Lessons From Ducks (17 page)

She spent some time drying the glasses while she considered what her next words should be, which was ridiculous because she of all people knew what it was like to hear meaningless platitudes or, even worse, nothing at all. It was odd how people she had previously considered to be excellent conversationalists were suddenly lost for words when she ran into them in the street or the supermarket. Sometimes she’d see someone she knew at the other end of the aisle and she’d brace herself for the inevitable head tilted to the shoulder, the suck in of air between the teeth sadly and the sympathetic, “So, how
are
you?”

It got to the point where she could tell they were hoping she wouldn’t do as she’d done the last time they’d run into her, which was answer the question honestly. It was just plain awkward when she did. She came to realise that they didn’t actually want to hear how she couldn’t sleep, or eat, or even shower some days. That she cried more than she’d even known was possible, at the drop of a hat – oh look, see, here I go again – and that her body was so tight and wound up in knots that it had started to emit strange noises, from places she didn’t consider polite nor pleasant. She realised they absolutely did not want to hear this and so she took pity on them and would turn and go back down another aisle to spare them her ugly grief.

Now here she was, afraid to ask an eight year old boy about his feelings on death. She was treating him the way people had treated her. Steeling herself, she opened her mouth to ask him a question when –

KNOCK KNOCK

“Dad’s here.”

She expelled the question unspoken into the air gratefully.

“Yes, I think you’re right. At least I hope it’s him,” she babbled as she moved to open the door, “and not some salesman or Jehovah’s Witness because I have no money and as far as I’m concerned God can shove his brochures about the afterlife up his…” she remembered who she was speaking to, “well, where the sun doesn’t shine.”

Oscar picked Buddy up and carried him over to the large rug in the centre of the lounge, placing him down gently. As he did every day he got on the floor beside him to whisper his private goodbyes. Anna opened the door.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hey,” Matt smiled. “Boy been any trouble?” He asked the same thing every night when he came to pick Oscar up.

“Of course not, he’s very well behaved,” she said, as she did every night.

“Good, good.” He stepped past her. “All comes down to excellent parenting.” He crossed the room to where his son knelt. “Hey you, had a good day?”

“It was alright.”

“School any good?”

“School is school dad. It’s never good.”

“Ah I remember those days well. How’s Buddy?”

Only then did Oscars face become more animated. “He’s great, look at him. He’s growing so big. Soon we’ll be able to take him outside to play with the other ducks.”

Anna watched as Matt knelt down beside his son and the two of them discussed their day and Buddy. They had the same blond hair, a mix of honey and straw and sand. She was becoming fond of them, well, the boy in particular. She wasn’t sure if she liked that though. It was a complication and she didn’t need any of those.

They were out the door before she remembered something and called them back. “Wait, she called, disappearing back into the shadows of the house. She re-emerged minutes later, a wrapped bundle in each hand.

“Here,” she said, holding them out. “You forgot your cake.”

They took them. Matt peered at his. “You baked us a cake?”

She didn’t like the warm way in which he said it. “No,” she set the record straight, “I didn’t bake you a cake. I baked
a
cake. If you don’t want it pass it back.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want it,” he tucked it behind his back protectively; in case she should snatch it from him.

She gave him a look. Why did he have to read things into situations that just weren’t there? Why couldn’t he just accept a slice of cake without assigning meaning to it?

“It’s really yummy dad.”

“You already had some?”

“We had a piece for afternoon tea.”

“Perfect. You won’t be needing any dinner then.”

“You can’t be serious. A piece of cake is not enough for a growing child’s evening meal, besides it was an hour or so ago.” Anna frowned at him.

“I was joking. Don’t worry, I have dinner under control.”

“What are we having?” Oscar asked.

“Fish and vegetables.”

Oscar sighed. “You mean a McDonalds fillet of fish burger and fries, don’t you.”

“You’re too clever for your own good.”

“So you keep telling me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a bit of McDonalds every now and then,” his father said defensively. “Hasn’t done all those American kids any harm has it.”

“Every now and then? More like once or twice a week.”

“Do you know how many kids in Ethiopia would be grateful for a McDonalds happy meal?”

