Even though Dash insisted on my staying with them, I feel the need for some solitude and check into a hotel. The room, although comfortable, doesn’t induce sleep, which is a good thing because right now I need to sort out my life. The plan formulating in my mind needs to be put into practice, the sooner the better.
My mobile and I have been staring at each other since breakfast. But staring won’t get the job done. I search through my contacts. My eyes flutter over a plethora of names until they land on the target. Seconds later, it’s ringing but is drowned out by the sound of my own pulse. I almost don’t want my call answered, but that wouldn’t further my purpose. Suddenly there’s a voice at the other end of the line, a familiar voice, not that we talk often.
“Juliette! How are you?”
“Good, good, thanks. Um…I have a business proposition for you, can we meet?”
“A business proposition? I like the sound of that. Sure, when and where?”
“In two hours, Diego’s in Lygon st.”
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, all good. See you there,” I say.
“Juliette! How are you? In the big time now! Of course, I’m as jealous as hell, but you deserve the victory. You’ve worked hard.”
“Thanks, Sonya. How’s business?”
Sonya Schafer is the woman Big Al was going to award the contract to after me, my closest business rival.
“Wonderful. Wonderful,” she says as she lights another cigarette even though there’s still one smouldering away in the ashtray. “Not as busy as yours, obviously.”
“Big Al’s contract has tripled my business. I just can’t keep up. And we’ll have to move to bigger premises to cater for the extra staff; mind you the lease was up anyway. I’m thinking about Southbank.”
“Ooooh, nice. Half your luck. Now what’s this proposition about? I’ve got a horror day ahead.”
Stay calm, Juliette. Control the situation, don’t let it control you.
“Sonya, are you in this for the long haul?”
“This industry? By God yes. I love it, I love the chaos.” I sip my tea and pause for breath, hoping that Sonya doesn’t notice the rattling of my teacup being placed back on its saucer. Gran’s words reinforce my strength.
“I’m selling my business, my book of clients,” I say.
Her eyes light up and shock spreads across her face like wildfire in the bush.
“Including the Big Al contract?” she asks.
“Yes. Fifty players for five years, as well as my existing clients and staff. You’d want them because they can hit the ground running.”
She inhales her cigarette so deeply that I expect to see it disappear into her mouth and down her throat.
“How much?” she asks.
She already knows what that contract is worth. I push a piece of paper towards her; it has my price on it. Her eyebrows touch her hairline.
“Whoa! Who else is interested? Anyone I know?”
“Yes, but of course I can’t divulge that information. This is all strictly confidential you understand.”
“Are they locals?” she asks.
“No, Sydneysiders.” The entrance of another player in the local business would dilute her market share even further, as well as jeopardise her current business. She knows that this is a once in a lifetime opportunity.
She mumbles to herself, tapping a shellacked finger on her platinum cigarette box. “I’ll need some time.” She has an excellent poker face, but it’s not as good as mine.
“I can only give you until midday. After that I will have to accept another offer, I’m afraid.”
“They’re ready to buy? Today?” She looks worried.
“Yes. They’re eager to wrap it up.”
“Hold on, Juliette. I just need to make a call to my banker. Just give me a minute, OK?”
She gets up and teeters off to make her call. If she is bluffing me and calling Big Al, I will be screwed. Not only because Big Al will probably find a loophole and cancel the contract, which will mean that I will only get a small price for my book, but because it will ruin my reputation in the industry.
I am trying not to sweat, which is anxiety-inducing in itself. Damn this silk top.
Sonya comes back to our table and sits down, lighting up another cigarette. Her poker face is still relatively intact, but an experienced player can see between the cracks. She wants this.
“I can do this…” She shoves a piece of paper with a number on it at me.
I glance at the paper, my heart pounds out of my chest, then I reply, “I’m sorry, Sonya, but the others have offered more than that already.”
“No! Wait. OK, OK, you win. I’ll pay what you’re asking. Do we have a deal?” Her voice is laced with anticipation.
