‘You have to stop calling Rocky.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Linda sounded absent, like she was distracted, barely paying attention. Withdrawal had always been her first line of defence.
‘Rocky. You have to stop calling him when you want to reach me. He’s my boss. It’s not appropriate.’
Linda laughed. ‘Silly. He’s more than just yourboss. He’s a very dear friend. Almost family, really. And he was very happy to hear from me, I assure you. He’s always been wonderful about checking in.’
Her mother’s ability to compartmentalise was outstanding. It suited Linda to embrace the relationship with Rocky, so she did that, while at the same time ignoring the nature of the work that Rocky and Judith shared, and pretending that the event that had brought him into their lives had never happened.
‘Sit, darling. Let’s have tea. And cake of course. What wonderful timing! I’m so happy to see you.’
Judith sat, knees together, hands on her lap, like a well-behaved child. ‘I can’t stay,’ she said, mechanically. ‘I have work.’
‘At this hour?’ Linda shook her head. ‘You should talk to your manager. There are all kinds of protections these days, you know. Working hours regulations. I read an article on it the other day... now, where did I come across it? It was in one of the papers. Was itThe Age? No...The Australian? Oh, it doesn’t matter which one, the point is that there’s a new thing. A right to disconnect, they call it. If your manager calls you or emails you outside your working hours, you don’t have to answer!’ She poured Judith’s tea and handed her a raspberry and white chocolate slice on a plate. ‘Try it, Judith. I think it came out just right.’
‘It doesn’t apply to police.’
‘What doesn’t?’
‘The right to disconnect. There’s an exemption for police, national security, defence.’
‘Oh,’ Linda said. But her eyes had slid away from Judith’s face, and her expression had assumed again that slightly abstracted look Judith knew so well.
Judith sipped the tea. She took a bite of the slice. The taste hit her tongue and memories came flooding back and her body nearly revolted. She choked it down and tried to keep her eyes off the photographs that still took pride of place on the wall. Linda and Gerry in their wedding clothes, arms wrapped around each other and grinning for the camera. On their honeymoon in Fiji, Gerry still grinning, full of confidence, and Linda looking a little shy in her bikini. No sign of Judith in either photo. She would have been ten at the time. She’d been left at home with a school friend whose mother had made it clear that a two week stay was far too long.
‘It’s great. Thanks, Mum.’
Linda smiled. The pleasure on her face made Judith want to scream.
‘You’ve been calling me. A lot.’
‘Well, it’s been so long. I just wanted to see you. Make sure that you’re well. That you’ve been sleeping.’
‘I’ve been sleeping fine.’
Linda’s gaze was back on Judith’s face, a shadow of concern in her eyes. ‘No nightmares then?’
‘None,’ Judith said, flatly. Concern and enquiry were both unusual and she wondered what Linda would have done if she’d told her the truth. Probably changed the subject.
‘Well, that’s wonderful, darling.’
There was silence. It went on too long. Judith forced herself to take another small bite of the slice. She chewed and swallowed, then sipped her tea. She kept her eyes on the table, and waited.
‘I was at mass on Sunday, and I was chatting to Father Michael, and he had the most touching idea.’ Linda paused, allowing time for Judith to respond. When Judith said nothing, she continued. ‘He’s a wonderful priest. You’ve met him, of course. You haven’t? Well, you’d like him. Loves his football. And he remembers everything about his parishioners. In any case, he thought we might like to hold an anniversary mass for Gerry, because he’ll be gone twenty-five years next month.’
Judith stood up and went to the window again, taking her teacup with her. She dumped the last of the tea into the sink, using her body to hide the movement from her mother.
‘Are you looking at the garden?’ Linda said. ‘It’s a terrible mess, I’m afraid. Gerry had wonderful plans, but I don’t have a green thumb myself, nor the strength to do the heavy work. He was marvellous at that sort of thing. You remember he paved the driveway himself. And Michael MacCluskey came out into the road and told him he should get a tradie or it would never be right, but look at it today, good as the day it went in.’
Judith said nothing. She let her mother’s voice wash over her, as Linda kept chattering and rewriting history, rewriting the story of her marriage until it was a happy little fairytale, as if her husband had just been a jolly gardener, and never a man of wild, unpredictable tempers, of uncontrollable violence, and, as always, ignoring the fact that Gerry had met his end right there, in that room, with his brains and his blood all over the floor and the wall and the door that led to the utility room
‘Father Michael asked if you’d like to help arrange the mass,’ Linda was saying. ‘I’m meeting with him on Saturday. I thought I might hire a florist, and perhaps a quartet. I don’t mean to have them play anything mournful, not after all this time. This should be more of a celebration of his life, don’t you think?’
A hysterical half-laugh broke from Judith. She turned to face her mother. There was a moment—a second—when their eyes met and Judith thought she saw recognition, and reality, but the moment was gone before it was ever truly there. Linda’s eyes slid away from hers. She returned her attention to her cake, which she started to slice into smaller and smaller pieces.
‘I’m not helping with the mass,’ Judith said. ‘If you take my advice you’ll call it off. It’s a stupid idea.’
Linda didn’t look up.
