Sitting at her desk, lost in thoughts flicking back and forth and around and around about Kayla, Jimmy and Issy and Mackenzie, Erica almost jumped out of her skin when Walter appeared in front of her, having come from the back hallway. She looked up at him. The way he was wiping his hands and the focussed look on his face told her he’d just come from the mortuary. She hadn’t even noticed the light shining behind the frosted glass door when she’d passed by just before, nor any noises coming from within.
‘Good morning,’ he said.
‘Good morning. Have we had a new arrival?’ she said, trying desperately to drag some buoyancy up and through the dark lump inside her.
‘We have. A Mr Barrow. Milton. Seventy-one. Stroke. I don’t recall having met him or his family before. Would you like a coffee while I’m up?’
‘Yes, thanks. That would be good.’
Erica stared back down at the desk, her to do list becoming a blur again as her mind drifted once more.
It seemed that just a second had passed and Walter was back and putting a steaming mug in front of her with a clunk and then sitting down on the next chair.
‘So, your girls got back to Adelaide okay?’ Walter asked.
‘Yep. All good.’
‘What a wonderful surprise for you having them visit.’
‘Yes, it sure was.’
‘I’m sure they’ll be back before too long.’
‘I hope so.’
‘Chin up,’ Walter said gently.
‘Sorry. I’m not sure what’s got into me.’ Damn. It had been an automatic response she hadn’t really meant to utter. And it was a lie. Of course she knew what was bugging her – bloody Kayla! And the positively freaky coincidences arising from her meeting Jimmy that morning. She wanted to be honest with Walter, but couldn’t without betraying Jimmy’s confidence. While she hadn’t wanted to give in to her sudden paranoia at wondering if this was a warning for her – and Jimmy, for that matter – she’d relented and sent a text to her police contact, Geoff, to double-check Kayla’s whereabouts. Hearing straight back from him and getting his reassurance that the young woman in question remained in custody had helped, but Erica was still a little out of kilter. It suited her to leave Walter assuming her mood was to do with her missing her girls.
‘Oh, there’s no need to apologise.’
‘Thanks.’ Erica tried to offer him a smile, but it was weak.
‘I thoroughly enjoyed meeting Mackenzie and Issy – what delightful young ladies.’
‘Yes, they’re good, most of the time.’ Erica couldn’t help smiling at picturing their faces: Mackenzie’s often slightly sceptical expression, Issy’s open features a little wide-eyed with wonder and concern for others. ‘Thanks again for the other night, Walter. I had such a lovely evening. And so did the girls.’
‘You’ve very welcome. Thank you. And for bringing two such wonderful helpers.’
‘That was all them – I didn’t even suggest they offer.’
‘And that’s one of the reasons they’re such a credit to you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I have to say, I’m a little excited about Jennifer’s play idea.’
‘Yes, it’ll be fun.’
He drained his mug. ‘Come on,’ he said, standing up. ‘Bring your coat and handbag. Let’s go for a drive to cheer us up.’
‘Oh. Walter, that’s lovely, but I’m fine. I’m just …’
‘Glum? I know. And it’s okay. I’m not telling you off. I’m a bit out of sorts too. Your gorgeous girls got me pining for my Peter, all the way over in London, and, well, you know, I’m a bit sad about how things have turned out – losing Mary …’
‘I’m sorry, Walter.’ But Erica stopped when he held up his hand.
‘It’s okay. And not your fault. Just the way of things. Some reminders pass through okay and some pluck at the tiniest raised piece of scab and tear it open again. Normally I’d just get in the car and drive – I find great comfort in the metal beast.’
Does everyone know about driving being a panacea – how come I didn’t? ‘I know what you mean. About the scab, and being in the car.’
‘You’re welcome to head out on your own if you like. But I have something in mind that I think will help both of us. Anyway, we might need to fortify ourselves before dropping in to see Mr Barrow’s widow – our friend in the mortuary – on the way back. Unless you really don’t want to,’ he said, pausing, looking concerned.
‘No. Come on. It sounds like a good plan.’ Erica retrieved her handbag from the drawer and then got up and dragged her scarf and coat from the rack and followed Walter down the hall to the car out the back. As she did, she again felt a little guilty about her slight dishonesty with him about why she was glum.
‘I’m sure the girls visiting has brought up all sorts of feelings for you,’ Walter said, as he got into the car. ‘Grief is a complicated business. As is, well, simply being human, really,’ he added thoughtfully.
‘It sure is,’ Erica said, snapping her seatbelt on.
‘Have you been to Port Pirie?’ he said.
‘Not for many years.’
‘You probably won’t recognise it then; it’s not the quaint town it once was. Now the big stores have moved in. But useful nonetheless. I’ll give you a bit of a tour.’
