Room 46 & Short Story Collection Page 13

  ‘Well, that can only be a bonus, right?’

  Grace nodded, surprised that her anxiety level had dropped quite substantially.

  ‘Don’t let me stop your normal post-mortem then. Go on as you normally would.’

  Grace blanched a little at Sylvia’s choice of words but did as she suggested. ‘Well I really understood why Jake tried to make things right. I mean he did something really bad and he deserved to get punished, but I don’t think the world works like that.’

  Sylvia’s gaze was intense. ‘Oh?’

  ‘No, I think once you do something really bad you kind of deserve to live with it forever. And if bad things happen because of it then you need to accept that.’

  ‘Even if you just did something stupid on the spur of the moment and have regretted it ever since?’ Sylvia asked.

  Grace nodded sharply. ‘Yes. Some things are unforgiveable.’

  ‘Oh I don’t know Grace, I like to think that karma is real enough. If you’ve done something wrong and are truly sorry for it and do something constructive to make up for it I really believe that the universe gives you another chance to get it right.’

  Although Grace did her best to slip out of the room quietly, Sylvia apparently had other plans. ‘Wait up Grace, I’ll walk you out,’ she said, moving the spare chair back against the wall and following her into the hall.

  ‘I really enjoyed that,’ Sylvia said as they threaded their way around the afternoon tea trolley that was parked rather haphazardly outside room 43.

  ‘Thanks,’ Grace murmured. ‘But I’m just the reader, the stories aren’t mine.’

  ‘Well, yes that’s true enough,’ Sylvia said, ‘but it’s not just about reading a story. The whole analysis thing you do is great and the way you involve Edith is really lovely too.’

  ‘Really? Sometimes I feel like I’m being a bit insensitive when I complain or talk about things she can no longer do.’

  Sylvia shook her head. ‘No, don’t think like that. There’s literally nothing you can say to someone in Edith’s position that isn’t offensive in some way if you analyse it enough. Edith has been in here long enough to have developed an acceptance of her situation and she is past being overly sensitive to everyday conversation.’

  ‘How does she do it?’ Grace murmured, more to herself than to Sylvia.

  Sylvia sighed softly. ‘I wonder that myself sometimes. Working in aged care you have to develop a bit of thick skin to stop yourself getting burnt out, but Edith is one of those cases that just makes you shake your head in awe.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Grace agreed.

  They had reached Sylvia’s office. ‘It was really nice to see you today Grace,’ she said. ‘To be honest I wasn’t sure how you would go with Edith, but you’re doing an amazing job.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I mean it Grace,’ Sylvia said as she opened the door to her office. ‘You should be very proud of yourself. See you next week.’

  ‘Yeah, see you,’ Grace echoed, unable to keep a smile from forming as she headed out to the exit.

  * * * * *

  The staff at the hospital had been surprised at how adamant Grace was about not contacting her family. They had wheedled and cajoled to the best of their abilities but none of them – the nurses, the social worker or even the head psychiatrist – could convince her to reveal her next of kin. Being over eighteen by the time she was admitted and therefore legally an adult, they had to accept her decision.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see them, to feel the warmth of their loving embrace and to pour out her woes like she once would have. The problem was she simply didn’t deserve to. They had given up so much to support her dream and she had thrown in back in their faces.

  Grace tried not to dwell too much on how the whole incident would have impacted on them. Small towns could be amazingly supportive but also heartbreakingly cruel when one of their own betrayed them so spectacularly. She could only hope the scar would heal with time and their lives could go on as they always had.

  Still buoyed by Sylvia’s praise the previous week, Grace was initially feeling positive as she signed the visitors register the following week. It was hard to believe it was her seventh visit and that she was past the midway point of her twelve week placement. The three months that had seemed like a lifetime when she was assigned to Rosehill Gardens now felt like it was slipping away much too quickly. Mild panic blossomed as she contemplated this fact, quickly suffocating the positivity she had been basking in just minutes before. The future suddenly loomed, scary and uncertain. What was to become of her after Rejoin finished? What was the next hurdle she would have to jump?

