Tess Evans - Book of Lost Threads

‘Bravo, Mrs Pargetter. That was wonderful.’

‘Thank you, my dear,’ she responded. ‘Now it’s your turn.’

‘I’m not really a pianist, Mrs Pargetter.’

‘But you are a singer, I believe. Let’s see what we have here.’ She ruffled through her music again. ‘Ah. This one. You must know Schubert’s Ave Maria .’

Moss began to protest; since leaving the Conservatorium, she had avoided music. She was afraid that once fully released, she would sing her own siren song, one that would tempt her into the future she’d renounced. She hovered on the edges of decision but couldn’t help herself. She was drawn to the piano as Mrs Pargetter played the opening chords.

‘It’s so long since… I need to warm up.’ She did some breathing exercises and then ran through some scales, assisted by Mrs Pargetter. I can still sing! She sang her final scale and held the last note for the sheer joy of it, defying her unacknowledged fear that she might have lost her voice in this time of silence.

‘Ready?’ Mrs Pargetter played the opening chords of Schubert’s haunting melody.

‘Ave Maria, gratia plena…’ Moss began softly at first, her voice slowly swelling. ‘ Ora, ora pro nobis peccatoribus…’ Pure silver sound vibrated the dust motes in Mrs Pargetter’s stuffy front room, floated into the frosty night air and out into the streets of the tired little town. Helen Porter, walking her dog, felt a prickling along her spine. Cocky Benson, in a drunken stupor, brushed aside the tears that wet his corroded cheeks, and Sharon Simpson stopped painting her toenails and lifted her head to listen. Merv Randall, pausing as he wiped down the bar, briefly and wonderfully experienced the numinous. You would of swore it was an angel singing , he told his customers the next day.

The sound also drifted over the fence to where Finn was returning from his evening Silence. He sat down on the front porch and lit a cigarette, watching the small point of light as though it and the music were the only things left in the world. Ora pro nobis peccatoribus. Pray for us sinners. After the last note died away he remained motionless, looking out across the darkening oval.

Inside, both singer and accompanist looked gravely at each other in a moment of silence that neither was willing to break. Mrs Pargetter quietly closed the piano. There were tears in her eyes. When she finally spoke, her voice was unsteady.

‘I had no idea… A gift from God himself, Moss. I had no idea…’

Moss gave the old woman an embarrassed hug and went outside where she found Finn, still sitting on his porch. She feigned a casual cheerfulness.

‘Sorry, Finn. I lost track of time. Mrs Pargetter has made her famous Irish stew. She wants to share it with us.’

Finn stood up slowly and stretched his back. ‘You can’t waste a talent like that, Moss. You’ve got to go back.’

‘Soon,’ she murmured. ‘Soon.’ She was agitated but would not admit it, even to herself. She had been studiously avoiding a decision, and now the clamour of her reawakened ambitions rose to the surface of her consciousness. ‘I’ll think about it in the New Year,’ she said.

But as it turned out, she had to return to the city much sooner than that.

The phone call came two days later.

‘Hello, love, it’s me. Is Michael with you?’ Amy’s voice sounded muffled.

‘No. Why?’

‘Are you alone, then?’

‘No, I’m with Mrs Pargetter. We’re having breakfast. Can I get Finn to call you back?’

‘Yes-no, wait. I’m sorry. There’s no way to make this easy, Miranda. I’ve just heard from Felicity. It’s Linsey.’ Moss sensed Amy’s struggle for composure. The news came out in a rush. ‘I’m so sorry, Moss. I have to tell you that Linsey-Linsey died last night, darling… I’m so sorry-she had cancer. It was so quick…’

Moss flinched painfully as the news hit her like a blow to the side of her skull. When she spoke, her voice was pleading. ‘Mum! It’s not true. It can’t be. I didn’t even know she was sick. Why didn’t you tell me?’ She had every right to be told. She was Linsey’s only child.

‘She didn’t tell me either, Moss. It was ovarian cancer. She was only diagnosed three weeks ago but by then it was too advanced to do anything. You know what she’s like. She didn’t tell anyone, even then. She only told Felicity and Robert a few days ago. They got to London too late. They’re organising a cremation over there-they’ll bring her ashes back home…’ Amy was speaking with a nervous rapidity. She stopped suddenly. ‘Miranda-Moss. Are you still there?’

The phone had fallen from Moss’s nerveless hand. She was gulping now, as though the air were suddenly depleted of oxygen. Mrs Pargetter picked up the phone and put it tentatively to her ear. She had gleaned the essence of the call, but wasn’t sure if the caller was Amy or Linsey.

‘Hello? Hello? Who’s there? Moss is very upset. Can I help?’

‘Is that Mrs Pargetter? This is Moss’s mother, Amy. I’ve just given her some bad news: her mother Linsey died last night. Please, can you look after her until Michael gets back and then ask him to ring me?’

‘Michael?’

‘Yes-no-I think Moss said he calls himself Finn.’

Mrs Pargetter put down the phone and led the trembling Moss to the sofa where she held her close. ‘It’s alright to cry, dear. She was your mother.’

But the landscape of Moss’s grief was bleak and arid. Mrs Pargetter heard the gate squeak, and gently disengaged herself. ‘That’ll be Finn, for morning tea. I’ll let him in.’

Moss’s dry-eyed grief worried Finn. He had an idea that women always cry at such moments, but Moss just sat with burning eyes, ceaselessly rubbing her temples. She hadn’t spoken since she dropped the phone. Finn and Mrs Pargetter looked at each other. They both understood grief, and they both understood guilt. Finn patted his daughter tentatively on the shoulder. It was the first time he had ever touched her, and even in her grief, she was pathetically grateful. She reached up and placed her hand over his, holding him there for a few moments more.

Finn cleared his throat as an unfamiliar warmth stole over him. ‘Talk to us, Moss. Tell us about Linsey.’ But Moss remained silent.

‘I’ll make some tea,’ decided Mrs Pargetter. ‘Plenty of sugar, for shock.’ That was what Mrs Moloney had said to her when the telegram arrived from the war office. Sugar doesn’t help at all , she thought, but made the tea anyway.

As they silently sipped their tea, Sandy arrived, brandishing a manila folder. ‘I’ve just been to…’ he began, but the words died on his lips when he saw Moss’s white face and met Mrs Pargetter’s warning gaze. On hearing the news, he thrust the folder out of sight.

‘Moss. I’m so sorry.’ She gave him a little smile. Feeling helpless in the face of her grief, Sandy thought for a moment and then said diffidently, ‘If you want to go back to your mother’s, I’ll drive you. We can’t let you go on the bus.’

Finn looked at him with gratitude. ‘We’d appreciate that, Sandy.’

Mrs Pargetter patted his large, soft hand. ‘You’re not a bad fellow, sometimes, George.’

Errol, meanwhile, had crept over to Moss, jumping stiffly onto the sofa beside her. He licked her hand and pressed his nose into her lap. He was the best of all the Errols. She stroked his head gently, and finally, when her tears began to flow, Errol whimpered a little in sympathy.

Finn felt responsible for Moss’s welfare and insisted on coming to Melbourne with her and Sandy. It wasn’t kindness alone that motivated him. There was also the fragile connection he had just made: a slender thread spun out of her grief and his pity. He found himself wanting to comfort and protect her. She was a child and she had lost her mother. Father Boniface would have offered spiritual solace, but all Finn could offer was his company on her journey. Little enough , he thought sadly.