Me Without You (16 page)

2
9 October

I’ve had a few glasses of wine tonight, so my ramblings in this entry will probably be even more flowery than usual.

When Mum met Haruto she was cold and rude. Which was unfortunate because he was cold and rude too, and I ended up spending the entire lunch talking for the both of them. When Haruto got up at one point to go to the bathroom, Mum leant forward and whispered to me something along the lines of
have you lost your mind?

I’ll give my mum one thing: she always lets me make my own decisions. If she disagrees, she will certainly let me know, but she always supports me anyway. At so many crossroads, she’s begged me to go left when I wanted to go right, and then she’s walked with me even when I went right anyway. She never warmed to Haruto, but after that first meeting, she always made an effort. She didn’t want me to go to uni—she said there was almost no point me spending four years of my life studying when travelling the world could offer me so much more. But then, when the time came to move down to Sydney for classes, she bought everything I needed for my dorm room, and over the years not a semester went by when she didn’t try to buy my textbooks. All for something she thought was a waste of time. That’s just how Mum works. Peta’s biggest fan has always been Peta, but her pet project has always been me.

I knew she’d like Callum and I wasn’t wrong. He listened to her talk for hours tonight, he refilled our wine glasses, and he was affectionate with me— as he always is. And all the while there was a glint in my mother’s eyes that I’ve never really seen before. I think it was approval.

I like him
she whispered to me as we embraced when she was leaving.
Lilah, he is really fabulous. I’m so happy for you
.

And I’m happy too. Truly happy, maybe for the first time in my entire life. It feels right to have Callum here, meeting my family, deepening his place in my life. He fits here, in spite of the fact that he doesn’t know a carrot from a gum tree.

In another life, in another time, I’d marry Callum.

We’d get married somewhere scenic, maybe in the Blue Mountains, up near Mount Tomah where the botanic gardens are. There is a grassed clearing in the bush, way up high, overlooking an immense valley. We’d plan the ceremony for late afternoon, just as the golden sun was setting over the mountains behind us. Eucalyptus would hang heavily in the spring air. Callum would wear something fairly casual—a pair of dark grey slacks and a collared shirt, but no jacket or tie. He’d be nervous waiting for me, but he’d wait with his brothers, and they’d pat him on the back and make jokes to distract him. There’d be a small crowd there, not more than a dozen or so people, standing around us in a circle. I’d invite Bridget and Alan and maybe the paralegals if they hadn’t pissed me off that week. It could
be
that fluid because we wouldn’t plan some four-ringed circus. Cal and I would talk it out a few months in advance and then we’d email around a few days before and invite people to join us if they wanted to. Minimum bullshit.

I’d arrive on foot and I’d wear my hair out, in loose curls, and I’d probably don some make-up—but not a lot. I’d want Callum to
see
me while we made our vows, not some fake version of me. I’d wear a light-blue dress. Sure, it’s not to everyone’s tastes, but I always thought blue looks amazing against this forever-white skin and against my hair, besides which, I’m not exactly going to wear white. The dress would be heavy silk, fitted close to my body with a cowl neckline.

I wouldn’t wear shoes, and Callum would laugh riotously when I stepped onto the grassed clearing and he noticed. But as I walked towards him, I’d feel the soft grass under my feet and I’d be so very grateful for every part of the moment. I’d probably cry, maybe I’d weep in an undignified fashion and Mum, who would be walking me down the aisle, would roll her eyes. And she’d insist on singing a song for us too. Mum and her bloody singing.

The celebrant would keep it simple; in fact she’d probably only say a few words here or there. Callum and I would do most of the talking.

Afterwards we’d have a meal at a hall nearby. We’d set it up the night before over a few wines, decorating the rustic setting only with beautiful blue tulle and a few fresh flowers in recycled jam jars. The meal would be entirely plant-based, of course. Not an animal product in sight, except that Callum would probably sneak in some disgusting deli meat and eat it under the table when he thought I wasn’t watching.

Later we’d retreat to be alone at an isolated cabin somewhere lost in the national park, just me and Cal and a million trees and birds and bugs. He’d lose himself in me, and I’d lose myself in him, and we’d plan a life together, right down to how we’d expand the garden at the farm when we moved there to retire. Callum would have to learn how to tend it, because Leon and Nancy won’t be around forever, and God knows I’m no green thumb.

In another life, in another time—and lately when I find I can’t sleep—that other life and that other time is where I go. It’s at night that I’m at most risk of lying awake and looking for reasons to be scared. When I try to clear my mind for sleep, it rushes to speculate. Was that a twitch in my hand today when I was slicing the tomato? Did I forget the meeting because I’m busy, or because something misfired in my brain? Are my moods becoming erratic, and would I even know if they were?

