Room 46 & Short Story Collection Read online

  Edith had been warned the chemotherapy drugs were the worst part of the stem cell treatment but given all that she had endured in the past few years she thought she would take it in her stride. The reality was that nothing could have prepared her for the onslaught.

  When her friends at Rosehill had initially planned the date of the official opening and Edith’s book launch, they had thought she would be home and hopefully well enough to take some part in proceedings. But they hadn’t counted on the setbacks. First there was the scheduling mistake which saw her treatment start date bumped back a month, and then came the life threatening infection that left her in isolation for a further fortnight. But now things seemed to be finally looking up.

  With a bit of luck she would have the procedure the following week.

  It was just as well she was fortunate enough to have some cash in reserve.

  * * * * *

  The issue of compensation was something Edith didn’t dwell on. While she knew a payment would eventually come her way, she had been warned it could take years as the insurance companies fought it out between themselves and all relevant evidence was gathered and examined. With Joe dead and her having such a limited ability to communicate, getting their side of the story across was always going to be a protracted affair.

  Edith had been shocked to awaken from a nap one afternoon to see a distinguished gentleman in an Armani suit seated in Joe’s chair. Looking up from the stack of documents in his lap he smiled and nodded politely. Edith blinked to clear her vision. Although the reading volunteers came in all shapes and sizes, she’d never had a dapper man in a suit before.

  Self-conscious about the way her voice sounded she tried her hardest to speak clearly. ‘Not reading day,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Oh no, I’m not here to read,’ the man explained with a warm smile. ‘Trust me you’d be back asleep in seconds. I was always the worst in my class at reading aloud. My name is Edward Collins from Collins, Barrett and Wilson Solicitors. I’m here to work on your compensation claim.’

  It turned out that Edward was the son of one of Rosehill’s residents. Always careful to be utterly professional Sylvia could not be accused of using her position to acquire Edward’s professional services. But there was nothing unethical about having him visit his mother during music therapy, ensuring Edith was in his line of vision and giving detailed answers to his questions as to why she was there.

  At first Edith had been a little taken aback at Edward’s forthright manner and the almost clinical way he asked questions. She still found it hard to talk about Joe, but Edward didn’t cut her any slack, eliciting every last skerrick of information about Joe’s life and untimely death. Then just when she was at the point of breaking down in tears Edward had surprised her with a warm hug.

  ‘I know it’s hard,’ he said with genuine empathy, ‘but to the other driver’s insurance company Joe is not the kind, funny and loving husband you lost, he is a an amount, a financial loss on their balance sheet. My job is to make them pay and pay dearly for your loss and the only way I can do that is to prove the kind of life he was destined to live before their client ignored a stop sign on a rainy afternoon.’

  Edith had been amazed how swiftly Edward managed to get the wheels in motion and was absolutely floored at the sum awarded to her. Sylvia had turned down her offer to donate some of it to the Young Care wing. ‘That’s your money Edith,’ she had said firmly. ‘Use it to get the best of care for yourself. We’ll work out a way to raise what we need here.’

  Three months later she was on a plane to Russia.

  * * * * *

  When the audience turned to wave at Edith the tears flowed freely. And this time the nurse had to wipe her own tears away before tending to her patient.

  Marion

  The applause at the end of Grace’s presentation was long and loud. Marion clapped until her hands hurt, happy beyond all measure to see Grace standing in front of an audience and if not actually confident then doing a great job of acting like she was. She could see Grace’s family seated up near the front, their faces glowing with pride. Her mother and sister were wiping away tears.

  Since those first hesitant days in Room 46 Grace had come so far. She had completed the usual Aged Care training and cut her teeth as a Personal Carer before moving into her specialised role. And this past year she had even enrolled part time at uni, dipping her toe back in the water and taking her first steps on the road towards maybe becoming a performer. Marion couldn’t help but feel proud of that.

  It had always been Marion’s aim to have Grace set up a music therapy program at Rosehill, right from the day she saw the Centrelink papers on Sylvia’s desk. But the whole venture had taken some doing. She hadn’t realised just how worn down Grace was nor how far she had removed herself from the musical circles she used to occupy.

  There is no magic cure for anxiety and the rebuilding of a broken spirit, but time, therapy and a positive purpose in life had certainly gotten Grace back on the straight and narrow. She was one of the fortunate ones though, having a team of people who supported her each step of the way. And of course being assigned to Rosehill in the first place was a major lucky break.

  Marion was ashamed to admit she had once been quite unsympathetic of those on welfare. Having worked hard all her life she had no time for those who seemed to simply not want to find a job. Sure, there were some who cheated the system but she had come to realise there were certainly many more who had simply fallen between the cracks.

  As much as she loved working at Rosehill Gardens Marion considered it might be time to move on. Knowing so many people in the industry it wouldn’t be difficult to get a job cleaning the office of her local federal Member of Parliament and at the Community Access Centre just down the road. Now she had some firm ideas about how people could be encouraged back to work as opposed to simply being forced off welfare, it was up to her to get them into the ears of those who could do something about it.

