Lessons From Ducks (8 page)

And when there were no more tears left inside, when she was weary to the bone and devoid of all energy, she lay down with her cheek against the cool earth, and she imagined she was lying with them once again.

Chapter ten

Nearly knock off time, Matt noted, switching off the mower slowly and letting it idle down to quietness. He used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat that had accumulated on his hairline before it could run down into his eyes and sighed. He loved working outside, but there were times he missed the air conditioner in his old office. Not the office, nor the people or the job that came with it. Just the air conditioner. Perhaps I should have ripped it off the wall when I left, he thought with a smirk. Would have been a better leaving gift than the potted fern and twenty dollar gift card for Harvey Norman they’d given him. What the hell was he supposed to buy from there for twenty dollars? A door knob? Perhaps a half price reduced WELCOME HOME door mat? The card was still in his wallet somewhere, but now that he thought about it he realised it had probably long expired. Oh well.

“Are we done now dad?”

“Nearly, I’ve just got to spray those weeds poking through the fence then we can get out of here. Can you hold out for another ten minutes?”

Oscar sighed dramatically. “I don’t know. I’m pretty hungry.”

Matt laughed. ‘You’re always hungry! Soon I’m going to need two jobs just to be able to afford to feed you.”

“If you learnt how to cook we wouldn’t have to spend so much on takeaways.”

“You know what happened last time we attempted that.”

“We?”

Matt ignored him. “I’m thinking of your safety. You think I like eating takeout all the time? No one warns you how dangerous cooking can be,” he said darkly.

“That only happened because you had the tray too high in the oven and the oil splattered on to the elements. It was just smoke.”

‘It was just bloody scary, is what it was. Smoke alarms going off everywhere, flames licking the ceiling.”

“There were no flames.”

“But there could have been though, couldn’t there? Another few minutes and the whole place would have gone up.”

‘You’re exaggerating.”

“I don’t exaggerate, not when it comes to your safety.”

“Whatever. So what’s for dinner tonight?”

“I thought I’d let you choose this time.”

“I chose last time. We had Chinese.”

“And it was delicious wasn’t it? That’s why I’m letting you pick again.”

The prospect of choosing dinner brightened Oscar up, and he sat back on the grass with his back against the church to give the matter some serious deliberation.

Matt, sensing he’d temporarily placated his son, pushed the lawnmower around the front of the church to where his truck and trailer were parked, and after securing the lawnmower to the trailer with a chain and padlock – you could never be too careful - he got his spraying apparatus out of the back of his truck and shrugged the straps onto his shoulders. It had been a hot day; he was looking forward to knock off and a beer. It was his week on with Oscar and he didn’t like to work late on those weeks, but the lawns at the cemetery and bowling greens had experienced rapid growth after a summer rainstorm, and hence needed cutting ahead of his scheduled visit.

The council employed him to maintain their properties around town, such as the cemetery, the greens and, once a month, the racecourse. He also looked after the lawns outside the council building and eight roundabouts dotted throughout town, plus a few other properties as well, and the whole lot kept him busy. It was certainly a change to working in the office, but a good one, and although the pay was about half of what he used to earn, he considered the sacrifice worth it. Besides, his needs were simple. Food in the fridge – and the odd bottle of beer on hot weekends - and making sure Oscar had everything he needed; these were the only things he concerned himself with these days. Now that his wife was no longer in the picture wanting new clothes, a bigger telly, or to renovate the lounge for the third time in twelve months, money wasn’t such an issue.

Making his way back around the church and towards the fence that separated it from the bowling green his attention was caught by a figure near the back of the cemetery. The woman – even at this distance the long hair and delicate form were unmistakable - was lying prone on the ground atop one of the graves he had mown only an hour or so before. The sight of someone lying on top of a grave was slightly unnerving, and he turned quickly to check that Oscar was still where he had left him. He was, and when he saw his father look his way he called out something that looked a lot like ‘hurry up’, but the wind carried it off in the other direction so he couldn’t be sure.

He walked over to the fence, head bowed in the pretence of fiddling with the on switch of his spray nozzle, but at the same time he was peeping out under his lashes to watch the person in the distance. Were they ok? Should he maybe go and check on them? He decided he should leave well enough alone, after all people came to cemeteries to grieve, not to be bothered by well-meaning strangers.