I don’t miss the irony of it. I’m avoiding thoughts about the reason I
shouldn’t
be with Callum by
being
with Callum, and even distracting myself with fantasies about him. I suppose that shows the extent of the comfort I find in our relationship—that even when I could work myself up into an anxious ball of fear, I can calm myself down by daydreaming about a version of our life that cannot even be.

Six months ago, the thought of getting sick again passed my mind maybe once or twice a week, and it usually flittered past without leaving much in the way of concern. But these days, I think about it daily, and it’s increasingly easy to slip into a driving sense of anxiety about it. The shapes in the shadows keep morphing into monsters. There have been no definitive symptoms, nothing that I can’t explain away as being all in my imagination or just a side effect of pushing myself too hard. And maybe all of this fear is just because I have something to lose now. If I really was to slip out of remission, well…

It doesn’t bode thinking about, but my I keep looping back here anyway. If I wasn’t such a coward, I’d make an appointment at the clinic and have an assessment done. That might give me some peace of mind—but then again it might mean just the opposite, and that would mean that I would have to say goodbye to Cal.

I just can’t do that yet.

T
he east-facing
glass doors in the bedroom at the beach house led straight to the deck over the ocean. This meant a beautiful breeze was on offer day and night, but it also let rays of light beam into the room from the small hours. Apparently the orientation of the house was the natural enemy of the sleep-in.

While I woke as soon as the room was flooded with sunlight, Lilah slept on, and I was amused by our role reversal. She slept on her back, with her hands beneath her pillow and her elbows wide. I watched her sleep for a while and listened to the soft breaths she took, and wondered if here was the mysterious key I’d been searching for to helping Lilah find rest. All I had to do was bring her home.

She slept until well after eight, and given that at Manly she was generally out of bed and doing something by six, I considered this a significant lie-in. And even once she was up, instead of her usual million-miles-an-hour race to productivity, Lilah made a coffee and then sat at the breakfast bar wearing only one of my shirts. Then, to my shock, she sat and read for leisure for the first time since I’d met her, even though it was just the news on her iPad.

‘No work this morning?’ I prompted. She raised an eyebrow at me.

‘It’s the weekend.’

‘You always work on the weekend.’

‘Not when I’m here.’

After a while, she dressed in a loose-fitting T-shirt and shorts, and left her hair in a long plait over her shoulder. There was a special glow about Lilah at the coast and she was beaming and radiant, excited about the day ahead.

‘Leon and Nancy want to meet you; they’ve invited us over for breakfast.’

‘You told your caretakers about me but not your mother?’

‘Just go get dressed,’ she grinned. ‘You’re going to love them.’

We wound our way down the driveway and across the road, to the small brick home Leon and Nancy occupied. They greeted Lilah from their front porch like she was a long-lost family member.

‘Lilah, it’s so bloody good to see you.’ Leon walked down the cement steps to embrace her in a bear hug. ‘This must be Callum.’

‘Nice to meet you.’ I shook his hand, and his grey eyes twinkled.

‘And it’s just lovely to meet you. A friend of Lilah’s is a friend of ours. But, good lord, please tell me you eat bacon and eggs.’

I laughed and winked at Lilah.

‘Now
this
is more like it.’

Nancy wore heavy-canvas camouflage-pattern cargo pants and a singlet shirt, and I couldn’t quite figure out if she was trying to dress like a teenager, or if this was the practical uniform of someone who would spend the rest of the day in a garden. The weathered lines in her tanned face told me she was no stranger to the sun.

‘Don’t you worry, Lilah. I’ll make you vegetable tortillas for breakfast.’

‘Thanks, Nancy.’

‘We grew mushrooms under the house.’ Nancy explained, leading the way along the veranda to the front door. ‘It’s true what they say: you really do treat them like a husband.’

‘Like a husband?’ Lilah prompted, although I suspect she knew where Nancy was headed.

‘She means you grow them in the dark and feed them on bullshit.’ Leon sighed, but his sigh was almost contented, as if this was a joke fondly held over decades.

‘If you grow them in manure, does that make them non-vegan?’ I asked. Leon and Nancy laughed. Lilah raised an eyebrow at me.

‘Oh, you’re a purist vegan now, are you?’

‘Hey, with a bit of luck I’m about to eat half a pig—don’t call me a vegan. I was only looking out for your best interests, Ly.’

‘I like you already, young Callum,’ Leon said as he offered me a seat at the laminate teak dining table. The chairs were lemon vinyl, and the carpet was mottled brown shag. It was like I’d stepped back into my childhood home, which is probably why Leon’s use of the word
young
didn’t strike me as odd. ‘I’m guessing you’re not an environmentalist like our Lilah.’

