The big thing is that we both want this to work so much. We are being kind to each other, and both trying really hard. It’s so good, so nice. I can’t describe how I feel every time I look at her.Hopeis probably the closest to it.
For the first few days we just hunkered downtogether in her living room, doing a lot of normalmum-daughter stuff: watching daytime telly, drinking sherry at six o’ clock in the evening, and generally worrying about sofa cushions not being plumped enough. But we eventually decided to get out there and do things. So we went to look at Sydney Harbour and the Opera House, where we bickered over whether it looked more like a shark or a toiletroll holder. Cultural chat, y’know.
Then this morning, I woke up to find her and Hannah grinning fromear-to-ear, dressed in what they obviously thought hiking gear looks like. By which I mean, very expensive trainers andkhaki-coloured jumpers. Hannah is also wearing what can only be abee-keeper hat.
‘It’s dual purpose,’ she told me when I asked. ‘It keeps out the mosquitoes, but alsoblocks government radio waves. I bought it online from myNASAcontacts.’
‘Is yourNASAcontact also apart-timebee-keeper?’ I asked innocently but she ignored me.
The Blue Mountains are an hour’s drive from my mum’s house in Sydney and I was promised waterfalls, forests, hiking tracks, cliffs, canyons and caves. But mostly so far it’s just been Mum trying to do dangerous things and thenfalling over. Bless her, I think she’s trying to impress me.
‘C’mon you two,’ I say as Mum brushes herself down. ‘Let’s just go get on the cable car. That’s probably enough exertion.’
‘Cable cars are too easy to track,’ Hannah mutters from underneath herbee-hat.
I pull up the map on my phone to figure out where we are, as Mum strides on ahead, still eager to impress me with her obviouswilderness skills.
I watch her disappear into the trees and feel a surge of love and gratitude. I am so happy we’re here together, slightly lost, laughing together. It’s so nice.
There have been moments, of course, these last few days, when it hits me how much time we’ve lost. The guilt screams through me and I am wracked with it. But I refuse to let regret ruin this time. I can’t letwhat’s been lost too far into my head. We all make choices, and they are the ones we make. There’s no point looking back and wondering what if. We do what we had to do in those moments. I just have to be relieved I was able to overcome my own stubbornness and be here now.
I mean, it’s not totallytherebetween us. We’re not inside a fairy tale, so of course it can’t be perfect. A happily everafter is whatever we make it and it takes work. We’ve missed a lot and there is still a lot left to work through. I know I still have things I need to forgive, and so does Mum. And, honestly, I still don’t know really how I feel about Steven. I feel weird every single morning when Mum calls or visits the hospice. I’m not ready to see him because I’m not ready to feel sorry for him, to pity him.I’m not sure if I ever will be ready. Mum says that’sOK, and I hope she means it.
Life is complicated but we’re trying, which is what matters.
‘Oh! Hello there!’ she shouts now, from up ahead. Hannah and I follow, almost tripping over a group of people sitting in a clearing, mid yoga class.
‘God, sorry to interrupt you ...’ I begin but the instructor is smiling benignly,waving off my apologies.
‘Can we join in?’ Mum says eagerly, already throwing her bag off her shoulders.
‘They’re in the middle of things!’ I protest weakly but several lotuses have already shouted yes, waving us over and into their midst.
Mum bends forward into a stretch a bit professionally, as I pull off my coat. ‘Oh, a bit good, are you?’ I say, amused.
‘Well actually,’ shereplies coolly, ‘I’m a fully trained yoga teacher.’
She is? Wow, I really have missed a lot. Before I have a chance to reply, the instructor has leapt up. ‘That’s wonderful news!’ she shouts at Mum. ‘I’ve pulled something in my leg, so I’m struggling to effectively lead this class. There’s only fifteen minutes left, could you finish them off for me?’
Mum gapes at her, her mouth openingand closing as the limping woman bustles her up to the front.
‘It’s mostly ashtanga, with just a bit of lyengar,’ she tells Mum casually, waving her hands at the group ofthirty-strong yogis. ‘And then I was thinking I might end with some core work to release the kundalini energy? Thanks so much!’
She positions mygormless-looking mum at the front, and she looks directly at me, like arabbit in headlights. It is in that moment that I understand. Of course.
She was faking it. She’s not a yoga teacher. It was more of therock-climbing stuff – more showing off to try and impress me.
I watch in slow motion as Mum gets whiter and whiter, staring dumbly round the expectant group.
She suddenly looks at me again, standing up straighter, a new expression in her eyes. Determination.
Oh fuck.
‘Right,’ she says, clearing her throat. ‘Let’s do this then, shall we?’
There is a long pause.
I am seized with panic. What should I do? I glance frantically at Hannah for help, but she doesn’t seem worried. She’s sittingcross-legged, waiting expectantly. She’s still got herbee-keeper hat on.