  Frozen with inertia Grace might have stayed there all morning if the woman waiting behind her hadn’t tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Are you finished?’ she asked briskly. ‘I’ve got lots to get done today.’

  ‘Sorry, yes go ahead,’ Grace said, handing her the pen and stepping aside. Calm down, she instructed herself sternly. Worry about the future when it’s a bit closer. You’ve got another six visits before you have to stress about all that.

  Grace was happy to find Edith alone when she entered her room. As much as she liked Marion and had even coped fine with Sylvia being there the previous week, she really did prefer it when it was just the two of them. She spoke much more freely knowing Edith couldn’t speak back. There was no chance of judgement wrapped up as encouragement or being offered trite words of advice.

  ‘Hi Edith,’ she said, giving the best smile she could manage.

  Edith smiled back and gave a small nod.

  ‘I love your hair.’

  Another smile.

  Grace still hadn’t worked out if Edith’s hair was real and if it was who styled it. Today it was wrapped into an elegant French twist and did indeed look lovely.

  After settling herself into the least dippy bit of the chair, Grace picked up the book and realised they were getting close to the end. She wondered where they would get another book to read and made a mental note to ask Sylvia about it on her way out today.

  Flipping the pages over, Grace finally reached the next title page, surprised to see that it simply read “Your Story”. Furrowing her brow she turned the page over slowly, then the butterflies in her stomach started dancing ever faster as she noticed the following pages were blank. Realising what was happening she slowly raised her eyes and shook her head at Edith.

  ‘I can’t,’ she whispered.

  Edith held her gaze and nodded her head slowly and deliberately.

  Grace shook her head again. ‘You really don’t want to hear it.’

  Edith’s gaze didn’t waver and Grace realised she was not going to win this little standoff. Leaning back in the chair she closed her eyes for a moment before exhaling loudly. ‘All right,’ she agreed finally. ‘I’ll tell you, but only because you can’t repeat it to anybody else.’

  Edith nodded.

  ‘Believe it or not I’m a pianist,’ Grace began. ‘I actually can’t remember not being able to play the piano. I know that probably sounds a bit strange, because you’ve got to learn first, right? Not to mention practice a lot.’

  Edith blinked.

  ‘Well apparently most people do, but somehow I was born already knowing. We had this old shed on our farm that was a bit of a junk depository and one day when I was five I went in there and discovered an old piano that had belonged to my great grandparents. It was covered in dirt and cobwebs and was horrifically out of tune but I was immediately fascinated by it and started pinging away. I must have been in there for hours because Mum came looking for me. She was frantic; apparently she and Dad and my big brother had been calling out to me and searching everywhere. They were just about to organise a full-scale search when they heard the music.

  ‘Mum was just about to tear strips off me when she realised I was playing a simplified version of one of the pieces from the classical CD she played all the time when she cooked. I can still remember the look on her face when she j
ust stared at me wondering how on earth I could know how to do that.’

  Edith shifted her head slightly and raised an eyebrow.

  Grace shrugged. ‘I know, it’s weird hey? But as soon as I touched the keys something just guided my fingers. The music seemed to flow right from my brain to my hands. At that age I didn’t realise it was something that not everybody could do. After that my parents immediately enrolled me in music lessons. My teacher, Mrs Pembroke, was determined that I would learn to read music, which came as a rude shock to start with. She took something that was natural and intrinsic to me and made it stiff and formal so I hated the lessons at first and still played by ear, just pretending to follow the notes on the page. But gradually I realised the value of being able to read music and started applying myself. Once I put some effort in I realised that it wasn’t so hard after all.

  ‘As good as everybody insisted I was at playing the piano, I hadn’t really considered it as a career choice, beyond being a teacher myself. I certainly hadn’t dreamed of being a performer, it had never even crossed my mind that I could do that.’