‘I work on the other side of environmentalism. I keep the environmentalists in business by feeding the corporate machine.’ I said, and at his blank stare, I clarified, ‘I’m in advertising.’

‘How exciting.’ Nancy had stepped into the kitchen and I heard the click and whir of a gas stove firing up. ‘Leon used to work in the corporate world before we retired.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, I was managing director for a manufacturer. My, those were the days, back when whitegoods lasted a lifetime or more,’ he chuckled and rose. ‘Tea? Coffee?’

‘Coffee, please. And what did you do, Nancy?’

‘Me? Oh, I just raised the kids.’

‘Just.’ Leon repeated. ‘Yep, Nancy
just
stayed home with our five children while I worked. I tell you what—I used to get a forty-hour-a-week holiday compared to what she did for a living.’

‘Five kids, hey?’

‘And eleven grandchildren now, and five great-grandchildren—so far; I’m sure there’ll be more.’ Nancy was busy with a frying pan, but she gestured towards a vague point behind herself with a shoulder. ‘There’s a picture up there.’

I glanced past Lilah to a large framed photograph in the middle of the dining-room wall. Standing in the centre of a sea of people, Leon and Nancy beamed. I looked from their middle-aged children and their spouses to the broader smiles of the younger generation.

‘Wow.’

I wondered how it felt to be able to look at a frame on a wall and see the sum total of your life’s legacy within it. I looked at Lilah and found her staring right back at me. When I smiled, she looked away, and I wondered what she was thinking.

‘It was easier to have a family back in our day. You kids these days get to a point in your life where you try to have babies; we spent pretty much our whole life trying
not
to have babies—and sometimes we failed.’

‘Oh, Nancy,’ Lilah finally broke her silence. ‘I have a feeling you’ve never made a single move in your whole life that wasn’t premeditated.’ She glanced at me. ‘Don’t let the sweet-old-lady act fool you, Cal—Nancy is one of the smartest people I know. ‘

‘I can hear you, you know,’ Leon feigned offence.

‘And Leon is one of the second-smartest people I know.’ Lilah winked at him.

‘That’s better. I think.’

‘One egg or two, Callum?’ The bacon was beginning to sizzle and the salty smell was tantalising, so thick that I felt almost like I could fill myself up just by breathing it in.

‘Just one, please.’

‘They’re from our chooks,’ Leon said. ‘The free-est free-range you’ll ever taste. Nancy just about handfeeds the bloody things.’

‘How on earth do you have time for handfeeding chooks when you look after that mega garden across the road?’ I asked.

‘Well, the garden just about takes care of itself these days,’ Leon informed me. ‘I mean, we spend a few hours here or there pruning or weeding or what have you, but it’s really no bother and we make a lot of money selling the produce at the farmers’ markets. We get more out of the deal than Lilah here does.’

‘Yeah, I get a really rough deal,’ Lilah laughed. ‘You spend hours every day tending the garden, and I pop up for a weekend every few months and fill up my car with fresh veggies. Poor me.’

‘It’s keeping us young,’ Nancy said. ‘We’d be withering up like prunes by now without that garden. We used to wonder how your grandparents stayed so spritely Lilah—maybe there’s magic in the dirt there.’

‘Maybe it’s less magic than it is excellent diet and hours of strenuous exercise.’

‘Whatever it is, we’re grateful for it. We’re making enough money from the markets to pay for Zach’s board and tuition at uni.’

‘Zach is your grandson?’ I prompted.

‘He’s going to be a doctor. Says he’s going to go work in Africa when he’s qualified,’ Leon slid mugs of coffee in front of both Lilah and I.

‘He’ll do it, too,’ Nancy added. ‘He’s got a one-track mind, that child.’

‘What’s on in the garden, Leon?’ Lilah asked.

‘Strawberries have gone nuts this year; there are thousands of them. The salad greens are ready now too; wait till you taste this season’s cucumbers—so sweet they should be a dessert.’

‘Yum.’

‘We made a small bucketload of money selling zucchini flowers last week at the market,’ Nancy added. ‘All these crazy young people with silly haircuts and old-style clothes. Who eats flowers? Not that we mind, I suppose.’

‘I eat flowers all the time,’ Lilah pointed out.

‘That’s different: you only eat a few things, you’re entitled to make the most of them. At least you’re not stuffing them with quinoa and pork liver or some such rubbish.’

Lilah grimaced.

‘Ha, I feel sorry for you guys and your crappy, salt-and-fat-laden bacon and eggs,’ she snorted.

‘I’ll take your pity as long as I get some of that bacon soon,’ I said.

‘Not long, Callum,’ Nancy assured me. ‘We’ll fill ourselves up and then take you two for a show-and-tell of where the produce is up to. Then I hope you realise you’ll be getting to work.’