Erica enjoyed the drive and gradually began to lose her black cloudy disposition and become brighter again. It helped that the sun was shining brightly through the car as they made their way. And she became interested in the different surroundings – not so different from Melrose and the other towns close by and where she’d been lately, but intriguing to go somewhere fresh. She hadn’t come in this direction or this far on her day out the other weekend, or with the girls on Saturday.
‘Right, everything you need,’ he said after driving around and pointing out various businesses and other landmarks. ‘And, see, not all that far away once you’re used to it.’
Erica was a little startled when he slowed right down and came to a stop out the front of a business with a sandwich board on the pavement advertising counselling services. Oh, Walter, bless you. She ached with remorse over having potentially caused him to worry about her. The poor bloke was probably desperate to stop her leaving.
‘Just in case. No harm in reaching out for a different perspective on things,’ he said, and put his foot down again. ‘Though, remember, I’m always here.’
‘Jennifer’s in Port Pirie, too, isn’t she?’ Erica said.
‘Yes, she is. We could see if she’s up for a visit,’ Walter said, significantly buoyed. ‘It’s always nice to see a cheerful face and soul.’
He pulled into a park and got out his phone. ‘Jennifer, it’s Walter. Erica and I are in your neck of the woods, if you’re available … I understand you might be officiating at Mr Barrow’s service on Thursday – we can go over the details … Brilliant. Can we bring you a cake and coffee? … Oh, okay, please don’t go to any trouble on our account … Great. We’ll see you soon.’ An even more chipper Walter placed his phone back in the front console. ‘Jennifer will cheer us up,’ he said.
‘Do we need to take anything?’
‘No, she’s just baked scones, apparently, so it’s our lucky day,’ he said, grinning, as he put the car in reverse and checked his mirrors. ‘And she has a whizz-bang coffee machine – her words – so insists we just bring ourselves.’
‘Hello, you two,’ Jennifer said, beaming from the porch of a small stone cottage.
They made their way through a cream woven-wire gate onto a red-brick path dividing a lawn in which stood a steel post painted in gloss cream. From it a sign swung, also in cream but with a purple border and neat lettering in the same purple colour, advertising her services as a celebrant.
‘I’m so glad you called.’ She welcomed Erica and Walter with quick hugs. ‘Welcome. Come in. Gorgeous day out, but still chilly,’ she said, closing the door behind them and then leading the way down a long carpeted hallway. The space was warm and inviting. There was the faint scent of baking in the air, which became very strong when they went through a door with etched frosted glass panels into a large kitchen and casual dining area.
‘Yum,’ Walter said, sniffing the air contentedly, gravitating towards the tall golden scones on cooling racks. ‘These look fantastic,’ he said.
‘Yes. Wow. Lovely,’ Erica said.
‘Thank you. I just felt the urge this morning – subconsciously I must have known you were coming.’
‘You have a gorgeous garden too,’ Erica said, moving past the island bench and over to a wall of glass doors overlooking a large and very pretty garden with an expanse of neat green lawn surrounded by curved beds filled with rose bushes and under-planted foliage Erica assumed would provide a stunning floral display in the warmer months. There was also a small area paved in old red bricks containing a table and two chairs and covered in a frame with a well-established climbing rose. Her mouth practically watered at imagining it in full bloom. In her mind she pictured white flowers – suitable for either a small wedding or a small funeral ceremony if necessary.
‘Thank you. Another labour of love. Though I’m a fair-weather gardener so I haven’t been out much yet. And it’s not nearly as pretty as it can be – you’ll have to come back when it’s looking its best.’
‘I look forward to it,’ Walter said.
‘Right, coffee. You’ll see I have Gabriel, my saviour,’ Jennifer said, indicating a large shiny coffee machine on the nearby bench. ‘So, we can offer you a short black, long black, latte, flat white, cappuccino … I think that’s all of them covered, isn’t it?’
‘A latte would be wonderful, thank you,’ Erica said.
‘Yes, please, same for me. Fabulous,’ Walter said. ‘Can I help with anything?’ he added.
‘No, thanks. Easiest for me to get everything out. Take a seat. Pity it’s too chilly to sit outside, but still …’ Jennifer busied herself with collecting crockery and cutlery, linen napkins.
‘Oh, please don’t go to a lot of trouble on my account,’ Walter said.
‘No, please,’ Erica said.
‘It’s no problem at all. It’s nice to have a bit of finery occasionally,’ she said. ‘A good excuse. Not that I really need one.’
Walter and Erica sat and watched as Jennifer bustled about putting jam and cream into beautiful fine bone china dishes and adding silver spoons in between attending to the coffee machine, which at times made conversation impossible, given the loud sounds it made.
‘I was going to head your way in the next day or so and see if you were up for coffee, since we’ve crossed the line into socialising,’ Jennifer said. ‘What a great evening Saturday night was. And how delightful are your daughters, Erica? Here we are,’ she said, finally bringing the last mug over and plonking herself down on a chair. ‘Tuck in, everyone,’ she said, grabbing a scone and cutting it in half.
