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“This chintz isn’t going to iron itself,” I said, pulling away to drape a length of fabric over the ironing board.
Washing and ironing metres and metres of fabric had become our new normal in the parlour.
“Pam said I could work three days when the practice opened again after the refurbishment.” With my direct view of the wall decal with the butterfly and cocoon, I’d have a daily reminder to keep going with my business. To everyone else, it was a pretty insect on a tree. “That gives me two weekdays a week to sew, or paint, or meet clients, as well as weekends.”
Mum took the ironed fabric as the TV newsreader announced a headline about results of an enquiry into the suicide of a doctor related to workplace bullying at a hospital.
“Simon.” I moved around the ironing board to grab the remote and increased the volume.
Tom strode into the room. “Hey, can you flip it over to channel—”
“Shut up and let me listen!” I yelled.
Tom backed away out the door, with his hands up.
On the screen, a member of the hospital board confirmed that the hospital’s Chief Executive Officer and a senior surgeon had been stood down, following an investigation of workplace bullying and toxic work culture.
“We acknowledge that young doctors are at greater risk of suicide when working more than 55 hours per week and we will be making leadership changes in the near future.”
The speaker stood aside and journalists mobbed the lectern, shouting questions at the Health Minister. The politician announced additional funding for hospitals. I hit mute on the remote.
Mum cleared her throat. “Wendy mentioned Harry worked at a hospital and he was very unhappy there. Was that it?”
I nodded. “He’ll be happy the surgeon was sacked, and the CEO.”
“I’m sure you’ll hear from him.”
He’s waiting for me.“He doesn’t have my new number, Mum,” I mumbled.
“But—”
“And he hasn’t reached out on social media either. What’s the point of talking to him anyway when he’s in the city and I am here?” I sighed. “He made his choice, and it wasn’t me.”
“What about you? Have you tried to contact him?”
I shook my head, and we both blindly watched the TV as the iron whooshed more steam.
“Anastasia Jemima Turner, look at me.”
Reluctantly I faced Mum. She held me by the shoulders, her eyes burning with ferocity.
“Are you in love with him?”
My voice caught. “All I know is that now he’s gone, it’s feels like a piece of me is missing.”
She pulled me into a hug and held on tight. “Oh Stacey, thatislove.”
“But we were only together for weeks. Just over a month.”
“Love doesn’t have a timeframe.” Mum released me with a sad smile. “That’s exactly how it felt with your father. I knew I was going to marry him after our first date. And when he died, a piece of me died that day too.”
“Oh Mum.” Tears rolled down my cheeks as we gently rocked, arms wrapped around each other.
We stayed like that for a long time, the steam iron gently whooshing in the background.
“I never told Harry how I felt.” I said eventually, pulling away to blow my nose with a tissue. “He told me he loved me, and I dismissed him.”
Mum pushed stray hairs from my face. “You deserve to love and be loved, you know.”
