The Lace Sisters

Francesca - nearing the end of her time in Australia - Chapter 2

Photo by Olena Bohovyk on Unsplash

Outside the wind was picking up and rattling the old caravan. Draughts of hot air blew in under the door and through the windows sending waves of heat across my body, mixed with occasional blasts of cold from the air cooler. The rush of the wind in the trees and a distant hum of the generator added to the heavy atmosphere.

‘We need another tea,’ said Matty.

Mum and I both nodded, glad for the distraction. Mum’s hands twisted around themselves, and I noticed how transparent they were, as if she were vanishing from the inside out. I scanned her arms, the skin mottled all the way to her rubbery neck and sagging chin. Her eyes though, when she glanced at me, were as bright and lively as ever. They flicked from Matty to me and back again, like little fireflies scared of the light.

‘When did she die?’ Mum asked.

‘Aunty Kath? It was just a few months after you left.’

Mum cleared her throat and took a sip of tea as soon as Matty put the steaming cup in front of her.

‘That must have been hard for you,’ she said.

I felt a lump rise in my throat. The sudden feeling of loss almost overwhelmed me, but I swallowed a gulp of burning liquid then spattered some out as it scorched my tongue. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

‘She never told me you were alive,’ I said, failing to keep the accusation from my voice. ‘Why? Why did she hide the letters?’

‘She was such a loving person.’

‘She was,’ I agreed, ‘so there must’ve been a reason she held on to those letters and kept them hidden in an old trunk stuffed in a false wall. What was it?’

Mum took another long sip while Matty paused her cleaning and turned to face us.

‘You need to tell her the truth,’ said Matty. Then she looked at me. ‘I don’t even know the full story and we’ve been living together for these past few years.’

Mum’s hands shook as she lifted the tea once more. They were shaking so much she had to put the cup down without taking a sip. Mum lifted the curtain patterned with oranges and gazed out the window for a long time.

‘It wasn’t easy being here without your father,’ she began in a voice barely audible over the beating generator. ‘Australia closed its borders, the world went into hibernation, there was no way out and I was –‘

Mum broke off. She took a moment, sniffing and swallowing, and then continued.

‘I was grieving, Checki. All my life was loss, my beautiful Dad killed because of this stupid country, Mum sending me to England with Aunty, Gran dying here, your dad…’

I listened to Mum speak and heard the pain behind the words, but I was strangely unmoved. Here was a woman defined by tragedy, but she made tragedy a part of my life by the choices she made. My face hardened as Mum spoke. She glanced at me then, noting my silent stare.

‘I guess it’s hard for you to understand,’ she said. 

‘No,’ I replied. ‘Not one bit.’

‘You’re tougher than I remember.’

I felt like laughing but I frowned instead. ‘It’s what you made me.’

‘Don’t be so harsh, Checki. Think of what I lost.’

I rose from my seat. 

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ I said. ‘I’m glad I found you, but I have to go. Tomorrow I’m going home. I’ve got my own life to lead there.’

‘Checki –‘ 

Mum reached out her papery hand. I took it, feeling its lightness, understanding she’d been disappearing from my life for a long time, and I’d never have her back. I felt a shiver run through me. I turned to Matty.

‘Take care,’ I said, before fumbling with the caravan door and tumbling out into the blistering heat. I stumbled to the car, my tears drying on my face before they reached my cheek. I blasted cold air into the car before I shifted the lever to ‘R’, reversed out of the driveway scattering gravel as the car screeched along the dusty track, turned the car around, punched the co-ordinates into the GPS, shifted to ‘Drive’ and sped away towards the highway.

The hotel was a refuge of quiet and calm and I spent the day before I was due to fly home, talking to Mark on the phone. I’d woken up nauseous and Mark was worried. I kept my side of the conversation neutral because I had no idea how to tell him about Mum and Matty and I wanted to be with him to fill him in on the details. He was cool with me though because I was being distant with him, and the conversation ended abruptly. I threw the phone down, sat down on the bed and sobbed. 

The cool air inside the hotel room was soothing though and after I’d washed my face and nibbled on some toast and drank some peppermint tea, I began to feel better.

Although my meeting with Mum had been disastrous, I was glad I’d finally found out what had happened. Disappointment was thick inside me but now I wasn’t left guessing. I lay on my bed, my hands resting just below my stomach, and thought of the generations of women who’d gone before me. My mother, with her denial of any wrongdoing, Aunty Kath hiding the truth from me, for what reason I still didn’t understand. Aunty Kath’s sisters, Rose and my grandmother, Harriet, or was it Elsie? Grand women who’d forged a new life in Australia only to see it fail when the husbands died. Only Mum, of all the women, stayed in Australia and she was the one who hated it most. Last, the shadowy figure atop this line, my great grandmother, the original lace maker. Where and who was she? What was her story and what did she have to do with the long chain of events that led to me being in Australia?

I stroked my belly. Now there was another Lacey. What would the future look like for this Lacey-to-be? If my journey to Australia taught me anything, it was the folly of chasing ghosts. I’d learned a lot about my family, the amazing women who settled here, their joys, triumphs and tragedies, and I’d said a proper goodbye to my father. Most of all, I found my mother. I should be feeling ecstatic, but I felt more deflated than ever.

I took my phone out and swiped until I found the Photos app, opening it to see an image of The Gurdies. I swiped again and this time the Sheep Panel sprang into view. I’d forgotten for a moment how gorgeous it was, stunning in its depiction of the Australian life I’d seen first-hand, if only for a few days. The thought of Aunty Kath, Aunty Rose and Gran working on this for months, probably years, brought a lump in my throat.

I swiped again. This time a picture of Mark appeared. That was better. I gazed at the round face, soft brown eyes, the lopsided grin, and I smiled. I left the image up for a long time.

A sudden urge to call Mark overtook me. Mark answered on the second ring.

‘Checki,’ he said. 

He sounded so happy to hear me and all I wanted in that moment was to snuggle into his bear-like embrace. I sniffed and drew a deep breath, anxious to stop myself crying. I let him talk while I thought of him waiting for my return. I’d made a good choice. Here was a steady man, someone I could make a life with and, suddenly, my heart warmed. I was looking forward at last.