Broken by Ilsa Evans Page B

steered clear of her customary glass of scotch before tea, and her glass of wine during it, and fancied that she felt much better for it. And each night the children weren’t there, Mattie went into their room to say goodnight. She touched each wall, for luck, and then kissed their pillows and closed the door. Then, in the morning, she would open the door again, just as if they were there. Even though she knew the routine was superstitious and made little sense, she was unwilling to take the risk of abandoning it, lest something happen to them.
    It had rained all day Friday. Warm late October rain that was sorely needed after a rather dry winter. From the unit, it looked like a steady curtain of water that was as effective as any concrete barricade. It beat down incessantly from the skies, hammering the earth into submission. Even the bushes and trees bowed in subservience. But rather than allow it to dampen her mood, Mattie had used the rain as a ready excuse to enjoy a self-indulgent day, lying on the couch and alternatingbetween the afternoon talk-shows and a Regency period romance from the library. And although it was obvious from page two that Sybil, the youthful heroine, would end up in the arms of the tall, swarthy and masterful Duke of Birchester, its undemanding predictability was just what Mattie wanted.
    The rain eased off in the late afternoon and Hilda had dropped in unexpectedly, bringing a box of curtains that she claimed were just sitting in her shed gathering dust. Mattie was extremely touched, as well as thrilled with the difference they made when she hung them: white lace scrim for the kitchen, navy cotton tab-tops for the children’s bedroom, dusky-pink velvet pinch-pleats for her bedroom and a pair of lovely green and burgundy striped drapes for the lounge-room that had only the slightest streaks of sun damage on the cream linings.
    For the rest of that day, after Hilda had left, Mattie would glance at the curtains and warm herself with the goodwill that had brought them into her home. In fact it was like everything was turning around, and it was hard to believe that only a week ago she had felt crushed by confusion. Now she was making new friends and finding fresh directions. Even if others saw her progress as small and relatively petty, measured as it was by incidentals like curtains and party-plan, she knew that it was huge, leading her away from the past and illuminating the path ahead.
    So when Hannah rang early on Saturday morning to inform Mattie that she was having morning tea with their mother, and she thought her sister should join them to explain her new living arrangements, Mattie agreed with only the slightest hesitation. After all, it was just another necessary step forward. She dressed herself carefully in flared denim jeans, black ankle boots and a black fitted shirt with three-quarter length sleeves, so that she could present herself with standards intact, if not actually improved.
    Mattie’s mother lived in Box Hill, in a neat white brick house she had purchased after her husband died and she decided to downsize from the rambling weatherboard that Mattie and Hannah had grown up in. It suited her perfectly – small, trim and rather dated. Hannah’s Volvo hatchback was already in the concrete driveway so Mattie parkedbehind it and walked up the neatly edged pathway to the front door. It opened before she could knock.
    â€˜
There
you are.’ Hannah grabbed her by the elbow and ushered her in as if Mattie had been about to attempt escape. ‘I was beginning to think you’d chickened out.’
    â€˜God, I’m only five minutes late!’ Mattie shook her sister off and glared up at her. Hannah looked even taller today, in high-heeled courts with a pair of pinstriped trousers and a cream shirt. Her long hair had been pulled back into a low, loose bun.
    â€˜Fifteen actually,’ corrected Hannah pedantically.
    â€˜Whatever.’ Mattie frowned at her