Beyond the Crushing Waves, page 8
Davey’s nostrils flared. “One day I’m gonna get that tosser.”
Harry didn’t reply, simply stared at the place where the handyman had disappeared. His legs were still bruised from the lashing he’d received, but the pain was welcome now. It reminded him that he was still alive and gave him something else to focus his mind on other than the fact that his mother was gone. He’d always assumed his father had died on a muddy field in France at the end of a Nazi rifle since so many other fathers had, and no one would tell him differently. It was better than believing his father was out there somewhere but didn’t care to know him. And now Mother had left him behind with no one to love who would ever love him back.
Mr Holston banged the crook of his timber cane on the end of the table, silencing the dozens of conversations and the happy laughter of one hundred boys. “Listen up, boys!”
Two women walked to the end of the long timber dining table and stood waiting. They were dressed like the ladies Harry had seen in London when he’d visited Kensington with his mother. She was a seamstress and landed a job for a woman there. These women reminded him of his mother’s client — well dressed, with peaches and cream complexions, tasteful makeup, and shining hair pulled back in waves from rosy faces.
The boys put down their spoons and mugs of tea and turned their heads to listen as one of the women cleared her throat to speak. She wore a blue frock with a thin black belt tied around her plump waist. Her eyes sparkled, and the red on her lips glistened under the fluorescent lighting.
“Good morning, boys,” she said. “It’s lovely to be here with you this morning. My name is Miss Margaret Tanner, and I’m here to talk to you about possibilities.”
She went on to tell them about a spectacular adventure that was available to as many of them as would like to take it. They’d travel by boat to a foreign land where they could learn farming skills, attend school, ride ponies, bathe under the warm rays of never-ending sunshine, and eat as much good food as their tummies could hold. She showed them brochures, which the boys passed around, their voices a dull murmur as they exclaimed over the sight of the sturdy, smiling children in glossy photographs.
The pain in his heart still weighed Harry down so that he could barely hold up his head. Still, the idea of embarking on an adventure, not unlike Robinson Crusoe did in the tattered pages of the book hidden beneath his pillow upstairs, sparked a curiosity in him. He’d always longed to live in the country, away from the Home with its loveless droughty halls. A tiny flicker of nervous excitement twinged in his gut and Harry exchanged a look with Davey, who grinned from ear to ear.
7
Current Day
Mia
Gammy needs a glass of lemon, lime, and bitters. Not Sprite, not lemonade, but lemon, lime, and bitters. No substitute and no off-brand attempts at meeting the mark. So, I’m on the hunt, waddling as fast as my swollen feet will allow through the hospital hallways.
And she killed a man.
The thought lingers in my mind as I scour the floor for a vending machine or a tea and coffee station.
She killed a man and even though two days have passed, I still haven’t found out anything more about it. I’m a chicken, of course. This is well documented. I hate confrontation or making people upset. And as much as I love Gammy, she’s a little bit scary at times. Not in a dangerous kind of way, but still. Her steely-eyed gaze can make the strongest person squirm. I’ve seen it happen plenty of times.
Besides that, I’m not sure I really want to know. If it was a confession, it could change everything I believe about my grandmother, my family, and my life. She could go to prison if she starts confessing all over the place. And what if it’s just the beginning? What if my sweet little grandmother is a serial offender? That’s not information I want. Leave me in the dark. I’m happy there. It’s quiet, and I have snacks.
I like my innocence intact, exactly the way it is. The naiveté that believes in the goodness of grandmothers is all I’ve got. I don’t know what to do with a felon in cushioned orthotics.
For all I know, she might be offloading her guilty conscience on her doctor right now. So, I’m happy to let this particular subject lie. And anyway, we have other things going on. My inquisition about her confession will have to wait.
Thankfully, I know the hospital fairly well, since I’ve visited enough times over the years — between my own patients who’ve been admitted and my husband who works here. Ben is on the next floor up, and since I’m already scampering around in search of the perfect beverage for my picky grandmother, I figure it wouldn’t hurt to check the staff room and see if Ben is between surgeries. I have no idea of his schedule today, but it’s worth a shot.
I miss him.
Between his busy work schedule and Gammy’s broken ankle after her fall, I’ve barely seen him in days. When I’m not visiting Gammy, I’m usually passed out fast asleep in bed or in front of the television on the couch with a thin blanket pulled up over my enormous belly.
He’s doing his best to get as much work out of the way as he can before the baby comes, since he’s taking six weeks of paternity leave to help me and Peanut get settled. I’m excited, since we’ve never had six whole weeks together. Of course, I’ll probably be completely exhausted by motherhood. Still, maybe we can finally sit down and talk about all the things we never seem to have time to discuss — like hopes, dreams and the future.
