It was an invitation we couldn’t turn down; there was a need in Gloria’s phone call. That’s the irony of old age: it brings back the urgency of youth. Gloria is dying.
When we were young, Doug would drive with one hand resting casually on the wheel, his elbow poking out of the open window. The other hand would rest not so casually on my thigh. Country drives – the silences that didn’t need to be filled, and the depth of the land that defied explanation – used to be a comfortable part of our lives. Now they’re another lost thing.
Doug looked out the window as I drove.
‘Not far now,’ I said.
Doug grunted in reply and a few more kilometres went by quietly until he finally spoke.
‘Look at that water-nest,’ he said. ‘Hasn’t seen the rain for a while.’
I looked at the dam Doug was pointing to, a muddy indent in the rolling green hills, and thought, what a pretty thing to call it.
Back home after our trip to the Barossa, I change the quilt cover. The dry blood looks like impressionist blossoms before I rip the sheets off the bed.
That night I dream a distant memory.
I am cuddling Eldon, our youngest child, on my knee. He has his fingers in his ears. The girls are built for this life, but Eldon doesn’t like the noise and bustle of his dad’s gigs. He is the black sheep in a way, a loner in a family of gregarious people. But Doug, the girls and I adore him for it; we love him excessively and almost competitively.
The girls are dancing in front. I smile as I watch them. In the dream, with Eldon on my knee, I’m conscious of wondering what will become of them all.
Doug is watching the girls dance as he plays. It’s hard to smile and play the trumpet, but it sneaks up to his eyes.
The set is over, not soon enough for Eldon, and Doug tucks his girls under his arms and walks over to the table where Eldon and I sit. He waves to the barman – lemonade all round. Doug takes Eldon onto his lap so that I can get the circulation back in my legs. Eldon smiles at his father, a man he loves but doesn’t understand.
‘How about we go to the beach tomorrow?’ Doug asks us all.
‘Yay!’ sing the kids. The girls do a little jig.
Tomorrow is a school day, and bursting the bubble will make me the bad guy. The idea will be forgotten by morning anyway.
I wake to the phone ringing and the dream is gone.
‘Hello?’
‘Oh, hi Eldon.’
‘You sound shaky. Are you okay?’
‘Yes I’m fine, just woke up. How are you?’ I make an effort to control my voice.
‘Sorry, Mum, I forget you don’t have a 6am live-in alarm clock. How’s Dad?’
‘Not good, Eldon. I think,’ I lower my voice, ‘I think we need to contact the nursing home.’
‘Mum, come on. He just forgets, you can’t lock him up for that.’
‘It’s not locking him up, Eldon. They can care for him better than I can.’
‘Can’t we just let him enjoy the time he has left?’
I recognise my granddaughter’s mournful wail in the background. Mia, who is just learning to walk, probably fell over.
‘You go look after Mia, Eldon. I’ll speak to you later.’
I hang up the phone and close my eyes. I am still protecting my children.
‘Flossy? Flossy? Are you there?’ Doug calls from the bedroom.
My skin tightens.
He finds me and puts his arms around my waist, nuzzling me like a kitten.
‘There you are,’ he says.