Further

By Nene Davies

Isobel Richardson is torn. With an elderly dependent mother on one side of the world and her husband and children in Australia, her priorities are drifting further and further away from one another. She tries to stretch around the globe with a hand on each household. If only she could be in two places at once; be everything to everyone. Perhaps then her family wouldn't be falling apart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nene Davies
• Release date: Aug 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311858306

Nene Davies

In 2002, Nene and her husband packed up their home and three children and emigrated to Australia from Pembrokeshire, Wales. These days Nene is living her dream on the Capricorn Coast where she writes full time.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

They put it down to jet lag. Twelve thousand miles is an awfully long way for an elderly lady to travel, so who could blame her for arriving in Australia a little out of sorts?

It’s the trip from hell, as anybody will tell you and Isobel’s heart went out to Ben too. Belted down in cattle class for nearly twenty-four hours, with a jittery grandmother, who refused to stop chattering until exhaustion overtook her and she slumped sideways into the aisle, snoring loudly and getting in the way of the drinks trolley.

Transiting through Changi airport in Singapore had been a whole new world of pain for Ben. Scratchy and irritable, Helen refused all offers of help from smiling Singapore Airlines staff, and shunned the motorised cart with a dismissive wave of her hand. Inclining her head towards Ben, she had spoken loudly, as though the multi-lingual ground crew were not very bright.

‘I’m travelling with my grand-son. This is he. We do not need assistance thank you,’ leaving Ben, weighted down with Helen’s motley collection of hand luggage plus his own backpack, to smile a polite thank you as he hurried along a vast swathe of tasteful carpet, in Helen’s regal wake.

‘Nana, please wait.’ He’d caught her elbow and drawn her gently to one side. ‘We must stick together. No running off!’

Helen patted him affectionately on the arm. ‘Don’t worry dear. I’ll look after you; just keep me in sight and you won’t get lost. Now then, I think I just need to spend a penny.’

Helen could be hard to handle, even for the eldest grandchild in the Richardson family who, at barely eighteen, could deal with his grandmother so much better than his mother ever could. Poor Ben, thought Isobel. He’d willingly undertaken the mammoth task of extracting Nana Helen from her small Welsh village and single-handedly escorted her across the globe. No wonder he’d got off the flight in Brisbane with a nervous twitch.

~*~

It was four days later. Isobel could still not quite believe that her mother had turned up with Ben like that. It was extraordinary that she'd made the decision to come, after months of hostility. She had vehemently opposed the family’s plan to emigrate; turned a furious cold shoulder to Isobel, her only child and utterly refused a genuine invitation to join them. Her change of mind was astounding, but Isobel was not about to look this gift horse in the mouth. She was staggered and delighted and confused and thrilled.

Gently she inched open Helen’s bedroom open and peeped in. Timber blinds shaded the room and the ceiling fan swung slowly round and round, sending a small push of air into a lazy spiral.

Despite the stickiness of the afternoon, Helen dozed peacefully. Her face was turned to the wall and Isobel couldn’t help but notice the thin covering of white hair; a cotton wool cloud so wispy that patches of pink scalp showed through here and there. It made Helen seem aged and vulnerable. Her sky-blue linen dress, belted at the waist and buttoned all the way up, looked skewed and uncomfortable and it was somehow disconcerting for Isobel to see her mother's upper arms for the first time in years; even the sunniest of Welsh summers had failed to coax her out of a cardigan. The yellow-ish transparency of her skin was alarming. She was thin, too. Isobel was suddenly staring at her mottled limbs. Was that a bruise? No, probably an age-spot. One of many.

Helen’s suitcase was still sitting in the corner of the bedroom, where Leo had left it. The lid was up and resting against the wall and the contents had the recently-rummaged-through look of a garage-sale table of clothing. Isobel frowned. This was quite unlike her mother who was known for her dedication to ironing and immaculate clothes. Helen was a lady who looked after her things. The jumble of items lying abandoned in the suitcase was jarring. Isobel supposed it must be down to her mother's exhaustion and the heat and the extreme emotion of the past few days. The past six months really – Helen’s moods had swung as dark and violent as a teenager the whole time Isobel, Leo, Becky and Jacob had been in Australia. And the preceding year too. Isobel shuddered at the memory of telling her mother that they wanted to emigrate. Helen had ‘flipped her lid’ as Becky might say. Isobel had never witnessed such distress and rage in her life.

A shift in Helen's position implied a slow rise through layers of sleep, and reluctant to disturb her, Isobel shrank back into the hallway. She thought about the still-packed suitcase again and resolved to empty it and hang the contents up in the wardrobe or fold them away in the chest of drawers. In making the trip down under, Helen had undertaken an enormous feat of courage and Isobel was aware that she might be expecting too much from her, too soon. She pulled the door towards her until it was slightly ajar, and tiptoed away.

