn’t mind.
‘Don’t you have better shoes?’ Cynthia says as Lorraine arrives at her house so they can set off from there.
Lorraine looks down at her old Volleys with mismatched laces. ‘No. What’s wrong with them?’
‘They don’t look very sturdy.’
‘They’ll do. They have to.’ Lorraine makes a face at her.
‘All right, don’t get cross,’ Cynthia says. ‘I have only your feet’s interests in mind.’
Lorraine shrugs. ‘It’s a dirt track, isn’t it? Not too tough on feet.’
Cynthia raises an eyebrow. ‘I suppose not.’
They set off, down the hill towards the entrance to the park and past the usual collection of vans and utes belonging to surfers who are already in the water off First Point or even deeper in the park at Tea Tree or Granite Bay.
Lorraine grew up around surfers but she was never tempted to try it. Actually, not true: she was, but the boys at school all said surfing wasn’t for girls and she believed them. Then Pam Burridge started to win titles and she realised she’d been duped. She mentioned to Elizabeth recently that she had wanted to learn to surf and Elizabeth asked why she didn’t. Lorraine had no good answer to that, other than fear. Of looking stupid not of hurting herself. Or maybe they’re the same thing.
She sniffs as they pass a panel van. ‘Bit early for that, isn’t it?’ she mutters to Cynthia.
‘What?’
‘Gangajang.’
‘What?’ Cynthia laughs.
‘You know …’ Lorraine looks around to see if anyone might be listening. ‘Marijuana.’
‘Why do you call it that?’
‘Mike does.’
‘Does he … ?’ Cynthia wrinkles her nose.
‘No. Can’t hang that on him. His mates do, though.’
Cynthia nods and they walk a few steps in silence.
‘Have you seen him lately?’ she asks.
‘He pops around to see the kids and Cora. Keeps asking when I’m taking him back.’ Lorraine sighs. ‘Sometimes he brings me chocolates. The other day it was a cake. He’s wearing me down.’
‘Do you want him to?’
‘I don’t know.’ She huffs. ‘I miss him sometimes.’
‘That’s to be expected.’
A jogger passes them, and Lorraine catches a whiff of BO and remembers the parts about men shedoesn’tlike.
‘Try some deodorant!’ she calls and the jogger looks back and gives her a wink. Big hairy bloke. Bit like Mike … Oh yeah, she misses him.
‘Did you ever miss Pat?’ she asks Cynthia, keen to move on from thinking about Mike.
‘Yes,’ Cynthia says, and Lorraine is surprised because in the letters they exchanged, before everything petered off, Cynthia never mentioned it. Although why would she? By then she was shacked up with the surfer in California.
‘So why did you …’ Lorraine trails off because there’s no good way to say ‘dump him’.
