Memories of May Page 8

‘I have equipment, you can borrow mine. I’ll even come with you to set up the tent, then leave you to enjoy the experience on your own or with Mia or a friend, how about that?’

  One night, in nature, secured inside a tent. It couldn’t be that bad, could it?

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said.

  ‘How about we make that item number six, so you could do it at the end of the course to celebrate finishing?’

  She smiled. ‘My idea of celebrating would be having a night off with a friend or two in a cosy restaurant with a nice meal and glass of wine, great conversation, maybe a movie, and then home to snuggle up with a cup of tea and a good book.’

  Joel grinned and laughed slowly. ‘You are quite the exciting woman, Olivia.’

  ‘Oh, stop. Everyone is different.’

  ‘I know, it’s okay. I think it’s cute. You’re cute.’

  Cute? As in charming cute or aesthetically cute? Charming of course, he was talking about behaviour, not appearance. But it made her realise that no guy had ever called her cute before. She’d been called pretty a few times, and ‘nice’, but that was about it.

  There was a moment of silence when they both chewed on their food and Olivia glanced around the street outside the café. It was fairly quiet with the usual locals wandering about, some children being rushed around by parents, their tiny legs trying to keep up.

  ‘How about we both think of some things you could do, and we can exchange ideas via text later. Then we’ll make the list, and it has to be ready by next week’s class at the latest.’

  ‘Sounds better, then I can think and not be put on the spot.’

  ‘And also, if you’re not keen on doing new and different things, try doing the same things differently.’

  She tilted her head. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Like any of your usual daily tasks, see if you can do anything in a different way than usual.’

  ‘Like with my non-dominant hand or something?’ She laughed, then picked up her water glass with her left hand and drank from it, widened her eyes, and gave a smirk of her own.

  He gave a little clap. ‘Well done. I bet that was hard. But yeah, anything that trains your brain to accept new experiences and new ways of doing things. Give it a try!’

  ‘Okay, mentor. That, I can do.’ Now she just had to try to remember and try to be creative in how she did things from now on. Maybe Mia could give her ideas; kids often did things in their own unique way.

  After finishing their meal and chatting about the course and her book and what else Tarrin’s Bay had to offer, Olivia stood. She went to grab her handbag then paused, a tiny smile forming on her lips. She lifted the bag and hung the strap over her left shoulder, instead of right. It felt weird, like it would fall off. She raised her eyebrows at Joel and flashed an accomplished grin.

  ‘What?’ he asked. ‘Am I missing something?’

  ‘I just did something differently.’

  ‘But what?’

  She sauntered past him and smiled. ‘See you at class on Tuesday, mentor.’

  She left him there at the table with a confused but amused look on his face as he tried to figure out what she’d done. She also realised that she had never really sauntered before. So maybe he was right, doing things differently was training her brain to accept new ways of doing things. It was only a small thing, but it was good to saunter instead of scurry. Just what would she do next?

  Chapter 9

  After a Saturday spent lifting weights at the gym, swimming in the indoor pool outside of town, and catching up with mates online and replying to various messages and emails, Joel grabbed his runners and tied his laces, then locked up the rental caravan where he was staying at the Tarrin’s Bay Beachside Cabins and Caravan Park. He attached his phone to the arm strap, put the headphones in, and carried his water bottle towards the beach. Along the way he waved to Emma, who ran the park, as she was exiting the house behind the reception office.

  ‘Nice evening for a run,’ she said.

  ‘Perfect,’ he replied. The sun was low and bright as it prepared to surrender, the wind cool and crisp.

  He walked up to the pathway and followed it towards the end of the park, then lodged his water bottle in a discreet spot near a sand dune. He continued up the path that curved around the headland and along the coastal track that led around the beaches and to the town. He glanced down at the speckled mosaic of sunlight on the ocean surface; his muscles warming up, he broke into a jog, then into a sprint as he went up the hill. Heat permeated his body and the breeze whooshed past him. He slowed and allowed his heart rate to lower, then sprinted again. After a few rounds of intervals, he changed direction and jogged, walked back to his water bottle, and took several big gulps from it. The sand surrendered beneath him as he sat and rehydrated, the sky turning from shades of blue to a blend of pinks, then deepening to muted reds and orange. He took his phone from his armband and snapped a few photos. He’d seen many sunsets, but they continued to amaze him … how the colours could just appear and mix together so perfectly like an accomplished artist’s painting.

  He wondered if Olivia took time out of her busy schedule to watch the occasional sunset. He texted and asked her.

  Sunsets? Um, not usually on purpose, just if I happen to see one on the way to somewhere or looking out the window.

  He replied: A sunset is not a backup performance, it’s a main act. Come down to the beach and have a look before it disappears.

  He remembered the sunset that night he thought it would be his last. It was blurry under his strained vision, but his mind tried to capture it as best as it could, both to distract from the pain and fatigue, but also to have one last good memory.

  No time, I’m having a very important discussion with Mia.

  Bring her too, he texted. This woman needed to live a life, not a schedule, and kids needed to experience life more organically too.

  There was no reply, so he sent her a photo of the sunset.

