‘How is there room for guests with so many Montgomerys everywhere?’ Rose asked.
The family occupied two private floors in one of the three hotel buildings, Eliza explained. But Olivia was putting Eliza in her own favourite suite in the hotel itself. The Iris.
Rose sighed again. ‘I can’t believe you said you could only go for three weeks.’
‘I can’t stay longer. I need to find a new job. A new flat.’
‘But you’ll be flying all that way just to fly back so soon.’ A pause. ‘Sorry to mention flying.’
Eliza swallowed. ‘I’m trying not to think about it.’
‘On the bright side, you’ll get to sit still for twenty-two hours. Eat hand-delivered food. Watch back-to-back movies. You’ll also be landing into the arms of the two women who love you most in the world, apart from me. It’s like an updated version of your childhood holidays, isn’t it? Even better.’
Rose was right. Olivia had emailed Eliza straight after her call.
I’ll book all your flights and meet you at the airport, of course. Please don’t breathe a word to Maxie. TOP SECRET!! Thank you so much for saying yes. O xxx
There was a voice in the background. Rose’s husband, Harry. Rose spoke briefly to him, then came back on the line. ‘Eliza, I’m so sorry. Harry needs help. The kids have washed the dog in golden syrup. Can you hold on? I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
Eliza was happy to wait. Phone in hand, she walked across to her window. The heavy clouds had gone now. The sky was clear. Below her, the city lights flickered in different colours.
She imagined the scene in Rose’s house. The mess. The noise. The laughter. Rose always showed such love, humour and patience with her three kids. They constantly sought her out, tucking themselves beside her, getting hugs, quick kisses. Harry was hands-on too. On Eliza’s most recent visit she’d seen him quietly reading with one, then playing piggyback with another. After lunch there’d been a rowdy game of backyard cricket with them all. Eliza had always felt so welcome there too. Even if sometimes she had to try hard to hide unexpected pangs of sadness. Not that she would ever have told Rose that. Their friendship meant everything to her.
She hadn’t had close friends growing up. The constant moving and new schools had made it hard. She was always self-conscious about her height. Overly studious. She stood out while trying to blend in. Rose’s friendship had been as sudden as it was unexpected, all sparked by a lost student ID card, six weeks into her studies at university.
Eliza hadn’t even realised she’d lost the card. Rose found it on the floor of the library, tracked Eliza down to their residential hall and handed it over, introducing herself with a warm smile.
‘We’re nearly birthday twins! I’m only a day older than you. Did you have a big eighteenth party? My parents insisted. Mortifying baby photos and all!’
Eliza hadn’t marked her birthday in any way. Olivia and Maxie rang, trying hard to be cheerful, but it was too difficult for all of them. All Eliza wanted was for the day to be over.
Caught off guard, she told Rose the truth. No, she hadn’t had a party. She didn’t say why.
The next morning, she was woken by a knock on her door. She opened it to find a card on the floor. Happy Belated 18th Birthday! Rose had written. Part two tonight! That night, Rose arrived at her door carrying a bottle of cheap sparkling wine, two glasses and a shop-bought cake covered in eighteen candles. She came into Eliza’s room, ignoring her protests, opening the wine.
‘You don’t drink?’ she said, mid-pour. ‘Good for you and more for me!’ She gazed around. ‘Can you please teach me to be tidy? I’m just a floor below, but your room looks so much nicer than mine.’
She noticed the small framed photo of Eliza with her mother and two godmothers. ‘What a wonderful photo,’ she said. ‘I don’t need to ask which one’s your mother. You’re the image of her. Isn’t she gorgeous? Look at that dimple! She’s so young too. Who are the other two women?’
Eliza briefly explained.
‘Two godmothers? Brilliant. How did you manage that?’ Rose put a cocktail umbrella into a glass of water for Eliza, sat down and said, cheerily, ‘Now, why did you ignore your eighteenth? Because you’re actually fourteen and used a fake ID to get into uni?
Eliza hadn’t intended to tell her anything. It was hard enough carrying the knowledge of it herself, let alone having other people know. No one at the uni knew what had happened. But she hadn’t expected anything like this friendly, open girl asking her questions. Looking at the photo from the concert with such interest. Asking about her godmothers. Her mother.
Once she started talking, it was impossible to stop.
Rose was in tears by the time Eliza finished. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘Oh, Eliza, how can you even be here, after something like that?’
It was as if those words needed to be released too. She’d felt like she had no choice, she said. Her mother had always wanted her to go to uni. She had to be here, for her.
They talked late into the night. When Rose eventually asked the question, she was gentle.
‘Eliza, when Jeannie died. Was it —’
She stopped there. She didn’t need to say the words out loud. Was it suicide?
No, Eliza told her. There’d been an autopsy. A coroner’s report. Interviews with Olivia, Maxie, Eliza, the ambulance team, the hospital staff. All the facts of that night were analysed. The cause of death was drowning. Excessive alcohol was a factor. Jeannie had also taken a prescription-only sleeping pill. Tests showed she’d been eating very little. But there was no note. No proof of intent. She’d emailed Eliza to say how much she was looking forward to seeing her. She’d rung Olivia five times that night to say how excited she was that Eliza was coming home. She’d said how happy she was that Eliza was going to uni. How she couldn’t wait to visit her in Melbourne as often as possible. The coroner’s ruling was decisive. It was declared a tragic accident.
By the time Eliza stopped talking, she felt hollowed out. She was now regretting saying anything. It was as if Rose guessed. She promised never to tell anyone else. She said she was so sad but also grateful that Eliza had told her. Then she did something so special and so thoughtful. She asked Eliza to tell her what Jeannie was like.
It was the best eighteenth birthday present Eliza could have hoped for. An evening talking about her funny, naughty, wonderful mother. Rose listened to all of her stories. She laughed often. She studied the photo of Eliza with her mother and godmothers again. It was only towards the end of the night that she asked about Eliza’s father. Eliza didn’t go into detail. Those stories came later in their friendship. That night she simply said that he wasn’t in her life.
It was Rose who encouraged her in the following weeks to get the school concert photo enlarged and framed. She also insisted on a ceremonial unveiling, helping Eliza to hang it, then cover it in a scarf. She produced sparkling water and champagne glasses and insisted they make a toast as Eliza pulled off the scarf.
It was that day that she also realised who one of Eliza’s godmothers was. She leaned forward, inspecting the enlarged photo.
‘One of your godmothers looks just like that TV soap actress, doesn’t she?’