The January Wish (16 page)

‘Sylvia, are you okay?’ he enquired.

‘I’m fine.’ Sylvia pushed the hair back from her face with both hands. ‘Actually, I’m
not
fine. We need to talk.’ Both hands were now planted rigidly on her hips.

A ‘V’ formed in Mark’s forehead, as he cocked his head to one side. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Don’t look at me like you don’t know what’s wrong!’ The engine hummed as she made her way around the door to face him. ‘I can’t believe I fell for your charm. Here I was, thinking you were this nice, caring guy, and as soon as I let my guard down I get slapped in the face with the truth!’ The boiling anger she’d felt earlier made its way to the surface, burning cracks in the icy sharpness that had attempted to hold it prisoner.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Mark replied, holding onto the top of the door as if for support.

‘Oh really? Is that what you’d say to your
wife
if she accused you of having an affair?’ Sylvia’s eyes shone like lasers towards him, pinning him down.

Mark froze for a moment, then exhaled deeply as he sat on the edge of the car seat, looking down at the gravel driveway.

‘So you don’t deny it? You’re married?’ Sylvia maintained her stance and focus.

He looked up at her, all colour drained from his face. ‘Sylvia, let me explain…’

‘Explain? I overheard a patient talking about how she’d met you and your
wife
,’ the word burned on her tongue, ‘and this morning you seemed like you were trying to avoid me, and now, you try to drive off without saying a word to me before you leave—explain that!’

‘My wife, she—‘

‘Aha, so you
do
have a wife. Straight from the horse’s mouth! Does she know about me?’

‘Sylvia—‘

‘Does she know her husband’s throwing himself at other women?
Are
there other women? And how will she react when—‘

‘Sylvia, she died,’ Mark said.

‘Huh?’

‘My wife died.’ He turned off the engine, leaving a painful silence between them.

‘She…
died
?’

Mark nodded. ‘Eighteen months ago. Bacterial meningitis. One day she was fine, the next…well. It all happened so fast.’

‘Oh, Mark.’ Sylvia dropped to her knees and placed a hand on his thigh, not caring that the gravel was poking into her kneecaps. ‘I’m
so
sorry. I wish I’d known. God, what an idiot I’ve been! I’m
so, so
sorry.’ If she could have taken back the last few minutes she would have. She wished she’d gotten the facts straight before accusing him of being an unfaithful bastard.

‘It doesn’t matter. I should have told you, but we were having such a good time at the wedding, it didn’t seem appropriate.’ He placed a hand over Sylvia’s.

She couldn’t believe he wasn’t upset with her.

‘Anyway, you’re right,’ Mark said. ‘I
was
trying to avoid you this morning. You see, I haven’t dated anyone since…it happened. Haven’t
wanted
to, until now. And after Saturday night I freaked out a bit, felt guilty, like I was betraying her.’ He looked up at the sky.

‘It’s okay, I understand,’ Sylvia whispered, her eyes strained with concern.

Mark looked down at her. ‘This…
us
probably happened too fast. I think, well, I
obviously
need more time to deal with things. I don’t want to mess you around.’

You’re not messing me around. Let’s start again.
Now she knew the truth she wanted to be with him even more.

‘Let’s take a step back. We’ve only known each other for a short while, and I’m still getting settled in town. It’s probably best if we’re just friends for now, and see what happens down the track.’ Mark removed his hand from hers.

Sylvia didn’t want to see what would happen down the track, she wanted to see what would happen tomorrow, next weekend, next month. But ‘down the track’ implied months, years, or
never
. But he was right. Having a relationship with someone who’s still grieving was destined for heartache, and there was enough of that tucked away in that little place within her mind.

‘Yeah, it’s probably best.’ Sylvia removed her hand from his thigh and stood up, flicking away remnants of gravel stuck to her trousers. ‘But listen, anytime you want to talk. I’m here.’

‘Thanks.’ Mark stood too, as Sylvia stepped back from the car. ‘Sylvia,’ he said. ‘I really enjoyed the weekend.’

‘Me too,’ she said, leaning into him and giving him a friendly hug.

‘I thought you guys had already left!’ Joyce appeared from around the corner. ‘Everything alright?’

Mark and Sylvia nodded. ‘Everything’s fine,’ they both said, and Mark got back into his car, turned on the engine, and drove away.

‘Can I give you a lift home, Sylvia?’ Joyce asked.

