Idle Lies. Lian Knight
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life back.
How could he do this?
The kettle boiled but she held the button down, listening to the piercing whistle and watching the steam travel in swirls towards the ceiling. She felt strangely disoriented, detached from reality. Perhaps if she waited, her body too might release whatever was trapped inside, a silent numbness that was holding her tears and anger. She closed her eyes, but felt nothing except the hot droplets of moisture descending from the circling vapour. She stood motionless until her hand was burning, and when she could stand it no longer she let go of the button and put her fingers under the tap, feeling the cold, soothing water. But it was no use, the burning sensation had not given her a jolt. Her body still had a heaviness that extended far beyond a night of missed sleep.
Her eyes surveyed the room and the glimpse of the living area beyond. She would need to buy things. Mentally she began a list – she’d need a fridge, a couch and a TV, a washing machine, towels, sheets, knives and forks … and then there was outside. Her mind strayed to the garden and the long stretch of grass that met the picket fence. She’d need a mower. She wasn’t particularly handy with any type of maintenance activity and she’d never actually cut the grass. But mowing was just one of her problems. Matt had taken all of the tools.
She stretched her arms around her shoulders, resting her stinging hand gently against the soft fabric. A headache was building but there was nowhere to sit and ease it. She moved her fingers to her temples, stroking them gently. This was reality – her life with Matt was over. Even if he changed his mind and walked back in, the trust was gone. She’d always be wondering who now, what next. Her shoulders sagged. Staring at what was left and pining for what had been was not going to change it. She had to make a new start.
She took a deep breath and gathered her senses.
Right. She would deal with the essentials. A new fridge was number one. Then she’d get what she really needed – IKEA had rooms of household stuff and she could immerse herself just looking at the designs and colours while she thought about what she needed. She’d decorate this house in a fresh new style that reflected the new Kate. She’d make it a new home.
If he could have a new life, she could too.
Her struggling spirits lifted reluctantly, clearing the ground by a few inches before another weight brought them crashing down.
Loan repayments. What was she going to do about these? She couldn’t afford to buy anything with this burden and her mind became a blur just thinking about it. If she couldn’t manage these on her own, she’d have to sell the house.
The house would have to go. It was going to happen anyway. He’d want his half of the money and she couldn’t buy him out so there would be no choice. Selling a house was not something she had ever done, and she had no idea where to start. The pain in her temples descended to her chest and gripped it. She couldn’t contemplate this right now.
Breathe.
She took small gasps, holding the air a little longer each time until she could feel the muscles gradually release. She stared at the cooling kettle.
Yes, she would ring in and take the day off. She had to consider a new way forward, whatever that was, a life that reflected energy and vivacity. Shopping would at least be a distraction. She needed to be distracted or she would sit, and think … and cry.
Tears brimmed.
She looked at her watch through a watery haze and her heart sank. It was just 5.40. Only ten minutes had passed, and the stores would not open for several more hours. Waiting was not going to help. She needed to be busy, surrounded by noise and people and things to do. She needed to be at work.
Looking down, she realised she was already dressed for it.
The nurses station at the end of the corridor was alive with activity. A phone rang continuously, two visitors were asking questions and a printer whirred, spitting documents. An elderly man attached to a portable drip sat nearby in a narrow walkway reading the paper, a blanket covering his knees. Two trollies arrived simultaneously into the remaining space from opposite directions, and the orderlies stopped to work a way through without disturbing the array of medical equipment.
In room 44, Kate surveyed the clipboard at the foot of her patient’s bed and tried to concentrate on the notes the night shift had left. Her eyelids felt heavy, her shoulders ached and her head pumped like the symptoms of flu. Only this wasn’t a temporary illness.
This was forever.
She sighed and read for the third time that the last observation was at 2 am and that a Panadol was given at supper.
Her patient studied her intently, nestled under a pile of blue and white cotton blankets. Although a frail woman of ninety-four who looked every bit her age, she still had the eye of an eagle and the spirit of a crouching tiger. Her body might have been failing her, but her mind was not. She monitored the wellbeing of everyone who came in and out, and something was troubling this young woman.
‘What’s the matter, dear?’ she asked. Her voice crackled. ‘You’re not your normal self.’
Kate rested her hand on the page to keep the spot and looked up, her face suddenly saddening. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs McCloster. My husband left me yesterday.’
There it was. The words had tumbled out before she had a chance to gather and filter them. She admonished herself and the pain retaliated, returning to her chest with such vigour it threatened to paralyse her.
The old woman tried to push herself onto the pillows. Kate shut the file, reached in the cupboard and pulled a spare pillow from the top shelf, settling it carefully behind her patient.
‘Thank you, dear,’ she said, clearing her throat. Her words were barely audible. Kate waited while she composed herself.
‘Call me Betty,’ she said at last. ‘I understand. My husband left me too.’
Kate reeled slightly. ‘He did?’
‘A long time ago.’ she said gloomily. ‘The war was nearly over.’
Kate stood silently at the side of the bed. Betty was such a kind and thoughtful woman, Kate couldn’t imagine anyone leaving her. ‘Was he conscripted?’ she asked.
‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘He never went to war. He just emptied everything out of the house and moved in with the woman next door.’ She sank into the pillows, her face suddenly pale and drawn. Kate could see she was recalling the details as if it had only happened yesterday.
‘Oh, Betty,’ said Kate. She took the visitor’s chair from the window and pulled it across to the bed, seating herself on the edge of it. For a moment she contemplated how she would have coped with that. Her own husband leaving her for another woman was bad enough. Moving next door to live with her would be horrendous.
The old lady coughed a little and continued. ‘She was a clever businesswoman, rare for her time – she ran her own bookkeeping business. She was shrewd and cunning, and too good for her own boots. Older than my husband.’
An older woman. Would that be better or worse? She tried to imagine this Bridie person in another twenty to thirty years. What was it that attracted Matt to her? Was it her fresh looks or personality that tempted him? She couldn’t know – she realised she knew nothing about her. How old, how young, what she looked like was a mystery. Would he still want her when she was no longer his new fling? She couldn’t tell. Her muscles gave an involuntary flinch.
‘What did you do?’ she asked, adjusting the pillows.
Betty closed her eyes and then opened them again and gazed at Kate. ‘What could I do? He was twenty-five but I was just nineteen, with a tiny baby. I came home from church and the house was bare. I had no family to help me, we had just moved from Adelaide for Frank’s work,’ she said, almost hissing his name.
Kate’s