  By the time he’d returned to his caravan, his phone buzzed.

  Beautiful, thanks.

  He sent a smiley and added: Important discussion over?

  I bloody hope so!

  Care to enlighten me?

  He waited as the typing bubbles danced on his phone screen.

  She asked me how babies are made! She added a shock emoji at the end of the sentence.

  He chuckled. And?

  I explained it with a computer USB port and a 16-gigabyte memory stick.

  He burst out laughing, then replied: Ha-ha! Hilarious. Cybersex just got a whole lot more technical.

  She replied with an emoji in tears of laughter.

  Did you make a picture of a baby pop up on the screen when the memory stick was inserted?

  No, just a bunch of my book files. But I think she got the point. At least, she first said ‘eww’ then couldn’t stop giggling about it. She said she’s not going to do that at all in life and refuses to have any babies.

  This was entertaining. He told her so. And he also mentioned that she had explained the birds and the bees in a very different way than usual, adding to her new experiences list.

  After their chat, he opened the internet and looked for options for the next trip he would take after doing his next six-week course further south. Where to go, where to go? His foot tapped on the floor in anticipation.

  Lead me to a brand new adventure, life, he asked.

  And as he knew, when you asked, you very often received.

  * * *

  One more chapter, Olivia said to herself as she read One More Breath late that night. And at the end of that one more chapter, she had to read the beginning of the next chapter because there had been a cliffhanger. Not a literal one, though she was sure there would be one at some stage, but an emotional one. The chapter was talking about Joel’s earlier life and the impact on his journey as an independent traveller and adventurer.

  ‘Oh God,’ she said, her hand covering her mouth. ‘Oh, Joel.’
>
  His mother had died when he was seventeen, a victim of domestic violence. His stepfather had been convicted, but it had understandably changed his whole outlook on life, and taught him to grow up more quickly than his mates. Not yet old enough to live out of home, he went to live with an aunt until his eighteenth birthday then got a sales job and lived in a tent until he could afford to move into a share house, beginning his independent life.

  She read a bit more …

  My mother always stayed. Despite my urging her to move forward, to leave him and go somewhere new, she never listened. She stayed. And staying put was what got her killed.

  I knew from that day on that I would never stay anywhere long enough to get hurt by anyone. I would keep moving, for her. A symbolic way of doing what she hadn’t had the courage to do. That way, I would always be in control.

  I became addicted to starting over in new places, and eventually, to having new adventures and experiences that fuelled my adrenaline. I got used to the excitement and the spontaneity and never feeling bored. It kept me busy and entertained, never allowing any time to stop and think about all that had happened … to stop and feel all that had happened, all over again.

  There are always some memories in life we would rather forget.

  Chapter 10

  When Olivia and Mia arrived at the nursing home, they were asked to wait outside with Diana as Mrs May had a procedure done. Olivia told her mother to go and have a break while she spent time with her grandma, and Mia went with her to the nursing home café.

  She settled down in the chair. ‘How are you doing?’

  May nodded and managed a small smile. ‘Some days are harder than others, dear.’

  ‘Everything okay?’

  She nodded again. ‘It’s just tiring, being old.’ She chuckled a little.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay to talk to me today? Do you want me to leave you to rest?’

  ‘Not at all. I had a nap before the doctor came to do a check-up, while your mother occupied herself with this texting business. I hope that man of hers doesn’t let her down. You do know he’s younger than her, don’t you?’

  Olivia nodded. ‘Not by much. I think he’s been good for her. She’s never been fitter anyway!’

  ‘I think she sees how age has taken its toll on me and is trying to resist it as much as possible.’

  ‘Could be true,’ she replied.

  ‘And what about you, dear, any younger men in your life?’

  Olivia flicked her hand. ‘Oh, we don’t need to talk about that.’

  Mrs May turned her head slightly. ‘There is someone, isn’t there? You sound different.’

  ‘I do? Do I? I’ve been doing some things in … different ways, that’s all. Trying to get out of the same routine.’

  ‘And what has prompted this change, dear?’ Olivia went to speak but her grandma beat her to it. ‘A man, correct?’

  Olivia’s mouth opened in a small gape. ‘Well, not really. Sort of. He’s not a man in my life, just my writing teacher. For your book.’

  ‘Oh yes, how is that coming along? Did you get all the photos and notes from my old place?’

  Olivia nodded. ‘I have most of the information, and I’ll be speaking with Mum a bit more about those early days, when you were a young mother. So it’s just a matter of putting everything in order about your life and business. But what about these new details you’ve been giving me? Should I include them?’

  ‘The fire, yes, include that. But William? I’m not sure.’

  ‘I won’t if you don’t want me to. You can just fill me in for your own sake, and mine. It’s really very interesting.’ She smiled and patted her grandma’s hand.

  ‘Then again, Jacques isn’t around to read the book, is he? He knew William, of course, it being a small town, but only as an acquaintance. The man who served him sometimes at the general store and did occasional deliveries.’

  ‘And he never knew about the letters?’

  ‘No. I almost asked him outright back then if he was the writer, but I found out soon enough he wasn’t, so I didn’t have to. I found a sneakier way to discover the truth.’

