Authors: Maris Morton
‘Russ died, which was a mercy. Since then we’ve managed to accumulate some money. Martin’s inheritance is safe.’
Mary was busy around the kitchen while Clio sat in silence, the quiet rattle of the lid of the kettle the only sound. Mary was thinking that Paul’s follies would have given any wife cause for complaint, when Clio caught her eyes and smiled at her.
‘I’ve been thinking about food,’ she said. ‘Steak. I can almost taste a nice juicy fillet steak. Get a whole fillet, Mary, they always cut it too thin. It’ll taste lovely with asparagus … and béarnaise sauce. I’ve decided I like that better than hollandaise … The tarragon should be coming up by now.’
Mary thought fast. It was a nice idea, but … ‘It’s school holidays, Clio,’ she said. ‘And it’s Saturday. I doubt whether Gloria will be going anywhere today, but I’ll go over and ask.’ She could see that this was a serious disappointment to Clio.
She found Gloria busy with a broom, dustpan and bucket of sudsy water, who confirmed she wasn’t leaving Downe. ‘Monday okay? Today Gay’s helping me clean the bus. They inspect them, you know. Oh, and before I forget, has Gary been over to see you? He’ll be needing his bike. He’s probably too shy to come and ask you himself.’
‘That’s fine, Gloria. Tell him to just come over and take it.’
Having dashed Clio’s hopes for a steak, as compensation Mary decided to make cannelloni, with crêpes, not pasta, with a filling of minced ham from the freezer bound with ricotta, bathed in a tomato sauce made from a bottle of Clio’s preserved tomatoes. Grated parmesan on top, browned under the electric grill.
The ten days of Paul and Martin’s absence would be like an extended holiday. She’d still be cooking for herself and Clio and doing routine housecleaning, but without the men that would be no hardship, and she’d have plenty of time to spend in the garden. With the roses bursting into life after the bare winter, she was reminded of her own roses, planted last year in the courtyard of her townhouse in Perth; in the warmer climate up there, they were probably out already. It would be a pity to miss them, and for that reason, among many others, she was looking forward to going home.
M
ARY FINISHED SPRINKLING
parmesan over the hot rolls and slipped the dish under the grill, while Clio watched.
‘Did I hear you playing the piano?’ Clio asked.
‘Mm. Yes, I had a go at that Purcell song. Did I murder it?’
‘No, I could recognise the tune. Have you tried singing it?’
‘Not yet. I can only concentrate on one thing at a time. Once I’ve got the fingers right, I’ll give the voice a try.’ She came and sat down at the table near Clio. ‘What we need now is a glass of red wine.’
Clio made a sound that was between a snort and a laugh. ‘Sorry, Mary, we can’t run to that.’
‘It would be good for you. I could get Gloria to pick some up when she gets the steak?’
‘I wouldn’t have a clue what to get,’ Clio said.
‘I can give Gloria a list. She should be able to get one of them in Glendenup. It doesn’t have to be Grange, a cask will do us very well.’
‘Gloria’s going in to Glendenup, is she?’
‘Mm. She’s taking Gayleen in to see a friend on Monday.’
Clio hesitated. ‘I’d suggest that you go in with them, just for the outing, but I get nervous here on my own.’
‘Yes, I know. I won’t go out, Clio.’ The picture of Clio standing in a puddle of spilt water when she’d come back from her afternoon tea at Gloria’s was still vivid. Until Clio was strong enough to manage to make herself a cup of tea without mishap, there was no way Mary was going to leave her here alone for too long.
The smell of toasting cheese announced that the meal was ready. Mary had made a salad of baby spinach leaves. She watched Clio lever herself out of the armchair and cross carefully to the dining table, reaching out to touch the backs of the chairs to steady herself. ‘Are you stiff ?’ she asked.
Clio was concentrating on sitting down in the wooden dining chair. ‘Yes. It’s taking a long time …’ Mission accomplished, she smiled up at Mary. ‘Now, what are we having?’
C
LIO HAD ALWAYS
liked Italian food, and when she was growing up in East Sydney her family often used to eat in the restaurants nearby. While she was eating the pitifully small serve Mary had given her, she found a curious sensation creeping over her, a sort of déjà vu. She knew that scents could be powerfully evocative, but hadn’t realised that flavours and textures could be spurs to memory that were just as sharp. Absorbed by the fleeting fragments dancing in the depth of her consciousness, she was finding it difficult to chat to Mary the way she’d like to, and knew that Mary must be wondering what was the matter with her. As soon as she’d finished eating, she escaped to her room.