My lips work over time to control the smile and curtail it into a polite grin.
“Yes, we have a deal. Congratulations Sonya, well done. This is still absolutely confidential until all contracts are signed. Big Al will be ropeable if you let it slip to anyone, and you don’t want to start on the wrong foot. He will be in contact with you sometime tomorrow.” After I’ve broken the news to him.
She grins and says, “Well, I have to say that I never thought I’d see the day when you sold your business. What’s prompted this — you’re not sick are you?” A look of concern works across her face.
“Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” I ask.
Her look is wary but she nods slowly. “What would you like to know?’
“Well, you’re a mum too, right?”
“Yes, I most certainly am.” A loving smile spreads across her face.
“How do you do it? How do you manage to run a busy agency and be a wife and mother at the same time?” I ask.
Sonya sits back into her chair and seems to be pondering the question as she inhales another cigarette. After a moment she leans forward again and looks me right in the eyes. “Honestly, it’s hard. There are days where I feel like I’m juggling thirty balls and it’s a mad scrabble to keep them all up in the air,” she says. “But, my husband is very supportive and I am a supremo at delegating in the office.”
“Delegating isn’t my strong suit,” I say.
“I’ve heard,” she smiles. “The time I spend with my family is precious because there’s not as much of it, but I think that my family life is stronger because I am doing something that fulfills me as a person. Happy wife, happy life, as my husband says.”
Her honesty touches me.
“Is this the reason you’re selling? To be at home?” She tilts her head to the side.
I exhale loudly. “Yes. I’m not managing the balance between life and work too well.”
“Is this what you really want to do, or is guilt making you do it?”
The question shocks me a bit, because although we have known each other for a long time, Sonya and I have never had such a personal conversation. But I can tell that she isn’t being nosey or snide, she’s genuinely interested in my motivations.
But then she continues, “Because there’s always guilt – mother guilt. It’s actually a hormone that is released into your body the second you give birth and makes you feel bad when you take time for yourself. But I can tell you, that whether mums work or not, we all need something for ourselves. For some it’s work, for others it’s study or volunteering, exercise or social activities. It doesn’t matter what it is, we all need an outlet – a sanctuary where we can be ourselves.” She leans forward and touches my hand. “One size does not fit all, Juliette. Finding that balance is a very personal thing – it’s different for each of us. You have to do what suits you best.”
“Thanks Sonya,” I smile. “You’re right, and I appreciate your honesty.”
She nods and inhales another cigarette.
“Shall we share some champagne to celebrate? Isn’t that the usual way to consummate a business deal?” she asks.
“Another time perhaps, Sonya. You’re not the only one with a horror day. I’ll organise for my solicitor to send the papers over immediately.”
We both stand up and shake hands.
“Thanks, Sonya. It really was a pleasure doing business with you. I’m sure you will take the agency on to bigger and better things.”
“I’ll certainly do my best!” she smiles. “Good luck, Juliette. I hope that everything works out the way you want it to.”
Me too.
One down, five to go.
Pure terror fills me as I wait for Big Al to answer his phone. My mouth is as dry as the muffins I attempted to make in my first week back in 1961, and the anxiety sweat that my body managed to retain whilst dealing with Sonya has now leached out of me.
“Juliette, PR extraordinaire. What can I do for you?” he asks.
“Hi Al. Just a quick call.” He must be able to hear my blood pressure rise through the phone. “Sonya Schafer and I…” Oh fuck it, speak woman.
“Yes.”
Get to the point quickly, Juliette. Big Al responds to verbal efficiency.
“We are amalgamating. She was your second choice anyway, so you know that she is more than capable of handling everything. You get the strength of two agencies for the price of one. It will be seamless; the service will be absolutely flawless.”
Silence.
“Amalgamation will begin a.s.a.p. Just thought you’d like a heads-up.”
“Juliette, cut the crap. You’ve sold your business to her, haven’t you?”
