The Convent (48 page)

‘Until then I shall speak no word of it to anyone and will endeavour to fulfil all my duties and responsibilities.'

‘Very well, my dear.' The Reverend Mother squeezed Cecilia's hand briefly. ‘May God be with you all the days of your life.'

‘Thank you, Mother.'

Peach

When I look out the window, Stella is on the back verandah doing push-ups. There has to be a first for everything, I guess.

For the last three weeks she has been getting up every morning at six to run with Fluke before he goes to work and she goes to school. I make damned sure I'm in the shower by the time they get back, just in case we run into each other. Not much chance, because he never comes inside.

Of course it's fantastic. She might fall off the wagon any day now, but so far so good. Every three days she weighs herself and the weight is starting to move. I can even see a hint of the old Stella's cheekbones. It's so good to see that it's making her happy too. I just wish it wasn't
him
helping her.

The table is covered with packets of Coco Pops, biscuits, chips, jars of peanut butter and chocolate bars. I turn on the kettle and get a cup.

‘I'm getting rid of all that stuff,' she says, coming back inside, puffing slightly, ‘so I'm not tempted.' She points at the wall. ‘See! We've resurrected the Rules!'

‘But I like peanut butter,' I say, rescuing a jar that is almost full. I look over to where she is pointing. The fifteen points of dos and don'ts that we'd worked out months before is now pinned to the wall again. I'm happy about this until I move closer and see Fluke's handwriting scrawled over my neatly printed points.

Under
Think positive about yourself
, he's written,
when you've
made some changes!

Under
Don't weigh yourself too often,
he's written,
Do weigh yourself
every few days. It's the only way you can tell how you're doing.

Where I'd written,
Eat what you like but in small amounts
, he's added,
No! Don't eat what you like. No sweets at all. That goes for fatty
stuff. And only small amounts of bread and rice and potatoes too.

‘Has he been in here?' I snipe.

Stella is wandering around the kitchen looking for something. ‘He's not an idiot.'

‘What is that meant to mean?'

‘Well, if someone was waiting for you behind a door with an axe, would you walk through the door?'

I have to laugh. ‘Stella, he doesn't know anything about food and diets!' I'm trying to sound rational. ‘I did a whole unit on diet and obesity and weight-loss methods at university, and I can tell you now there is no point in dieting.'

‘Stop lecturing me,' she says mildly.

‘It's just that you'll only put the weight on again. It's got to be a lifestyle change and that means—'

‘I'm
not
dieting,' she snaps, ‘and this
is
a lifestyle change, so shut up!' She pulls a skipping rope out from under a pile of papers, throws it around her neck, and heads outside again.

‘Where did you get the rope?' I follow her out.

‘None of your business! I've got to skip for ten minutes now without stopping.' She begins slowly. ‘Will you time me, please?'

So I sit down on the top step and time her. At the end of the ten minutes she is puffing but seems happy. She flops down next to me.

‘I need rules, Peach,' she puffs.

‘I gave you rules!'

But Stella shakes her head.‘Not proper ones,' she sighs.

Loud male voices and laughter suddenly sound around the side of the house. It's the three guys, Nick, Dicko and Screwloose, carrying a wooden cot into the bungalow. ‘Hi, you guys.'

‘Hi, Stella. Hi, Peach.'

‘Is the artist around?' Nick asks.

‘Nope.'

‘When will she be in?'

‘No idea.'

Det comes in late and leaves early, working like a maniac to get her paintings ready for the exhibition before the baby comes.

After dumping the cot into the bungalow the boys come inside and I make them coffee and they end up eating most of the stuff that Stella has put out to throw away.

‘So when do your mum and dad get home?' Nick asks, chomping on chips dipped in some kind of relish.

‘Next week,' Stella replies, biting into an apple. ‘I can't wait. It's been sooo long.' She pulls the chips away from Nick. ‘Just think what that crap is doing to your body,' she says seriously, and when we catch eyes none of us can stop laughing for the next ten minutes.

‘Oh, my darlings!' Mum grabs first Stella and then me into a huge bear hug. By the time we pull apart the three of us are crying. ‘I can't believe how wonderful it is to see you. I've been longing for this so much! Tell me. Tell me everything! Stella, you look fantastic. Tell me, what has been going on? Peach, that colour is lovely on you!'

Cassie hovers near the coffee stand watching the crazy welcome.

‘Cassie!' Mum gushes, calling her over for a hug. ‘Great to see you, too, gorgeous girl! So good of you to drive us!'

‘I'm the original saint.' Cassie laughs and hugs Mum. ‘So how come you're so thin?'

Mum is so very thin. The circles under her eyes are big and dark and her clothes are literally falling off her. All the way to the luggage carousel she has to constantly hitch up her jeans. I suppose looking wrecked after a twenty-hour flight is to be expected, but the thinness is something else.

‘I was sick for a while,' she says when she sees me and Stella looking at her.

‘Why didn't you tell us?'

She shrugs. ‘I'm a lot better now.'

‘Mum!'

‘Tell us.'

‘Later. Dad misses you so much,' she says, taking hold of her battered case. ‘I just hated leaving him but … he has to see his poor old mum out. There is no one else. And I needed to get home to my girls.'

We head out into the fresh blue day, and Cassie leads us towards the car.