As she made her way down the narrow slip of hallway towards the kitchen, Isobel spied the family through the sliding glass doors at the back of the house. Leo and the kids, Ben, Jacob and Becky were sprawled around the timber patio table and Isobel could read their relaxed body language from twenty paces. She smiled. God; it was incredible that they were all together again. In the same hemisphere, the same country – the same house. There were times over the preceding six months when she wondered if this day would ever come.

Ben was talking. His grin was widening and then he must have delivered a punch line, because his father and siblings burst out laughing. As Isobel approached and the chortling subsided, she realised that Ben was still in full flow. Captivated, the others were leaning in. A little smile hovered around Leo's lips as he regarded his eldest child over steepled fingers. Even through the chunky glass door, Isobel sensed fatherly pride and love spilling out of him. Her eyes prickled.

All four turned as the door slid open and Ben stopped mid-sentence.

Leo held out his hand. 'How is she?'

Isobel sank into a chair and gave Jacob a little smile as he nudged a glass of wine towards her. 'Exhausted.' She stopped. The family was waiting for more. She gave a quick shake of her head and picked up the glass. 'Yeah, exhausted. But - you know. Fine. She'll be fine.'

CHAPTER 2

'Don't go far,' said Helen. 'I don't know my way round yet.'

Isobel turned from the linen cupboard and held out a fluffy bath towel. She ran kind eyes over Helen's face.

Helen's chin dipped in acceptance and she made a quarter turn towards the nearest door. Isobel laughed lightly and caught her elbow. 'That's our room Mum. Bathroom's this way.'

Helen's free hand went over her mouth and she giggled through her fingers. 'Ooh, this jet-lag!' but didn't pull away.

The bathroom door was half open, revealing fresh green and white decor and a bathtub invitingly filled with crystal water topped with glistening bubbles. The room smelled of sunlight and jasmine. Helen stepped through the doorway, and then hesitated as though wondering if this lovely room had been prepared for her, or for somebody else.

Isobel gave her arm a gentle squeeze. 'All yours Mum. Take your time and relax. Dinner in an hour?'

Helen nodded and finally moved away from Isobel's side. She glanced again around the room and then snapped out of her reverie with a bright smile.' Yes please! Bubble bath and dinner? You're spoiling me.' Frailty fell away, as her strong, bony fingers started to undo the belt buckle at her waist and suddenly Helen was clear-eyed and ten years younger.

Relieved, Isobel took this as her cue to leave but as she made to close the bathroom door behind her, she hesitated and at the last moment, left it on the latch.

~*~

After dinner, the kids excused themselves and vanished into the rumpus room. Isobel watched them go; a tight little knot. Ben and Jacob's shoulders were touching, with Becky a step behind, gazing at her big brothers as they clattered through the doorway, laughing. Jacob plugged in the PlayStation and then all three sat down on the black padded folds of the futon in front of the TV. Flushed and excited, Becky perched between the boys waiting patiently for a turn with the controller.

Ben turned to her. 'OK?'

She nodded and her hands slid under her thighs.

Isobel's heart stirred at the sight of the three children clustered so closely, picking up the strands of their belonging without even knowing they were doing it. She filled the kettle and took three china mugs off the mug tree on the counter. Leo had escorted Helen to the living room and over the open spaces between them Isobel caught the rise and fall of his courteous tones as he made conversation with his mother in law.

Isobel wondered if tonight would be the right time to open up the subject of Helen's surprise arrival in Australia. It had seemed rude to ask until now. It wasn't the kind of thing you could slip into general chitchat. 'Welcome to Australia/how lovely to see you/when did you decide to stop being horrible?'

She spooned coffee into the plunger jug, turning things over in her mind. The shock of seeing Helen standing alongside Ben at Brisbane International had swept her up into a world of numb surrealism. Had the past eighteen months actually happened? Had Helen really taken her to the brink of despair by her relentless rage and guilt-bombs? Had Isobel really all but lost Leo and the kids because of her crazed obsession with her mother's state of mind? Had early onset menopause really sneaked up on her like a silent assassin and convinced her that she was a powerless, useless, heartless bitch? Yes.

Yet here they all were. The whole family together and acting like none of the above had ever occurred. Were they delusional? Did it matter? Isobel picked up the tray of coffee and Anzac biscuits and made for the living room. With difficulty she swallowed down a rise of maniacal laughter - this whole situation was bizarre, yet nobody was saying so. How British, she thought.

'What's funny?' Leo was looking at her.

Isobel put the tray down on the coffee table and shook her head with a private smile. 'Nothing. Everything. I don't know.' She straightened. 'Coffee Mum?'

Alarm flashed across Leo's face and Isobel realised that he might be wondering if she was about to lose the plot. She sobered up.

