me,’ I called, slinging my laptop bag onto Bea’s French oak kitchen table. I needed to check my emails. Davis and I were doing our property settlement. Anyone who thinks the divorce is difficult is kidding themself. That’s a piece of paper, over in a day. It’s the property settlement that was a pain in the butt, to put it mildly.
Filling the air was the smell of an artist at work. For me it was the smell of years gone by, the smell of our childhood home; a mix of acrylic paints, turpentine, canvases and artist paraphernalia. It was the smell of Bea.
Flicking the switch on the kettle, I called out to her in her downstairs studio, ‘I’m making tea.’
She was painting more often lately. She had an exhibition coming up in a couple of months, which was why she was heading to Byron Bay. She said the serenity helped. I had been treading carefully while staying with her. I was aware she liked her own space and needed the quiet to be creative. Her work was intensely vibrant in colour, applied by a palette knife, giving a rich deep impasto finish, with striking textured effects to give a three dimensional result that made the paint pop right off the canvas.
I was searching the tall glass fronted pantry when she came in. Turning to face her, it still sometimes took me by surprise how beautiful she was. For a woman nearing her mid-fifties, her free spirited allure had kept her face pretty. Plus she wore her individual style well. Although dressed in her signature white, an exotic piece of colourful fabric was wound around her head like a turban. Tendrils of blonde hair escaped and framed her expressive face, still lit by brilliantly blue eyes. Chunky bangles and rings accessorised her wrists and hands. Tucked into her headscarf was a hibiscus, picked from the garden earlier. It amused me that she wore white so often when painting. However, she reassured me she covered herself in a smock while doing so. A white smock.
I smiled. ‘I can’t find any normal tea, just these flower power ones - rose petal, dandelion, and rosehip and echinacea.’
Wrists jangling, she poked around. ‘I think there should be a new box in there somewhere. And the others are not flower power teas darling, they’re very healing. There is some wonderful passionflower tea in here as well.’ She turned to face me, giving me a look. ‘It would be perfect for you at the moment, excellent for nervous tension and anxiety.’
Gracefully, she perched herself on the edge of a rattan Antoinette chair, wiping her face with the back of her hand, smudging her forehead with a crimson hue. Once again, her bangles jangled, and I relished the sound of this constant comfort. She was like a kitten, you could find her anywhere in the house, simply by the ting of her jewellery.
Ignoring her reference to the state of my mind, I made a mental note to visit the shops later. An unconventional person, Bea had always struggled with the simplest of domestic chores. Well, it was her house, and she could live as she pleased. I readied two white mugs and placed some chocolate biscotti on a plate as we sat in her kitchen in companionable silence.
My laptop beeped that an email had come through. I glanced at it. It was from Davis’s email address. Hopefully, it would be the finalisation of our settlement. I opened the email and within seconds could feel the steam coming from my ears. I wanted to pick up the bloody laptop and hurl it across the room. I balled my hands into fists and almost began hyperventilating. ‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…’
‘Peach, what is wrong?’ The look of fright on Bea’s face said that I was scaring her.
I could barely speak I was so angry. With shaking hands, I spun the laptop around and pointed, ‘Read…’ I put my hands to my face and kept them there. The email wasn’t from Davis it was from that cow, Felicity.
Moving to the other side of the kitchen, I distanced myself from the laptop as if it was poison. I watched Bea’s face as she read.
Dear Peach, I believe you need to positively reinforce the situation and you will find happiness too. Only going through my own separation last year, I do have empathy for you, however it is your bitterness that makes this a distressing situation. Our careers are an integral part of our being and I strongly urge you to find something new to fill your days. Davis and I are far too busy working hard to be constantly interrupted by your demands on the settlement. When Davis has more time he will get to it. I don’t believe you know the pressure we are under running this business. Obviously you have no time-management skills, therefore you need to utilise your time more effectively. Felicity.
I watched as Bea’s eyebrows shot higher by the second. I put a hand to my stomach feeling like I might throw up.
‘Hmmmm,’ was all Bea said, her jaw clenched, her eyebrows still scarily high. For seconds we watched each other, both unable to speak.
‘I have only one word for you,’ she said. ‘Karma!’ And she nodded her head firmly. I know she wanted to say I told you so. I was reminded of that first day when I had mentioned Felicity Best’s name to her and her reaction. She had been right. I had been tunnel visioned, almost oblivious to everything else but the thought of having a baby.
‘Really Peach, if Davis is letting that little upstart handle his affairs, then he is a bigger idiot than I always thought he was.’ Matter-of-factly, she handed me two tissues.
It was no surprise to me that my mother didn’t like Davis. I had always sensed it. And then since our separation, she had not exactly held back, telling me she had consistently found him ruthless, and as much as there was a charming side to him, she had always thought he was one to watch. Apparently, mothers seem to know these things.
‘I truly understand what it feels like to want to murder someone,’ she muttered, her arms elegantly folded across her chest.
I sniffed. ‘Erectile dysfunction would probably make me quite happy.’
‘Hummp,’ Bea snorted. Shaking her head she returned to the laptop, picking it up and taking it into the living room. As she came back in, she closed the glass panelled art deco doors and then slapped her hands together as if removing something distasteful from them. ‘We’ll deal with that later.’ Opening the top cupboard she pulled out delicate white and gold porcelain cups.
Catching the look on my face, she explained. ‘It makes such a difference to drink tea out of the right cup. Plus, I think we need something pretty to look at to distract ourselves.’ She set a small plate of dates down between us. ‘Drink your passionflower tea darling. I daresay you need it now more than ever.’ However, she didn’t sit down. She stayed standing looking out the backdoor, down into the garden, not saying a word.
*
With my head pounding, I laid down in Bea’s guestroom. I pulled back the off-white coverlet and thirty thousand cushions in all shades of purples, mauves and lilacs, and rested my head against the cool pillow. Once again I was rocked by sorrow. I wanted my illusions back. I wanted to pretend it had never happened. I did not want the trauma of searching for another life. In my mind I keep saying poor me, poor me, poor me. I thought of Emerald Green and knew she’d want to slap the bejesus out of me for feeling so sorry for myself.
In a bid to stop my wallowing, I turned my attention to one of Bea’s paintings opposite, in hues of magentas, purples and gold. I reminded myself, as Emerald Green would have advised, that right this moment, I was okay. But then again, she never liked it when I used the word, okay. She said it was a blanket word for covering all sorts of squirmy feelings. All right then, right this moment I was… and I fumbled around for the correct feeling… and then it hit me. Right this moment I was bloody pissed off. And that’s okay Emerald Green!
For