S
he’d worn
plastic garden shoes to Leon and Nancy’s house, but as soon as we’d crossed the road and were back in her own garden, Lilah kicked them off. I opened my mouth to point out the risks of sunburn to the top of her feet or injury from rocks or god knows what in the garden, and she raised her eyebrows at me.

‘I give up.’

‘Finally,’ she grinned.

‘If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em?’ Leon suggested.

‘The soles of Callum’s feet are so soft and delicate that when he walks on tiles, he weeps.’ Lilah took my hand in hers as she teased me.

‘Differences make relationships interesting.’ Nancy was still a few feet in front of us, mostly because she walked as if she was on a life-critical mission. Leon was behind us, strolling and stopping constantly to look closely at leaves or pick up stray bits of bark. I wondered how the two of them ever managed to arrive at the same place at the same time. As we meandered around the garden and through the orchard, I stopped wondering and started marvelling. Leon and Nancy constantly finished each other’s sentences and moved from sharp disagreement to contented laughter in a heartbeat. The tension of difference swung to the comfort of sameness and back constantly. Leon and Nancy together formed a mosaic, each piece of their life reflecting compromise, negotiation, warmth, passion—and overall making up the picture of a unique but remarkable relationship

I’d been carrying my camera with me all morning, and finally began to take a few photos. I tried to focus on the garden itself, but the three people sharing it with me begged for my lens’s attention. I took candid shots of Leon brushing a leaf off Nancy’s shoulder, and Nancy embracing Lilah spontaneously as they reminisced about the time she got stuck at the top of a pecan tree as a teenager.

‘Leon and Lilah’s grandfather were debating whether to call the fire brigade when Lilah here decided she’d had enough of tree life and climbed back down as if it was nothing. That was not long after you came to live here, Lilah, and you were finding it very difficult to settle in at school. If your gran and pa hadn’t already been grey, they would have been by then.’ Nancy shook her head. ‘But then again, we knew you’d be trouble the day you were born. No newborn should have that much red hair.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Bash the redhead,’ Lilah sighed. ‘I’m not nearly as fiery as you are, you old goose.’

They hugged easily in spite of the barbs. I quickly caught a shot of them mid-embrace.

‘And don’t think I haven’t noticed you taking photos of me, Callum. I’m hardly at my best,’ Nancy raised her eyebrows at me. ‘We have a saying in this garden: it’s an hour’s work for every photo—and I’m about to call your debt in.’

‘Please do. I’m eager to get my hands dirty.’

‘But not your feet,’ Lilah laughed, and it was contagious.

‘All right you two, go weed the vegetable patch. We need to go pick some fruit for the market tomorrow so we’ll see you later.’

‘Absolutely. And thanks for breakfast,’ Lilah kissed Leon and Nancy on the cheek and took my hand. ‘Let’s see what you’re made of, city boy.’

W
e worked quietly
for a long time, side by side on the ground. The vegetable ‘patch’ was immense, but it was obviously maintained with military precision. The sparse weeds were all new, I’d guess only a few days old at most. As I plucked them from the moist dirt, I thought about Leon and Nancy and how much they reminded me of my parents.

‘They say the things that attract you to a person eventually become annoying,’ Lilah said suddenly. She was standing across a row of seedlings, her bare feet on either side of the plants. When I looked up at her from the weed I’d been removing, she wriggled her toes in the dirt and then raised a filthy foot to me and laughed.

‘That was annoying from the first moment I met you,’ I assured her.

‘You have some annoying traits too, you know.’

‘Oh, really?’ I threw a small weed at her, and she fumbled to catch it and sighed when it landed on her lap. ‘At least I’m not clumsy.’

‘Yeah, yeah. But your hair doesn’t grow.’

‘Of course it grows.’

‘It’s always the same length.’

‘I have it cut pretty often. The curls get frizzy if I let them loose.’

‘How often is
pretty often
?’

I cleared my throat.

‘Does it matter?’

‘Fortnightly?’

‘Weekly.’ There was a little salon opposite my office; I visited on my lunchbreak on a Friday and had done for years.

‘Callum!’ Lilah was laughing a little too hard. ‘You’ve had more haircuts this year than I’ve had in my entire life.’

‘I have no problem at all putting effort into my appearance.’

‘You wax your chest, don’t you?’

‘Does
that
matter?’

‘Of course it doesn’t. Do you?’

‘Maybe.’ I hated chest hair. And back hair, but if she hadn’t noticed that, I wasn’t about to point it out to her.

‘I knew it!’ she squealed, almost with delight. ‘Do you ever get the feeling that I’m the male in this relationship?’

‘On more than one occasion the thought has crossed my mind. Having said that, I hardly expected
you
to stereotype.’