Not long after Ingrid leaves, there’s a knock at the door, and I open it to find Dr Eric standing on my doorstep. He peers at me over through his thick glasses and offers me a smile.
‘Hello, Olivia. It’s been a few days, I thought I’d pop by to see how you’re doing.’
I sigh and step aside to let him in.
‘Dr Eric, you know that I’m always glad to see you, but at what point are these unscheduled house calls going to ease off?’
‘I think we’ll both know when the time comes. How are you feeling today?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Good, good.’
He walks automatically through to the couch and sets his medical case on it, then withdraws a manila folder with my name on the side of it. He rests the folder on the armrest, and I sit beside it because I know the drill.
‘Have you seen Natasha?’
‘Yes, I went on Thursday.’
‘Have you been taking the antidepressants?’
‘Every morning.’
‘Have you needed the sleeping medication the last few days?’
‘Yes, but not every night.’
‘Have you had any incidents of panic or anxiety attacks since we last spoke?’
‘No.’
‘What have you eaten today?’
As I’m pondering this, my eyes wander past the coffee table behind Dr Eric, and I see two bowls of untouched cereal. I’m pretty sure one of them is from today.
‘I had a very large bowl of cereal for breakfast, and I was just about to get lunch when I heard you knock,’ I lie, and Dr Eric frowns at me.
‘You’ve never been a very good liar, Olivia. Not since you told me that Louisa put that pea up your nose when you were five.’
‘Fine,’ I sigh. ‘Yes, I’ll eat when you go. I forgot, okay? I’m excited – I’ve just met with an agent and I’m selling the house. Time for a fresh start, isn’t that progress?’
‘Yes, I’ve heard you’ve been out and about this week.’
‘From who?’
‘There’s a lovely young barista at the coffee shop named Brontë who mentioned she saw you.’
I laugh weakly.
‘And how do you know Brontë, Dr Eric?’
‘She’s Kerry’s niece, visiting from Sydney for six months to help with Yvette after her hip operation.’
‘Who’s Kerry? And who’s Yvette?’ I’m still laughing, but I’m also well accustomed to this kind of thing – Milton Falls is close-knit, and Dr Eric is one of the cogs right at the centre of the wheel – he knows everyone. ‘And how do you keep track of everyone at your age?’
‘Kerry is that very efficient nurse at my clinic who does the vaccinations, and Yvette is her mother. Besides which, I’m only seventy-one, and I bet you’ll still remember every animal you’ve ever treated when you’re my age. It’s the same with my patients. You’re all like my children, or in your case, like my grandchildren.’
‘So, do I pass today’s health check?’
‘I’ll do your blood pressure and check your pulse and be on my way.’
‘Maybe soon we can revert to our usual schedule, and I’ll book an appointment with you and actually come into the office.’
‘I think I’d be less determined to make so many of these house calls if you’d just agree to stay with your parents again.’
‘You know I can’t do that. I need some time alone with Zoe for now.’
‘In that case, I’ll keep right on popping by. It’s not forever, Olivia,’ Dr Eric smiles kindly at me as he slides his stethoscope into his ears. ‘We’ll both know when you don’t need me to call in any more. Until then, I drive past your house all the time on my way from the nursing home to the clinic, it’s really no trouble at all for me to just stop in sometimes.’
‘Fine,’ I sigh, and he smiles at me.
‘Good girl.’
Ingrid returns the next day. She is carrying an iPad and a small folder and she positively beams at me when I open the door at her.
‘Hello, Olivia! So great to see you again. Can I come in?’
‘Hi, Ingrid, and please do,’ I say, matching her bright tone. I am starting to suspect that positivity is like a muscle that wastes without regular use. It takes a lot of energy to keep my voice lilting, but I don’t want to bring Ingrid’s mood down – and I need the practice. One day, I want to genuinely be as cheery as she is.
She comes into the house, and I lead her to the dining room table. I already have Zoe waiting in there, reclining in the high chair.
‘Well, I’ve already found a few houses that I think you’ll really like,’ Ingrid says brightly.
I take the seat opposite Ingrid and accept the folder she turns towards me. I look down at the paper it contains and my heart starts to race. Am I really doing this? I was so hoping that Ingrid Little would work at a million miles an hour, charging ahead at full steam – because if I am going to do this, I will need to do it quickly before I lose momentum and change my mind. But now, Ingrid has prepared a contract – something that’s going to need my signature – something that’s going to commit me to this course of action.
Am I actually ready?
‘Let’s look at the contract in a minute. First, the exciting stuff – the new house. What do you think of these?’
Ingrid reaches across the table and flips the contract over to expose a single page with some colour photos at the top.
‘Hey… I actually know this place,’ I say, and I pick the page up and bring it closer to my face. When Louisa and I were kids, Mum worked at the hospital, and Dad was setting up the accounting practice he still owns today, so there were plenty of times when their work schedules meant we had to go to a babysitter. Her name was Mrs Schmitt, and she was in her fifties by then – an ex-teacher who had to stop work because of issues with her eyesight that I never really understood. All I knew was that Mum constantly used to remind Louisa and me that we needed to behave for Mrs Schmitt, and we adored her so much that we would never have dreamed of doing otherwise. We’d walk to her house after school and she’d greet us with hot milk and scones, and when Mum and Dad came to pick us up, we’d complain that we wanted to stay.
