Change of Circumstances
At Milo’s, the café beside the petrol station that never has cheap petrol, Milo’s daughter Julia takes the orders, runs the toaster and decides the Spotify playlist. Today when I walk in, Julia is singing along to “Here’s My Number, Call Me Maybe.” It could be, and often is worse.
Julie pokes my regular order into the iPad. When I pass my debit card over the pay wave terminal she indicates with a wide-eyed glance and a nod to something or someone of interest over my shoulder. A woman is sitting at the table near the door. Her face has high cheekbones, a freckled, cute nose, deep wrinkles around bright blue eyes and pure grey long hair. I steer clear of my ex-wife at breakfast time or at least until she has had a macchiato. Like me, Anna wakes early but never wakes well. We cross paths when the surf is crappy like today and I breakfast earlier than usual.
I nod and she smiles, so I go over and take a seat at her table. I am surprised. I thought Anna was in Melbourne with our son Brian and his family.
‘I know, I should still be in Melbourne,’ she declares before I can say anything.
‘Nothing wrong I hope?’
This is a dumb question because I can confidently guess why Anna is back early and she would tell me if there was something wrong anyway. Our relationship reset following the divorce has been tricky but it is becoming warmer.
‘I just found Zoe too much to take this time and I said to myself, stuff it! I’m coming home.’
I nod at having my suspicion about our daughter in law confirmed.
‘How were the kids?’
Anna smiles and then frowns.
‘They’re fine. What I saw of them anyway. Poor little buggers don’t get a moment’s rest between school then music or ballet or sport and Alex is having some maths tutoring. Jesus, the kid’s only in grade five, give him a chance to climb a tree or ride a bike. He will work out soon enough that a device will do the math. And it doesn’t stop so visiting grandma can have a special play either. I raised the issue and I wasn’t happy with the answer so that was that.’
I am about to open my mouth to point out that that was probably not the best approach but an overdue sense of self-preservation stops me. That and how tired Anna looks and sounds. I am due to visit Brian and the family next week so no doubt I will hear more about it then.
Anna lives in our old house that was originally our holiday house and then our retirement home until things fell apart between us. In a shed in the overgrown backyard that runs down to the river she throws large pots and vases that sell for good prices. She won’t go down in history but her style and use of coloured glazes is apparently unique and her buyers pay well. More importantly Anna is happy there in artistic solitude. I am happy in town.
‘You ok? You look tired and your eyes are bloodshot. Not getting the flu or anything?’
Anna doesn’t answer, not even a rebuke of my comment on her appearance. She blinks and looks over to espresso machine where Milo is steaming milk in a steel jug.
She asks, ‘How were the waves today?’
‘Average at best. Crap actually, that’s why I am here earlier enough to see you.’ I follow her gaze over to Milo and his hot pink polo shirt. I marvel at the sight of his chest hair exploding through the shirt’s weave.
‘Not sure that look was what Ralph Lauren had in mind.’
She gathers a half smile, finishes her coffee and stands.
‘Well I have a commission to do so I must make a start. But this was good timing actually, saves me ringing later. Why don’t you come out for dinner tonight? I have bought a new couch and I want to move a few other pieces in the living room around. I can’t do it on my own so consider dinner a trade-off for ten minutes of manual labour.’
She grabs her purse and waits on an answer. It is a Wednesday night so I am free. Who am I fooling? I’m free most nights although Trivia is on at the pub tomorrow night. I say yes and I agree to bring wine and that she will see me at 6.30. Anna leaves and I think how the conversation felt a little off but Julia distracts with my poached eggs on toast, mug of latte and a spare newspaper. I settle into the second-best part of the day.
#
After breakfast I head home and scratch around. The day clouds over and with the relentless onshore wind the surf remains uninviting. I do a load of washing and try to read a book about the lack of merit in merit. I go to the pool and swim laps in a lane to myself before I visit the pub bottle shop and buy a bottle of Champagne and a good Shiraz and try not to wince at the prices.
At dusk I drive down my street and turn on to the road that leads to the river, the refuse station and Anna. In the gathering darkness I turn onto the long driveway that leads to what was our house. I park beside Anna’s SUV, get out and stand on the gravel driveway. The night sky is patchy with cloud and stars and a warm land breeze is trying to gather momentum. I can smell eucalypt and from the neighbour’s house I can hear, not for the first time, an Australian Crawl song, the one that is wistful and sung slow so you can understand the words.
I think how here in this house Anna and I pulled apart the marriage we had spent so much time building. I don’t know why. We were not unfaithful or abusive. But suddenly, after thirty plus years of adding bricks and beams to a structure we maintained and cared about, we started leaving damage untended. Then we casually kicked the supports out and let the whole thing sag and lean as there was no shared desire to make good.
The song finishes on its unresolved plea as I ring the doorbell. Anna, wearing the same clothes as this morning opens the door. She definitely looks drained and there is a smudge of clay like the Nike logo on her cheek. I stop myself from reaching out to brush it away. That is something Anna no longer wants from me. She pauses in the doorway as if no longer sure that she wants me there before stepping aside and ushering me in. There is definitely something happening but I don’t know what it is.
We go through to the kitchen. Looking from the kitchen through to the lounge dining area I can see changes. There is a new lounge, lower and sleeker than the previous one which I suspect she never really liked. At one end of the lounge there is a pillow and scrunched up blankets. The large sideboard that originally belonged to Anne’s mother is still there but now looks out of place. The massive dining room table that seats twelve, still a centrepiece of our family Christmases, has been dragged halfway to the wall.
I can smell roast lamb cooking, a favourite of mine and I open the champagne and fill the offered glasses. Anna indicates that we are going to sit on the new couch. I am about to ask why the rearranging.
Then, while I have the tart taste of champagne on my tongue and the smell of roast lamb in my nostrils, Anna says, ‘Apparently I have multiple tumours, in my right breast, in my lymph glands, in my lungs and the cancer is too far gone to fucking stop. At least, that is what Dr. Dave says. He’s right, of course the bloody tests are right, I can feel the lumps growing. I knew it. Not that I would have those horrible treatments anyway so it doesn’t matter, really it doesn’t. I wanted to say something when I was in Melbourne but it was too hard. But please don’t tell them next week. I want to do it.’
Anna says all of it in her efficient, don’t argue tone that I once admired but grew to hate during our breakup. Sometimes what initially attracts you to someone ends up being the thing, that given enough time, drives you apart. I lean forward to hug her but she moves out of reach.
And that, that is what’s happening.
Photo by Joseph Gonzalez on Unsplash