Shit! I knew this wouldn’t work. If he’s against it he’ll cancel the contract and it will go to Sonya anyway.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I …” Oh shit, there’s no fooling this man, may as well be honest. “…I want to be somewhere else right now.”
“Somewhere else? I award your agency the most coveted contract in the business, and you tell me that you want to be somewhere else right now? And where is that somewhere else?”
“My family. I’m sorry to let you down Al, but my family is…”
“Is what? Are you saying that you are retiring from PR to concentrate on your family?”
I am scared to answer because he may think less of me. Fighting blood. “Yes, I am. My children are young and they need a mother more than you need me as your PR guru.”
There is a short silence on the end of the phone. My heart rate rises significantly, which is quite something because I am near cardiac arrest already.
“Well, Juliette, I’m surprised and disappointed…” and then his voice softens. “Disappointed to lose you, but I understand your decision. All my ex-wives told me the same thing, but I didn’t listen to any of them. My children grew up with an absent father who just compensated them with material possessions. I lost my family because I was too focused on my work. When I die I’ll have a fabulously ornate funeral packed full of the rich and famous, but my children may not be among them. So, I can’t be angry with you for having the courage to make things right with your family.”
“Thank you Al,” I say quietly, choking back the lump in my throat.
“Just so we’re clear, did you wait to sign my contract so that you would get a higher book price when you sold to Sonya?”
The truth hits me again. “No, I never intended to sell the business, but I didn’t tell Sonya that she was your second choice either, because then you’d just cancel my contract and re-award it to her.”
He lets out a bellowing laugh and says, “Well, how can I be angry with you for being smart enough to negotiate with the best bargaining chip you could get your hands on? If you decide in a few years time that you want to work again, call me. I need cunning and smart people. Good luck, Juliette.” And with that he is gone.
My cardiac arrest has ceased and although there is an overwhelming need to visit the ladies room, it looks as though I might survive today after all.
Two down, four to go.
It’s dark when I pull up out the front of our house. The street looks so different, crammed with cars and renovated houses. It looked better in 1961.
Having to knock on the door is odd, but it wouldn’t feel right to just let myself in, not after Chris asked me to leave. This feels like his territory now, even though the house has more of a history with me.
A contract of sale in one hand, bank cheque for enough money to set us up nicely in the other, and a head that is completely empty of thought, my stomach lurches as he approaches the door. He opens it and stares at me like my purpose is to convert him to another religion. Not quite the ideal greeting, but at least he hasn’t slammed the door closed in my face…yet.
“Chris…”
He looks at me and it’s clear that he feels nothing, neither anger nor forgiveness. This is going to be a hard sell, which is fair enough. It was my behaviour that led us to this point.
“Chris, can we talk, please?” I ask as my stomach gurgles.
He steps outside onto the porch opposite me and closes the door a little.
“The kids are asleep. I don’t want to disturb them. If you’ve come to collect your things you can grab some stuff now, and then come back tomorrow when the kids aren’t home,” he says, crossing his arms.
“No, that’s not the reason for my visit. I’ve come to apologise to you, for everything.”
He raises his eyebrows and remains expressionless, which is so unlike him.
“My actions were inexcusable. I take full responsibility for what I did and the impact that it had on you and the boys. I’ve abused your trust, taken advantage of your kindness and neglected my family to pursue my own dream without considering the consequences for any of you.”
He nods.
“I’ve been a terrible wife, an absent mother and I’ve forced you to this point because of my behaviour. I deserve every bit of contempt you have towards me.”
He nods again but doesn’t move in any other way. My stomach is swirling like a whirlpool, bringing on dizziness, but I’ve got to keep going.
“I realise now why my work meant so much to me,” I add. “It was a cover, something to keep me busy so that I didn’t have to deal with Dad’s death and Mum’s illness. It all built up over time and I just took the easy way out by not dealing with it.”
His face softens into an expression of recognition as though we are speaking the same language now. My mind stretches back to when he said that he understood my need to achieve, even if I didn’t. He’s known this all along but he still needs to hear me say it.