He started spraying and promptly forgot about her, busy making sure he got every tendril of Ivy that had worked its way through the cracks in the fence. Left unchecked, he knew it wouldn’t be long before the fence was more Ivy than wood, and although that kind of wild, untamed look didn’t bother him, it did bother the Reverend who preferred his cemetery remain creeper free. He was half way down the fence when he heard his name called, and straightened up to look back at the church in the direction the voice had come from. Even though the weary sun was sinking lower in the sky it was still bright enough to impair his vision, and he held his hand up to shade his eyes. The Reverend himself had emerged from the back door of the church and was making his way over to him, smiling broadly and nodding as he surveyed Matt’s work.

“Matt,” he smiled, offering a hand. “I don’t know how you do it, but as usual the place is looking marvellous. It always does when you’ve finished with it.”

“Thanks Reverend.”

“Please, call me John. Tell me, how do you get the grass so green? I used to pay someone to mow my lawn but my wife bought me a mower last Christmas so I’ve started doing it myself. I quite enjoy it, very peaceful pastime, but my blasted grass is getting browner and browner. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Any tips?”

“It could be a variety of things Rev -”

“John.”

“ - sorry, John. What level have you got your blades on?”

John gave him a blank look. “Level?”

“You know, the lever on the side that makes the blades go up and down. What have you got it set on?”

“There’s a lever that makes your blades go up and down?”

“Um, yes. On the side. Near one of the back wheels usually.”

John sagged. “Oh. I think I’ve seen that. Had no idea what it was for so I haven’t touched it.”

Matt shrugged. “That could be your problem. If the level’s too low you might have scalped your grass.”

“Oh dear. Sounds painful.”

“It’ll kill it, that’s for sure.”

“How can I fix it?”

Matt shrugged. “Depends how far gone it is. Leave it for a few weeks, let it get some rain.” He looked up at the clear sky. “Hell, even give it water from the hose if you need to, council restrictions be damned.” Then the language he had just spoken caught up to his ears. “Shit, sorry Rev,” he apologised, then winced when he realised he’d sworn again. “I didn’t mean to say the H word.”

John laughed. “It’s alright Matt, I’ve heard worse. Right, I’d better not hold you up anymore. I can see Oscar is waiting. Thanks for the advice, I’ll give it a shot.”

“No problem.”

John started back towards the church but had only gone a metre or two before he stopped suddenly.

“Oh Matt,” he turned around, “what level should I set the lever on?”

“Start with six and see how you go, Five at a push, but I wouldn’t go any lower than that. As well as scalping it, if you go too low prickles will invade.”

“Six it is then. Wonderful. Thank you Matt.”

Matt watched John walk back to the church and when he was safely out of earshot he allowed himself a chuckle. ‘I guess we’re all clueless about something or other,’ he mused aloud. He hoisted the spray pack a little higher and readied himself to finish the job. But just as he faced the fence a movement by the church caught his eye. A woman, the same woman who had been lying on the grave, he could see by her clothes. She was nearly out of sight, heading up the path around the church that would lead her back to the road. There was something about her, something familiar, and he frowned as his mind worked to place it.

Anna.

She had her hair tied up today but it was her, he was almost certain.

“Anna!” he called, but the woman kept walking. If anything, she sped up.

“Anna!” he tried again, louder. And this time the wind favoured him and carried his voice right to her and she paused, hovering, just before she was about to disappear from sight around the church. She didn’t turn though, not straight away, which made him doubt whether she
had
heard him, or if it had been something else that had caused her to pause.

But then she slowly turned and looked straight at him, only for a second, before whirling and disappearing quickly from his view.

It was her. He was sure. Maybe she hadn’t recognised him from this distance? Or maybe she simply wasn’t in the mood for talking. He remembered the sadness in her eyes and her voice that day he had met her at the playground, and he thought about the toys at her house and the man’s shirt he had noticed on the floor in a corner. There had been no photos, he had checked while she was outside with Oscar. No frames on the walls or dotted around shelves, nothing - apart from the shirt and the toys - to indicate another presence in her life.

He finished the rest of the fence quickly, mulling over the mystery as he worked. Perhaps she was widowed? But then how did that explain the shirt on the floor? She didn’t seem an untidy person. It didn’t seem likely she would just leave things lying around for any great length of time.

And the toys, did she have a child? Or were they there for the use of visiting nieces and nephews? If that was the case, why did she go all funny when Oscar brought them up?

