Out of Time (Face the Music Book 3) (3 page)

How could she sit there and listen to a priest when she no longer believed a word he said? Surely that was the bigger sin?

‘No church?’ Grandmother bustled in. Papers clutched to her chest.

‘I have to work.’ There was no point it sugar-coating it. Perhaps her grandmother would choke on it.
Stop being a bitch.
Pity her because she has nothing else to do with her life but prod other people’s lives. She must be miserable on the inside. She tried to imagine what it must be like to be Grandmother … but it was hard when the old woman seemed to derive so much pleasure in the trouble she stirred up.

Ava looked at her grandmother. She’d been a malignant presence in her life ever since she’d moved in twelve years ago.

Her grandmother acted appalled, as if she might faint at the idea. Ava crossed her arms and waited for the tirade.

‘How can they make you work on the Lord’s day? It’s not right that they stop you from going to church. Isn’t your boss a Christian?’

Ava glanced at her mother, who was biting her lip as if to stop herself from laughing. Grandmother’s performance wasn’t new, just over the top.

‘I’m sure that God will forgive me as I provide care and comfort to the dying.’ She said the words by rote. How many times had they been around this track? ‘Hospice care is hardly the devil’s work.’ There was no way that she was going to admit to asking for the Sunday shift.

Her grandmother’s mouth flapped a couple of times. ‘Well, all your compassion won’t save you as you sit in purgatory for eternity.’

Ava didn’t need to wait, she was already there. There was no escape from the torment.

‘Of course, if you were a doctor,’ Grandmother sighed dramatically. ‘You wouldn’t have to work on Sundays and you could attend church.’

Ava bit her tongue. She was not going to take the bait. She would not give her the satisfaction of starting another fight.

Grandmother narrowed her eyes. Then she thrust the papers at Ava. ‘What is this?’

Ava looked at the papers, then wished the ground would open up and take her straight to the hell she wasn’t sure existed.

‘It looks like the packaging from the menstrual cup I bought. Did you fish it out of the bin?’ Her cheeks must be flaming red and her voice had taken on a slightly squeaky tone. She sounded more like a mouse than a lion full of confidence.

‘You are a rude girl. I found it. What is this cup?’

‘You shouldn’t go through the rubbish, Mother.’ Ava’s mother put down the knife and glared at her mother-in-law. ‘You have no right to go through Ava’s things.’

‘Someone has to watch the girl. This cup will take her virginity. Then what will we do? No one will marry her. She will never get married,’ Grandmother said, as though that was the worst thing that could happen.

Oh for God’s sake.

Ava snatched the papers out of her grandmother’s hand and stuffed them in the bin. ‘I’m not discussing how I deal with my period, or what I put in my vagina, with you. In fact, my body is none of your concern. My self-worth and value as a person doesn’t lie between my legs.’

Grandmother crossed herself. ‘You are a wicked girl. I have been working so hard to find you a good husband and you ruin yourself.’

She’d ruined herself plenty of times. Masturbation was also frowned on. She remembered coming home from sex ed at school with extra questions, only to be told that it was shameful and disgusting. For a while she’d believed her grandmother.

‘What if I don’t want a husband?’

‘You would deny me the chance to be a great grandmother?’

Yes was not the right answer to say aloud. But it was tempting.

One. Two. Three. Breathe.

She swallowed the words and looked to her mother for support, but knew she wouldn’t get any. Her father would hear a modified version of this from his mother and then he’d speak to his wife and she’d bear the brunt of failing to keep her wilful daughter under control.

‘You expect me to live my life to please you? Do you realise how egocentric that is?’

‘I’m your elder. You have to listen and respect me.’ The old woman drew herself up, but still wasn’t as tall as Ava.

The anger she’d been keeping hold of broke free. ‘Respect is earned.’

Grandmother gasped and Ava walked away before she said anything else that she would regret. There would be trouble knocking soon enough. She shut her bedroom door and glanced around her room. An argument was now happening in the kitchen. Grandmother had been in Australia for over fifty years. Ava’s father had been born here. And yet coming home felt as though she was stepping back into the dark ages. She envied her Australian friends’ easy life. They dated and did what they wanted and no one caused them grief.