“I thought that if I could be the complete opposite of my Mum, then my life would be happy. If I crammed as much achievement and success into it as possible, then…I…” My eyes gravitate towards the ground. “But it didn’t work, it just made me…empty, and then the vicious cycle began — work more, feel worse, work even more, feel even worse. Thank you for stopping it, for making me stop and face the reasons behind it all.” I look up at him, searching for something that says he’s going to forgive me.
He uncrosses his arms and seems to relax a bit.
“You and the boys…” My eyes start to fill with tears. “Our family… is…” Tears prickle the back of my eyes and I struggle to contain the wavering in my voice. “This weekend has taught me about what’s really important. Our marriage and our family are the only things that matter, nothing else even comes close. You are all the biggest and best part of me, my biggest achievement. Please give me another chance.”
Now the tears are streaming down my face, ruining my mascara. Waterproof my arse.
“We’ve been down this road before and it always leads to the same point — you lying and breaking every promise you make. Give me something concrete, Jules, because I won’t risk you hurting our children anymore.”
I hold up the sale contract and bank cheque. He looks at them and is taken aback, literally a step back, by what he sees.
“What’s this?” he asks.
“I sold the business to Sonya Schafer. It’s gone. As of today I am no longer a PR agent. I’m rebuilding myself.”.
He nearly falls over in shock and steadies himself against the verandah post.
“I would never have gotten that much money without Big Al’s contract. I had to sell the business to Sonya with the contract. Otherwise it would have just gone to her anyway because she was Al’s second choice.”
He looks at me as though he is mentally linking the two actions together. “Was that your intention all along? To increase the value and then sell it?”
The old Juliette would have cashed in on this offer of good will, making out that it was all part of the plan so that Chris would think well of her. It’s tempting, and hard to break old habits. But there are no more lies.
“No, it wasn’t. I fully intended to take on the business and keep it. I didn’t intend to sell it.”
He’s disappointed. “Oh, I see. So why the change?”
“Because…” Because for the last nine months I’ve been living in 1961, where women didn’t have the option of working or having a career, and although it nearly killed me in the beginning, it gave me the time I needed to face up to things and re-establish myself. The people there were inspiring, heroic, compassionate and generous. They loved me and I loved them, and you and I were as happy as a couple could ever wish to be. We lived a beautiful, simple life full of love and family and I grew to see beyond the facade I’ve been wearing since my Dad died. I finally understood that my mother didn’t hate me; she loved me. Most of all, I grew to love myself, to accept that I am not perfect, but that it’s OK to be flawed. But it would be crazy to say that. “Because you’ve been right all along. There’s no need for me to prove myself worthy anymore. The simple fact that I am loved is enough. There will be time for me later, when I grow up and figure out what I’d really love to do with the rest of my working life, but right now, I just want to be here.”
“Why didn’t you lie to me and tell me that you’d intended to sell all along?”
“Because I’m not that person anymore, not a phoney,” I say.
He looks at me, his eyes searching my face for any sign that would tell him that I’m lying. I stand there with mascara stains on my cheeks, hoping that he will take me back, because if he doesn’t I’ve lost everything…everything.
Sweat is trickling down my spine and my body heats up to lava temperature. Any hotter and it will melt. It seems like an eternity.
Finally he opens his mouth, closes it again and looks at me. His expression is troubled, his beautiful smile buried under a mountain of doubt.
“I don’t know Jules. It’s not just me, it’s the kids too. They deserve…”
“Do you still love me?”
He hesitates. “Yes, I do.”
“Because I love you, more than anything. I am so proud to be your wife, the mother of your children. You are…the most amazing father and I want a chance to be an amazing mother. Please, give me that chance.”
“How do I know this will last, that it’s not just a phase you’re going through?” he asks.
“I sold my business, because I wanted it out of our lives forever. It’s gone, never to return.”
Chris scratches his head and looks over his shoulder as Ethan approaches us, rubbing his eyes and resembling a zombie.
“What are you doing, Dad?” he asks.
