Page 14 of Lessons in Love at the Seaside Salon
‘Jane left.’
‘Yeah, you said.’
‘And opened her own salon.’
Silence.
‘In the next street,’ Trudy adds.
More silence.
It’s in moments like these – the silent moments, that is – when Trudy sometimes longs for a daughter who could keep up her conversational end. She sees the mothers and daughters in the salon and they’re always chatting. Even that Anna who comes in with Ingrid – she sits and reads magazines most of the time but they’ll chat on for a few minutes here or there. Annaseems slightly scared of Ingrid, when she’s not annoyed by her. This amuses Trudy because she thinks Ingrid is a dignified lady who is hell bent on preserving as much of that dignity as she can as she ages, which, yes, can make a person seem difficult because they need certain things – like regular visits to hairdressers – but she generally thinks it’s a measure of how much they regard others as well as themselves. If you take care of yourself – if you value yourself highly enough to preserve your dignity – it means you’re not asking someone else to do that work for you.
It’s why she lies to Dylan – and anyone else who asks – about how she is. She says she’s fine because that helps her preserve her dignity. Some might prefer to blurt out each and every feeling as they experience it but Trudy doesn’t think that’s dignified.
Dignity mattered a lot to Laurie as he was dying. He didn’t want her seeing him at his worst; wanted to be in hospital for that so she didn’t have to help him to the toilet, or shower him when he couldn’t shower himself. Even though she told him that she loved him and that wouldn’t change, he insisted she not help him with such things.
Oh, she misses him. Started missing him even when he was still alive. Her strong, steadfast, brave husband and the awful end he didn’t deserve. Yet who does?
‘That doesn’t sound too good,’ Dylan says after a few seconds.
She snaps back to the phone call. ‘It’s not. She’s taking clients away.’ Trudy clears her throat. ‘Or, I guess, they’re going to her.’
‘Annemarie’s sister had that.’
The sister owns a fish and chip shop in south-west Sydney and a rival venue opened three doors down. It was a drama at the time, but then the sister started doing hot dogs as well, which brought in the teenage boys, and she’s been fine since. Trudy, however, has no plans to serve hot dogs at the salon.
‘I remember,’ she says. Then she has an idea. ‘It’d be good to see Annemarie and the kids. And you, of course.’
‘Sure, but –’
‘Would you like to come up for lunch one Sunday? Maybe next week? The week after?’
Annemarie likes to see her own family on Sundays but perhaps she could make an exception. When Laurie was alive they used to come up and visit, so Trudy knows it’s possible.
‘Yeah, maybe. I dunno.’
She can hear a muffled sound. Dylan has put his hand over the phone and is talking to someone.
‘Annemarie says she’s busy the next few weekends.’
‘Oh.’ Trudy thinks. She doesn’t want to drive to Sydney but she could get herself to the train in Gosford. ‘How about I come down one Sunday instead?’ she ventures. ‘That way I could at least see you. Maybe the kids too?’
Over the past two years she’s felt she’s completely lost touch with Dylan’s daughters, Irene and Bree.
‘I’ll check with Annemarie. Sorry, Mum, I’ve gotta go. Our neighbour’s just come over.’
‘Oh.’
‘Love ya.’
‘You too.’
He hangs up and Trudy is left listening to the dial tone. Her cigarette has extinguished itself but she doesn’t feel like lighting another. Nor does she want to read more Agatha Christie.
Sitting back on the couch, she sighs. It’s too early to make dinner. Which means it’s too early to go to bed. Days are long when there’s no one here to share them with, she thinks.
She closes her eyes and contemplates meditating, just to see what it’s like, but instead she falls asleep.