‘You know what? That’d be great.’ All energy had drained from her body and she wanted to get home, eat, and go to bed as soon as possible.

* * *

When Mark opened his front door, he stared for a moment at the picture of his wife on the wall, her eyes looking right at him as though she was really there. ‘Oh, Cindy…’ he ran a finger over her glossy, dark hair. ‘How am I supposed to move on?’ A slight trembling affected his chin and he looked away from the picture. He took a beer—usually only a once-a-week treat—from the fridge, and sat on the couch. He took a long gulp, and sighed.

Looking around the room he realised how much work was still to be done. He’d managed to hang pictures but still hadn’t unpacked the wine glasses, or the good dinnerware, or the books. Not to mention the other boxes that needed to be dealt with. The boxes with
her
things in them. Cindy’s whole life, reduced to a few boxes of material possessions. As long as he had them it was like she still existed. Mark’s brother had advised dealing with them before moving house, but he wasn’t ready. ‘I’ll deal with them once I’ve settled in,’ he’d replied. But he couldn’t find the energy or desire to sort through them. He’d come here for a fresh start, but had only managed to bring the past with him.

Half the beer gone, and noticing the sun fading outside his living room window, he thought back to that horrible afternoon.
If only I hadn’t gone into work that day. She might still be alive.
He took another gulp, swishing it around along with the memories.

Cindy had felt unwell for a day or so, and on that fateful Thursday morning he’d asked her if she was feeling any better. ‘Not really,’ she’d replied. ‘It’s just a bad flu. But you go off to work, I’ll probably be much better by the time you get home.’ She’d smiled weakly at him, and rolled over to face the bedside table where he’d left her phone, tissues, a water bottle, some food, and a liquid herbal medicine. ‘Okay, but you’ll let me know if you need me to come home or take you to the doctor?’ She’d nodded.

Cindy, a fitness instructor, had been a tough nut to crack. Always with the attitude of ‘I’ll be right’, she never complained, and rarely got sick. On the occasions she did she always bounced back quickly, so Mark expected nothing less this time. But when he tried calling her twice that afternoon there’d been no answer. On the third try she’d picked up, but he only heard a sound like the phone dropping. He’d rushed home without a second thought to find her half conscious with a blotchy rash on her body that hadn’t been there that morning. The dark colour of the rash didn’t disappear when he pressed on it, and he knew immediately what it was.

Knowing he’d get to the hospital faster by driving than if he’d waited for an ambulance, he lifted her into the backseat of the car and sped away, arriving at the emergency department five minutes later. She was taken through immediately, and the doctors didn’t wait for test results before starting treatment. As soon as they’d seen the rash and heard Mark relaying how quickly she’d gotten sick, they didn’t waste any time. But their efforts were in vain, as two hours later she was dead.

Mark downed the rest of the beer, then thumped the empty bottle onto the coffee table. Although it didn’t break, the loud sound shocked his eardrums, and he gasped for breath. He bit down on his lip, trying to stop the emotions of that day coming out, but they were too strong. Pain and grief spilled out of his eyes, though he tried to push them back with the heel of his hand. Sure, he’d cried when she died, and many times after, but then nothing for months. It was as though there’d been nothing left inside, like he’d dried out. But now, after opening that door to Sylvia, that door inside his heart that had been closed for so long, he’d remembered what it felt like to feel connected to someone. He’d felt the rush and the bliss, and then the ache, knowing that he’d never have that connection with his wife again. There was no guarantee that any woman could ever make him feel the way Cindy had made him feel. Being with Sylvia had given him a hint of hope, but also danger. There was no way he was prepared to fall for someone again and risk the pain of losing them. It was easier to keep that door to his heart closed.

Not at all hungry, Mark retreated to his bed, stripped off to his trunks and slid under the sheets. He looked at Cindy’s photo on his bedside table, the one of her on their wedding day. He filled his eyes with her beauty, before turning out the lamp, filling his eyes with darkness.

‘I could sit here all afternoon and listen to you, Grace.’ William Randleman, the music teacher at Tarrin’s Bay High School, leaned back in his chair and threaded his fingers together over the back of his head. ‘Obviously, we’d be honoured to have you perform at the variety concert. You’ll be the highlight of the show!’ He removed his hands and wrote something on a piece of paper, shaking his head as though in disbelief.

‘Where did you find this prodigy, Sylvia?’

‘Oh, she just turned up on my doorstep one day,’ Sylvia replied, smiling. Mr Randleman laughed. Little did he know how true that statement was.