I can tell that Chris is unsure as to whether or not he wants Ethan to see me, so I step to the side, out of his line of vision.
“Is it Mum? Is she home?” he asks, with what I hope is a stir of excitement in his voice.
Chris pauses and my heart stops.
“Would you like her to be home?” he asks.
My still heart turns to glass, set to shatter irreparably if Ethan says no.
“Yeah, I miss her. She was a knucklehead at the concert, but I really want her to come home,” he says.
I stifle a small giggle — I was a knucklehead — and my eyes fill with more tears at hearing that he still loves me and wants me to be his Mum.
Chris inhales and then exhales deeply before he steps to the side and allows Ethan to poke his head out the door.
“Mum!” he shrieks as his little face lights up and he launches himself at me.
“Hi sweetie!” I say, burying my nose in his bed hair and inhaling his sweet, sweet scent.
“Are you coming home?” he asks.
I don’t want to look at Chris because if the answer is no, I don’t want Ethan to blame him for it, so I stall.
“Well, there’s lots of things to think about, Eth,” I say.
Ethan turns to Chris and tugs his shirt. “Please Dad, make her come home.”
The tears are now spilling over my eyelashes and sprinting down my cheeks.
Chris loses the rigidity in his body and gives Ethan a small smile. “I can’t…make her come home, mate, but if she’d like to come home and be a family again,” he looks at me “then that would be pretty great.”
I rush into his arms, taking Ethan with me, and hold Chris in 1961 style, every part of our bodies touching. And then I kiss him, a true, passionate kiss that comes from deep inside me and leaves him in no doubt that my love for him is real. A kiss that would be deemed inappropriate in public in 1961. Thankfully, he kisses me back.
“Ewwww, Mum!” Ethan says. “Do you have to do all that kissy stuff?”
I bend down to Ethan’s level and put my hands around his waist. “Ethan, sweets, I really let you down and hurt you terribly on Saturday and I just want you to know how sorry I am. It will never, ever, happen again.”
He smiles and curls into my arms, “That’s OK Mum. I know you tried.”
How did my little boy become so grown up?
“Why don’t you go back to bed now, mate. It’s a school day tomorrow. Mum and Dad need some time together,” says Chris as he ruffles the top of Ethan’s hair.
“OK,” he yawns. “Mum, will you take me to school in the morning?”
“Even better, I’ll make you breakfast,” I say.
His eyes grow large, like boggly fish eyes, but I get the feeling it’s not from excitement, it’s from fear.
“Yes, bacon and eggs on toast,” I smile.
“No Mum, you don’t have to do that.” He smiles nervously and looks at Chris. “Does she, Dad?”
The look on his face is now pure terror.
“Ahhh…” Chris starts.
They are clearly thinking of the old Juliette – the one who endangered people’s lives with her cooking.
“It’s OK guys, you will be pleasantly surprised by the new me,” I smile with a wink and a nod. I have fighting blood in my veins. I am made of the good stuff.
Ethan doesn’t look convinced as he walks towards his room. He’s probably going to have nightmares about killer eggs and demonic bacon all night.
I lead Chris into the lounge room and plonk him on the couch, sit next to him and take his hand in mine. If only there was a way of telling him about my experience without sounding like a loon. Oh, hang on! There is.
“I had a dream the other night. In it, I travelled backwards in time…” I started.
He looks at me as though I am a brand new person sharing this with him. For the next ten minutes we sit hand in hand as I detail our life, our family, our friends, his family and how much in love we were.
“This dream made me see things differently, it put everything into perspective – it was the epiphany I needed. There will be a time, down the track, when I will want to return to work, because I love it. I’ve always worked and it’s an integral part of who I am. But this time, I won’t allow myself to surrender to it. I won’t live to work. I will work because it provides me with an outlet to be me.”
He nods and smiles, “I know you love to work, Jules, and I support you in whatever you need to do.”