Oscar had heard this before. “Millions, apparently.”

“That’s right. And don’t forget it.”

Anna knew that she could do two things. One, she could take pity on the poor boy and invite him and his father in for dinner, again. Or two, she could stay completely out of it and let them sort themselves out.

“Goodnight,” she said.

Chapter twenty one

“Suspended?
”

“
Yes.” Judy’s voice was smug, her excitement ill-concealed. She’d been waiting for this moment a long, long time. “You might have been able to get away with crap under Mr Hedley, Anna. But I’m in charge now, and I’m not putting up with it.”

“Suspended on what basis?”

“I asked you to supply a medical certificate. You failed to provide one.”

“Oh for god’s sakes Judy, no one’s bothered with those before.”

“Exactly my point. Things have been too lax around here. You lot treat this place as a joke. I mean come on, you decide you need a holiday and just don’t bother showing up?” Judy scoffed. “This is the real world Anna. It’s hardly professional behaviour and it’s against the terms of your contract.”

“I called Mr Hedley and he approved it. Go and sort this out with him.”

“You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

“Perhaps if you’d bothered coming to work you’d know.”

“Know what?” Anna had a bad feeling.

“The old guy had a heart attack.” Judy didn’t sound at all sorry to say the words.

Anna gasped and a hand flew over her mouth. “Is he –?”

“Dead? No. Lucky bastard. Collapsed in a restaurant and a doctor happened to be dining nearby. Gave him CPR till the ambo’s got there and jump started his heart with a defibrillator.”

“Oh thank god,” Anna relaxed against the counter top. “Is he in the hospital?”

“Not any more. He’s at home under strict orders to take it easy. I’m in charge,” Judy brought the conversation back round to the topic of business, “and that’s why you, Anna, are suspended pending an investigation.” It was her way of saying that she was fully intent on firing her but only after she dragged it out for a period first.

If she was hoping to crush Anna with the news, or invoke a flood of tears or pleas for forgiveness, she was disappointed.

“Oh well,” Anna said, “You do what you have to do.”

“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. This is a very serious matter. Once I tell the board about your behaviour it’s more than likely you’ll face dismissal.”

“If they feel it’s justified there’s not much I can do about it is there.” Anna, although a little perturbed at the path events had taken, was too concerned about Mr Hedley to care much about the threatened unemployment right then.

“Don’t pretend you don’t care.”

“Judy, as my grandfather used to say, shit happens.” Anna didn’t swear often but had no problems doing so when it was called for.

“You’re just pissed off because I win.”

“You win? It’s not a game to play with people’s lives, Judy. One day you’ll figure that out but I have a feeling it’ll be too late. Don’t you wonder why you have no one in your life? It’s because no one wants to be around someone who is so miserable and mean and vicious.” Anna figured she had nothing to lose by letting Judy in on a few home truths. Sometimes, she knew, it was kinder to be cruel.

“Um, hello?
You
don’t have anyone either.”

“But I did. There’s a difference.”

“Whatever. Good luck finding another job without references.”

Anna hung up. There was nothing more to be said.

So that was that then. She was now permanently on holiday. She figured she should probably feel a little sad, after all she’d been at the bank for a long time. But she really couldn’t bring herself to care. It was a toxic environment. She should have moved on long ago. In fact, she thought, maybe this was the rocket up the ass she’d been waiting for.

In the back corner of her garden, half grown into the hedge, Anna found the big metal half drum that her husband used to light fires in when they had company for dinner outside on balmy summer evenings. As the sun dropped and the temperature sank with it he would chuck a few pieces of kindling and a few fire starters in there and rub his hands with pyromaniac glee as the flames licked the night sky. It was rusted from exposure and still bore the ashes from the last of those dinner parties – Anna couldn’t recall the names or even faces of their guests – so she tipped it on its side and used a spade to scrape the majority of the ashes out.

