Page 48 of Lessons in Love at the Seaside Salon

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Right near this cafe at The Entrance is the field where Trudy and Laurie once took Dylan’s children to the circus. The kids were staying for the weekend – Dylan must have talked Annemarie into letting that happen because she was never that fond of allowing the children to be away from her.

When Laurie was alive – yes, that’s when Dylan used to visit more. When Trudy would see her grandchildren more.

She hadn’t put it together until now, because the two years since Laurie’s death have involved so much readjustment that she failed to realise that her son’s physical absence from her life went along with her husband’s.

So he doesn’t want to see her without Laurie, is that it?

How can she not have known this?

Trudy gazes out from the cafe at people gathering around to watch pelicans on the water. Pelicans always look so patient, and slightly amused, like they’re just entertaining the tourists for a while, then they’ll spread those big wings and take off to a quieter beach.

The pelicans bring people to The Entrance. Not that they’d brought her here today. Sol has done that.

‘Hopefully there’s something you like on the menu,’ he says, breaking into her thoughts. ‘I haven’t been here before but my daughter likes it.’

Sol doesn’t talk about his daughter that often, possibly because Trudy doesn’t ask.

She’s aware grief might have made her boring.

It’s difficult not to become completely introspective when you lose the centre of your world.

You have to go inward to try to find another, even though you know it’s not there.

That it’s gone forever. When one lives alone in the wake of that grief, it’s even harder not to tunnel in and stay there, and it becomes harder still to make an effort to connect with other people.

Then it becomes a habit to not try. Even though there are so many people who come and go from the salon, there aren’t many she connects with, and fewer still who are genuinely interested enough to ask, ‘How are you?’

Perhaps she doesn’t ask them . That’s another thing that goes when you’re miserable: manners. But she’s trying to be civil. Polite. That’s why she’s smiling and nodding and looking at the list of sandwiches and toasted sandwiches in order to see that, yes, there is something she likes.

Sol gives the waitress their order while Trudy gazes once more at the water and the pelicans and thinks about the last time the children stayed with her.

It was that same trip, with the circus. Three years ago, it would be now.

Laurie was ailing but they still had hope, not that the doctors gave them much.

‘They’re always popular,’ Sol says, and she sees him gazing too at the water.

‘They’re magnificent birds. I never get tired of looking at them.’

Sol nods his agreement, then smiles at her. ‘Have you thought any more about what I suggested?’ he asks. ‘About me driving you to Sydney to see your son?’

She has thought about it, and dismissed the idea, and thought about it again, and tried to predict how Dylan would react, and each time she thinks it would be a bad idea to introduce these two. Sol is her friend, nothing more. But Dylan will think it’s more. Sol will think it’s more.

Not that she can tell him any of that. So she settles for a lie.

‘Honestly, I haven’t had time,’ she says. ‘I’ve been run off my feet with Josie away.’

‘How is the poor lass?’

‘Not happy. Which is understandable.’

Trudy has taken to visiting Josie each Sunday afternoon, just after lunch, bringing a little cake or a bun because the hospital food is awful. The girl wants to go home, of course, but it would be impossible for her parents to manage her, since she can’t walk anywhere yet.

‘A difficult time for all,’ Sol says seriously. ‘She’s lucky to have you looking out for her.’

‘It’s what anyone would do.’ Trudy believes that. Not that she has proof.

‘I doubt that. Most people, I find, can’t be bothered thinking about others.’

He looks mildly amused as he says it, so she doesn’t know if he’s joking.

‘That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?’

‘You think that because you can’t imagine it.’ He is gazing at her in a way that is adoring yet unsettling, because she’s not sure she wants to be adored by him. ‘That’s how good your heart is.’

She glances away, not able to hold his stare. ‘It’s not too good,’ she mutters. ‘It’s been doused in cigarette smoke for years.’

In fact, she’d like to douse it right now but she doesn’t smoke that much around Sol – his clothes are immaculate and smoking may ruin them. Or, at least, make them smell.

‘I see your heart.’ He sits forward on his chair. ‘Its endless capacity. You are welcoming to everyone in that salon.’

He’s only been in two or three times, so she’s not sure how he’s worked that out.

‘It’s my job.’

He wobbles his head from side to side. ‘Perhaps. But you mean it. I can tell. You care about everyone who walks through that door, even if they don’t necessarily deserve it.’

‘Everyone deserves it.’

‘You see? That’s what I mean. Good-hearted.’

He keeps smiling at her as the waitress puts down their little pots of tea and walks away.

‘You are a wonderful woman, Trudy. I admire you greatly.’

She fidgets in her seat. ‘So you keep saying.’

‘Because I’m not sure you believe me.’

‘That’s because I don’t think you’re right!’

‘Or you think I have ulterior motives, perhaps?’

That hangs in the air between them as he pours tea for her before taking hold of his own pot.

‘I do,’ he says, and their eyes meet. ‘I want to see as much of you as I can. My life is greatly improved by having you in it.’

It’s such a compliment. One of the best. Isn’t it?

As she digests it she thinks about who improves her life.

Evie. Sam. Josie. Her clients. Her friends.

Her son. Her grandchildren. Sol? Yes. He does.

Not greatly , but he does improve it. They’re sitting here in a nice place having a chat.

That’s an improvement to sitting at home feeling sorry for herself.

‘Thank you,’ she says.

There’s something that needs to be said here.

He’s no doubt waiting for her to say how much she likes him – that’s usual in these situations, she supposes.

A sentiment is offered and the person who offers it tends to want it returned.

But she’s old enough now to want to be true to herself.

She has to be: there’s no one else to do it for her.

She clears her throat. ‘I feel you may want more from me than I’m able to give,’ she says.

They’re still looking into each other’s eyes and she doesn’t see a shift in his. No disappointment appears. No dislike, either. Not a flash of anything different.

‘Well, I’m glad you didn’t say you fear I may want more.’ His laugh is light, then he takes a sip of his tea and puts the cup back in the saucer. ‘I have no interest in asking any more of you than you’re prepared to give,’ Sol says. ‘I’m happy to simply have you in my life.’

That sentence right there – now, that is the biggest compliment he could have paid her. Not demanding anything. Not expecting anything.

Something unlocks inside her. Not love – no, not that. Her love is for Laurie. At least for now.

It’s realisation: her life isn’t empty and never has been. Laurie is gone but she has her salon, her friends, her clients, her staff; she has this beach and this area and these familiar streets and cherished places; she has books and music and bright mornings and beautiful dusks.

There is also a feeling of release. She’s been holding on to something and she doesn’t even know what it is, but it’s gone now.

Her chest feels loose where it was tight.

Her shoulders relax. Why doesn’t she know herself well enough to be able to identify what’s going on?

Why is she still such a mystery to herself even at this age?

These aren’t questions she can answer now but she quite likes the idea that there’s more to discover.

Ah, there it is: she feels differently about the future now. Before it was heavy and relentless. Now it appears to her as lighter. Maybe even carefree.

Has Sol given that to her? Perhaps. Or she may have created it for herself.

By being here. Showing up each day – for life.

Even on – especially on – the days when she hasn’t felt like it.

That’s the best she can do for Laurie. For herself.

For those she loves. Keep being here. Keep showing up each day.

There’s a commotion by the water and they both turn to look to see the pelicans flapping their wings and taking off.

‘I imagine that’s it for today,’ Sol says.

‘Yes.’ She smiles and their eyes meet. ‘But there’s always tomorrow.’