Sweet Charity

saying it was women who were supposed to be the world’s worst packers, but it always took him longer. I’d gone out to the line to
bring in his shirts, ready to go in the case. And when I came in, he was —’
    Lola stayed silent, reaching for the box of tissues on the counter beside her and passing it to the other woman.
    After a while Patricia spoke again. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I knew I should have rung someone, but the phone was in the kitchen and it would have meant leaving him and I
couldn’t . . . he was in my arms.’ The tears came again. ‘I knew he was already dead, and then about an hour later, our son came home, he was supposed to be driving us to the
airport, and he came in and —’
    This time Lola moved. She held the woman as she sobbed into her shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry for you. It must have been a very hard time.’
    Patricia was embarrassed, wiping her eyes with a tissue. ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know where that came from.’ She gave a little, sad laugh. ‘I mean, I do, but I
thought I was getting better. It’s just between the moving and packing up and . . .’ The whole story came out. Patricia and her son had moved to the Clare Valley two weeks previously.
He was starting an apprenticeship in the new year and Patricia had a part-time job as a secretary at the hospital.
    ‘I thought a fresh start would be the best thing. That if I wasn’t in the house we had lived in together, the memories wouldn’t hit me every day. I meant to give all his
clothes away last year, but I couldn’t. I brought them all with me. And when I was unpacking yesterday, I thought, this is ridiculous, he’s not coming back. Luke doesn’t want to
wear them. He finds it just as hard as I do. But it took me all day to put them into the suit bag and I walked past here three times as it was.’
    ‘Would you like me to take a look at them? Only if you want to. Or you can take them back home if you’d prefer.’ As Patricia glanced towards the door, Lola continued.
‘It’s nearly five. I’d say we’ll be on our own from now on, anyway.’
    Patricia’s hands were shaking as she undid the zip. ‘He loved suits. He was always really well dressed. That was the first thing I noticed about him when we met.’ She started
to take three of them out at once, when Lola stopped her.
    ‘Oh, Patricia, you’re going much too fast for me. I’m an elderly woman even though I’m sure you think I’m only in my mid-forties. Why don’t you take them out
one at a time and tell me a little bit about them? Now, that jacket there in the front. Are my eyes deceiving me or is that Donegal tweed?’
    ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’
    Lola nodded, pleased. ‘The finest in all Ireland, I always thought. Tell me, did your husband – what was his name?’
    ‘Brendan.’
    ‘Did Brendan choose that one himself or did you have a hand in it? And where were you when you bought it? All the details, now, mind. If there’s one thing I love it’s hearing
the stories behind clothes.’
    ‘We were on holidays in Ireland. Actually, it was our wedding anniversary. Brendan’s idea. He had surprised me. I thought we were going to Sydney, so I wasn’t surprised when we
went to the airport. He and Luke had planned it all. We drove to the international airport. Brendan was like that, just loved surprises. And somehow we got upgraded into business class. He kept
looking over and saying, “I told you to stick with me, Pat. Didn’t I promise you a life of luxury?”’
    ‘Oh, a man with style. I like the sound of him already. Go on . . .’
    Two days later, Lola was unfolding a new delivery of shirts when the door opened. She looked up and smiled a welcome as a young man made his way to the counter.
    ‘Hello, Lola? I’m Luke, my mum said —’
    ‘Of course. Patricia’s son? Hello, Luke. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’ A nice-looking lad. Thick brown hair. Soft eyes. Sad eyes too, she thought. A lot for a teenage
lad, his father dying, moving house, starting a new job . . .
    ‘Mum said you would be interested in taking some of our old books? I have them in the car.’
    She peered out of the window. A bright-orange Torana that looked like it had seen better, more fashionable days was parked outside. ‘That’s yours?’
    He nodded.
    ‘You certainly wouldn’t get lost in a snowstorm in that little number.’
    He grinned. ‘I’m saving for a Porsche.’
    ‘I don’t know. That’s more distinctive in its own