In bed, in the dark, she let herself slip back into the past; to the scene she’d been avoiding replaying for all the years since.
She’d been having dinner with Tallis, in the Stella restaurant, not far from her family’s apartment. It was the first time Tallis had invited her out and she was elated. Her course at the Con was coming to an end, and she’d been feeling desperate at the prospect of having him disappear from her life, but his invitation had put a whole new complexion on her expectations. Her love for this man had grown during the time she’d been his student, and she’d spent many long nights wondering how it could be that the very intensity of her feeling hadn’t somehow kindled a response in Tallis.
Yet here she was, sitting across the table from him, with a glass of red wine in front of her and a plate of … that’s what had triggered it, of course: she’d ordered their cannelloni, and they made it with crêpes, the same way that Mary had, with a ham filling. The aroma was the same, the texture, the golden cheese, the tang of tomato sauce —
sugo di pomodoro
, her father always called it — and Tallis, his pale hair gold in the warm light of the place, his eyes bright, but looking down at his plate more than at her … Could he be nervous? As this possibility occurred to her, she felt strong, confident and full of joy.
They’d worked their way through the meal, talking about music, the course, job prospects afterwards, nothing personal. Then, with their espressos in front of them, Tallis reached across the table to touch her hand.
Her heart leapt, and he must have seen that in her face, because he withdrew his hand, not far, but not touching hers any more. When he spoke, he sounded solemn and sad, and she wondered what was coming.
She could remember catching sight of the two of them in profile in the glass of the restaurant’s window, rain streaking down the outside, condensation forming on the inside so their faces were vague and romantic, lit by the candle burning in the red glass holder on the table.
‘You’re a lovely young woman, Clio,’ Tallis was saying. ‘And you’re a fine musician, with a good future ahead of you. But I can’t be any use to you, Clio. You mustn’t expect anything more from me. I know … you’re fond of me.’
Yes, yes, she wanted to say, and what’s wrong with that? She held her tongue, waiting.
‘And I think a lot of you, too, but …’
But what?
‘I’m gay, Clio. I can’t be what you want me to be.’ He shook his head, sadly. ‘There is no way.’
She stared at him in utter astonishment. This couldn’t be happening. How could he be gay, when she loved him so much? Yes, she’d heard the odd remark made by some of the others but dismissed it as envy or spite.
There was something wrong with her face, the muscles collapsing, and she felt a moment of intense embarrassment, wondering what she looked like, in this warm restaurant noisy with people enjoying themselves; and she knew then that she was utterly, desperately alone, as if the props that had held her upright had been kicked away.
Tallis patted her hand and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief, holding it out to her.
She pressed the soft fabric to her face, cringing with shock and pain and humiliation, and crushing disappointment.
But at last she found a remnant of pride.
‘Thank you for telling me, Tallis. It was brave of you.’ He was looking down at the table. A surge of generosity made her add, ‘I hope I haven’t embarrassed you. I’d hate that. But you’ve been very important to me.’ By a miracle, she managed to say this without crying.
The tears had waited until later, when she was alone in her room, and then they’d flooded out as if they could have no end.
O
N
M
ONDAY,
M
ARY WENT OVER TO
G
LORIA’S
to pick up her shopping.
Gloria set the bags of groceries on the kitchen table. ‘Here you are, Mary: one whole fillet, costing an arm and a leg; chicken breast fillets, ditto; bacon, on special, pine nuts, various other bits and bobs and your cask of wine, all on the Downe account, as per usual.’
‘It’s a painless way to shop. Thank you so much.’
When she was ready to cook the steak, Mary went to invite Clio to join her in the kitchen. In honour of the anticipated meal, she laid the table using embroidered table mats and the best cutlery, setting out mustard and horseradish, salt in a tiny crystal dish and the pepper mill. The béarnaise was warming over hot water, the sauté matchstick potatoes were crisp and golden, and the black iron pan was getting hot over the open top of the stove, the bright heat of the flames dancing under its rim and a smell of woodsmoke filtering into the room. The asparagus was ready to be boiled in the few minutes that the steak would be resting.
Clio came out to the warm room. ‘What are we having?’