No, there was definitely more to her story than met the eye. And although his brain was telling him to run and leave well enough alone, he knew it was already too late. He had to find out more about her.

Finishing the spray, he waved and shouted out to Oscar – “one minute,” but Oscar had his nose buried in a book he’d checked out from the school library– a book which, as he’d made a point of showing his father, happened to be about ducks - and either didn’t hear him or chose not to acknowledge he had.  Matt walked to the back of the cemetery, the same area he had mown earlier, and tried to remember exactly where Anna had been. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t sure which row she’d been in, and he wasn’t sure which grave she’d been visiting. He read some of the names on the headstones to see if he could garner any clues, but nothing leapt out at him as obvious. He didn’t even know her last name, he realised. In the end he gave up. The shadows from the trees were lengthening and the sky was turning light purple, like a three day old bruise.

He walked back to the church and his son. Anna could keep her secrets to herself a little while longer.

“Come on,” he said to Oscar. This place, with the desperate longing and love and grief and sadness that tainted the air so you could actually taste it, left him with a feeling of melancholy that always lingered long after he drove away. It made him want to scoop his son up into his arms and squeeze him as tight as he possibly could and never let go.

“Finally.” Oscar got to his feet.

“What did you decide on for dinner?” Matt asked, slinging an arm over his son’s shoulders, half expecting him to shrug it off as parental public displays of affection had been outlawed in recent years. But whether he sensed his father’s melancholy, or whether their surroundings had got to him as well, Oscar let it hang there, even closing the distance between them slightly, his arm bumping against his father’s leg every second step.

“Pizza,” he said. “I feel like pizza.”

“Now see why I left the choice up to you? I would never have thought of something as delicious as that. Pizza it is.”

Chapter eleven

As soon as the first hints of light illuminated the room on Saturday morning Anna was up, drawing back the curtains to admire the dawn just starting to edge out the darkness. She arched her back until it clicked into place, walking barefoot across the soft carpet to the drawers where she selected a green and white striped onesie, one of those all in one baby outfits with the feet attached. She remembered how it used to take a marathon effort to get all four flailing limbs in successfully. Often, she remembered with an ache, she would bend and twist and poke and, red faced from the effort, manage to get one leg in, but before she could make a start on the other, Presto! The first leg would be triumphantly waving somewhere near her left ear, having wiggled its way out again, and her golden haired child would lie there gurgling up at her with great mirth.

She lifted the onesie to her face and inhaled the scent of it. His smell had long gone, despite her best attempts to preserve it, and the cloth smelt slightly musty from being cooped up in a drawer, unworn. The thought of time moving on, a million dawns and dusks and births and deaths and changing of seasons, while these clothes stayed at a standstill, broke her heart, and her throat heaved up a sodden gulp.

“No,” she shook her head, swallowing it back down. “I can’t do this. I can’t think like that.” She left the room without a backward glance, pulling the door closed behind her. Those thoughts would lead her back into a dark place where she’d dwelled too long already; where madness was but one heartbeat away and thoughts of leaping off bridges came as often as breaths.

She showered, not bothering to blow-dry her hair, merely sweeping it up messily into a loose ponytail and securing it with a frayed elastic band. At her wardrobe she took great delight in thumbing her nose up at the horrible green and grey skirts and shirts, and pushing them to the side she selected a plain red t-shirt and a pair of white shorts. There were on the shorter side than what she deemed publicly acceptable, as she wasn’t terribly confident when it came to showing off so much of her legs – spidery veins from her pregnancy still marked her skin in places like roads on a city map – but she would be in the garden, she figured, and no one would see.

Downstairs the radio informed her – while she waited for the kettle to boil - that overnight another famous cricketer had been charged with match fixing and a rare baby panda had been born in a Chinese zoo. It had been christened Tai Shan, a name Anna thought had a pretty ring to it.

She stood in front of the kitchen window drinking her coffee and watching as the day spread itself out, streaks of vivid yellow, pink and orange staining the horizon. The dawn chorus was already out in force, and she turned the radio off and pushed open the window so she could admire their song while she washed her cup and bowl and set them on the big wide bench to air dry.

Things never took as long when there was just the one of you, she reflected. She remembered a time when she had bemoaned the unwelcome sight of a mess in her kitchen; a pile of dishes, food smeared across the bench and unidentified stains on the floorboards.

If only she’d known then how much she would one day long for that sight.