'The kids were just...you know. I'm happy we're all here and the kids are having fun...and it's so great you're here Mum. That's all. Anyway. Biscuit?' She held out the plate, not meeting Leo's stare.

Leo got to his feet, took a mug from the tray and placed it on the little red stool at Helen's side.

'Thank you Leo,' she said politely.

A small silence fell while Isobel fidgeted with the biscuits. Finally she sat down, next to her mother on the sofa. She turned to face her. 'Well! Isn't this nice?'

She felt Leo's discomfort barreling across the room and made a monumental effort to stop acting like an idiot. 'I just want to say, Mum, that it's fantastic that you're here. I can't quite believe it. You can't either, can you Leo? Isn't it wonderful?'

He took the reins. 'Oh absolutely. It means to world to us Helen - it's going to make Christmas perfect.'

Isobel licked her dry lips and shot him a glance of gratitude. She gulped her coffee, for something to do.

There was a long pause, and then 'Isn't it a warm night?' said Helen, sounding like the queen of small-talk. Isobel knew she was trying though and her final skittish fits of awkwardness fell away. She put her coffee on the floor and took Helen's hand in her own.

'What happened Mum? Why did you change your mind about coming?' Her voice had dropped to a low murmur of sincerity. There was a pause while Helen gazed at her knees and the only sounds in the house were the humming of the air-conditioning unit on the wall and the occasional cry of dismay, or shout of triumph from the boys as they battled out their video game.

Isobel pressed again. 'Why did you..?' She stopped and then changed tack. 'Mum, why were you so angry with us? Well - with me? Was it to punish me for leaving Wales, because I'm just saying that's what it felt like and I don't understand why...'

'Do you know, I think I heard thunder.' Helen's hand shot out from underneath her daughter's fingers and she shimmied off the sofa before either Leo or Isobel could react. They shared a quick, covert glance and then their eyes followed Helen to the window, where she was standing taut and wary as a deer, peering anxiously into the darkness.

CHAPTER 3

Isobel stared unhappily at a bunch of silver-painted branches rising stark, hard and naked as a skeleton, from the pot they were wedged in. In Wales, the Richardson family Christmas tree would have been more recently alive than 'Silver Steve' and still lush after its felling in mid-December, when in the name of festive cheer it would have been hauled into the house and then left to die in the sitting room, covered in baubles. Pointless and even a little barbaric it might now seem from a distance, that aspect of the yearly decorating marathon nonetheless felt a lot less sterile than the collection of sprayed dead twigs that Isobel now surveyed; the spindly echo of a treasured tradition.

It just didn't feel like Christmas and to her surprise, Isobel was struggling with this. 'Six White Boomers' replaced reindeer on greetings cards, cardboard Santas on surfboards waved at her from the side of the road as she drove into town, and Inventive Ways with Prawns recipes popped up in Christmas magazines on supermarket shelves, while outside the Queensland summer sunshine slammed down on fake snow and plastic holly all but melting in the heat.

So over the preceding few weeks, as she had prepared the house for Christmas and Ben's arrival, Isobel charged round the place creating festive themes that turned away from the past - almost as though by not embracing the new, she was admitting to a failure to assimilate. Perhaps then, it was the fact that Helen was there, that was making Isobel doubt her brave new world stance on the holiday season. Watching her mother daintily sip her customary glass of Christmas sherry while dressed in a skirt and blouse - and no tights - was frankly bizarre.

Isobel gave Silver Steve one more scowl, and strode out of the lounge-room.

Leo glanced up at her from the kitchen, and then followed her down the passage to their honey-coloured bedroom. He shut the door behind him and caught her by her shoulders. 'I know what's bothering you but please - stop doing the classic overthink. It's OK to be nostalgic and if it makes you feel better, then go and buy a turkey. Plenty of people do. Just don't expect anyone to help you cook it as I tell you now, we wont be able to stand the heat and we will get out of the kitchen.'

She nodded reluctantly. 'Yeah I know. Just having a minor meltdown, ignore me.'

'Ignore who?'

'Very funny.'

She turned back to the bed, where a pile of lumpy carrier bags lay abandoned on top of the crisp white doona.

Leo peered over her shoulder. 'We're done. Please don't start worrying over the presents. They are all perfect; I should know - I had input.'

Isobel wished that Leo would leave so that she could have a thorough rummage through the parcels, decide that everything was wrong, spend a few minutes beating herself up about how unsuitable the gifts were and then reach the conclusion that since it was Christmas Eve it was really too late to do anything about it and in fact, on reflection, the presents were all brilliant after all. This was nothing new; Isobel's Christmas would have been incomplete without a last-minute panic.

'Are we wrapping them then?' Leo was still standing there. Isobel swung round.

'God. Sorry. Miles away. Oh go on then, be a peach and get started will you? I just want to check on Mum.'

