he chided archly, “how couth! So a skinny latte and a vanilla slice for you!” as he deposited the items before Veronica, “and a skinny latte and ... a fork! for you,” he said as he placed Diane’s coffee, and the fork, in front of her. “You need some weight on, girl. Enjoy!” he called as he flounced off.
Veronica had thought she was going to give Diane a few pieces of advice about Mr. Swan, hopefully to challenge her about her situation and how more realistic she needed to be; but there was Diane challenging her about her own lack of reality. She had felt so sure about things earlier. Where was that feeling now? That feeling that everything was right with the world; she was on top of it, mastering it, calling the shots. But now she was forced to gaze purposefully at her own reflection: to hold her own gaze and to look at, really look at, herself. And the picture she saw was Jack but with no man in it.
As she stirred her skinny latte she couldn’t help the words that came out of her mouth but she tried very hard to soften their tone, make them friendlier, truer. “I like what I do. I like my present. I provide a service, a worthwhile one. You know that. And, yes, I think about the future, more than you think, but I don’t want to replace the present with something else. I want to incorporate the future into what I’ve got now. I don’t know quite how to do that yet, but I am working on it.”Am I?
“I know, Veronica, I wasn’t trying to lecture you.”Oh yeah? “But I’ve only got to think about me.”O Oh! Here it comes! “How old is Jack now?”
When away from her she saw Diane as her best friend, when with her she was more like an opinionated mother. She was well-aware the potential for Diane to morph into her mother with nothing to do all day except wonder about the next. Although in Diane’s case she would be waiting for Mr. Swan to call. Her mother needed someone, and a man would do, but her mother had always been alone, even with all the men around, as far back as Veronica could remember. She had always been proud of her mother’s independence. But now her mother’s independence was more like loneliness and Veronica felt guilty about that. Maybe she should buy her a cat. Maybe she should relieve Diane of her killer cat and adopt her onto her mother. The cat obviously hates Diane. Hmm!
Why does Diane always make her think about these things? Is the lack of a man the real problem? Her job brought her into contact with the problematic and seamier side of the male animal and she began to doubt if it was possible to find one she could relate to on a romantic basis. She also was aware that thinking that very thought almost guaranteed her failing to do so. But hey! - she could do what everybody else did: jump in and thrash about a bit to make it safely to shore. Her consolation was that her knowledge of human nature should equip her with the water-wings other people found so problematic to use. But there was still no romance in her life.
4
Erskineville feels like a suburb within a suburb; it's hard to find because if there was a sign to follow and then you checked to see where you were you would've passed it. Veronica’s motherlived in a little cul-de-sac, “The Crescent”, a circular piece of bitumen around a grassy patch that was a neighbourhood battle ground and therefore always unkempt. No. 3A was a small worker’s cottage, moderately renovated, one room wide and three rooms deep, with a garden bit out the back that was so dark from next door’s overgrown and invasive bamboo, even weeds couldn’t grow. As Veronica drove up onto the footpath and parked, leaving just enough room for a two seater to pass, three sets of curtains, 5B, 12A and 19B1 were parted by arthritic fingers. A woman stood on the little verandah of 3A with her arms folded and watched the parking manoeuvre with a wry smile on her face. She was about seventy, slight in stature which made her permed head of hair seem too large for her face, and she wore a plain wrap-around house-skirt that in anybody else’s wardrobe might be called a cut-off dressing gown. Despite this, and the hour of the day, she was heavily made up and wore very large jewellery; too large for her size Veronica always wanted to say. This was Rene, Veronica’s mother, but everyone called her Sally.
“Mr. Tilly, Crazy Nell and Itchy-Bum will all be round later to see what you’ve bought me,” said Sally nodding towards the three sets of now swaying curtains as Veronica passed though the little iron gate.
“Sorry, I didn’t bring you anything,” said Veronica.
“And they’ll want to know why,” she said suggesting an explanation had to be made up.
“Because you didn’t tell me what you needed,” seemed to Veronica her only option: she wasn’t going to play this game.
“Then they will be so disappointed. Come in, you know the way: nothing’s changed.” She turned and went inside. Veronica followed. The first room on the right, they were all on the right, was ‘the front’ room, then a bedroom, and then the rest of the house. This was really where Sally lived; kitchen, sitting room, library, and den all rolled into one, with a bathroom and loo out the back. It was cluttered but homely, dusty but warm and what free surfaces there were could not put up with too much close attention. Sally was a little lax with housework.
“So what have you been doing today?” asked Veronica as she sat in an overstuffed chair. She got the answer she expected.
“Waiting for you,” said Sally as she looked up at the tea cups in the cupboard above the sink.
“Would you like me to get those for you?” asked Veronica on cue.
“Would you darling? I can’t reach them as easily as I could.”
“Why don’t you put them somewhere where you can reach them?”
“But they’ve always lived up there. It’s where they belong. Besides I only use these when you’re here, so for so few outings, there they’ll stay.” Veronica should’ve seen that one coming. “I use the chipped ones and I keep them in the cutlery drawer: I don’t need much cutlery.”
Dear god! “But what would you have been doing if I wasn’t coming?” asked Veronica as she retrieved the cups and saucers.
Sally returned to her seat. “Waiting for you,” she said as she smoothed her skirt over her knees.
Veronica gave out an audible sigh.
“It’s true!” said Sally “The inordinate number of hours in a day is the biggest challenge of my life. I got such a thrill the other day when I went to the Lapsong Souchong tin, instead of the usual Earl Grey or the Russian Caravan. There was only one tea bag left! That meant I had to go down the shops again. That’s at least an hour and a half, and longer if I take smaller steps. I was ecstatic!”
“Oh, Sally, it can’t be that bad.”
“What are you saying? I’m talking here about a highlight of my day. You should be happy for me. I know I was. Do you have milk?”
“You know I don’t have milk.”
“Just checking. I’m always up for a surprise these days. And there is always the slim possibility that now you do take milk, and I’d be up for another trip to the shops. Just imagine!” Veronica noticed that Sally had sat down again and was, no doubt, waiting to be waited on.
“Shall I make tea?”
“Would you darling? Thank you.”
While Veronica prepared the tea Sally chatted away. “I found a twenty dollar bill in a Bryce Courtney book last month: did I tell you? Got such a thrill I went to the bank, took out some cash, and hid a total of $150 in a selection of books chosen at random.