  Joining the lengthy queue to purchase a copy of Edith’s book Marion caught a glimpse of Sylvia and Grace being interviewed by a Channel 7 reporter. Seeing the camaraderie between the two and the animated and passionate way Grace was speaking finally dislodged the heaviness in her chest that had become so ingrained that she had simply become used to carrying it around.

  For so long Marion had been weighed down at the realisation her actions had quite possibly ruined a young woman’s life, but now, finally, she was starting to see the bigger picture.

  Marion was as much in the dark as the next person as to why things happened in life exactly as they did, but right here and right now she suddenly had the sense that everything was exactly as it should be.

  Epilogue

  Josephine closed her copy of Observations From Room 46 and set it down on the old stool she used as a coffee table. Sylvia had provided her with a complimentary copy along with a nice note gently suggesting that a donation equivalent to the purchase price would be very welcome. At the time Josephine had brushed the suggestion aside, the same way she always did when people asked her for money. But after actually reading the book she felt a tiny frisson of discomfiture.

  No, that wasn’t right – it was more like a stab to the solar plexus.

  Josephine couldn’t fault the book and the way it was written and Edith had certainly kept her word about changing the details enough so nobody would know the first story was about her. The problem was that she knew and as of this moment it was not something she felt good about.

  It was one of those defining moments like an overweight person seeing an unflattering photograph of themself or a “happy drunk” witnessing their outrageous antics on video.

  Josephine finally saw herself as others did.

  Determined to banish the unsettling thoughts from her mind, Josephine went on her customary Saturday afternoon walk. She would never set foot inside a gym and had always shaken her head at the idea of paying to use an indoor space when the great outdoors was there to use free of c
harge. It hadn’t stopped her investing in a company that leased gym equipment but that was different. Business was business. Right?

  Frustratingly, the walk only served to make her mind more active rather than quietening it down. Suddenly the way she lived her life didn’t make complete sense any more.

  The unwelcome self-analysis continued as she ate dinner and sat down to watch TV. Perhaps it was a little bit silly to re-watch a movie she had already seen four times rather than buying herself a DVD player. People were always selling them for peanuts at garage sales and you could borrow movies from the library. And maybe it was time to see if her local op shop had a more suitable TV, preferably one that didn’t cut the edges off everything because of its compact screen size.

  Feeling more unsettled than she could ever remember, Josephine banished the book to the very bottom of her wardrobe and went to bed. But sleep simply wouldn’t come and amidst much tossing and turning she finally admitted to herself just how uncomfortable her thirty-year-old bed really was.

  The first light of dawn found Josephine sitting at the kitchen table with her chequebook open. Observations From Room 46 had been retrieved during the long, lonely night and she had re-read her story several times, each time leading her to the same conclusion.

  She would have to shuffle some cash around, but that could be done first thing Monday morning, well before the cheque would arrive by courier on Tuesday. It was a company cheque issued from a private trust fund that was untraceable to her directly. Her signature was illegible enough to further conceal her identity.

  Josephine certainly did not want any publicity. She was not going to advertise to the public that she had the means to give sizeable donations and she would hate that those who knew of her in the business community might think she was losing her sharp edge.

  It was actually more of a financial strategy than an emotional response, she decided as she carefully copied the fundraising account name from the back page of Edith’s book on to the payee line of the cheque. Last year she had paid a fortune in tax so this would reduce her next tax bill considerably.

  As much as she rationalised it away as a business decision, Josephine’s hand still shook a little as she wrote out the amount.

  One million dollars.

  Short Story Collection

  The Perfect Proposal

  Clare had never experienced such anger before.

  Two weeks on and it was still white hot, bubbling just beneath the surface. She had never realised how all-encompassing anger could be, how it could invade every waking thought and make her muscles tense with no conscious effort. Only when her jaw started to ache did she realise she was clenching it again. It was an automatic reaction now every time an email or text message arrived or when she glanced at her mobile and saw the missed call icon. Or even when she just thought about him.

  ‘You should do something you enjoy to distract yourself,’ Clare would counsel her clients when they revealed how anger affected their lives.

  While it was worthwhile advice, Clare discovered it could certainly be expensive, and after the facial, pedicure and aromatherapy massage last weekend she decided on the cheaper option of a movie this week.

  As she stood in the queue waiting for Cinema 12 to start seating, Clare dived into her handbag for her phone. Glancing at the screen before she switched to mute mode, she raised her eyebrows in surprise – there was nothing from Matt. Maybe he was finally getting the message or maybe it was just a bit early in the night for him to start harassing her.

  It was ironic really, as a health care professional she spent her days advising others how to deal with their emotions and yet Clare couldn’t bring herself to communicate in any way with the man she had recently moved 2000 kilometres for.