‘What a job you've done with Stella,' Mum whispers in my ear when we're getting in the car to drive home.

I have to shake my head. ‘It's all her doing, Mum, honestly.'

In the car, Mum begins the usual after-flight babble.

‘Is the house still standing?'

‘Yes, Mum.'

‘Is the garden still alive?'

‘Yes, Mum.'

‘Was Christmas
really
okay?'

‘Yes, Mum!'

She tells us in a jumbled way about the trip, the people she met, and the fun they were having, and then about Dad's mother. And the months they've spent at her bedside, expecting her to die every day, and the amazing way she rallied when her only son was with her.

‘It's like she's hanging on so they can have a bit of uninterrupted time together at last.'

‘How old is she now?'

‘Nearly ninety.' Mum sighs and winds down the window. ‘Oh, this fresh air is making me drunk! You know, I really wish you girls could have known her.'

‘Hmmm.'

‘Such a lively woman! Tough too, of course, except she can hardly speak now.'

‘Not as nice as your mum, though?' Stella says innocently.

‘No way!' Mum says, and we all laugh.

Mum and me are in the back seat and Stella is with Cassie in the front.

‘How is Stephano?' Mum calls to Cass, and I listen to them talking about Stephano's latest magnificent achievements, thinking of my other grandmother, Ellen, in the country.

Then Mum begins to cough and cough and cough. It just goes on and on. It's the worst cough I've ever heard, and in the end she has to ask Cassie to stop so she can get some medicine out of her case.

‘Look at you!' Mum exclaims as Det opens the door for us when we get home. ‘Just look at you!' There are tears in her eyes and her hands go straight to Det's huge belly.

‘Get a grip, Elizabeth,' Det says, but she turns side-on so Mum can get a better look at her bulge.

‘How are you feeling?'

‘Pretty good.'

‘So, boy or girl?'

‘Don't know.' Det shrugs.

‘You care?'

‘Nope.'

‘Long as it's healthy,' we all chorus together.

Det's one culinary skill is scones, and she's made mountains of them to welcome Mum home. The smell is absolutely wonderful. Bowls of cream and jam sit on the table. Cups are out and everything looks festive.

‘Why do this to me?' Stella moans.

‘It's a special occasion,' I say tentatively, ‘maybe you can have one or—'

‘No!'

‘I'll give you a dispensation.' Det flicks Stella with her tea towel.

Mum pats Stella. ‘Just a little bit won't hurt, will it?'

‘Fluke has got me new scales,' Stella wails, ‘and there's a weigh-in tomorrow morning!'

‘Fluke?' Mum looks at me.

‘Ask
her
.'

‘Fluke is my weight-loss guru,' Stella says.

‘You mean Fluke Robinson?'

‘The very one,' I say dryly.

‘He's fantastic!' Stella sits up.

‘But what does he know about losing weight?'

‘Exactly,' I say.

‘Peach's nose is way out of joint,' Det sings.

‘It's working,' Stella snaps defensively.

‘Well, if you're happy, that's wonderful,' Mum soothes. She looks at Det. ‘How did you know I've been dreaming about your scones?'

We sit down and Det serves the tea and describes the feelings of tiredness and aching legs she's been having and how she wishes it was over. And Mum goes into doctor mode explaining what is happening, feeling Det's tummy this way and that, and asking questions.

I sit back and listen, trying not to be offended because Det has said more to my mum in the past minute or two about being pregnant than she has in the last eight and a half months to me.

Stella sits eyeing off the food like a hungry lioness. I can tell it's killing her to see some of the scones left begging on the plate. Her eyes keep edging back to the table. When everyone is more or less finished she dips her finger in the cream and brings it to her mouth, and when she thinks no one will notice she casually does the same with the jam.

‘Stella,' Cassie says warningly, ‘no.'

‘Have a friggin' scone, Stella,' Det growls and pops one on her plate.

This is too much for Stella. She picks it up and breaks it in two.

‘Don't undermine her, Det,' Cassie says sharply and smacks the scone right out of Stella's hand before it reaches her mouth. It rolls under the table.

‘Let her eat it!' Det orders.

‘No!'

Stella dives under the table and has already stuffed the scone into her mouth by the time she is sitting up in her chair again.

I don't really know why we all start laughing, but when I get up to clear the dishes I fall over and drop two cups on the kitchen floor. That only makes us laugh harder.

‘I've got appendicitis,' Cassie groans after a while, holding her belly. ‘I'll die if this doesn't stop soon.'

‘And I've got a baby.' Det leans against the wall, holding onto her belly too. ‘Which is worse.'

‘And I'm starving, which is much worse,' Stella shouts.

‘Please stop laughing, Det.
Please!
'

‘Why me?' Det sounds as if she is choking.

‘The baby …'

‘What if she has it here?' Stella squeals.

‘Go on, Det!' We shriek with laughter. ‘Have it here. Now!'

When we come to our senses I look across at my mother only to find her looking at me, and there is such love in her eyes it makes me want to fall on the floor and bawl my eyes out.

But we just smile at each other and look away.

When I come out from my shower the next morning, Stella, Det and Mum are sitting at the table drinking tea and I … I just know that she knows what has been going on. Mum looks more frazzled and worn out than she did the night before, and it makes me frightened to see her so. I look at the others.