“But until that day, I want to take time out to be a Mum and a wife, a friend, a sister, a daughter-in-law, an aunty, a volunteer at school…” I laugh. “The profit we’ve made on the sale of the business means that I won’t have to return to work until I am ready…until we are ready.”
“I like the sound of that, Jules. Welcome home.”
I trace my finger down his cheek and across his lips, the lips that I kissed so regularly in 1961, and not often enough prior to my experience. He smiles and the sexy crinkles appear.
“Did you say that we had a lot of sex in your dream?” he asks.
“Yes, we were like teenagers, couldn’t keep our hands off each other,” I say and then giggle like a schoolgirl. “Let me show you.” I stand up, pull him to his feet and kiss him in a way that results in him picking me up, like a new bride, and carrying me through the door to our bedroom.
“Chris, I just have one more thing to tell you.”
“Hmmm, what’s that?” He looks concerned.
“I’m pregnant.” Three down, three to go.
“You whaaat?” Dash screams down the phone.
“You heard me, I sold the business,” I say.
“No!”
“Yes!”
“Fuck me! Are you having a mental breakdown or something? I knew it! You’ve got a brain tumour, causing you to make irrational decisions. I can get you into the hospital quickly, you’ll need an MRI,” she says.
“No, there is no tumour or breakdown. It’s just the best thing for me to do, seeing as I am now pregnant.”
“Whaaaaaat? Jules! Oh. My. God. I am…..”
“Speechless?”
Silence.
“Dash, are you alright?”
“Yes, I…just…fuck!”
Up until my recent experience I had never given any thought to how often Dash swears. She’s worse than a Bruce Willis movie.
“So, what have you got for me?”
“Unbelievable truths, Jules. Gold!”
“Spill.”
“Well, it seems that Anya’s life in Sydney is not exactly as she’s painted it.”
“Hmmm, go on.”
She goes on to explain the nitty gritty of Anya’s background, which is unexpected and will come in very handy when the time comes to put her back in her box.
The next day, after a serious night of shagging my sexy husband senseless, I make a delicious breakfast, much to the shock and surprise of everyone, pack Ethan’s lunch box, take him to school and follow him into his classroom. He shows me where he sits, where his work hangs on the walls, where he plays at lunchtime, and introduces me to a couple of his little friends. The bell goes and he runs to class. It will be a long road to re-earn his trust, but time is something I have plenty of now.
Afterwards, I walk up to the car park and see a familiar figure hovering near the school crossing, chatting with some mums. It’s Anya. Now it’s my turn.
One of them is the woman she was sitting with at Diego’s the day she wanted me to overhear her. Confrontation has never been my thing, but now is the time to set the record straight. Fighting blood. Made of the good stuff.
“Anya, I was hoping to catch you today. Saves me having to track you down,” I say.
She’s taken aback by my sudden appearance, “Juliette!” It’s like she’s seen a ghost. “You’re not at work today?”
“No, I sold the business.”
“Ohhh, really?” Her carotid pulse is beating so hard it’s visible above her collar. “That’s so…”
“Wonderful, yes it is. But listen, the reason I wanted to catch you today was to tell you to keep your mitts off my husband.”
My smile is sweet and polite but uncomfortable.
She pales, as though a plug has been pulled and the blood is draining out of her feet.
The other mothers are a mixture of reactions. Two are leaning forward, eager to hear the rest of what will be said, one is stepping backwards and fumbling with her keys, while her friend from Diego’s is having trouble closing her mouth.
“Whaaa… I never!”
“Oh yes you did. Anita from Diego’s came clean about how you asked to be seated close enough so that I could overhear your conversation about your imagined liaison with Chris.”
The other Diego’s Mum splutters, “What, that wasn’t true?”
Anya is stunned and unable to speak, other than an assortment of primal sounds.
“Spreading lies about your fantasies of another woman’s husband is a definite no-no, Anya. It’s against the sisterhood, isn’t it ladies?”
There is an assortment of affirmatives from them and much nodding of heads.
“But this isn’t your first time stealing husbands, is it?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Juliette,” she says as she moves to turn and walk away.
