‘Well son, I know you don’t want to hear from me but I’m going to tell you anyway. You don’t give up, you just give her a bit of time. She just has to come to terms with things, she needs time to adjust. Then you start again. You’ll see.’ And she took scones out of the old biscuit tin with a rosella on the lid and piled them high on a plate like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
Well, well well, she thought. The Cottingham girl. She hadn’t expected that but she was pleased it wasn’t Vera Gamble he liked. Edie Cottingham had more substance, she had a kindness about her that came from inner strength. And she could talk the hind leg off a donkey which could only be an asset to her son. Lilly wanted to do something for her son. She wanted to make the Cottingham girl love him above all else if that was what he wanted. But she couldn’t, she could only feed him good food to fatten his bones so the fat could absorb his aches. He had come back empty from Africa and she did all she could to fill him up. She took the top scone and broke it in half, piled jam onto it and a mountain of whipped cream on top of that and she handed it to him. Theo put it on the tablecloth beside his untouched bowl of soup and his untouched bread. Then, sighing, he took the bread and tore it apart, dropping chunks into the soup like islands. They soaked up the soup and turned it into a grainy mush; the butter formed tiny oily pools that sat on top.
Lilly smiled as he put a spoon of bready soup to his mouth. Later she would get out the lemon cake for supper and if he didn’t want that she had also made a date roll and if he didn’t eat them she would sit and eat them for him, as though he was still inside her and her body could nourish his.
That night Theo slept badly, suddenly waking at 2 a.m., and again at four and at six, each time instantly aware that he’d lost Edie. By morning he’d made up his mind. His mother was right. He, Theo, was not going to be a quitter. He didn’t survive the African war just so he could give up on the rest of his life. Of course Edie would need time to grieve her mother, plenty of time — six months, at least. He could give her that. Six months was not a long time; once a long time ago he had waited for far longer. He knew how to wait and he was going to wait for Edie.
He knew his mother had baked a pie before he got to the kitchen. The hot pastry wrapped around what was secreted inside and the smells promised rich gravy and salty meat and made him hungry and he pulled his dressing gown tighter around his chest. It was sitting in the middle of the table just aching to be broken open and he reached to break off a piece of the buttery pastry but Lilly slapped his hand away.
‘It’s not for you, it’s for the Cottinghams. It’s mutton and mushroom. I’m going to take it over later.’
‘I’ll take it when I’m dressed,’ he said firmly, the matter decided. He thought his appearance with the pie, as if he had baked it himself, would let Edie know he was there waiting, not forgetting her and not to be forgotten.
Seven
Theo
In 1881 when Theo is a much-loved runt of a boy aged five.
Theo was eating toast dripping with melted butter that trickled through his fingers and down his arms into little pools around his elbows on the table. Theo’s father, Peter, who was thirty years older than his mother, kissed him on the forehead. His moustache prickled Theo’s skin but Theo didn’t mind. Then Peter took his mother in his arms and twirled her around the kitchen, narrowly missing the corner of the table and nearly sending the aluminium teapot and its bakelite handle flying. Lilly was giggling and Peter looked over to Theo with a secret grin and then swooped her backwards over his arm and kissed her long and hard. Theo smiled and clapped his buttery hands at the pantomime they were putting on solely for his enjoyment — or so, being only five, he thought. Peter pulled Lilly back up to vertical and reached over and scooped Theo into his arms and they had all laughed. Peter laughed so hard he coughed and had to bend over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
‘Just a mo,’ he croaked between coughs, his finger in the air, holding time still for them all. When the coughing had stopped he stood up and grinned and said, ‘That’s how it’s done, son. That’s how you kiss the woman you love good and proper,’ and Theo nodded in agreement even though he had no idea what his father was talking about. The only woman Theo loved was his mother and he certainly couldn’t bend her over his arm the way his father had done.
Peter put Theo down and picked up his leather satchel, adjusted his collar and necktie, put on his bowler and kissed Theo on the forehead again. Then he put his arm around Lilly’s waist, pulled her to him and kissed her.
Lilly grabbed the dishcloth and wiped Theo’s hands clean, leaving them damp and sticky and smelling like week-old dishcloth, which Theo didn’t like, and they followed Peter out onto the front verandah and watched him walk down the path. When he got to the gate he turned, smiled and blew them a kiss. Lilly caught the sadness in his eyes and for a fleeting moment she wondered about it and felt afraid, but Theo only saw the smile on his father’s face. Lilly