  She had never considered herself and Matt to be a “perfect couple”, but the truth was they rarely fought. Matt was the epitome of laid back, so much so he was almost horizontal, and she prided herself on being calm and level headed. Having spent so much of their early relationship separated by distance they had learnt to make their time together count, which meant not wasting precious moments in conflict.

  In hindsight maybe that was not such a good thing, Clare acknowledged as she filed into the cinema with the other movie goers. And in all fairness she should probably take the blame for that. Because the truth was, meeting Matt had allowed her to feel organised and efficient for the first time in her life. It had taken some getting used to that she wasn’t the one who was running the latest or who had misplaced the plane tickets or the car keys. So she had always laughed about it, and even encouraged it by insisting she loved him just as he was.

  And now it had come back to bite her. What was the old saying – it’s all fun and games until somebody loses an eye?

  There was being charmingly absent minded and then there was being just plain careless. And she was the one paying the price.

  * * * * *

  It took the cab driver a while to find the hall. Although Matt was familiar with certain areas of Melbourne now, others were just a name on a map – like Forest Hill – so he wasn’t much help with directions. He had planned to slip in right at the last minute anyway, but was now actually five minutes late.

  Jogging up the concrete steps he paused for a moment to look at the poster advertising tonight’s lecture. The diamond ring and bright red text announcing “The Perfect Proposal” had no doubt drawn in plenty of guys looking for some inspiration, guys like him who needed a bit of help.

  Smiling apologetically at the young woman on the front desk he extracted a fifty-dollar note from his wallet and handed it over.

  She was brisk and efficient. ‘There you go, that’s twenty dollars change and your ticket. It’s already started so you’ll have to sneak in quietly.’

  ‘Sure, no worries,’ Matt replied. Slipping his wallet back into his pocket he started walking towards the door, but hesitated before going in. Turning back he asked the young woman, ‘So have you seen the presentation?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ she enthused. ‘It’s fabulous.’

  ‘So I’ve heard,’ Matt murmured, reconsidering yet again. Maybe he shouldn’t be here? Clare would definitely not approve of him gate crashing her lecture. But then again it was a free country and he had paid his admission like everybody else. Besides he hadn’t seen her for three weeks and was starting to get desperate.

  The door was old and heavy and almost impossible to sneak through. Inching it open, Matt squeezed through the smallest gap possible. Once inside he breathed a sigh of relief. The lighting was muted, focusing on the speaker at the lectern, not the audience. There were a couple of spare rows at the back so it would be a simple matter to just slip into the darkest corner without being noticed.

  Gently easing the door closed with only the tiniest click, Matt made his way over to the left, careful to tiptoe on the wooden floor. Unfortunately, however, he didn’t notice the music stand that had been placed right at the back and bumped straight into it, knocking the metal frame to the floor with an almighty clang.

  It was one of those horrible moments where everybody in the room turned and stared, including Clare, whose words he had so rudely interrupted. Matt’s breath caught in his throat as he and the woman he loved so much locked eyes for just a second before she looked away, clearly annoyed.

  Sinking down into a chair Matt buried his face in his hands. She was going to kill him.

  Matt had known he wanted to marry Clare fairly early into their relationship. After meeting her he finally understood why he had never felt even the slightest urge to take the plunge with any of the other women he had dated, despite the fact that several of them had made their expectations very clear.

  Even though he had been dead almost twenty years now, Matt could clearly remember the advice his dad had given him on his eighteenth birthday. Out for their first official drink together, Matt had literally cried into his beer because his first serious girlfriend had just dumped him.

  ‘If this is wh
at love feels like I don’t want it,’ he had sniffled.

  ‘Matthew, that’s how you tell the real thing, she won’t make you feel like this,’ his father had reassured him.

  And in all honesty no other woman had broken his heart in the interim; it was always he who backed away. Not because he was trying to avoid commitment, rather because he knew it just wasn’t the real thing his dad had talked about.

  Of course people assumed if you were single and in your mid-thirties then there must be a reason. It was often the pivotal question women asked on a first date.

  ‘You seem like such a nice guy – why are you still single?’

  ‘Because I haven’t met the right woman yet,’ he would reply.

  It was a simple and honest answer, but was often met with scepticism.

  Matt could understand that to a point. After all if you met the love of your life when you were young, you probably assumed love came easily to everybody. But he knew that just wasn’t the case.

  His mother thought it was because he was too comfortable in his carefree bachelor lifestyle.

  The women at work told him he was being too picky.

  His cousin Darryl told him it was because he had never tried internet dating.

  Matt knew it was for none of those reasons and held firm on waiting for the real thing, although he had to admit there were moments of doubt as he watched all of his friends and then his younger sister get hitched and start reproducing.

  But then, just when he was wondering if, in fact, there was something seriously wrong with him, Michael Buble’s words had hit home. Clare had “come out of nowhere and into his life” and he understood what his dad had been talking about. Unlike many men he was comfortable with the idea of getting married, unfortunately he just had a problem with proposing.