The Good Sister(63)

*

I survive the next couple of weeks mostly thanks to Rose – who feeds me, cares for me, even ties my shoes when I can’t reach. When I become too pregnant, Rose offers to shave my legs. It is hard to describe the intimacy of this. I can’t imagine having anyone in the world but Rose do this for me. Nor can I imagine the alternative – leaving them unshaven. In this way, as well as many others, my sister holds the key to my sanity (even though I never gave it to her).

Owen’s return is delayed, and then delayed again. In the meantime, Rose and I busy ourselves with what she’d previously deemed to be ‘Owen’ tasks – such as assembling the crib and the changing table and painting the nursery. I relish the opportunity to be busy to take my mind off the baby, Billy, Mum, Wally – all of the things I’ve lost or am losing.


In the ninth month, I’m still working at the library. With all the excitement of my impending delivery, Rose seems to have abandoned her quest for me to give up work and rest around the clock, which is great, even if I do spend more time than usual in the secret cupboard. It’s tiring, the third trimester. Aside from the Braxton Hicks contractions I get periodically, my legs have become quite swollen and I get terrible pelvis pain if I’m on my feet for more than an hour or two. Carmel doesn’t seem to mind it when I disappear, she doesn’t even ask where I am anymore. It’s funny how at first I’d thought Carmel was so different from Janet, but now, as it turns out, I think they would have liked each other quite a lot.

One morning, at the library, I find myself making small talk with Gayle. It starts out normal, with her asking me how I’ve been – a question that I’ve always found difficult to answer. Usually I ignore this kind of question, pretend I didn’t hear, but today, on a whim, I decide to indulge her.

‘Are you enquiring after my physical health, Gayle?’

She appears to think about this, as if she herself isn’t entirely sure. After contemplating for a few moments, she says, ‘I suppose I’m asking if anything of interest has happened to you lately?’

‘But how am I supposed to know what is of interest to you?’

Gayle thinks again. ‘You know, that’s a good question. Perhaps you can tell me if anything of interest to you has happened lately.’

I think about this. ‘Well, let’s see. I read Kelly Rimmer’s new novel, The Things We Cannot Say, over the weekend. I thoroughly enjoyed it.’

Gayle beams. ‘I read her last one and loved it. It must have been out last summer because I remember sitting outside on my garden swing with a gin and tonic while I read it.’

Before I know it, Gayle and I have discussed gin, garden swings and her new herb garden, as well as Kelly Rimmer’s other books, and none of it has felt like a chore in the least. The fact that we are focused on our work as we talk assists with this, I believe. We are still chatting comfortably when the automatic doors slide open.

‘Isn’t that your sister, Fern?’

I glance up, instantly annoyed. Rose hasn’t been back since the last time I told her it wasn’t convenient, and I’d thought she’d got the message.

‘Rose,’ I say, before she can speak. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m working.’

Rose shoots a look at Gayle. ‘I know. But this is important. Is there somewhere we can speak in private?’

‘At home,’ I suggest. ‘Tonight?’

She shakes her head. ‘Now, Fern.’

Rose and I appear to have come to something of a stalemate. I let out a long sigh.

‘Go into the courtyard,’ Gayle whispers. ‘I’ll cover for you.’

Carmel has been so lenient with me lately that I’m not sure I would need anyone to ‘cover’ for me, but I appreciate the sentiment, so I don’t point this out. Instead, I thank Gayle and head outside to the courtyard with Rose. As we walk, Rose peppers me with inane questions about my day, the weather, if Gayle has recently changed her hair, and by the time we reach the courtyard, I’m feeling a little uneasy. Rose doesn’t typically make small talk with me. She knows I dislike chatter for chatter’s sake and the rapid fire of today makes me wonder if something is wrong.

‘What is it, Rose?’ I say.

Thankfully, Rose doesn’t draw it out. ‘It’s Mum.’

It is perhaps the very last thing I expect her to say. Rose doesn’t impart information about Mum to me, it’s the other way around. Rose hasn’t seen Mum for years.

‘What . . . about Mum?’ I ask.

I notice Rose’s face is unusually sombre. ‘I just had a call from Sun Meadows.’

This is odd. Why would Sun Meadows call Rose?

‘Why would they call you?’

Rose looks a little sheepish. ‘I’m Mum’s emergency contact.’

I stare at her. I have been visiting Mum every week for sixteen years and Rose is Mum’s emergency contact?

She takes a long deep breath. ‘It’s not good news, Fern. Mum . . . she died.’

I hear the words. I understand them. And yet, I feel . . . nothing. I become oddly aware of all the sounds around me. The birds in the nearby tree. My breath whooshing past my ears. My heart beating.

‘There aren’t many details yet,’ Rose says. ‘They will probably have to do an autopsy. They think it must have been a stroke.’