Despite extensive renovations, I immediately recognise Mrs Schmitt’s house in these photos and I am swamped by marvellous memories – a smile immediately covers my face. It’s a beautiful home: small, cosy, comfortable – perfectly ordinary. My memories of that place are all accompanied by the heavy smell of baking in the air and the rhythmic click of Mrs Schmitt’s knitting needles.
‘When can we visit?’ I ask Ingrid, and she raises her eyebrows at me in surprise.
‘You want to see that one?’ she says to me, ‘It’s beautiful, but quite small, perhaps this one—’
She pushes another piece of paper towards me, but I shake my head. I have already decided, and somehow, this feels easy – and it feels right. Mrs Schmitt’s house is the kind of house that I wanted all along – the kind of house that David loathed. It’s an older style, a narrow California bungalow, double brick – tin roof, small rooms, no open-plan living.
In short, it is everything this house is not, which makes it perfect.
‘So, are you ready to go?’ Ingrid asks me the next morning. We’re standing at the front of my house and the morning sun beams down on me, making me squint.
‘I am,’ I say, and I am positively vibrating with excitement… there is just one tiny hurdle I need to overcome first. I don’t move from the front step.
‘So… are we going to take my car?’ Ingrid says, trying to prompt me to move I think, but I shake my head, and then I point towards the garage.
‘I was hoping that we could take mine,’ I say. ‘Zoe needs to go in the car seat, and it’s such a pain to move it between cars. But… ’ I take a deep breath, and I admit in a rush, ‘I haven’t actually driven in a while, so I was hoping that you wouldn’t mind driving for me.’
‘Of course,’ Ingrid says easily, as if this is an everyday request which I’m pretty sure it is not. But I open the garage and then I stare at my car.
It’s a red BMW sedan – David’s choice, from David’s dealership – and my palms are so sweaty when I go to open the door to put Zoe inside that it takes me several attempts to grip the handle, but then I open the door and I take Zoe from Ingrid. As I buckle her into the car seat, my vision fades in and out and I have to stop a few times to force myself to breathe.
There’s something about the sight of Zoe in the car seat that makes me feel sick, and I pause, trying to grasp it. Is it because I found David in the car? Is it because I haven’t been in the car for so long? It’s right there – like a word right at the tip of my tongue – but then it’s gone, and I straighten out of the car and stand straight.
‘Are you okay?’ Ingrid asks me after a while. She’s sitting in the front seat already, adjusting the mirrors with great care just as if it’s a complicated task, and I blink slowly and clear my throat.
‘I will be.’
Another deep breath, and my heart rate starts to slow. I lean back into the car and check Zoe’s buckles once-twice-three times, then I close the door, and check to make sure it’s properly latched. I need to be sure she’s going to be okay.
But I also need to get myself to Mrs Schmitt’s house, and to do that, I need to stop obsessing over the car and put myself in the passenger’s seat. I walk around to it, and then I slide in, and I pull my seatbelt on.
‘Hey, Olivia, if you’re not ready to do this... ’ Ingrid says quietly, and I shake my head resolutely and I say, ‘I am absolutely ready to do this.’
My hands rest on my lap now, in painfully tight fists.
‘Are you sure?’ Ingrid asks me gently, and I look at her. She is so well made-up; how does she do that? Maybe she was a beautician before she was a real-estate agent. One day, maybe I’ll ask her.
‘Do you know who I am?’ I ask her instead, and she winces as she nods.
‘I moved into town on the sixth of June, Olivia. I swear to God it was two whole weeks before I heard a single sentence that didn’t have your name in it.’
I laugh weakly.
‘I haven’t been in a car, not since… well, a few days after it all happened. And suffice to say the pharmaceutical industry assisted with the first few trips so I didn’t really notice them.’
‘And you’re sure you want to do this? We can walk, if that’s easier.’
I glance down at her feet. She’s wearing patent-leather stilettos with an enormous heel. I’m not even sure how she’s going to drive in them, let alone walk all the way across town.
‘In those shoes?’
‘These old things? Please. I could run a marathon in these without so much as a blister. I don’t exactly have a lot on today, so I have time. I don’t mind.’
I take a deep breath, and it comes out as a nervous, slightly elated giggle. Ingrid looks at me in alarm.
‘I think I’m fine,’ I say.
‘Are you sure?’
‘You know how sometimes the thought of something is worse than the reality of it?’
‘Okay, well, let me know if you need to stop,’ Ingrid says. I can tell she’s still unsure, but then she starts the car and then we are driving down the street past Ivy and Wyatt’s place. The further we get away from David’s house, the more relaxed I feel.
