Ada was sick. Doctor Maise said it was a virus. But the virus never showed itself, not beyond lethargy, lack of appetite, pains. The vagueness of it frustrated Mike. Ada had rarely been sick and always had a healthy appetite, so it was disturbing to see her so limp and disinterested. She only got up to watch Ivan’s Midday Movie and lay silently on the beanbag, eyes fixed zombie-like on the television. Ada was no zombie. Ada was a sprite, a kid who sang songs while wandering barefoot in the garden.
Martha allowed her anything now. Her anxiety had brought on a flurry of maternal devotion. She was cooking soups. She hovered about Ada’s bedside and bought alternative remedies from the health-food shop. If Martha hadn’t been so on edge he would have told her it was a waste of money. But there was no point starting an argument.
The banishment of Tilly hung coldly over everything and, Mike suspected, over Ada especially. But what could Mike do against Martha’s inflammable impulses. If he tried to reason with her, there would definitely be an argument. And he did still have to tread carefully. He was a criminal who had, until now at least, got away with his crime. But the noose still hung there, waiting should he trip up. His crime couldn’t be erased and the tragedy it had provoked was still fresh. There wasn’t a person who hadn’t heard about it, who hadn’t thought of it in one way or another. Even if they hadn’t known Joe Layton, they knew a man had fallen in the mineshaft and it would be talked about long into the future. But Mike was the story’s secret villain—he might have been able to push clear of this if his treachery hadn’t been witnessed and held deeply yet perilously within his own family. It was reflected back at him daily out of the now-distant eyes of Ada. For some time he had lived in fear of Susie returning, and it was an enormous relief to him to see the For Sale sign go up on the Layton house. Even though she, as much as he, wouldn’t want their affair exposed, women talk. They tell each other everything. Things Martha revealed to him that had come to her through the river-mouths of other women made him uncomfortable. Once gossip about other people’s private worlds had been vaguely titillating or sometimes intriguing; now it just reminded him of how thin the veneer of his own life was.
It was Glenda who had struck open the problem with Ada. Glenda had come to visit. They were having dinner, all of them except Ada, who was in bed.
‘How is Tilly getting on?’ Glenda asked.
Martha frowned, ‘We haven’t heard from her,’ she said.
‘That’s because she’s banished,’ Ben chimed in.
Glenda looked confused. ‘What? She can’t be banished from her own home.’
Ben smirked. ‘Yes she can.’
Martha sighed. ‘She was very rude to me when she was leaving. She’s completely ungrateful for everything we’ve done for her.’
It embarrassed him when Martha said things like that. They had done for Tilly what any parents were required to do. Mike never knew what Martha was referring to when she paraded this line ‘all they had done for her’. Glenda glanced briefly at Mike. He knew what it meant. She waited for him to explain. He ignored the prompt. Glenda gathered her breath and dived in, leaning her large bosom forward.
‘She may have been rude, but she’s young. You didn’t just cut her off, surely?’
‘She was rude to me. Dismissive. Since she can’t appreciate us, I told her not to come back.’ Martha was brittle. She seemed to have sucked herself inwards.
‘But aren’t you concerned? She’s in the city alone. Don’t you want to know how she is? Does she know anyone there who could help her if she needed help? At least tell her to ring me.’
Martha coloured. She stopped eating. She looked blankly at Glenda and then dropped her fork on her plate. ‘She can ring you if she likes. I don’t care.’ Her voice was defiant, but her face looked defeated.
‘She rang me the other day,’ Mike said casually.
‘What did she say?’ Glenda asked.
‘She said she was lonely.’
Martha glared at him. He had shamed her. He didn’t care. He even issued a proud snort. It was a noble act, and in such contrast to how he had been feeling that he couldn’t stop himself. He went even further. ‘Of course, she can come home.’
Ben was astonished. He leaned back on his chair and grinned. Mike would get a roasting now.
But Martha had withdrawn. She said nothing.
Glenda took over. ‘Look, don’t you think that Ada is simply grieving for Tilly. I mean you know how she is. Doesn’t she still climb into Tilly’s bed? It must be a shock to find herself alone.’
‘She’s not alone,’ snapped Martha.
‘She is a bit, Mum. She doesn’t have anyone to talk to now. She told Tilly everything,’ said Ben. It was odd for him to pipe up. Even he must have been worried about Ada. But what would Ben know? He hadn’t even noticed that Martha was on edge or if he had, it didn’t affect him. Mike began to feel sorry for Martha. Everyone was against her. Even Ada’s illness was against her. And now Ben. But she was so unforgiving. Once she steeled herself against something, her surface was so unflinching, so hard. He knew that she could just as easily crumple as erupt. She was fighting herself.
Glenda saw it too and quickly steered the attention off Martha. ‘Anyway, isn’t it wonderful Tilly did so well at school. That’s a testament to you both.’
No one answered her.
Ben said, ‘Can I leave the table now?’