There were no tears. The pills helped but she had cried so many tears today and every other day that she felt cried out.
'Now, now love. Don't say that. Lord knows you've had a terrible thing happen. I say I don't know how you've held up so well pet? Don't think that you're doing it wrong. We all gotta grieve in our own way and cope as best we know how. We none of us get to practice love'.
Hope didn't want to say that this wasn't quite true in her case. The third man she had loved and buried in her life and she was only 37. God what had she done to deserve this?
'Anyway love, we've got 15 minutes before the boys get back so how about I put the kettle on while you go and have a splash and fix your hair? You can tell me to go home if I'm a nuisance pet.'
'No, no please stay'. Hope grasped Mr's T's worn, warm hand. 'Please stay, please help me.' She burst into loud, guttural sobs and was immediately held into Mr's T's comforting arms and pressed against her large, motherly breasts.
'There, there pet. That's right love, you cry it out. Just cry it all out'. Mrs T held her fast and stroked her hand through Hopes hair while Hope sobbed like a child, for the first time since the accident letting her grief show to someone else.
As the sobs subsided and Hope stopped heaving Mrs T stood her up gently and led her into the house and to the upstairs bathroom.
'Now love you get yourself glamorous while I get the coffee going. I'll make one for the boys too if it's okay. I'm sure Mr T will enjoy a good natter and seeing that your okay. Silly old man. His rambling will take your mind off things pet.'
Hope closed the door and leant on the vanity staring into the mirror. She looked a mess. Her face streaked with tears and mascara, her eyes red and her hair everywhere but where she had pinned it. She almost cried again when she realized that all her make up was downstairs in her en-suite. This was the bathroom that Ben and guests used. She pulled herself together and ran the cold water tap, holding her hands underneath and swishing the cool, refreshing water again and again over her face.
When she had done this a dozen or so times she groped for the hand towel and brought it to her face, rubbing briskly to wipe away the streaks of mascara and blush that ran down. Then she unpinned the remainder of the hair that had managed to stay pinned, letting her long, auburn locks fall freely about her shoulders. The thick. dark red hair framed her naked face. Highlighting her big, green eyes and doing a wonderful job in deflecting from her now pink, freshly scrubbed face.
Hope even managed a small laugh at herself. She was still conscious about how she looked, even in her misery. It was important to her. As important as all that time ago when, at around 16, she had finally blossomed. The 'plain and sensible face' (her mother's words again) had transformed and she had become aware of both her unusual beauty and the power that it gave her. Her exotic looks giving her an escape from her dreary and miserable world.
She could lose herself again reminiscing, she realized, but she had to get back. Back to Mrs T and the boys. Good, she was still in control.
Coming out into the kitchen she could smell the coffee as it dripped through the filter and into the glass jug. Mrs T was finishing the last of the breakfast dishes and Hope could see that outside on the table the wine bottle and glasses had been replaced by a sugar bowl, milk jug and a plate of biscuits. Mrs T had removed all the evidence bless her.
She gave Mrs T a hug and kiss on the cheek.
'Thanks Mum, I love you.' She couldn't remember ever saying this to her own mum.
'And wouldn't I be proud if I were? Of course with a beautiful face like yours I very well could be'. Mrs T laughed at her own joke and continued. 'My we don't often see you with that gorgeous hair all down and no make-up. And don't you look even more beautiful?'
Another hug and another kiss. The storm finally broke outside and the rain came in torrents lashing the trees and drenching the dry ground in it's fury.
'Not a moment to soon hey Ben?' Mr T and Ben came into the kitchen brushing drops of rain off themselves. Ben dropped his school bag on the floor and walked towards his mum. She looked beautiful he thought. He knew that she was still a little drunk but he knew that for the first time in weeks she had made an effort to sober up before he got home. He knew that Mrs T was largely responsible, but he was mature enough to understand that his mum had taken the first hard step.
He held out his arms and walked to her, wrapping her into him.
'It's going to be alright mum.'
Six
The storm was in full swing by the time the train pulled into Michael's station. He could see the other kids ahead racing up the stairs, keen to get across the highway and under the cover of the shop awnings. He walked his usual pace, the rain soaking him. He was in no hurry to get home.
He had hated it since the day they had moved there. It was the summer before he started high school. As usual he had spent the whole day at the beach with his friends. He had lived all his life by the beach and couldn't remember a day when he hadn't been in the surf, or clambering over the rocks when the sea was too rough to swim or surf. The beach had been his refuge from the continual arguments between his parents, the bullying by his older brothers and the silent sneaking around when his father's temper flared into violence and anyone who got in the way copped his fists or belt or whatever was handy.
Earlier that summer, a week before Christmas, his mother had left, taking his younger sister with her. No note, no goodbye. Michael had been old enough to know that she wasn't coming back. He didn't blame her for leaving. He had seen her punched and kicked and dragged around the house too many times to blame her for finally standing up for herself and leaving. He blamed her for not taking him with her.
His father had spent all of Christmas and New Year on a drunken rampage. What his mother hadn't taken of her belongings were tossed out into the front yard over the first few days and Christmas Eve had been spent watching his father raving drunkenly around the yard before setting fire to the pile of clothing and books his mother had left. Michael had spent most of the next weeks staying at his friends house after that incident.
Three weeks after his mother left Micheal had come home to find a 'For Sale' sign on the house. Two days later the house was packed up and Michael had been sent with the removalist van to the new house, later to be joined by his two older brothers and his father.
It was miles from the beach in a suburb he had never even heard of. The house was a dump and plonked right next to a busy highway. The only consolation was that it looked across the highway and railway to the National Park. If he looked far enough, beyond the smokey green haze of trees young Michael knew that his home and his beloved beach were there.
Michael pushed the broken gate open and walked across the concrete path and up onto the front verandah, finally out of the driving rain. He dried himself as best he could and removed his school shoes before going inside. He knew better than to leave wet trails or muddy footprints on the worn carpet inside. He would only have to clean it up or risk a backhander from his dad if he got home and found any mess.
He walked into the lounge room and said hello to his brother. His brother finished work early on Fridays and, as usual, was sprawled out on the sofa with a can of beer watching the TV and pulling bongs. The house stunk of marijuana but he was used to that. He opened the window and went out into the kitchen to do the same. His father didn't care about the smoking but Micheal
