A Stringed Instrument Ch. 10

"You're Phoebe's mum?" I remembered the name from Phoebe's family history project, but she didn't look much like I'd expected. In the photos she'd been a plump thirty-something; eighteen years later she was downright skinny and a little twitchy, bobbing and jerking like a wren unable to keep still.

"Yes! They're all inside. Just thought I'd rescue these first. Shame to see them rot." But after a couple of minutes, when we still had four vines left to go — not to mention the lemons, and the beans — she straightened up. "Come on, let's go say hello."

It was all very polite. Helen and Phoebe were polite to one another, and kissed on the cheek like a pair of clockwork dolls. Helen and RJ were courteous, exchanging conversation about RJ's business and Helen's difficulties finding a rental in Ballarat. I didn't understand the Greek that she spoke with Yaya, but the body language and the tone of voice seemed very proper and tactful on both sides and Yaya accepted the tub of tomatoes graciously.

All in all I felt as if I'd walked into the middle of a diplomatic negotiation, smiles on the surface and minefields underneath. Even Phoebe gave me no more than a sisterly peck on the cheek.

After a few minutes of pleasantries, Leon broke the ice. "What are we doing today?"

RJ tapped his fingertips together, making a steeple. "We need to sort through the bedrooms. There are a lot of things in unlabelled boxes, need to get them out and check whether they're worth keeping, then repack and label them. And there's some china and glassware that needs to be packed away carefully."

I'd been hoping for time alone with Phoebe, but it wasn't to be. RJ took charge of the chinaware: "If anybody breaks Mum's china, best that it's me." With Leon assisting him, that left the rest of us to go through a mountain of boxes in what had once been his bedroom.

Hamish wheeled in Yaya to provide direction, then retired to the dining room with a fat textbook on aged-care nursing, and we got stuck into the boxes. They were ancient cardboard things, sealed with Sellotape that had yellowed and brittled with age. Every last one of them needed to be opened, sorted, and repacked into new boxes that RJ had brought along.

We settled into a routine: I opened boxes and pulled out the contents, then stacked the dead boxes for recycling. Phoebe sorted the contents in front of Yaya, who decided their fate, and then Helen boxed and bagged them again.

We started with box upon box of clothes, some of them Achilles' old gear but most of them Yaya's bright colours that had been packed away in 1990 to be replaced by widow's black. A couple of boxes had become badly mildewed, and we threw those out. Phoebe persuaded Yaya that most of the rest could be passed on to charity.

But there were a few things that had too much sentimental value for that, and she acquired several hand-me-down dresses. Somehow even I ended up with one, a candy-striped time-traveller from the '70s: "You should have that, dear. I think will look good on you. You can't wear jeans all the time. Go on, try it."

Bowing to the inevitable, I took it to the bathroom and put it on. It fitted, and the colours weren't really too bad, but it felt very wrong on me. I was still grimacing at the mirror when Phoebe slunk in behind me.

"You know, she's right, that actually does look good on you."

"I guess. I just don't wear dresses. Not my thing."

She nudged the door shut behind her and advanced toward me. "Maybe not. Just saying, you look good." She straightened the neckline, adjusted the sleeves, and nodded approval. "I'd do you." And she kissed me.

"Mmm. You're sweet." I ruffled her hair. "I still don't know that I should take it. I can't imagine when I'd wear it. Just don't feel comfortable in dresses."

"Take it anyway. You don't have to wear it, you can put it away in a cupboard if you like, but she wants to give you something as a thank-you. Just one thing, before you take it off... shut your eyes a moment?"

"Yes?" I obeyed, and waited, and as soon as I opened my eyes to see what she was playing at I was dazzled by the flash from her phone camera.

"That's for yesterday, with the magazines. Don't worry, I won't show it to anybody."

"Bitch. I love you."

"You too. Come on, we'd better get back."

After that we started to uncover boxes of bedding. These all needed to be unfolded, checked for wear or damage, and then refolded, so we had time to chat as we worked. Helen did most of the talking.

"So, Phoebe, I hear you have an audition coming up?"

"Yes, Sydney Philharmonic, at the end of June."

"That far away?"

"Yes, they've got a cellist retiring in September, so they were able to give a bit of notice."

"Do you know what will be in the audition?"

"Most of it. There's one sight-reading piece in there."

"Are you still climbing?"

"Yes. Haven't had much time for it lately though."

And so on. Helen skipped from topic to topic and Phoebe responded, answering the questions she was asked but giving away nothing that might be taken as an invitation for further conversation. Eventually Helen turned to me; she already knew I worked for RJ, and we talked a bit about my job. In return, I learned a little about her: she was working as a guide at a gold-rush museum, studying part-time for a degree in ecological management or some such. Phoebe 'accidentally' brushed my hand every so often as I passed her a box, but she stayed out of the conversation, and Yaya was silent.

Not long before lunchtime we got to the end of the bedding and opened another bundle of clothes. Phoebe shook out a polka-dotted dress and held it up: "Yaya?"

"Hrr?"

"Yaya, this dress, stay or go?"

"Don't feel good." I looked up sharply. She was sagging and her face was grey.

Phoebe stepped to the door. "Hamish!"

"Coming!" He walked in, took her pulse and frowned. "Mrs Karavangelis, your heartbeat's a bit uneven, probably nothing to worry about but we should get you to hospital for a checkup."

Five minutes later they were on their way in RJ's four-wheel drive with Leon and Phoebe along for the ride, leaving only Helen and myself to mind the house. As Helen closed the door she muttered, "Poor thing! My dad had chemo and radio, it's miserable."

"Yeah, it's been taking it out of her. But she's stubborn, I'm sure she'll get through it."

