‘Hey,’ I say.
‘Hey.’
I pick up one of the empty pots and fiddle with it. ‘What was going on last night?’
‘Huh?’
‘The yelling.’
‘Oh! Joshua Bennett and his mates started smashing up the pavilion a bit before midnight. They didn’t get very far, though. Matt’s dad called the police.’
‘There was yelling after that. Just before dawn.’
Richard doesn’t say anything.
‘Who was he yelling at afterwards?’
Richard sighs. ‘Matt’s dad was yelling at Matt. But Matt doesn’t let it get to him and he hates talking about it. Can we change the subject?’
‘Fine.’ I cross my arms. ‘It’s just not fair – he shouldn’t be yelled at like that.’
Richard grunts.
‘So, I’ve been thinking . . .’
‘About what?’
‘Well, Matt mentioned that your mum doesn’t go out much. And I was wondering if . . . if I could help, somehow?’
Richard blinks at me. ‘You want to help Mum leave the cabin?’
‘Well, yeah. I mean, I’ve been reading up on agoraphobia. There are lots of strategies and things she could try. Just small things – like having the front door open.’
‘She doesn’t care about the front door.’
‘Well, standing on the doorstep, then. Or in the garden. Or on the road. Just breaking it down into little parts so it stops being so overwhelming.’
Richard tilts his head. ‘You think we all need fixing.’
‘No! I just . . . I’d like to help, that’s all. It must be hard for her, being cooped up in there all the time.’
‘You know she saw my dad die?’
‘No. I didn’t know that. I’m so sorry.’
Richard nods. ‘Before we left for Australia. I don’t really remember it, but Mum thinks about it all the time. She used to have nightmares and . . . well. It’s been tough for her. And . . . being in the cabin? It’s where she feels safe. It works for her. It works for me. Sometimes people fix themselves in ways that no one else really gets. But I get that about my mum. I do. We’re okay.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You don’t need to fix everyone, Stella.’ His voice is gentle, like he’s breaking bad news to me. ‘You really don’t. People don’t need to be fixed.’
We re-pot tomatoes for a little while without speaking, but I feel flushed with embarrassment and head back to the cabin pretty soon, where I look at my letter.
‘What are you doing?’ Mum asks, poking her head into the bedroom. She glances at the dog, curled in a ball on the floor. He’s hung around for most of the day, popping off around lunchtime and coming back smelling strongly of roast chicken. ‘You want to go for a walk with me? Just around the park. It’s nice out there.’
‘Alright,’ I say, putting the letter in the bedside drawer like it’s no big deal. Thinking that this might be the perfect time to drop the letter bombshell. To ask if Mum knows what Kelly means. If you change your mind.
‘Your father’s dropped off his resumé to all sorts of places,’ Mum says, as we pull on our shoes. ‘He just texted me.’
It’s going to be one of those walks. No letter bombshell, then. My heart sinks. Taylor calls them Monologue Walks. Where Mum talks full speed about how great Dad’s doing and we’re expected to nod along and she comes home a bit manic, a bit hopeful. Taylor and I always come home utterly exhausted. Tired. Spent. Drained. Drowsy.
‘I don’t want to talk about Dad,’ I say, as we walk out of the annex with the dog. ‘Because you don’t listen to anything I have to say about him and it’s super frustrating.’
‘But he’s doing so well! You know, I think he’s really turned a corner since you found him at the track.’
‘Which time?’ I mutter, too low for Mum to hear.
‘He said it really got him thinking about things. He’s even agreed to look for another counsellor.’
‘Which he won’t ever go to.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Nothing. Mum – can we get Muriel into aged care? I worry about her – working so hard in the garden here. Particularly in the heat.’
Mum doesn’t even pause. ‘Anyway, Stell. If he gets another job and it sticks, we’ll be able to look at rental properties again, soon. Get onto some more payment plans. Things will start getting better, you know?’
‘Right. I really don’t want to talk about Dad. I just asked you something about Muriel.’
‘He’s just got so much potential, you know? Always has. Right from when I met him. It’s what really caught my interest – he was so bright.’
‘You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?’ She’s running the chain and crucifix she wears around her neck very quickly through her fingers. She feels like a different person. I pluck some beans off the plant that grows near Trisha’s. They’re cool and chalky against my tongue. I hand one to Mum and she turns it around and around in her hands.
‘He’s always experimented with things, to ease his – you know – his sad periods. And I suppose the gambling’s just the latest thing. He’ll move onto something else. It’s just a phase. He’ll work out it just makes him more depressed, you know?’
‘Yeah, that’s exactly how gambling works,’ I say and Mum ignores the sarcasm – or doesn’t notice it. ‘What do you mean, sad periods?’
‘His depression.’
‘Dad’s depressed?’
‘Yes, Stell. I thought you girls knew. He’s struggled with it since he was a teen.’
‘Oh.’
‘It’s going to be an odd summer, but we’ll be back living our lives soon, Stell. I promise.’
And I frown because I am living my life. Life hasn’t stopped just because something difficult has happened. Something strange and unexpected. Life keeps trucking on and I wonder, suddenly, if Mum feels like her life is on hold. I wonder how long she’s felt that way. I glance at her, looking determinedly ahead as we walk along the gravel paths. It’s a pretty rotten way to live.
***
Mum’s getting ready for her afternoon shift. The shower groans in the bathroom and Dad watches as Taylor and I feed scraps to the dog and doesn’t mention it. Looking at Dad, I wonder how I haven’t noticed his depression. Surely the books should have prepared me for having a parent who gambled and was depressed. I peer at him, as though there’s some mark on his face that I’ve missed; some sign I misinterpreted.
‘What?’ he asks when he notices me staring.
‘Nothing.’
When Mum comes out of the bathroom she nudges Taylor. ‘Taylor.’
‘Yes’m?’
‘Have you put more dye in your hair after I told you not to?’
‘No,’ Taylor says. She’s added thick tracts of green to her hair and I wonder if Mum’s going to push her on it, but Mum just shakes her head and heads out to the car. A little while later, Dad heads off with his toolbox to fix Cassie’s roof with Taylor trailing along after him. I feel a pang, watching her. Taylor’s so good at changing things that she doesn’t like. If anyone’s going to help Dad, it’s probably her. Not me, with all my books and articles and self-help webinar series. I hadn’t even realised he was depressed.