  The door opened then and Max the afternoon tea person appeared. ‘Good afternoon Edith,’ the fifty something man boomed cheerfully, ‘and Miss Grace too. How are you love?’ he asked as he wheeled the trolley in.

  ‘Fine thanks,’ Grace replied, amazed that he remembered her name when she had met him only once before.

  ‘Right, hot Milo for Edith,’ he announced, and poured a prepared chocolate mix into a plastic beaker with a built in straw and placed it on the movable table next to Edith’s bed, in a place she could lean over and drink from it. ‘And I believe it’s a coffee for you young Grace? I never forget a drink order,’ he boasted.

  Grace nodded. She didn’t really like coffee; especially not the jar of instant she could see on the trolley but it was easier than saying she didn’t want anything. Max dumped two teaspoons of Maxwell House in a melamine mug then splashed in some water and a drop of milk. ‘There you go Grace,’ he said. ‘That’ll get you through the rest of the day.’

  Accepting the drink, Grace took a sip of the lukewarm liquid, careful not to recoil at the bitter, plastic taste. ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  ‘So how is the story telling going today?’ he asked conversationally, leaning on the trolley and smiling at the two of them.

  ‘Great thanks,’ Grace replied uneasily, panic rising at the idea he might stop and listen for a while.

  ‘I love a good yarn myself,’ he said, ‘but duty calls. Enjoy your day.’ He swung the trolley around and headed out the door.

  Grace set her coffee down on the floor and glanced over at Edith. ‘You aren’t bored yet?’

  Edith shook her head.

  ‘Okay, where was I? Oh yeah I was talking about performing. It was Miss Bennett who opened my eyes as to what I might be able to do someday. She was a new graduate teacher who arrived when I was in Year Eleven and took me on as a bit of a special project. She said she didn’t have the talent to make it to the top but reckoned she could spot it in somebody who did. And that was when Strauss Academy first appeared on my horizon.’

  * * * * *

  Strauss Academy did not offer scholarships. Founded by the wealthy Van der Linden family for the benefit of other wealthy families it had such an extensive waiting list that they simply didn’t bother. But upon hearing they were urgently scouting for a lead pianist Miss Bennet had come up with a plan to circumvent the scholarship issue – a massive fund raising drive to come up with the tuition money for Grace’s final year of school.

  First they had to get through the interview. Miss Bennet had been amazing, drilling not only Grace but also her parents in how they should look and speak and more importantly what they should say to the snooty principal Ms Saskia Van der Linden. Having worked there as a dorm supervisor while she was at university Miss Bennet knew the ins and outs of the place and without her help Grace knew she never would have stood a chance.

  Grace had been humbled at how her local community rallied to help her achieve her dream especially when so many of them had so little themselves. But that was what small towns did. They had done the same to send Gerry Mills on the professional rodeo circuit in America and had worked tirelessly to fund surgery to save Alice Wordley’s sight. It was such a lot of money for just one year of schooling, but the doors it would open, well, that was where the value came in. Grace promised them faithfully she would work hard and do her little town proud and, would someday find a way to repay their kindness.

  It had taken a while to adjust to her new school environment. Despite having the best of everything at her disposal and being surrounded by others just as passionate about music as she was, Grace found herself on a steep learning curve. While she enjoyed being in Brisbane and having the freedom to zip around town in her beloved new Peugeot, she still missed home and her family, desperately at times. And while she made new friends and enjoyed socialising with them it was a challenge to keep up the façade that had got her through the interview.

  Raised to be scrupulously honest, Grace didn’t like playing fast and loose with the truth. Careful to never straight out lie, she let her fellow students believe she was the daughter of a wealthy grazier, rather than a struggling small crops farmer who counted himself lucky if he broke even after every harvest. At first she had lived in fear of slipping up, but soon realised that Huntley Valley was too far away to even have any relevance for her classmates.