By the time we park at Mrs Schmitt’s house on the other side of Milton Falls, I’m no longer anxious at all. I slide out of the car and unclip Zoe, and I carry her with me as I walk through the wrought-iron gate towards the front door. As I approach the house, I stop to brush my palm over the foliage of hydrangea bushes in the garden bed along the front walls. The plants are huge and I wonder – are these the exact same bushes that Louisa and I picked blooms from when I came to this house as a child? These bushes will need a trim in the spring, and I can imagine myself working at them with shears with Zoe lying on the grass beside me. I can even imagine some years down the track, Zoe picking the blooms for me as a gift just like Louisa used to do for Mum.
I can make a home here. I know that I can. I stop before I step onto the veranda and I stare at the heavy front door.
There is only one lock.
Even that small detail endears me to the place.
‘Hello, ladies.’
I recognise Todd’s voice before I see him, and I turn around and frown. ‘Why are you here?’
Ingrid reaches forward and snatches a set of keys from Todd’s hand, then skips ahead of him towards me.
‘Well, this is Todd’s listing. But he’s very kindly agreed to let me show you through the house,’ Ingrid says pointedly. Todd half nods, but he’s staring at Zoe.
‘How are you doing, Olivia?’ My skin crawls at the tone he uses – it’s beyond patronising, almost slimy because it’s drenched in so much pity and awkwardness. He presses his lips together into something like a pout. ‘I was very surprised to hear that you’d engaged little Miss Ingrid here.’
He speaks to us as if we are five-year-old girls – he could almost could be patting us on the head.
‘I thought I’d give the hot-shot city agent some business,’ I say, with forced politeness. ‘So, can you give us a few minutes? Or better still – can Ingrid drop the keys back to you when we’re finished?’
‘Look… I know it’s all… difficult, but David was a good friend to me and he really was a top bloke, so I know he’d want me to look out for you. So I’m going to come with you and make sure this really is the right place, yeah?’
It is habit and instinct to simply agree. In fact, I open my mouth to do so – but then – I feel the rising tide of fury and indignation surge within me. Does Todd really think I need his approval now that my husband is dead? Like a woman can’t buy a house because she likes it, she has to have some man tell her it’s a good decision?
And the worst insult of all – David was a top bloke? Really? Do David’s footy buddies really think that, even now?
Once upon a time I’d have deferred to Todd simply because of his tone. I’d have ducked my gaze and forced myself to be demure, deferent to his confidence.
But I am not the same woman who smashed my way out of David’s house all of those weeks ago. If Todd thinks I’m going to stand here and let him patronise me and Ingrid Little without saying anything – he has another thing coming.
‘That won’t be necessary. We’ll drop the keys back to you afterward.’ I glance at Ingrid. ‘Let’s go.’
‘I just think it would be better if I just show you a few—’
‘No, Todd.’ I stare into Todd’s wide eyes and I raise my free hand towards him, pointing a finger towards the road, just as if I’m the school marm. If anyone is going to be doing any patronising in my new house, it will be me. ‘I don’t need you to do anything else. Thank you very much for bringing the keys over, and for allowing my agent to show me through personally. I don’t need any more of your “help”, so have yourself a great day.’
Behind me, I hear the sound of Ingrid opening the door, but I continue to stare at Todd until he holds his palms up towards me and backs quickly away to his car. Then I turn on my heel and I march inside, and Ingrid makes a point of gently slamming the door behind us.
I face away from her, into the house, and I blink hard against automatic tears.
‘Well,’ Ingrid says with a laugh, ‘Aren’t you a bundle of surprises, Olivia Brennan? What a fucking jerk.’
‘He doesn’t mean to be like that,’ I sigh, and I have cleared the last of the tears so I turn back to her. ‘He just grew up here – and sometimes the men around Milton Falls have these archaic country attitudes.’
I hear myself excusing Todd and it disgusts me. Why did I do that? He had no right to treat me that way – no right to treat Ingrid that way. Yes, Todd grew up here in the country – just like David did – just like I did. But it isn’t 1950 any more. If Todd has a small town, backward attitude, that is his fault, and it’s not something that I need to just ‘let go’.
I look at Ingrid.
‘You know, you’re right. Todd is a fucking jerk, so don’t let him push you around. We have a lot of big fish in this little pond, and it’s time that you take some of that pond for yourself.’
Ingrid laughs, and then she extends her hand towards the hallway.
‘Shall we go look at your new home, Olivia?’
The house is perfect. It’s been painted and the floors redone, and the kitchen has new granite benches, but otherwise it’s just as I remember it: even the cast-iron stove Mrs Schmitt used to cook on is still right there – left in place as a feature piece because there’s also a gas stovetop now. The cast-iron stove is the kind of thing that would have driven David crazy, dust collector, he would have said, and I can almost hear the scornful tone he would have used.
When I look at that stove, I see both the past and the present – and I am sure that both can be beautiful. I’m going to put a silly, dust-collecting vase full of chaotic, dust-collecting silk flowers on that beautiful, dust-collecting stove and I’m going to leave it all undusted until I can see the dust all over it and then I’m going to write David’s name in it and then I’ll rub it out and erase him altogether.
‘Can you make an offer on my behalf?’ I ask Ingrid as she’s pulling the front door shut.
Ingrid smiles at me. ‘It would be an honour.’