While she’d had a secret boyfriend at uni, it had fallen apart because she didn’t want to sleep with him. No, she
had
wanted to sleep with him but it hadn’t felt right.

Her only other boyfriends had been met at church and judged as acceptable by her family.

She was tired of trying to obey and pleasing no one, least of all herself.

She glanced around her room and wondered how many times her privacy had been invaded while she was at work. She needed a lock.

No. She needed to move out.

That would probably get her disowned.

Her heart fluttered with excitement at the idea.

She needed to start looking. She picked up her laptop and typed in the password. Then she changed the password, just in case. Grandmother wasn’t stupid and she could use a computer, even if she feigned otherwise.

Ava didn’t notice when the fighting stopped, but she heard the tap on her door. It wouldn’t be Grandmother coming to make peace.

‘It’s me,’ her mother said through the door.

‘Come in, Mum.’

Her mother opened the door and drew in a breath that was part resignation and part steeling herself for what needed to be said. Ava was used to it so she waited for her mother to speak.

‘You shouldn’t goad her.’ Her mother’s voice was calm, as though she hadn’t just been arguing with her mother-in-law about how she should be raising her daughters.

‘She shouldn’t be so nosy.’

Her mother looked at the screen, but didn’t say anything. This wasn’t the first time Ava had looked at other places to live. But this time she meant it. She had money in the bank and she could actually do it.

‘She was out of line about the cup.’

‘You reckon? She is out of line and out of date and I’m tired of it. I’m tired of her trying to set me up and I’m tired of her meddling. I’m just done.’ Once it was said aloud she realised it was true. This wasn’t a hissy fit or a knee jerk reaction, or even about choosing her battles. She didn’t want to pick them, so she was packing up and leaving the battleground before she was ground down into the mud.

‘You don’t have to move out.’

She didn’t have to, but for her own sanity she was going to. ‘Yeah I do. It’s time I did. I can’t live here forever.’

‘Only until you marry.’ But her mother was smiling. ‘Your father and I were introduced. No one is forcing you.’

‘I want to be able to date and do what I want, without her peering over my shoulder and going through my room.’

‘You can date.’

‘Can I? Can you imagine the performance if I brought a boyfriend around that she hadn’t approved of? The insinuations.’ That her grandmother still considered being a virgin a virtue was almost enough to make get out there and lose it. She wasn’t getting any younger, her friends were out there having fun … and having their hearts broken … and she was missing out.

No man was going to keep it in his pants to share the experience with her. The double standard irked her. And the more Grandmother harped on, the more the annoyance festered.

Her mother sighed. ‘Be sure, because your father and your grandmother will not be welcoming if you need to come back.’

Her mother would welcome her back, but no one else would. They probably wouldn’t let her through the door. It cut to know that following the rules was more important than her happiness.

If she didn’t do it this time, would she ever? How far did she let herself get pushed before she no longer had the strength to get back up? If she stayed, Grandmother would wear her down.

It had to be done. ‘I’m sure.’

***

Mike threw himself into working, then seeing his mother and then going around to Ed’s to work on the songs that would eventually become the second album. By the time he got home it was midnight. Then he’d wake up six hours later and repeat. It was a brutal schedule that left him exhausted and with no time to think.

It was exactly what he needed.

On Saturday night he went out with Dan. Or at least, he’d wanted to. Dan had already been drunk when Mike had showed up at the flat. His flat that Dan was turning into a bit of a swamp while he stayed there. Instead of clubbing, he’d sat on the sofa and got drunk with Dan while they watched action flicks and avoided talking and therefore arguing about the dumb shit they had been fighting about. It wasn’t the same as clubbing. And it wasn’t fun.

And there were no chicks.

And Dan was lousy company.

In the morning he left Dan a note to clean the place up or he’d start charging him rent. Then he pulled his pushbike out. He hadn’t done any real riding in a year. Zipping around the corner or to Ed’s place didn’t count.

