‘You sure can. Just ask Mrs Walsh.’
‘I like Mrs Walsh. She’s a bit like Granny.’
Mrs Walsh had been a godsend—helping with the separation anxiety, settling Gracie in gently, sitting her with a buddy. Every afternoon, when Luke picked her up, Gracie had come out of her shell a little more. Back in October, when he’d broken the news about her mother’s death, Gracie had nodded solemnly and asked for hot chips as a special treat. The meltdowns had started the next day, the nightmares a week later.
‘When’s Mummy coming home?’ She’d ask the question in the most unexpected moments.
Everyone said these were normal responses but Luke wondered if Gracie would ever go back to her old self. Giggly, cheeky, fun. Just like he’d been as a child. This move to the beaches should help. So far, the community had been welcoming. They’d already had a playdate at Evelyn’s house. They’d been invited to a kindy families’ picnic and he’d been put on the mailing list for morning teas and volunteering at school. The mothers in the playground had chatted to him on the second day, their eyes on Gracie’s bandana as she attempted the monkey bars.
‘Is she okay to do that?’ one of them had whispered.
‘Yes, as long as she takes it easy. No somersaults over the top!’
Mothers who’d do anything to protect their child were called ‘Mama Bear’. But there was no such label for fathers. Luke had changed cities and states. Uprooted their lives for a better future.
Luke didn’t mind the forty-minute drive between the children’s hospital and Wirriga. It was a time-out between the two parts of their lives. Today, Gracie was commentating on everything they passed—a yellow Ferrari, horses near Randwick racecourse, the red and silver tram, a woman in a yellow scarf waiting to cross at the lights.
‘Can we go over the sea, Daddy?’
He detoured from the entrance to the Harbour Tunnel and came out onto the bridge, the steel arches curving above them. The Jeep was handling well in the city traffic. Luke opened the windows and a strong breeze whistled in. Out towards the heads, the sun shimmered on the water like light glinting off diamonds.
‘Can you spot the Opera House?’ Luke asked.
‘So big.’ Gracie held her arms out wide.
Luke knew she wasn’t talking about the Opera House itself but the whole city—high-rise towers and freeways full of cars. So different to her old life. He peered in the rear-vision mirror towards the child seat, checking her expression.
‘We’ll be going over the bridge every Friday, honey.’
How would she cope with the new routine and taking a day out of school each week?
‘Can I have ice-cream?’
He’d bought a sugar-free sorbet but she didn’t like the orange flavour.
‘Do you think you’d like strawberry?’
‘YUM!’
‘Let’s get some at home.’
He called the apartment ‘home’ but it didn’t feel like it. Beds that had been slept in by hundreds of holiday-makers, chipped chairs and the bare necessities in the kitchen. His aim to live close to the school in Wirriga had been hampered by a lack of rentals. Mrs Walsh was right—once people moved into the suburb, they never moved out again.
In the back seat, Gracie had pulled off her bandana and tossed it on the seat. A soft fuzz covered her scalp. The baldness and the bandana made her almost unrecognisable from two years ago when she’d had dark, frizzy hair that could only be tamed with conditioner and combing. Luke remembered Gracie in the bath with her mother. The never-ending combing—adding hot water when Gracie complained it was getting cold—combing, combing until the knots were finally out. Did Gracie remember those moments too?
A year later, Gracie cried as her hair disappeared. But Luke had shaved his at the same time so they could be ‘baldies’ together. Rubbing her hand over his stubble, Gracie had laughed at its prickliness and hadn’t said a word about her own hair since.
Adaptable. That was his Gracie.
Wirriga Wellness Centre had a light airy feel to it, although Luke wasn’t sure about the name—it was basically a gym, it didn’t have any of the extras that came with a ‘wellness centre’. As he was peering towards the glassed studios, a voice boomed from behind him.
‘Welcome! You must be Luke. Great to have you on board!’
Luke went in for a handshake but the gym owner clasped him into a half embrace. The man was a similar height to him although more muscular. The black singlet showed off his biceps inked in red and black tattoos.
‘I’m Greek—we hug everyone, mate,’ Nico said, slapping Luke on the shoulder. ‘And when you start working here, you become family.’
Family. Luke could certainly do with a bit of that.
Over the phone, Luke had explained his situation and how he could only work school hours and not Fridays. And how sometimes he might need to stay home with Gracie. Nico hadn’t been fazed. ‘Thanks, Nico. I appreciate you taking me on.’
‘No problem, mate. I’ve got an appointment, but I’ll get Maz to show you around. She’s between classes.’ Nico pointed to a blonde girl slurping on a green smoothie in the centre’s cafe. ‘She’s been here a few years so she knows the ropes.’
He introduced the instructor and disappeared back to his office.
‘Welcome to Wirriga!’ The girl had a smile that could light up the Opera House. ‘You’re gonna love working here. It’s the best. Nico is a great boss.’
‘Thanks, I’m looking forward to it.’
Maz led him down a corridor. She bounced as she walked, her high ponytail dancing from side to side, her hips swinging with every step. But it seemed unselfconscious; she wasn’t sashaying on purpose. This was simply her.
She pointed out the various studios and the change rooms. The walls were emblazoned with motivational sayings.
You get out what you put in.
Failure is only a mindset.
Play your own game.
To be the best, you have to take the extra step.
Luke could imagine using these sayings as directional signposts. So many cancer websites had sayings about pain and battle and hope and God. These were better.
As she showed him the equipment and the storage areas, she asked, ‘Have you just moved to Wirriga?’
‘Ah … yes. I’m looking for somewhere to rent long-term.’
‘My mum works at the real estate agency. Well, she’s in admin, but she knows what’s coming up. I can ask her if you like?’
‘That’d be awesome. I haven’t had much luck yet.’
‘What are you after? Townhouse? Apartment? Big house?’
‘I don’t mind, as long as it has two bedrooms,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a four-year-old daughter.’
‘Cool. I love kids. Is she at Wirriga Public?’
‘Yep.’
The school was only a couple of blocks away from the gym. Gracie had been happy to go this morning after being absent yesterday. Hopefully, she’d be okay with missing Friday each week.
Maz was walking him towards the staff area now, with lockers on one side and a big cupboard on the other. This girl didn’t really seem to do small talk—Luke felt she’d know everything about him in five minutes.