If she
had
known, she would have shrugged off the dishes, left them to be done ‘later.’ She would have sat at the bench and joined in the laughter as her husband attempted to feed their son and the mess itself was created. 

But of course she didn’t know. No one had the ability to know what was coming. That was the whole pointless point. The knowledge that the world can be turned upside down in a moment was what kept her from sleeping, or subscribing to a magazine, or biting her tongue in waiting rooms instead of telling a man what an idiot he is. It kept her from becoming a fully functional paid up member of society again, not that this bothered her because it didn’t, not in the slightest. For Anna, life had become about getting through each day. She refused to plan any further ahead than that. Yes, she had made the decision not to wallow in the past anymore for fear of where that might lead her, but she was determined not to allow optimism to worm its way in either.

She existed.

It would have to be enough. 

Dishes done, clothes and toys scattered, she opened the back door and was greeted by a loud chorus of QUACKS.

“Morning,” she said cheerfully. “Sleep well I trust?”

‘QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK’

“Now now,” she shushed them as she tipped the murky water from the bowl – accompanied of course by deep sigh and a pointed look at the unrepentant culprits – “we’ve discussed this before. Yes, I’m sure you would be more comfortable inside the house, but no, that’s not going to happen. Can you imagine what the neighbours would think?”

‘QUACK’

“Well you might not care, but I know they’re just waiting for me to become the odd lady who wears cardigans and keeps forty cats. I’ve seen the way their curtains twitch when I arrive home each night.” She fetched a load of bread from inside the house and started to throw it on the lawn for them.

‘QUACK’

“Oh,” she stopped, hand still in bag, “you’re absolutely right. I just said ‘keep’ cats, didn’t I?”

‘QUACK’

“How odd. The conversation from the other day must be still on my mind.”

‘QUACK QUACK QUACK’

“Keep your feathers on.” She finished throwing more bread to them. “You know, you lot really need to work on your gratitude. I feel as if this relationship is very one sided.”

But the ducks had stopped listening and were busy devouring their food.

“Right, ok then.” She wandered across the lawn to where Mrs Dudley was, dragging the heavy lawn chair out a tad to squeeze through.

“Good morning, mother to be,” she said.

‘QUACK’

‘How are the babies today?”

‘QUACK QUACK’

“Good. I keep meaning to tell you that you’re doing a splendid job. I know it’s not easy, giving up your lifestyle and um, career I suppose, to raise a family. I know there are sacrifices to be made, but it’ll be worth it in the end, I promise.”

‘QUACK’

“You wait, the first time you lay eyes upon their fluffy little faces you’ll forget any –,”

Here Anna stopped and sat back on her heels. Did ducks feel pain when laying eggs? She had no idea. She leant forward again.

“– well you’ll forgive them anything.”

‘QUACK QUACK QUACK’

“Yes of course, sorry.” Anna reached into the bag for the last few slices she’d reserved for Mrs Dudley and threw them just out of reach. Mrs Dudley looked at her enquiringly.

“Yes I’ll watch them, you enjoy your breakfast. But don’t take all day, I have things I want to do.”

Mrs Dudley clambered stiffly up onto her webbed feet and headed gratefully for the bread. Anna sat back on the cool damp grass and watched fondly as she ate and joined the other ducks for a drink and a morning dip in the water bowl.

“Oh come on, seriously guys? I just changed that water. And right in front of me too,” she tutted.

Closing her eyes she enjoyed the stillness of the morning, while most of the world around her was still slumbering. She’d never been a morning person in the past. In fact, up until a few years ago she’d never even seen a sunrise, none that she could recall with any great clarity anyway. These days she found it the most beautiful part of the day, especially on days like this when she felt as if she were the only person awake in the world to enjoy the peace. She stretched her arms up to the heavens and took in a deep breath, before expelling it slowly, letting her arms settle back down against her sides.

“Oi knob, walk on your own side of the path.”

“Shut up dick. I’ll walk where I wanna walk.”

Anna sighed. Living next to a big empty section that was a popular shortcut to town had its drawbacks.

“Don’t call me dick, you dick.”

“But you are a dick, so what else am I gonna call you eh?”

There was an ‘Oouf’ sound as one of the boys pushed the other, and then the voices dwindled off into the distance, the word ‘dick’ still occasionally travelling back to her on the breeze.