He’s not much of a dreamer. That role falls to me. But my dreams tend to be bite-sized. Small things really, but big in the scheme of life. Me staying home with the baby seems like an enormous dream after the childhood I had, with the relentlessness of my parents’ ambitions for me. But it’s those kinds of dreams that fill me with a deep contentment. Maybe even a family trip to visit all the worldwide landmarks that’ve piqued my interest over the decades. The Eiffel Tower, the Sistine Chapel, Big Ben, and the pyramids. So much of the world I haven’t explored. Even though my parents dragged me from place to place when I was young, it was never to the famous tourist spots. They considered those to be beneath us in some way — we were the family who lived and worked in Dubai, Singapore, Canada and Malaysia. And as grateful as I am for the experiences I had in those places, there’s still so much I want to see.
But not on my own. I want to go with Ben and little Peanut someday, when he’s old enough to appreciate it. It’ll be something we can share for the rest of our lives.
Remember that time we were in Florence?
We’ll laugh together and reminisce over photos. That’s what I’m looking forward to, what I’m dreaming about as I traverse the hallways and take the lift up to the fifth floor of the Royal Brisbane Hospital. I stop outside the staff room and take a deep breath. I’m puffing hard from the short walk and feel as though my entire uterus might lose traction and slip out into the floor. My hips ache, my neck aches, my feet are twice their usual size and hurt all the time. If Peanut doesn’t make his entrance soon, I’m not going to make it.
Once I’ve caught my breath, I push open the staff room door and poke my head through. I’m looking around when I see Ben in the small kitchenette on one side of the room. He’s stirring a spoon in a cup of something hot and staring at the beverage in a daze, as though not seeing it at all.
“Ben,” I whisper.
He jolts, looks up at me, then grins. “Hey, what are you doing here?” He strides to me and kisses me with both hands cupping my face. His eyes glow with joy. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
“I’m visiting Gammy, so I thought I’d surprise you.”
“Well, you did.” He runs his fingers through his black hair, mussing it in the best possible way. I love this man more than I can describe; it’s a feeling that shifts something in my heart and makes it ache with bliss as I stare at him and drink him in. His dark brown eyes are warm and sexy.
I shimmy into his embrace and rest sideways against his chest. “It’s nice to see you.”
He sighs. “You too. It’s been a — a day.”
“Bad one?”
He shrugs, stroking my hair. “Not anymore. Hey, I was thinking, we should get away before the baby comes. Just the two of us. We haven’t had a holiday in a while.”
It sounds amazing, divine even. The idea of lazing in a swimming pool, making love in a luxury holiday unit, and strolling along the beach front to eat at a seafood restaurant is exactly what I need. But thoughts of impending labour and Gammy’s broken ankle disturb my idyllic imaginings.
“I’d love that. Can we even go away this close to the birth, though? And what about Gammy?”
“Gammy will be fine for a couple of days. They call it a babymoon. Apparently, it’s what everyone does before the baby comes. Who knows when we’ll get a chance to holiday, just the two of us, again?”
“Who told you that?” I pull away and study his smooth brown face.
“What?”
“That everyone does it? Have you been reading those books I gave you?” I quirk an eyebrow, fighting back a smile that tugs one corner of my mouth. He’s resisted reading every single baby book I purchased. Even when he tries, he ends up falling asleep on the sofa with an open book resting on his chest. He’s not interested, or at least I thought so.
He chuckles. “Maybe. I know it’s important to you, so I brought one to work to read between surgeries.”
I lay a hand on his chest. “I know you’re busy.”
“That’s okay—this is important. So, what about the getaway?”
“I think we should do it. It’s the perfect time. I can’t promise I’m up for much walking, but if you’re looking to float, hippopotamus-like, in a swimming pool, then I’m your gal.”
He throws his head back and laughs, then kisses my forehead. “That sounds perfect to me. We’ll be hippos together.”
I grunt, studying his lithe frame, muscular arms, and thin waist. “Nice try. You don’t qualify.”
“We can work on fattening me up this weekend.”
“Perfect.” I grin.
“I’ll book something as soon as I get the chance,” he says.
“You’re busy. I’ll do it,” I object.
He kisses my lips, soft and sweet. “No, I’m being romantic. Let me do it.”
I swoon, literally swoon. Maybe it’s the hormones, I’m feeling extra warm and fuzzy towards Ben these days. But it makes sense—we’re on a journey together, sharing something so special no one else will ever be part of it. We’re becoming parents, just the two of us. It’s scary and wonderful and completely out of control, and I can’t wait.
“Paging Doctor Sato to Surgical Five, paging Doctor Sato…” The voice booms through the staff room’s loudspeaker system.
Ben looks at his watch. “Sweetie, I’ve got to go. Have a good visit with Gammy, and I’ll see you at home.”
He kisses me again, takes a swig of the tea from his cup, and sets the cup in the sink before hurrying from the staffroom.