‘This is wonderful, and so unexpected. Thank you,’ Walter said, slathering the first half of his scone in jam.
‘Yes. This is perfect. Thank you so much,’ Erica said. ‘And, thank you, Gabriel, your coffee is fabulous,’ she said after taking a sip. She smiled and raised her mug in the machine’s direction.
‘Yes, cheers, Gabriel,’ Walter said, also raising his mug. ‘We were a bit in need of cheering up this morning, too, weren’t we, Erica?’ he said, changing tack.
‘Hmm.’ Please don’t say any more, Walter.
‘A chinwag with a cheery soul sometimes is just the tonic,’ Walter said, before taking a large, decisive bite out of his jam and cream laden scone.
‘I’m very honoured to be chosen for the job,’ Jennifer said cheerfully.
‘Yum, your scones are incredible, Jennifer,’ Erica said, having taken a bite too. ‘And so is your coffee.’
‘Yes, thank you again. Utterly sublime,’ Walter said. ‘I think we’re going to have to look into getting ourselves a Gabriel, Erica.’
‘Sounds like a good plan to me, Walter,’ Erica said.
‘I know a guy – well, a girl, really, and that’s not even kosher to say now, is it? Anyway, I can hook you up. Just say the word,’ Jennifer said, flapping a hand above the table.
‘I’ll let you know. Need to crunch some numbers first.’
‘I completely understand. I can help you sort through the guff if you like. It’s quite the minefield once you start looking.’
‘Brilliant. Thanks.’
‘Walter is very keen on your play idea, Jennifer,’ Erica said after they’d been silently eating and drinking for a few minutes.
‘Well, it’s early days. So, fingers crossed.’
‘Anything I can do to help, just shout,’ Walter said.
‘That goes for me also,’ Erica said.
‘See, that was just what we needed,’ Walter said after they’d bade farewell to Jennifer and were back in the car and on their way out of Port Pirie. ‘Never underestimate the power of reaching out without letting on why.’
‘Hmm. Yes, that was a very good idea.’
‘And, scones! How lucky are we? Yum. I’m as full as a goog, though,’ he said, patting his stomach and grinning with childlike glee.
‘Yes, incredible timing,’ she said, and smiled at how like her dad Walter was in that moment.
‘Now, sadly, we have to come back down to earth with a thud and go and talk to Mrs Barrow.’
‘Yes.’
In the silence Erica wondered whether it was her imagination or had there been a romantic spark lit in Walter. Of course, she’d never say anything. She also wondered if Jennifer was gay and/or this warm and effusive with everyone, or if she too had an ember being fanned inside her. Erica really hoped Walter, who had become so dear to her, wasn’t about to be hurt. But he’d say so himself: I’m a big boy. And he wouldn’t want her worrying needlessly on his account.
Her thoughts turned to idly wondering if she’d ever be interested in finding a partner again. The fact no images of handsome – or otherwise – men came to mind or any pictures of her with someone else in a romantic type situation told her she was a long way from that eventuality.
No, she decided. No way. In among the burn of grief and getting her mind around her new job and location and everything were the rumblings inside her that she was actually really quite enjoying being on her own – not having anyone enquiring about what she’d been up to. Well, maybe not quite enjoying, but close …
Often Stuart had had a way of asking about her day, quite possibly out of innocent interest, but Erica found it intrusive – like he was actually checking up on her. It especially jarred while he was sick and it took all her will not to snap at him – say, ‘What of it?’ and the ilk. They were tense times – mainly due to him being bored and feeling useless – and her strung out and exhausted with trotting back and forth and spending time at the hospital in between everything else she’d always done in her life. It had been like having an extra part-time job. Of course she was only happy to do it – no, not exactly happy: committed. He was her husband and she’d said vows and meant them when they got married. But it didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult and very taxing – mentally and physically.
Sometimes she longed to have him beside her watching TV – or less so, hovering over her shoulder when she was on Facebook and browsing online, giving a running commentary. But far too often she didn’t actually miss him at all – and she felt a right shit for thinking it every time she did. Perhaps this was a sign she was moving to a different – a more comfortable – part of her grief.
While she couldn’t – or, rather, wouldn’t – speak these words aloud, twenty-odd years in a relationship was unlikely to be good fun one hundred per cent of the time. They’d had rows along the way – usually about Stuart trying to tell her what to do and how to live her life. He’d been a good father and most of the time a good husband. But he’d also been a pain in the arse plenty too. And she knew he’d pissed people off with his work as well – she’d heard his side of enough heated phone conversations. Sometimes even both sides if the other person was being really loud, despite not being on speaker. ‘It takes all kinds to make the world work,’ had been her mother’s answer to any criticism – quickly uttered when she’d idly slipped into a criticism of someone. Often Erica had assumed it was a mantra – note to self – as much as a reminder to or scolding of Erica.