The other Mums are spellbound, unable to peel their gaze from the two of us.
“Really? So you didn’t steal another woman’s husband, get pregnant, have Molly and then leave him for another man?”
All four are just about dribbling in stupefied anticipation.
“And here you were telling anyone who would listen that you were the one cheated on and left on your own. You know, they have a name for that Anya. It’s called LYING.”
Her face is the colour of an aubergine as she stutters her way through the alphabet in defence.
“So, hands off Chris. He’s my husband, father of my children and he isn’t interested in you because he’s in love with me, the proof of which is growing in my tummy right now,” I say, rubbing my hand over my growing baby.
“You’re pregnant?”
“Yes. Chris and I have had our trials, the same as every other married couple,” I look around the audience gathering and see that many are in agreeance. “No relationship is perfect, but it’s not for you to exploit the issues between man and wife to your own end. Ladies, I’d watch this one if I were you. Keep a close eye on your husbands around her. She may be physically beautiful, but she’s fugly all the way to the core.”
And with that I turn on my size seven flattie and waltz off to my car, leaving Anya to face the lynch mob by herself.
Four down, two to go.
I jump into my car, feeling on top of the world, and dial Sylvia’s number. She answers on the third ring.
“Hello, Sylvia speaking.”
“Sylvia, it’s Juliette. How are you?”
“Well, thanks love. And you?” The hesitation in her voice tells me that she hasn’t spoken with Chris yet.
“Very well, thank you. Listen, I was wondering if you have any plans for the rest of the day?”
“Oh, well…I was going to the supermarket and then off to indoor bowls.”
“Do you think the team can do without you for the day?”
She pauses. “I suppose so. Do you need me to mind the boys? Is everything alright?”
“Everything is perfect. I’m coming to get you. We’re having a girl’s day at the spa. You, me, Dash and Lauren. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
“Juliette, that’s so sweet but you don’t want me tagging along, an old girl like me…”
“Yes, I really do want you tagging along, Sylvia. I’ve done a lot of growing since the concert, faced a lot of home truths and wrestled with my demons. And today is the beginning of the rest of my life. My behavior has been disgraceful these last few years and that is something that will take a lifetime of therapy to forgive myself for. I hope that you will forgive me. I’m so sorry.”
Silence, except for a little sniff on the other end of the phone.
“My actions hurt your son very much, as well as my children and every other member of my family, including you. So, please, share this day with me and help me to put right some of the wrongs of my past? Please?”
“So you and Chris are OK?” she asks.
“We’re more than OK. We’re starting a brand new chapter in our lives, one in which you’ll play a very big part.”
“That would be lovely. Thank you, Juliette.”
“No, thank you, Sylvia. Thank you.”
One to go.
There’s just one last thing to do. I buy potted flowers on the way to the Faulkner Cemetery. It’s long overdue, but today is the day I will finally put my past to rest.
The grave is in a state of total disrepair. Weeds have overtaken the plot and the plaque is so tarnished it may as well be 100 years old. Lolly wrappers and rubbish have been caught in the long grass, making the entire thing look totally unloved.
I kneel down and begin to pull away the weeds and overgrown grass, placing them in a plastic bag along with the rubbish. Tears roll down my cheeks and splash onto the small grass plot as memories from my childhood replay in my head like an old movie. Some good memories, some not so good memories.
I take my screwdriver out of the bag and remove the old memorial plaque. It’s so tarnished now that it’s impossible to read the name inscribed on it, or the dates of birth and death underneath. There was no other inscription, nothing that would impart any feeling as to whether this person was loved, or missed. Nothing. Shameful.
I unwrap the new plaque and fix it in place as the tears continue to fall. Before long, I am sobbing and blubbering, embracing the headstone in my arms; a belated hug. After 20 minutes of crying, laughing and apologising, it’s time to go. I take one last look at my handiwork and know that everything has been put right again. Everything.
Eleanor Leticia Wilde
Loving wife and mother
Peace, perfect peace.