The door edged open, a security chain clamping in place. Through the gap he could see her wary gaze, in dark-ringed eyes that looked almost too big in her sunken face.
‘Mrs Summers?’
‘Yes,’ came her voice, brittle and shaky and obviously unused to visitors during the day.
‘My name is Damien DeLuca. Philly works—’
‘Oh, my,’ she said, panic swamping her eyes as she unlatched the door and shoved it open. ‘Is she all right? Has something happened to her?’
He held up his hands. ‘No, no. She’s fine. Really.’ He watched the panic recede and cursed himself for his stupidity. ‘I didn’t mean to alarm you. I was—just passing. I thought I’d drop in—for a chat.’
One of her hands went to the wispy dull fuzz of her hair, the other clutched a walking stick in a white knuckled grip.
Cancer. She had cancer and she’d lost her hair from the chemotherapy. She was tiny, a tinier version of Philly, and paper-thin under the buttoned up housecoat.
He bristled in irritation. Why hadn’t Philly told him? He’d had no idea. How on earth was she managing a full-time job and caring for her mother?
‘Well,’ she said in a voice which was frail, yet years younger than she looked. ‘I’m not really dressed for visitors, but it’s lovely to meet you. And please call me Daphne. You know, I’ve heard such a lot about you.’
‘You have?’
‘Of course. You’re a very talented young man by the sounds of it. Philadelphia’s told me how you like to rule the roost. Would you like a cup of tea?’
He somehow managed to nod while digesting that brief and unexpected character sketch. ‘Thank you.’
She shuffled her way into the small kitchen and made for the kettle. ‘I’m sorry to take so long to answer the door. I’m not as fast as I used to be.’
He looked at her, struggling with the walking stick to move around, wincing with the effort every few steps and trying unsuccessfully to mask the pain.
‘Please,’ he said, sidestepping her. ‘I’m the one interrupting you; let me get it. Why don’t you sit down?’
She looked up at him, surprised, as if his offer of help was the last thing she’d expected—just what had Philly told her?—before a smile illuminated her gaunt face. ‘Thank you. I could do with a sit down even though that seems to be all I do these days.’ She showed him where everything was and with a sigh eased herself into an armchair while he made the tea.
‘I must thank you for sending Marjorie while Philadelphia was away,’ she said when Damien placed their tea on the table and sat down opposite. ‘She was a wonderful companion.’
For a moment he scrabbled to get his head around who she was talking about. Then he realised. The trip to the Gold Coast—the nurse he’d had Enid organise. ‘It was no trouble,’ he said, casting his mind over the unwashed breakfast dishes in the sink, the picked over lunch tray waiting on the bench. It was clear Daphne could do with a little help every day.
‘How do you manage here, by yourself, during the day?’
‘Oh, we get by. Philadelphia gets me organised in the mornings and fixes me a tray for lunch.’ She sipped at her tea. ‘If I have a good day I try to start dinner to help her when she comes home from work, though sometimes it doesn’t quite work that way.’
He nodded blankly, his mind working overtime. What the hell was Philly thinking? This was no way to live, leaving her mother alone all day out here in the suburbs, while she worked at least twenty kilometres away in the city. And yet she’d turned down his offer of a house with carers and laid on help, and she’d turned it down flat. Did she think she was managing here any better than he could provide for them? If so, she was kidding herself.
Would her mother have found his offer so unattractive? Casting an eye around the simply decorated room, neat and tidy but long overdue for repainting and renovation at the very least, he doubted it.
But this wasn’t just about Philly and her mother now. If she thought for a moment he would let her bring up his child in such circumstances, then she could think again.
‘You must find things very difficult.’
‘It’s harder for Philadelphia. She’s my only child now.’ She looked up, the pain of loss in her eyes unmistakable. ‘Did you know about…?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, I heard.’ He could almost feel her loss reach out to encompass him, a thick, tangible thing. Or was it simply that his own loss was now so close to the surface that he could just about taste it?
Philly had done that. Had brought these feelings to the surface, feelings that were better off left to moulder deep down below.