"I wish it worked that way. Sometimes all the willpower in the world isn't enough." Then, as she turned back to me, "Sorry, don't mean to be a downer. What do you think we should do? Should we tidy up?"

"Yeah, let's."

We shuffled the new boxes into one corner of the room, and carried the old dead ones out to the recycling bin. It was already pretty full with papers and tins, so I had to work to make room. As I squashed down the contents, Helen abruptly said, "Yvonne, can I ask something personal? Are you Phoebe's girlfriend?"

"What?"

"Are you Phoebe's girlfriend? Partner? Lover?" And while I was still trying to plan a response, "I thought so! The way she acts around you, it's not how she acts around her friends. You're in tune with one another, I can see it. Don't get defensive, I don't have a problem with it. But you are, aren't you?"

"Yes. We are. We haven't told them."

"Well, obviously. I'm sorry, it's rude of me to pry! But I'm her mother, I can't just... she won't tell me anything important. I just want to know, is she happy? I mean, I know she's not happy right now, but is she okay?"

"Um... I think so." I wasn't sure how much I ought to tell her, if Phoebe wasn't willing to share it herself. "She's upset about all this and she's stressed about work, but she's coping." I figured I wasn't telling her anything much that she couldn't have guessed for herself.

"I'm glad she has you. I mean, I don't know you, but I'm glad she has someone. This has to be so hard on her... she doesn't talk about me much, does she?"

"Um. Not really, no."

"Let's go inside, I could do with a cuppa."

When the kettle had boiled and the tea was brewing, she continued. "I thought I was going to be such a good mother. We wanted her so much, she was such a lovely baby. But it all got... oh, maybe it was PND, I don't know. I was overwhelmed, so many things to juggle. Feed her, clean clothes, check her school work, look after Dimi —" it took me a moment to remember that RJ had started life as 'Dimitrious' "— look after his mum, my own job, the house, me. Every time I got one thing under control I'd take my eye off something else and it'd all come crashing down. And then Kalli would show up and tell me how I ought to be doing it. I couldn't even make soup without her telling me a better way to do it."

"Oh."

"Dimi's a good man, but he just couldn't see what it was like for me! One day I just snapped. I said I can't handle this any more, if Kalli knows how to do it all, Kalli can bloody well do it. I walked out, went to stay with my sisters just for a few weeks. I thought when she and Dimi found out how hard it was they'd beg me to come back!"

She sugared her tea, took a sip, pursed her lips.

"Do you know how stubborn that woman is? I don't know how she managed it! I couldn't go back, maybe it's foolish pride, but I just couldn't. So I went off to see what else I could do." Another sip. "Phoebe's never forgiven me."

"I wouldn't quite say that. I think she'd like to be closer to you. She just hasn't worked out how yet."

"Perhaps. Well, I like to believe one day she'll call me and say she wants to talk." A wry chuckle. "Maybe ask me to one of her concerts. I went once, you know? Found out when they were playing, drove up to Sydney, bought a ticket. Stayed up the back, she was looking the other way, never saw me, I was so proud when I saw her there on stage. Maybe she'll even tell me about you. But anyway, even if it can't be me... I'm glad she's got somebody to look after her if Kalli's sick. Look, don't tell Phoebe about this, she'll know when she's ready to talk. But if she ever needs help, if there's something I can do... can I give you my phone number?"

"Sure." Although I couldn't imagine a situation where I'd use it. It would feel like violating Phoebe's trust, unless she knew, and then why wouldn't she just call herself? But I recorded it in my phone anyway, if only to reassure Helen.

Then I texted Phoebe: how's it going? You okay? Love you.

She's looking better but need to get checkup. Long wait for doctor, don't know when back. ILY

Helen and I helped ourselves to a late lunch and then decided to go on with the bedroom as best we could, sorting things into "probably keep" and "probably chuck" that could be checked later. Here and there amidst the clothes we found old knick-knacks that had been wrapped in them for safe-keeping: family photos of people I didn't recognise, Greek-language books, young Dimi's high-school pennants (soccer in primary school, football and cricket in high). There was a heavy metal trunk that was either locked or rusted shut — "that'd be the one they brought over in fifty-three," Helen explained — and a large wooden chest.

My parents had one like it, full of blankets and mothballs, and that's what I expected to see when I opened it. And indeed there was a small, colourful blanket on the top. But underneath that were children's toys and keepsakes: green plastic soldiers and a rather squashed tank, some sort of vehicle made from Meccano, a wooden sword that might have been made in Achilles' workshop, a collection of small shells and crab claws and river-polished stones...

"This is Dimi's old stuff."

"I don't think so..." Helen came over to look in the box. "No, that's his brother's. We should close that up and put it back where it was, she'll be upset if she sees we've opened it."

"Oh." I lowered the lid carefully. It closed with a soft 'chunk'. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened to him?"

"No great mystery. Just measles. Dimi caught it at school and brought it home, and that was that... nobody's fault, they didn't have vaccination until a few years later. I never heard the story until Phoebe was born, then Kalli wouldn't let up on me until she had her shots."

I slid the box back into its place against the wall — it had left a deep impression in the carpet — and then pottered around, washing up dishes and collecting rubbish, until my phone buzzed with a message from Phoebe.

Still waiting for doctor. Probably be few hours yet maybe you should make own way home

Not going to make it for dinner with J & M?

Shit, forgot. kinda distracted. yes will meet there Text me address. ILY

I sent her my brother's address and then passed on the first part of the message to Helen. "I'd better go get my train."

"I'll give you a lift." Although I could easily have walked, I accepted her offer because she gave me the impression she still had something she wanted to say.