  As the first term moved on and her musical ability started to speak for itself Grace began to relax more. True to her promise to her community she worked hard, putting in long hours with her other academic subjects as well as her piano. Perhaps her greatest discovery was that she loved to perform. Unlike the nerve wracking experiences of the local and regional eisteddfods back home, being part of an accomplished orchestra was amazing and she felt for certain that her future would involve being on a stage somewhere, maybe even at an international level.

  * * * * *

  ‘It did take me a while to settle in,’ Grace admitted, ‘but eventually I did. I had never fully immersed myself in music before and Strauss allowed me to do that. There was an amazing freedom in being able to go to one of the practice rooms at six o’clock in the morning and bang out some scales or fine tune a performance piece without worrying about waking up the rest of the house. And the teachers there expected that music was your first priority and maths was just going through the motions.

  ‘By the time the mid-year break came around I had really found my feet. I loved going home for the holidays to catch up with everybody but I was equally looking forward to going back to school. The way the year was structured we would finish our requirements for our non-music subjects in August and the rest of the year was dedicated to performance. We had our own season at the Performing Arts Centre as well as guesting for a month at the Sydney Opera House.’

  Edith raised her eyebrows and gazed at Grace in surprise.

  ‘I know; it was pretty amazing. I guess it was the privilege of paying fifty grand for a year of schooling. A lot of the other kids just took it for granted, but I really appreciated just how lucky I was. A few days before I went back to school the local paper did a story about me I guess to reassure everyone that the money they raised was being well spent. I didn’t realise that larger newspapers could pick up stories from tiny newspapers out in the sticks so I had no qualms being completely open with the Huntley Valley Chronicle with its limited readership of 1200 because everyone knew me anyway. It wasn’t until my Auntie Ruth in Brisbane rang in a state of great excitement that the first jolt of panic hit. The Courier Mail had picked up the story in its entirety. And I realised that I had been exposed.’

  Once again Grace was interrupted by the sound of Max and his trolley making its way back down the hall. Hearing his voice through the thin walls of the room next door, Grace leant down to retrieve her coffee and dispose of it before he reappeared to collect the cups. Catching Edith’s wryly amused glance
, she smiled guiltily in return before reaching over the right armrest to dump the contents in the pot plant that sat in the corner of the room.

  She wasn’t sure what made her take a second glance at the unremarkable Formica topped table that housed the miniature fern, but it certainly felt that fate directed her gaze right to the concealed digital recording device strategically placed to best catch her voice. She didn’t know which was worse – the icy spikes of shock or the hot rage of anger and betrayal that coursed through her veins simultaneously. All she knew was that she had to leave, immediately, before she said or did something she would regret.

  Taking a second to glare at Edith, she forgot for a moment she was looking at a stroke victim in a nursing home and saw only a person who had betrayed her. Edith’s expression was puzzled at first then paled as comprehension dawned. Grace was glad she was unable to speak as it meant she didn’t have to listen to any excuses as she stomped over to the door. Ripping it open she didn’t even look at Max as she slipped past the tea trolley and ran down the hallway.

  The call came on a Wednesday – the day after the third visit to Edith that Grace had missed.

  Enraged after discovering the recorder, as soon as she arrived home that day Grace had fired off an angry email to Sylvia, but had only received an out of office reply in response informing her Sylvia was on annual leave for a month. In typical Grace style she had dealt with the problem since by simply avoiding it but no doubt at some point she would be obliged to tell her case worker that she wasn’t volunteering at Rosehill any more. So be it! They could assign her somewhere else, surely there were plenty of other nursing homes she could go to. No doubt there would be some fallout for not finishing Rejoin in the allotted time span, but there would be a way around it. She could always play the anxiety card to the max. People were so afraid of being sued these days they would never dare push a person in a fragile mental state too hard.