Free A Darker Music by Maris Morton

pause. ‘Janet’s all right. She came here as a bride not long after I did, so there’s a bit of shared history. If she’d known how to cook I would have asked her to teach me, but she didn’t, so apart from basic things like roast mutton, I had to teach myself.’
    Thinking of the ranks of jars of preserves in the pantry, Mary was surprised.
    Clio caught her look. ‘Yes, I know. Going by that pantry you’d think Mrs Beeton lived here.’ Clio made a bitter face. ‘Not a frustrated musician.’
    Mary didn’t know what to say. Clio a frustrated musician? It seemed unlikely. To avoid having to comment, Mary started washing lettuce and spinach. The sound of gushing water made conversation impossible, and by the time she’d finished Clio was lost in her own thoughts, and not happy ones from her face. Mary made a bid to cheer her up. ‘I found a piece of pike in the freezer and thought we could have it for tea with a lemon and dill sauce, potato straws and a salad. Does that sound okay?’
    Clio looked at her blankly for a moment while the words sank in. She prodded at the ice-filled towel on her wrist — the ice was melting and her gown was getting wet — and Mary moved to her side to make a readjustment.
    ‘It’s lovely having someone cook for me. Not hospital food, that’s factory food. I can’t imagine that it does anyone any real good. Having you make things specially for me … I can’t tell you how nice it is.’
    Mary felt gratified. ‘It’s a pleasure, Clio. Any cook likes an appreciative audience. I like to make good food for myself, too, and you give me an excuse. So, how do you feel about the pike?’ ‘It sounds lovely.’ Clio let her shoulders relax into the chair. ‘I’ll just sit here and watch you, can I?’
    She was silent while Mary sorted and stowed her booty into the crispers. When Clio spoke again, her voice was low, as if she were talking to herself. ‘They’ll be back tomorrow.’
    Mary looked over at her, wondering what she meant. Then she remembered that Paul and Martin would be flying back from Perth. ‘Yes.’
    For a moment Clio’s face wore the look of a mortally wounded animal. ‘You mustn’t mind me,’ she said with an effort for brightness. ‘I get a bit down sometimes. I’m a long way from well. I don’t want to have to see them, though.’
    ‘Paul and Martin?’
    ‘My husband and my son. I had another son, once.’ She lowered her head and retreated again into her private world.
    Mary got on with her work. She was no therapist, and nor was her curiosity an excuse for prying.
    Suddenly, Clio shuddered. ‘I’ll never feel up to seeing Paul,’ she said in a small, quiet voice.
    Mary regarded her with interest, but Clio wasn’t going to elaborate. Why didn’t she leave, then, if she felt like that, Mary wondered. Not your business, she told herself. These people are far too complicated for you. Give me Garth and Gloria any day. And their kids. Thus reminded, she moved the conversation in a new direction.
    ‘The Graysons are lending me one of the boy’s bikes so I can get about and explore a bit.’ She hoped this piece of news would take Clio’s mind off her miseries.
    ‘Really? I was just thinking: Paul leaves a vehicle in the hangar while they’re away. If you need to go somewhere I suppose you could always retrieve that … especially if you’ve got the bike. The hangar’s a bit too far to walk.’
    ‘Do you think?’ Mary was pleased that Clio had thought to make the offer. ‘But that’s only at the weekends, isn’t it, when they’re in Perth. I’d feel mean leaving you here all day on your own. When you’re properly on your feet again, then maybe I’ll take you up on that.’
    N EXT MORNING there was a knock at the back door and there stood Gayleen, eager to get Mary equipped with a bike.
    ‘Mum’s back from the run,’ she said, ‘so I can come with you. You’ll have time before they get back — we’ll hear the plane come over. Dad