Warmth gushed from Grace’s face and permeated the air. She wasn’t used to being treated like a star or called a prodigy, but after Mr Randleman’s standing ovation on finishing her audition piece, well, she could get used to it! She just hoped she’d be able to conquer her nerves, performing in front of a few hundred people instead of only one.

‘Well then, if you could let me know by the end of April the name of the piece you’ll be performing on the night, that would be appreciated. And Sylvia, can I count on the clinic distributing some promotional flyers again this year?’ Mr Randleman asked.

‘Of course,’ Sylvia replied.

Grace picked up her bag and thanked Mr Randleman, then walked out of the school hall with Sylvia, past a line-up of aspiring performers. A girl in a leotard had one leg stretched up the wall in front of her, making Grace wince. She wondered how anyone’s body could physically do that. A teenage boy was practising a card trick, swearing when he dropped all the cards, revealing they were all the same. He quickly picked them up and shoved them into his pocket. And a woman who Grace thought she’d seen in the bookstore a couple of times stood by the wall, warming up her voice through a range of high and low notes. A variety concert indeed. Though she doubted the card trick boy would pass the audition. Poor bugger.

‘Told you there wouldn’t be a problem getting through,’ Sylvia said as they walked outside. ‘Looks like our shopping trip
is
on for tomorrow as planned.’

Grace smiled. ‘What colour dress should I wear to the concert?’

Sylvia pursed her lips to one side. ‘Definitely not black. You’d be camouflaged among the black of the piano and stage curtains.’

‘True, I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘Red could be good, or blue perhaps?’ Sylvia suggested.

‘Do you think pink would be too…I dunno, little girly?’ Grace asked.

Sylvia looked at her for a moment. ‘I’m sure I’ve seen lots of girls your age wearing pink. If you’re comfortable in pink, then pink it will be.’

‘On second thoughts, maybe not,’ Grace said, eyeing a young, feminine-looking man bouncing up the steps wearing a hot-pink shirt and yellow bow tie, carrying an instrument case.

Sylvia raised her eyebrows. ‘Looks like he didn’t have anyone trustworthy to take him shopping.’

Grace laughed, all nerves from before dropping away. ‘I hope you’re trustworthy.’ she looked cautiously at Sylvia.

‘Of course, I’m very good at clothes shopping.’

‘I hope so,’ Grace said with a tinge of sarcasm.

Sylvia stopped dead in her tracks and gave an exaggerated gesture at her clothing. ‘Would this SABA suit lie?’

They both laughed, and Grace knew she’d be in good hands with Sylvia. She always looked perfectly dressed and well-groomed. Not way out, but sensible and elegant. Although Grace hadn’t heard of SABA suits before.

‘Sorry I couldn’t drive us to the shopping centre,’ Sylvia said as they stepped off the bus the next morning.

‘No problem. Doesn’t worry me how I get somewhere, as long as I get there,’ Grace replied. ‘Oh, I forgot to thank you for leaving work early yesterday to take me to the audition.’

‘My pleasure. Any excuse for an early mark on a Friday! And any excuse to hear you play,’ Sylvia said. She seemed genuinely happy to be with Grace, but there was something in her eyes, something in her expression that Grace couldn’t read. Like there was something on her mind that wouldn’t budge. Probably nothing, she is a doctor after all, so maybe she just had a difficult week with patients.

‘Well, thanks. So, which shops do you recommend in here?’ Grace asked as they walked into the shopping centre, hit with a cool blast from the air conditioning. ‘Do you think Target would have anything decent?’

Sylvia looked at Grace as though she’d asked if they should eat their lunch off the footpath. ‘We won’t be going to Target, Grace. Come this way…’

She led Grace to a boutique hidden between a homewares shop and a mobile phone outlet. Not the sort of place Grace would think to look; it seemed a little old for her taste. Sylvia’s eyes scanned the store, and within seconds she’d lifted three dresses from the rack.

‘What do you think?’ she asked.

She’d chosen well, but Grace wasn’t sure about one of them. ‘They’re nice, I’ll go try them on.’ A sales assistant carried them into the fancy change room, and closed the curtain behind Grace. The first dress she tried was a bright blue halter neck. It was a little loose around the bust, but made Grace feel like she was twenty-five. The second was a rich red colour, with one shoulder strap that travelled diagonally across the front of the dress. And the third was pink, but Grace wasn’t sure about the ruffles at the front. Too frilly.