Stephen beams at her and she can’t help smiling back. ‘My absolute pleasure,’ he says.
She walks down the hall, resisting looking back to check that he’s still there, still real, then opens the door to the room.
Lavinia’s lying down with her leg propped up, looking like she’s aged a decade.
Her eyelids flutter open and she smiles weakly. ‘Oh, my dear,’ she says, trying to shift herself upright.
‘Stay there,’ Margot says, leaning down to kiss her before pulling up a chair. Suddenly she feels even more overwhelmed than she did in the car.
She sniffs, trying not to cry, but she can’t stop it.
‘Margot! Whatever is it?’
‘I’m so glad you’re alive,’ she mumbles, tears now rolling down her cheeks.
‘Well, so am I,’ Lavinia says. ‘And I wouldn’t have thought that a cause for tears.’
Margot laughs and cries at the same time, the most odd juxtaposition of actions.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says, then she sighs, as if letting go of years of worry that she didn’t even know she was holding on to.
‘That was a big sigh,’ Lavinia observes wryly.
‘I’m feeling relieved.’
Lavinia narrows her eyes. ‘And something else.’
‘What?’ Margot’s cheeks grow hot.
‘There – you’re blushing. Is it Mr Williams?’
‘No, I –’ Margot stops herself. There’s no need to lie to Lavinia. ‘Perhaps. He’s here. He drove me here.’
‘What a gentleman,’ Lavinia says approvingly. ‘And he knew not to come in – even more gentlemanly. He would know I wouldn’t want to be seen like this by anyone but my nearest and dearest.’ Lavinia holds out her hand and Margot takes it. ‘And that is you, my dear.’
Lavinia reaches up to pat her cheek and Margot lets herself cry again, thinking of how dark the world almost became.
‘And you for me too,’ she says, leaning into Lavinia’s hand, more grateful than she can say that the world remains bright, and that a new sliver of light has entered it, and is even now sitting in the waiting room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Since that night at the shop, Lucy’s been keeping herself away from Russell when she can, taking off down the tracks that are part of the bushland that’s throughout Mosman, or exploring the beaches. Russell doesn’t like the outdoors, so she knows she’s safe from him as she walks above Taylors Bay, watching people on their yachts enjoying their summer days, or swims at Clifton Gardens. She can put out her towel and put on her sunglasses and rest.
Rest is in short supply at home. She keeps thinking Russell is going to disturb her in the middle of the night, telling her she’s stupid or ugly or whatever insult he can come up with. So she has a restless sleep and gets up tired each morning, leaving the house before everyone else is out of bed. Roaming the suburb, she’s grateful that it’s so pretty and there are so many places she can go. If she naps on the beach, no one bothers her. If she sits on a rock on a bush track for an hour, no one tells her she’s ridiculous. Even the lizards sunning themselves nearby leave her alone.
She’s had to stop sewing, though, because there’s nowhere to do it that won’t cause problems. Her mother talked to her father about getting Russell to stop being mean about it, but Russell said he had a right to not be disturbed by her ‘stupid bloody sewing’ and her father didn’t push back.
There’s a feeling Lucy has, lodged in the pit of her belly like a lead weight, that her parents are never going to protect her. Russell is bigger than both of them, and angrier than anyone they know, and the combination frightens them. It frightens her. And she doesn’t know what to do about it.
Today her roaming takes her to the charity shop. She hasn’t been in since the night Russell menaced her but she misses chatting to Daphne – who is, happily, there when Lucy walks through the door.
‘Lovely Lucy!’ she cries, opening her arms for a hug. She’s never offered a hug before. Maybe she can tell that Lucy really needs one.
Lucy wraps her arms around a woman who could be her grandma, inhaling her powdery perfume and the smell of her shampoo. The scents are reassuring. They make her feel calm.
She squeezes tighter and starts to cry, not knowing why, but letting the tears flow because she can, here.
‘Lucy-Lu,’ Daphne says as she lets her go, ‘whatever is the matter?’