‘Exactly what you asked for. Remember? A fillet steak with asparagus and béarnaise sauce, and I’ve made some crunchy potatoes to go with it.’
‘Oh, lovely!’ Clio beamed with pleasure. ‘Can you do my steak medium-rare?’
‘Certainly. Would you like a glass of wine?’
‘You really did get some?’
Mary poured the wine and handed a glass to Clio, who accepted as if it were the elixir of life.
She drank a mouthful and licked her upper lip. ‘Yes,’ she said after a moment. ‘I’d forgotten what it tasted like: that feeling that good things are surging through one’s veins. Paul and Martin only drink beer, and I’ve never managed to like that.’
‘This is a Cab Sauv-Shiraz-Merlot blend from South Australia. I’ve had worse wines that have cost a good deal more.’
‘It’s lovely,’ Clio said, taking a bigger sip.
The pan was hot enough, and Mary dropped the two little steaks into it. They hissed and spat and she covered the pan with a spatter screen.
‘Can I have some more?’ Clio asked, holding up her glass, and Mary refilled it, and her own.
When the asparagus was done, Mary dished up and took the warmed plates to the table. Clio edged herself into the chair, leaning over her plate and inhaling the aromas of the hot food. Mary felt a twinge of embarrassment: beside the doll-sized portion she was offering Clio, her own meal looked positively gargantuan. Still, she knew by now that what she’d given Clio was all she’d eat. She passed the bowl of sauce over and offered to spoon some of the unctuous golden confection onto Clio’s asparagus; Clio nodded her thanks and started to slice her steak. Mary was busy with her own food but soon noticed that Clio’s weak left hand was having trouble holding the fork steady. When Clio made a greater effort, the fat little steak dived off her plate and landed in front of Mary. Clio looked mortified.
‘It’s not tough, is it?’
‘No …’ Clio’s voice wavered. ‘It’s not that.’ She put down her knife and fork and grasped her left hand with her right, frowning at it.
‘Have you hurt your hand?’
‘No, I …’
Mary’s voice was gentle. ‘Would you like me to cut it for you?’ She remembered now that ever since she’d met her, Clio had been protecting her left arm.
Clio flushed, then pushed the plate towards Mary. ‘Yes, if you wouldn’t mind.’ The flush faded, and Clio became pale.
Mary cut the steak into fine slices. ‘You can do the correct thing by the etiquette books and eat the asparagus with your fingers.’ She smiled to ease Clio’s embarrassment and started again on her own meal.
They ate in silence. The meal was delicious, but Mary’s enjoyment was shadowed by her concern for Clio. How had she been managing the meals she’d been eating in her room? Thinking back, Mary realised there must have been times when Clio had had to resort to using her fingers. She still had no idea what the cause of this debility could be, and curiosity was gnawing at her.
‘More wine, Clio?’
‘Yes, please. It’s perfect with the steak. It’s all lovely, just the way I dreamt it would be. Thank you for taking the trouble.’ She finished eating, licked the last trace of flavour from her lips and pushed away her plate. ‘I couldn’t eat another thing.’
Mary dipped a spear of asparagus into the pool of sauce on her plate and fed it, slowly and with intense pleasure, into her mouth.
Clio was watching her, sharing the pleasure. Then her face became grave again. ‘I had a mastectomy,’ she said.
Mary was shocked. This possibility hadn’t occurred to her. She’d never met anybody who’d had the operation.
Clio was gauging her reaction. ‘I didn’t tell anyone I had cancer. It makes people uncomfortable. And anyway, nobody’s interested in what happens to me.’
‘Oh, Clio!’ Mary didn’t know what else to say.
‘It’s all right. I’ve been living with this for … ages.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘The trouble with my arm is that they had to take out so many of the little glands there … lymph glands.’ She gestured with her right hand, indicating her left armpit. ‘Apparently, the cancer gets into them, too, so they take out all the ones that look a bit iffy and test them.’ Clio’s eyes were taking on a faraway look. ‘They said they took out fifteen. I don’t know how many I had to start with. Twelve of them had cancer in them. So it’s good they’ve gone.’
‘So that’s why your arm’s weak?’
‘They have to go in among the muscles. I tried to do the exercises they gave me but … it all hurt too much. It all hurts: backache, the arm, the actual wound.’ She drew in a weak breath and let it out again in a sigh. ‘It’s not getting any better.’ She was plainly fighting off tears.