Leo pulled a pack of wrapping paper towards him and nodded. 'Bring another pair of scissors back with you darl.'

She grinned. 'OK my little cobber digger mate. And I s'pose you want a cuppa tea too?'

Still smiling, she made for the spare bedroom and popped her head round the partially open door. 'Knock knock! Hello Mum.'

At first, she thought the room was empty. Then a little white head appeared from the far side of the bed, where Helen was kneeling on the carpet with a dishcloth in her hand.

Isobel hurried around the foot of the bed and looked down at her mother. Helen's face was red and creased. She stumbled as she tried to get up and Isobel dropped down and caught her upper arms.

'Whoa! Slow down Mum! What's the matter? Did you fall?'

Breathlessly, Helen shrugged Isobel's hands away and pointed at the bottom of the wall, near the skirting board. It was then that Isobel noticed the suitcase had been pushed aside.

'What is it? Hey, come on - what's wrong?'

Helen's face contorted. 'The wall,' she gasped. 'Look at it! Look at that mark. It's that stupid suitcase. I knew Leo shouldn't have put it there. I told him not to. I said 'Don't put it there Leo, it will mark the wall terribly.'' She took a deep gulping breath.

Isobel helped her into a sitting position on the bed, still kneeling on the floor herself. She laughed softly. 'Oh Mum, is that all? That's nothing. Truly. The mark has been there for ages - it's not your suitcase; it's not your fault at all.' She smiled up into her face. 'And even if it was your case, it wouldn't matter. I can't believe you think we'd mind about something like that.'

She ran her palm over Helen's cheek and up into her temples, like a mother pushing back a little child's messy hair. 'Come on. Come and have a cup of tea with me.' She scooped up the discarded dishcloth and quickly stuffed it into her pocket.

Helen said nothing until Isobel smiled more widely and then she sniffed and nodded slowly. 'I'll be there in a moment.'

Isobel stood up. 'Sure Mum. Come out when you're ready.' She dropped a kiss on the top of her head. 'And please - no more worrying.' At the door, she turned back. Helen was still sitting on the bed where she had left her. She seemed tiny and crumpled. Isobel bit her lip. 'Oh and Mum, just leave your suitcase. I'll sort it out after tea. OK?'

Helen nodded sadly down at her hands

CHAPTER 4

It was early on Christmas morning and the family had gathered for the traditional present-opening extravaganza. A tray of tea-things sat on the carpet.

Isobel curled up on the sofa next to Leo, while the boys sprawled on the floor and Becky sat cross-legged next to Silver Steve and an impressive pile of colourful packages. It was her job to hand them out.

Resplendent in new-season Marks and Spencer nightwear, Helen sat primly on an armchair, clutching her glass of sparkly wine and orange juice. She smiled around the room as the hubbub rose and fell with the unwrapping of each gift.

'Now,' said Isobel, 'who's next? How about one for you Becky? You've hardly opened anything yet.'

Becky picked up a lumpy parcel wrapped in red and gold paper and read the label aloud. 'To Becky, love Ben.' She threw a quick glance at the boys and then tore the wrapping away with an excited flourish. Her face broke open into a huge smile. 'Thanks bro!'

Isobel craned forward. 'What is it? A doll?' Her brow furrowed. 'Seriously, is that a doll?'

Becky giggled and scrambled to her feet. 'No way! It's Minnie Mouse...a hippy Minnie Mouse.'

Isobel's face cleared. 'Oh Becky, she's adorable! Where'd you get her from Ben?'

'Disneyland Paris. Remember - the Media Studies trip we did last term?'

Isobel nodded, recalling Ben's three-day school excursion from Wales to France; his first time on the Eurostar - something the rest of the family had never experienced.

She ran her hands over Minnie's outfit, taking in the miniature kaftan top and 'Peace' pendant hanging round her neck. 'Show Nana,' she said.

Helen placed her glass on the coffee table at her side as Becky scooted across the room. She gently took hold of Minnie and smoothed down the flowery fabric headband sitting snugly between two circular black ears. 'Oh yes,' she said approvingly. 'Isn't she smart?'

~*~

Christmas night; still, starry, warm. Isobel lit candles around the house, pausing here and there to straighten a cushion or tidy a pile of stocking-fillers left on the floor. The house drowsed, mellow and replete; the family holed up in bubbles of their own. Leo sat under a yellow pool of lamplight contentedly leafing through a book, while the boys lounged in front of a new action movie. Both Nana Helen and Becky were in their rooms, so the television volume was down low. Isobel wandered back to the kitchen and opened the fridge door, scanning for snacks.

Leo turned. 'Is that the kettle going on?'

She smiled at him. 'Sure.'

Becky appeared, in crimson checked pyjama shorts and a baggy t-shirt. 'Mum, I can't find Minnie.' She had the whiney tone of