He should be able to make it to the hospice though. He’d ridden between his flat and his mother’s place many times before and the hospice was closer. He grabbed his belly. He wasn’t as fit as he had been. Too much beer.

If he couldn’t make it he could always admit defeat and get on a bus. Even as he thought it he knew that was never going to happen. He’d do the ride even if it meant he was throwing his guts up all the way home.

He tossed a clean shirt in a backpack, along with a drink bottle, and headed out.

The heatwave had broken and the morning was blessedly cool. For the first ten minutes he actually enjoyed the ride, the breeze on his face and the lack of traffic on the road. He remembered why he liked riding.

He didn’t even care the Lycra-clad riders were whipping past him. He wasn’t going for speed, he just needed something to do. Sitting around his mother’s house was depressing. He didn’t know what to do. She’d talked about selling it. He couldn’t face that. It was stupid, but losing the house and his mother was too much.

He needed to do something though, as he was paying his mother’s mortgage as well as his own and he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep working once they went over east again. The only reason he could pick up work was because he’d kept in contact with his old boss and the demand for electricians was high.

Something needed to break, or he would.

Knowing that and knowing what to do were two very different things.

In short he was fucked, and not in the fun way.

At least by staying in he hadn’t woken up somewhere strange and with that seedy feeling in the pit of his stomach. All he had was a slight hangover that wasn’t improving with the ride, as it was making him realise how clouded his head was. And his thighs were on fire. His calves soon joined the party.

If he stopped for a stretch, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get going again.

So he pushed on, only stopping when he reach the park near the hospice, where he threw up before stretching and having a drink and laying on the grass like he was dying.

He was never going to be able to walk again … his head would explode before that became a problem.

He should’ve admitted he wasn’t fit enough for this about five kilometres ago.

Half measures were for sensible people who had things to risk.

His stomach heaved again but he sipped the water and stayed immobile on the grass until he felt slightly better. Some women walked through the park, pushing prams and talking. A dog ran over to sniff him.

The owner peered at him. ‘Are you all right?’

Mike glanced at the older man. ‘Yeah. Just pushed too hard.’ His bike was on the ground next to him, and he was going to make himself ride home too.

‘The joy of youth.’ He called his dog and walked away.

Mike forced himself to sit up. His shirt clung to his back with sweat, and while he knew his mother wouldn’t care—she’d probably be glad to see him riding again—he felt grotty. He should’ve gone surfing with Ed … but he didn’t want to talk about music or his mother or anything. When he rode he was on his own.

A tiny part of him knew he was pushing people away but he didn’t know where to start, or what to say, and it was just one more thing he didn’t know how to deal with. Last time it had been about the fight and survival, people had rallied around him and his mother. This felt different.

It was different.

He stood up, pulled off his shirt and gave himself a wipe, sprayed on deodorant so he didn’t smell like an armpit then slipped on his clean shirt. He put his helmet back on because it would be just his luck to get a fine in the hundred metres he had to travel. And even though his legs protested, he rode up to the hospice and chained his bike up. He had no idea how he was going to get home … just thinking about it hurt.

He ran his fingers through his hair even though he knew it was a lost cause, clipped his helmet to his bag, and went in.

The building was so quiet he had to double-check it was visiting hours. It was, and he walked to his mother’s room. She was lying down, eyes closed as she listened to an audio book. He stood there, not sure if she was sleeping or awake.

She didn’t move and he couldn’t wake her.

The young Indian nurse glanced at him as she walked past, then stopped. She peered into the room then took his arm. ‘The doctor changed her pain medication. It’s making her sleepy.’

‘Pain?’

He couldn’t remember the nurse’s name so he scanned her name tag. Ava. He tried really hard not to think about the first thoughts he’d had about her. She’d be horrified.

‘For the headaches.’ Ava explained, but her tone suggested that she should be aware of all of this.

Headaches, right. She’d been taking something but he hadn’t realised it was that bad. ‘Can I go in?’