his head to me, he then looked back towards the river. I called to him a few more times, however he refused to budge.
Making my way down, I was determined to buy proper garden shoes the first chance I had. Wilbur gave me the courtesy of a brief look as I approached. I had never seen a dog’s eyes look sadder. Spreading out the skirt of my colourful jersey Charlie Brown dress, I sat on the bench. It was a very peaceful place.
‘Is this where the two of you used to sit?’ I asked, stroking his head. ‘Hmmm?’ I spoke, as if expecting him to answer. In that twilight hour, I talked to him, attempting to reassure him with my voice. I felt terribly sorry for the poor dog, after all how could he know what was going on.
At one point, in the distance, I saw the white cat stalking around the garden. ‘Look Wilbur,’ I whispered. ‘Whitie’s back.’ However the dog took not one ounce of notice.
As dusk loomed, the heat of the day still clung in the air. I could hear birds gathering for the night and the gentle sound of the lapping of the river. The male cicada buzzed their song, their mating call. While the bustle of the cosmopolitan New Farm shops were less than a kilometre away, this little pocket of land felt secluded, and a bit like my own little secret. My throat ached with the beauty of it all, and I knew this was my home.
It was nearly dark and I began busily slapping, first this way and then that, at a few pesky mosquitoes. However, I still could not entice the poor dog to budge. He appeared to be on a vigil. Attempting to bribe him, I promised a bone if he came up with me. All I received in return was a blank look.
‘Now you’re being silly,’ I told him. ‘We can’t sit here all night. You should come up with me.’ I turned to go, hopeful he would follow. No such luck. With some hesitation to leave him, I explained, ‘Five minutes, okay? I’ll give you five minutes more and them you have to come up.’
In the blue spangled dusk, I made my way across the wide expansive grassy area, around the pool, and up the terraces, following the path around the side of the house, delighting that at this hour all of the white roses magically gleamed.
It was dark by the time I reached the front door and I had to fumble to find light switches inside. I left the door ajar, hopeful the dog would follow. I was concerned about my dog raising skills, not something I had given thought to before.
It was so quiet here. No sound of traffic from outside the front door, no buses belching toxic clouds as I was well used to, just the sound of peace. Although I could still smell dust and old, when I glanced around I found myself unexpectedly filled with a buoyant sensation that took me a moment to recognise as excitement.
The house had an old soul from its history and had that indescribable quietness which bought me a wonderful sense of peace. I felt as though I was custodian of the property, and would add layers of memory to the place. I knew it would be a privilege to live here.
The sadness, hurt and betrayal I had felt, and the huge sense of loss, had not suddenly evaporated, although I had begun to notice a certain equilibrium returning. For the first time in many years, I was going to be on my own and what’s more, strangely enough, I was looking forward to it.
Briefly, I paused at the back window in time to catch a perfectly positioned big yellow moon above the Story Bridge. Striking a match to a Jo Malone vintage gardenia candle, the air was filled with femininity, just how I wished my home to be from now on. Roaming from room to room, I was enthralled with my purchase. There were so many elements of the house, however it wasn’t just about looks, it was the way it made me feel. From the kitchen window, I noticed with delight how the city lights twinkled behind the massive gum trees.
It was some time later before Wilbur returned.
‘Well hello.’ I jumped to attention and followed him into the laundry, where he devoured the dinner that I had so recently placed in his bowl. With a look that gave nothing away, he collapsed on the timber hallway floor, one brown eye opened, watching as I poured over the new plans for remodelling the house.
Every now and then I paused and chatted to him, attempting to make him feel welcome. ‘I think you’re going to like this place when it’s finished. It’s going to be a new start for us Wilbur. In fact, I think I’ll even have a picture of you on the website. After all, this is your home.’ He closed both eyes.
Goodness, even the dog found me boring. What was happening to me? If I wasn’t invisible, I was boring.
‘Give me a chance?’ I asked, patting his head, as I readied myself for bed. I was rewarded with one half opened eye. It closed just as quickly. I left the bedroom door open and hopped under the covers on my mattress on the floor. I said a silent thankyou to Johnny for dropping the mattress of the day before.
In a fatherly fashion, he had walked through the house, checking the doors, making sure they were sturdy and lockable, attempting to be handy. He was too well dressed to ever be handy, but I loved him for it all the same. When he left he kissed the end of my nose.
‘Abso-bloody-lutely phenomenal Peach. I’m pleased for you sweetheart.’
I blinked rapidly. Tears still never far away, even these days.
Johnny hugged me and kissed the top of my head, murmuring, ‘Ahhh Peachy. Your dad loves you. You know that, right?’ He always told me he loved me and I loved that about him. And then, as if I was still a teenager, he attempted to press fifty dollars into my hand. ‘Buy yourself something nice,’ he said, as he usually did.
‘Dad no, I’m fine,’ I insisted pushing it back.
It would probably be some time before Bea ventured over, even though it was in her neck of the woods. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she had said, as I kissed her cheek, when leaving earlier. I was uncertain if she meant to the unpacking, or life on my own.
Years ago, I had overheard her speaking to someone regarding Lou’s rebelliousness at school. ‘I don’t like to intrude on the school. It’s not my style,’ she had said. ‘I’ll leave her behaviour to them.’ I remembered thinking that Lou was such a handful, I bet the school wanted to leave her behaviour to Bea. She had also said the same thing, whenever I asked why she didn’t ever do canteen duty or volunteer at the school. ‘Not my style darling,’ she’d say. ‘I’ll leave it to them.’
Who? I’d wanted to ask. Teachers? Other parents?
Looking back, it was as if she was half in, half out of our lives. I think we accepted it, knowing she was different. She once told me, some women are mothers and some are lovers. ‘I am a lover,’ she had explained. I wondered how I was supposed to take that comment in a positive light, seeing I was only 12 at the time.
However, for all of those things that I could either choose to see as shortcomings, or just as Bea being Bea, she had certainly come through when she withheld Papa’s money until the timing was perfect. She had given my best interest thought, and acted wisely. It was very motherly of her, and I liked that.
*
Cup of coffee in hand, I padded over to the window in my Peter Alexander pink ruffled short nightie and fluffy slippers with the kitten heel, and watched as the early morning light brought the garden to life. My garden, I reminded myself with pleasure.
It was nice to wake up to the sound of birds. For many years, my norm had been listening to Davis in the bathroom, giving himself a pep talk for the day, telling himself how good he was, how many sales he would achieve that day, and how he was the Top Gun. All the while
