‘Don’t call me that,’ she snaps, and hangs up the phone.
Her breathing’s rapid now, and rough. She’s never put her foot down in her life and it’s so unfamiliar that she feels slightly unwell with the shock of it.
Maybe if she’d put her foot down with the director – or had the reputation of someone who would – he wouldn’t have done what he did. Maybe he only targets people who are known for being pliable.
Because Christina has been that, hasn’t she? Doing what she’s told; taking opportunities offered to her rather than chasing ones that weren’t. She hasn’t been the seeker; she’s been the sought. And he sought her out. For the role, then more. Far more than she wanted to give.
She’s surprised when tears drop onto her hands, which are twisting around each other in her lap.
Sniffing, she hears her mother coming back into the house. ‘Darling!’ she calls. ‘Are you off the phone?’
Christina can’t answer, just keeps twisting her hands, letting tears fall.
Within seconds she feels her mother embracing her from behind, kissing the top of her head, then holding her tightly against her chest.
‘My darling,’ she murmurs into Christina’s hair. ‘Everything will be all right.’
Christina’s head drops with the weight of her tears and her anger and her frustration, of her grief for the life that has been taken from her, the uncertainty of what comes next. She lets herself cry, and lets her mother hold her, and tries to believe Joni’s words even as every molecule of her being says she’s wrong.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It’s not that Daphne can’t manage the shop on her own – she can manage almost anything on her own, she knows this about herself – more that she will miss having her Friday volunteer with her. Zara is a sweet younger woman with two small children who lives in Manly and wanted to do some volunteer work. Today, however, one of the kiddies is sick and Zara can’t make it. Which means Daphne is here alone and somewhat hoping the day doesn’t get too busy.
She’s already had one lady come in bearing a large handbag and a temper, telling Daphne that she should offer better customer service when Daphne has never met her before and has no idea what she was referring to.
The woman’s behaviour was likely nothing to do with her, of course. A person can get quite caught up thinking they’re the centre of everyone else’s universe and therefore the cause of their problems, but in Daphne’s experience that’s rarely true. Most people’s ill humour has nothing to do with the person or people it’s directed at.
The shop has long been instructive in this regard. If a customer comes in stroppy or sullen, Daphne might be tempted to take it personally. But she can’t, because it’s not personal. Whatispersonal is how she can take each encounter as an opportunity to brighten up the customer’s day.
They may not buy anything – it doesn’t matter. As it’s a charity shop, Daphne worries less about selling things to customers than she did when it was a boutique – not because she doesn’t want the charity to make money, but because she doesn’t have a boutique owner breathing down her neck about sales. Letting go of the imperative to sell frees her up to make sure the customer leaves the shop feeling better than they did when they walked in, whether it’s by offering them a smile and a hello, making a positive comment about what they’re wearing, or being genuinely interested in their day. The encounter may be one minute or one hour in length, and Daphne thinks each of them a blessing.
She’s not a religious person – working for the charity, which is part of a church, is a result of location, not faith – but she believes there’s more to life than just the day-to-day. How can a person look at the night sky and not think someone greater than humans is out there? We are just these little specks here on Earth. That belief in something more makes her life richer, she knows, but it’s not a belief she foists on anyone else. People have to come to it in their own time and for their own reasons.
Daphne opens the shop and pops out the back to make a cuppa. It’s unusual to have a customer turn up first thing – at this time of day so many of the locals are caught up in the school or work rush – so she can be in the back room and not worry.
She has time to steep her teabag and return to the counter before Margot walks in, looking a fright. Her skin is sallow, her hair is a mess, her blouse is buttoned in the wrong order and her skirt looks to be higher on one hip.
Daphne has noticed little things before now: ragged fingernails, and of course the tooth that fell out a few weeks ago. Daphne had sent Margot off to her own dentist, knowing he wouldn’t charge for the work as he had an unspoken policy of not chargingthose who couldn’t afford to pay. He would rather, he’s told Daphne, make sure their teeth are in good repair than take their payment. She wonders if Margot has been to see him; no doubt she’ll find out in a moment. But the tooth and the fingernails are signs that Margot isn’t tending to herself very well. It’s a slippery slope of neglect, and Daphne has seen it enough times to know that past a certain point its momentum is hard to stop. Those little things aggregate and before the person realises what is happening their one bad tooth is joined by another and the ragged fingernails are now overgrown and dirty. Soon they’re wearing clothes with dropped hems and their hair is dry and brittle. And always, always, their eyes lack vitality, as if life is seeping out of them, either because they’ve given up on it or it has given up on them.
Margot’s eyes have been like this for too long. Daphne has seen it but lacked the energy to do anything about it, because Hector occupies so much of her time and attention. Now, though, she cannot ignore it. She and Margot aren’t friends but they’ve known each other for a long time and Daphne simply cannot allow this current state of affairs to persist. It’s not right. Margot deserves the same dignity as any person and at the moment she doesn’t have it.
‘Hello, Margot,’ Daphne says cheerfully, knowing that cheer is an energy in and of itself.
‘Hello, Daphne.’ Margot smiles but it’s empty.
‘Still looking for a job? Need something for an interview?’
Margot has been saying for weeks that she’s going to job interviews but she doesn’t say where; nor does Daphne think she has any qualifications that could be useful to an employer. For as long as Daphne has known her, Margot has been what might be called a will-o’-the-wisp. The sort of woman who is often looked after by caring relatives who understand that she lives in the ether. Daphne knows that Margot’s aunt, Lavinia, lives with her but fancies that Lavinia isn’t capable, physically or financially,of caring for Margot properly, otherwise the younger woman wouldn’t be in this state.
‘Oh …’ Margot smiles vaguely. ‘Yes. An interview.’
As she speaks Daphne can see the gap where her tooth was. So she hasn’t gone to the dentist – and now Daphne has the conundrum of whether or not to say anything.
Margot trails her hand over the rack of dresses arranged by colour. It’s an arrangement Daphne likes to do, but she can struggle to maintain it given she’s not in the shop every day, and some of the other volunteers have priorities that don’t include putting clothes back in a colour order.
‘Looking for something in a particular shade?’ Daphne says.
Margot hasn’t bought anything in months and, at a certain point, Daphne decided she had no disposable income but she wasn’t about to offer her money. Clothes she can give, however, because she can pay for them later herself – and she’s already decided to give Margot whatever she chooses today. Having a new – or second-hand-new – piece of clothing may help to disrupt the torpor of Margot’s life. Clothes can do that. Daphne’s seen it over and over, and learnt it first from Ophelia Pankhurst, the original owner of the frock shop.