  ‘Oh, really? How?’ Olivia sat up tall.

  Mrs May closed her eyes a few moments. ‘Everything started happening so quickly after the fire …’

  * * *

  May’s Memories, of surprises …

  I was filled with loss, but also with relief as Mother received medical care and survived, but her lungs were never the same again. The Chevalier family offered us the downstairs living quarters of their large house to stay in temporarily, until father could find us a new home. That was both wonderful and awkward, as I would sometimes bump into Jacques while in my nightgown when I needed to get a sip of water at night.

  William delivered a box of groceries without charge, for a few days after the fire, to help us all out. If the mail had not yet been brought inside, he would sometimes bring it in too. He was so nice. Though I had heard my mother and Mrs Chevalier discussing how he was one of those ‘types’ who would probably not amount to anything. I wished they wouldn’t speak that way about someone who was being so nice and helpful.

  It was on the fourth day after we moved in that Mrs Chevalier handed me the envelope and said, ‘mail for you, love.’

  I thought it was sweet that Jacques had written another letter, and had it arrive at his own house with the regular mail, to keep the charade going. He was closing up the tailor’s shop at the time the mail was brought in, so I wasn’t able to ascertain his reaction to seeing me receive it.

  I took it to my room and read …

  Dear Miraculous May,

  Miraculous, because you survived, and you helped your mother survive. You are an inspiration. Things will get easier, and you will all get back on your feet. Maybe you will end up in an even better house, with fruit trees and chickens and a wide verandah with views to the ocean. Or we could just run off together and live on the road, have great adventures and make our own way.

  Oh dear, I appear to be getting ahead of myself. I apologise. Unless … you want that? Of course not, you hardly know me. And you need to be there for your mother. But oh, the visions I can see in my mind as I sit here, a cup of tea in my right hand, the pencil paused above the paper in my left.

  You are a strong woman, and I know you are hurting from what happened, but I see how you raise your chin and get on with things. As I said … inspiring. Inspiring, special, unique, and miraculous.

  I am going to attempt a poem …

  May is sweet.

  She’s a real treat.

  Her eyes are sparkling gems,

  She’s good at taking up hems.

  Sorry! It’s not very good. But I know you are clever in all you do, so I am certain if you wrote a poem it would be much better than my offering. And if I am able to come up with something better, I will. Give me time.

  That is all for now, just a short note to let you know I still think you’re lovely.

  Until next time, keep smiling.

  Me.

  I loved the way he wrote the letter M, with rounded curves at the top instead of the usual slightly pointed tips, the way we had all been taught at school.

  I heard the front door open and Jacques’ voice as he spoke to his mother. I quickly hid the letter in the drawer housing my underwear and nightgown that had been bought with the donations received from people in the town. I decided I was thirsty and went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, smiling demurely at him on the way as he sat on the sofa in the living room.

  ‘How is everything?’ he asked.

  I peered through the kitchen door. ‘Very well, thank you. Your mother has been very wonderful, I’m so very grateful.’ I turned to face the kettle and cringed at my overuse of the word ‘very’, and hoped he didn’t notice.

  Mrs Chevalier re-entered the kitchen and held up a pile of books. ‘I’ve left some in your mother’s room, and I’ll leave the rest in yours. They are yours to keep. I k
now you had quite a book collection at home, so I would like to help you restart another.’

  My chin quivered then, as I remembered all the books that had burnt. The ones from my childhood, and the one I had hidden that first love letter in. ‘Thank you, that’s … you’re so …’ I covered my mouth as I tried to hold back tears I had somehow forgotten to release, in the aftermath of trying to keep my mother well and her spirits up.

  Mrs Chevalier approached me and gave my arm a rub. She wasn’t an overly affectionate woman, but was very (there I go again) kind and gentle. I felt like I needed a hug, but the arm rub was enough for now. She left the kitchen with the books and I wiped at my eyes then made my tea, not wanting Jacques to see me like that. I took my tea and was going to take it to my room when he said, ‘You are very welcome to take a seat in here to have your tea, if you like.’

  I stopped, my hand trembling slightly and rattling the teacup on the saucer. ‘Oh, thank you.’ And I wondered if his use of the word very was on purpose or if he also suffered the same affliction of overusing the word.

  I sat at the chair near the small side table, where I placed my teacup.

  ‘Anything interesting?’ I asked, gesturing at the newspaper he was reading.

  He flipped a couple of pages then shook his head. ‘Not really. I think I may have to find a good book of my own to read instead.’ He offered a small smile as he closed the newspaper and wandered to the other side of the room, trailing his hand along the spines of books on the shelves.

  ‘You like reading?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘What sorts of books?’

  ‘Mysteries, war stories, poetry,’ he replied.

  My heart shone bright and I bit my bottom lip. Poetry … Should I say something? I wondered.

  Mrs Chevalier walked past us. ‘I’ll be outside bringing in the laundry from the line,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, can I be of assistance?” I asked, standing.

  ‘No, you enjoy your tea.’ She smiled and exited the house.

  I sat and Jacques did too, a book in his hand.

  ‘What do you like to read, May?’ he asked me.