When it was empty she righted it and filled it with torn up newspaper and scrapings of wood from the bottom of the woodshed. Her husband would turn in his grave if he saw the state of the shed now. He’d kept it pristine, which was kind of ridiculous when you considered its purpose, and the wood was always neatly stacked according to the level of dryness. Now, Anna called a man once a year who backed his truck up beside the house with a chorus of BEEPS. He’d push a button and the back of his truck lift would crank up to dump a load of wood in her driveway. She paid him a small amount extra to wheelbarrow the wood around to the shed. She didn’t go so far as to ask him to stack it though; thought that was asking too much. The state of the shed would have offended her husband’s obsessive compulsive tendencies.

She lit a match and threw it into the drum and when the fire was well established and a nice bed of embers glowed she went upstairs to her wardrobe and pulled the grey and green shirts and skirts from their hangers. Then she opened the drawers and pulled out all the pairs of stockings that she owned. She found her name badge on her bedside drawer and added it to the pile. After one last, lingering look to make sure she had everything, she went back outside and threw it all into the fire.

The ducks fled to the safety of the hedge and she called an apology after them. Then Anna poured herself a wine - tucking the remainder of the bottle under her arm - fetched a warm blanket from the linen cupboard, and curled up in one of her white cane chairs on the back lawn to watch as it all burned down to ashes.

Chapter twenty two

Her husband had wanted to be cremated. It was the only thing she ever denied him, but seeing as he was dead there wasn’t an awful lot he could do about it. It had come up one morning in one of those conversations that appear random and unlikely at the time, but weigh heavily when it actually comes into question.

Flicking open the newspaper at breakfast, he’d read out loud a story about a woman who had been battling her husband’s family for ten years for the right to bury his body in the town they’d called home, rather than the town he’d grown up in and where his family felt he belonged.

“Meanwhile the poor bugger is stuck in limbo, unable to rest while they bicker over him like dogs over a bone,” her husband had said.

She’d been tired. Her son had been given his three month immunisations the day before and he hadn’t slept well. She was so unaccustomed to restless nights that when they occurred they left her barely able to function.

“Mm,” she’d said.

“I mean, can’t they allow the poor guy some dignity? Fancy spending ten years in limbo because your family can’t sort their shit out and come to an amicable agreement.”

“Fancy. Coffee?”

“Please. They should cremate the guy. Split the ashes, half each. Everyone’s happy then.”

“Were you cold last night? My feet are like ice blocks from pacing the floor. Have you seen my slippers?”

“No. Maybe. I think I might have used one to hold the door open in the garage.”

“You owe me a new pair.”

“Fine.” He was still stewing over the newspaper article. “I guess
he
wouldn’t be happy though.”

“Who? God?”

“No not him, the guy whose coffin has been stuck in a chiller for a decade.”

“Chiller?”

“Freezer at the funeral home.”

“Oh. Right. God how long does it take a piece of toast to cook?” She yawned.

“Probably just as bad to be split over two parts of the countryside,” he mused. “I know. They should cremate him and spread his ashes somewhere he loved.”

“Can you pick up some more bread on your way home from work?”

“Sure. Like his favourite hunting or fishing spot. Somewhere that meant something to him.”

“And milk. And tomatoes.”

“Ok. That’s what I want, ok?”

“Tomatoes?”

“No, to be cremated. Don’t bury me in a box for the worms to eat,” he shuddered. “I can’t think of anything worse.”

“What makes you think you’ll go first?”

“Men always die before the wife. I read it somewhere.”

“Really?”

‘Yeah. It’s to escape all the nagging,” he laughed.

She threw a tea towel at him.

And that had been the extent of the conversation. Just one of the many that made up their daily life, falling somewhere in between “did you pay the power bill on time?” and “your son started to cut his first tooth today.” It barely registered and was not at all important, until it was. Until he died and the funeral director had sat her down to ask her all the important questions.

“Cremation or burial?” he’d asked gently.

“Burial.” Then the conversation from that morning had come back to her and she’d paused, “no, wait,” while she tried to recall his exact words.

But even once she did she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t have them gone entirely from this world. She needed them near in some small capacity, so she’d had the two of them interred together; her son wrapped in his father’s eternal embrace. She could picture them like that. It was after all her final glimpse of the two people she loved most in the world, before the lid was placed on the coffin and the screws were turned into place.