Kevin didn’t know it, but I had no intention of going to look for some missing kid.
As soon as Kevin drove away, I went out to the back porch to see the dogs. Mervie, our little white terrier, jumped up and trotted toward me, dragging a long steel chain that was attached to the rusted clothes line. Wolfie’s heavy grey tail thumped on the dusty canvas bed as I undid the clips. He struggled to his feet like the old man he was, ignoring Mervie who darted under his stomach. They both accompanied me back into the kitchen as though it was their God-given right. They were always house dogs before.
I turned off the whistling kettle and pulled the ‘World’s Best Mum’ teacup from the hook under the cupboard. I had sent it to her last Mother’s Day. I tried to ignore the little swirl of pain as I dangled the teabag. As I headed back to my bedroom, the old floorboards bent and creaked under my bare feet. The house was doing its best to remind me of Mum. Even the paint on the walls had something to say.
I remembered when she said she was going to paint over it, when she said that the insipid cream had to go. She’d bought sample pots of paint from the hardware store and, wearing a scarf around her head to protect her long hair from splashes, she had painted little sections of the hallway in aqua, purple, yellow, and something called Springtime Green.
I was coming back from the kitchen with an apple when I saw her standing there with the brush. I’d turned on my heel, knowing she would ask for my opinion.
‘Hey, Sunny. Wait a minute. What do you think of these colours? Kevin’s no help at all with this sort of thing.’
I walked along the hall and ran my eyes over her colour selection.
‘Honestly?’ I said.
‘Yes.’ She nodded and tilted her head to one side. ‘Of course.’ She knew what was coming.
‘Well, I don’t really care for any of them.’
‘You don’t care for them?’
‘No.’
She looked disappointed for a second, glancing back at the wall and frowning incredulously as if we were both looking at something completely different. ‘Oh,’ she said, rubbing her nose with a paint-splattered hand.
‘What’s wrong with white?’ I said.
She smiled a certain smile at me, the one that meant I was in for an inspirational lecture. ‘Be adventurous, Sunny. You’re going to have to look at this colour for years.’
‘Exactly my point,’ I said, biting into the apple and going on my way.
The painting had never been done, and the rectangles of different colour were still on the wall. Typical Mum. She was such a kangaroo, always jumping from one project to another.
I stopped outside Mum’s bedroom. Mervie and Wolfie, who were not letting me out of their sight, stopped too. The door was closed and I stared at the brass knob. It had been closed the night before. I’d badly wanted to go in there then, as though maybe the feeling of home I’d been searching for was behind that door. But, of course, I couldn’t do that because Kevin lived in there now. He lived. That takes precedence.
When Mum was around, the door to her bedroom was always open and I used to flop onto her bed whenever I felt like it. I wanted to do that again. I wanted to be around her stuff and to smell her smell. There’s a reason for that cliché. It’s what we bereaved do. We’re a desperate and pathetic bunch.
‘What do you reckon, Merv?’ I said, looking down at him. Merv looked up at me with shiny black eyes, wanting to understand. ‘Kevin won’t mind, will he?’
I looked over my shoulder as though Kevin might somehow be there, but of course I was alone. Lifting my hand to the doorknob, I took a deep breath. My chest tightened as I remembered the library. Maybe I’d feel her presence again. Maybe she’d be here.
My hand gripped the cool brass and I turned the knob.
The first thing I noticed was that the bedspread was different, now blue and grey. There was no sign of the patchwork quilt Mum had sewn, one of the few projects she’d actually finished. Why would Kevin change that? Surely it was a memory of her for him to cherish. The room was neat enough: the bed made, the floor clean, everything in its place. When I thought about it, Kevin had always been neater than Mum. She was one of those artistic people who rationalised that a tidy house was the sign of a dull mind.
I walked in a few steps and looked behind me. The dogs stayed on the threshold, sitting obediently.
‘Come on,’ I urged. ‘Don’t bail on me now.’
Wolfie simply walked away and Merv anxiously massaged his front paws against the floorboards but wouldn’t come in. I wondered if they knew this was Kevin’s room now. Probably.
I placed my tea on the bedside table and the gentle thud seemed loud in the complete silence. Glancing around the room I knew that there was nothing of my mother here anymore. It was as though every trace of her had been removed.
I went to the bedside drawers and pulled them open. Each one was completely empty. The dresser, where all her perfumes and lotions had stood, had been cleared, and when I pulled the drawers open I found Kevin’s shorts, folded. It seemed so wrong. I wanted to see her