Mrs Dudley returned and assumed the position with a weary look at a sympathetic Anna. “Sorry. If I could sit on them for a day to give you a break, I would I promise,” Anna told her, before heading for the garden shed. Her quick step and ramrod straight posture echoed the determination she felt, after all, she had been looking forward to this day all week and she was not going to waste a minute of it. A to do list had been drawn up in chalk on the blackboard that hung in a corner of the kitchen and she had no intention of calling it a day until each and every item had been crossed off.

She started by trimming the box hedges out front, which took her the best part of an hour and a half. Lopping off the last stray branch, she straightened and noticed that the sky was now bright blue but covered by a fine layer of cloud, as if someone had draped a sheer piece of chiffon over it.

By the time Anna finished mowing the lawns it was lunchtime, and the fine layer of cloud was long gone; burnt off by the heat of the sun. Grateful for the coolness of her kitchen, Anna made herself a sandwich – ham, lettuce, tomato and cheese with a small dollop of mayonnaise – and drank down two large glasses of water thirstily. She swapped the T-shirt for a tank top and rubbed a generous amount of SPF 50 sunscreen into all exposed areas of skin. The pale and insipid look might not be terribly fashionable, but she preferred it to melanoma.

Back outside she was a little dismayed to feel that the sun had cranked the dial up even further. She liked summer, but she wasn’t a fan of looking and feeling a bit like a boiled crab.

Earlier in the week she’d visited the paint shop on a lunch break and, after careful deliberation, had chosen a shade called Oyster shell. It was a soft blue/grey that she felt would enhance the beauty of the gardens surrounding it. Using a screwdriver to prise the lid off the tin, Anna dipped her paint brush in and started on the gate arch.

It wasn’t long before she could feel sweat trickling down between her shoulder blades. When it reached the top of her shorts it paused momentarily as if unsure, before continuing on its journey south, causing her to squirm uncomfortably as it ventured its way into places she really would rather it didn’t. A quick check over her right shoulder to make sure Mrs Gilbert wasn’t out in her front yard – coast was clear – before she adjusted her shorts and pushed against the material to stop the sweat in its tracks.

“Ahem. Do excuse us,” said a voice behind her left shoulder.

She jumped, yanking her hand away from her bottom area, and turned in the direction the voice had come from.  

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s rude to sneak up on people?” she asked crossly, embarrassed at being caught in such an undignified situation.

“If she did I obviously forgot,” he grinned unapologetically. He crouched down and with his hands on Oscars shoulders turned the boy to face him. He eyed him seriously.

“Learn from this, Oscar,” he said. “Make plenty of noise when approaching a woman,
especially
on a public street in broad daylight. They startle easily, like deer. Sing a song or bang a drum or something.”

Anna frowned. He was making fun, but she could hardly call him what she felt like calling him, not in front of his son. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

Matt stood up and rolled his eyes. “I’ve had this annoying little voice in my head all day, nagging at me to come here.”

“You’ve been hearing a voice?”

“He means me.” Oscar said.

“Oh.” Anna wasn’t sure what to think about that. While the knowledge that Oscar had asked his father to visit her gave her a pleasant feeling of warmth in her chest, she also felt that lines were being crossed somewhere.

“Don’t feel too flattered,” Matt added, sensing her thoughts. “It’s not you he wants to see.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Show her your book,” Matt nudged Oscar, who held out a large book he’d been hugging to his chest. ‘New Zealand Ducks’, the cover read, accompanied by a large photo of a few ducks beside a lake.

The penny dropped. “You’re here to see the ducks?”

“If it’s ok with you,” Matt held up a hand questioningly. “I can see you’re busy but we won’t stay long and we’ll keep out of your way. He just wants to sit and watch them awhile, don’t you Oscar?”

“Yes please,” Oscar agreed.

She studied his hopeful little face. How could she possibly say no?

“You’d be doing me a huge favour” Matt persisted, “he hasn’t shut up about them all week and it’s driving me a little mental, to be honest. We brought our own snacks this time,” Matt threw in his final sales pitch. He held up a small blue backpack. “Like I said, you won’t even notice we’re here.”

“Snacks?” she echoed doubtfully. It sounded to her like they were in for the long haul.

Matt shrugged. “What can I say? He gets hungry often.”

“We brought some bread for the ducks too,” Oscar added eagerly.

Anna caved. “Go on then,” she said, opening the gate carefully by touching a section she was yet to do. “Watch out for the wet paint.”