I tell him goodbye, that I love him, and watch him leave. Then, I’m huffing back down the hallway to the lift. I find the soft drink for Gammy, but now my stomach is grumbling, followed by a flash of nausea. Great. It’s time for another snack or I might upchuck the last one I ate into the nearest rubbish bin. One thing about this pregnancy that has frustrated me to no end is the amount of food I have to eat if I don’t want to be constantly nauseated. I’ve stopped weighing myself. I don’t want to know how much bigger I am than what I should be. I’ve simply got to make it through these next few days and worry about getting back into shape later.
Gammy is lying on her bed under a cream blanket and white sheets, eyes shut, when I enter her room. So, I’m quiet and do my best to tiptoe to the chair in the corner and put her drink on the small bedside table on wheels that also serves as her meal table. Her skin is pale, there are blue veins on the backs of her hands, crossed over her abdomen that are protruding more than they used to. Her grey hair stands on end around her face, splayed out across the mound of pillows propping her up. One leg has no pale, cream blanket over it — it sticks out, with a pink plastic boot wrapped from her toes to just below the knee. The pink complements the polish on her perfectly shaped toenails. Still, she looks older than usual, and the reality of that is like a sucker punch to the gut.
I know I won’t have her with me forever, but this hospital visit is a reminder of that. Of the thing I try not to think about, that I push to the back of my mind most days since I can’t picture a world without Gammy in it. I sit slowly, grunting my way into a semi-comfortable position, and lean my head to one side to watch my grandmother. I’d found a vending machine while out and about and bought a Mars bar to help stave off the nausea cramping in my gut. Now I pull it out, unwrap it and take a bite. Thoughts slink across my conscious mind as I chew, thoughts I’ve been ignoring but which keep rising to the surface like bubbles from a crab hole in wet sand.
She killed a man. There it is again. The same thought as before, unbidden. It jumps into my mind like a compulsive thought-rabbit.
Gammy confessed right before the paramedics arrived. I didn’t have time to ask her about it and after we got to the hospital, she was in and out of scans and X-rays, then getting her boot fitted, then loopy on pain medication. I want to pry, to ask her all the questions I’ve been bottling up inside. But at the same time, I’m nervous. If I find out what she’s talking about, perhaps I’ll discover that either Gammy has lost her senses and will need to go into full-time care with Gramps, or she really did kill someone and I’m not sure how I’ll cope with that knowledge. I’m having these circular arguments with myself every hour or so, while I’m with her and when I’m waddling through the halls in search of a drink or a jelly cup or on one of my many trips to the nearby toilet to pee.
I sigh, and as I do, her eyes flicker open. She blinks a few times, then catches sight of me in her periphery and swings her head around to look directly at me.
“Mia, you’re still here,” she says.
“Of course, Gammy. I went to see Ben and find something to eat. But I told you I was coming back. You fell to sleep.”
She nods, smiling. “That’s right. Silly me, it must be the medication they’ve put me on. I thought you’d left.”
I stand with effort and sidle over to her, wrapping up my chocolate bar. “Would you like some?” I hold it aloft, and she shakes her head.
“No, thank you. My metabolism hasn’t allowed me to indulge in one of those for forty years. And anyway, they’re too sweet for my tastes now.”
I laugh. “All the more for me.”
With it safely tucked into a pocket, I reach for Gammy’s hand and hold it softly. “Are you in any pain? Do you want your drink? I found your lemon, lime, and bitters.”
“Water would be nice. And no, not in pain.”
There’s a cup of water on the table beside her, and she slurps it up through the straw as I hold it to her mouth.
Gammy’s orthopaedic surgeon—Doctor Doug, as he makes us call him—pushes open the door to Gammy’s room and walks inside. He’s holding a clipboard with some paperwork on it, and there’s a stethoscope around his neck. Could he be any more of a cliché? Then he opens his mouth and the deep booming voice confirms it — he’s the picture-perfect surgeon, brimming with confidence and compassion. I can’t help liking him.
“Good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” He checks Gammy’s blood pressure and listens to her heartbeat while she tells him she’s feeling fine but for a little dizziness.
His brow furrows. “That’s not good. I think we’ll do a few tests to make sure you don’t have a concussion before we let you go home. How does that sound?”
“Fine with me, Doctor Doug,” she says with a chuckle. “The Bold and the Beautiful is about to come on the telly, and I’m dying to find out whether Dwight’s evil twin will fool everyone into believing he’s his brother or not.”
Doctor Doug laughs, his brown eyes sparkling. “Don’t tell me what happens. I’d hate to spoil the surprise.”
I want to laugh along with them, but there’s something buzzing in my mind around and around like a bee. I try to catch the thought, but it’s just out of reach until —
“Doctor Doug, Gammy says she’s dizzy, but maybe it’s not a concussion. I mean, she fell for a reason. Could she have been dizzy before the fall?”
The doctor’s smile fades, and he checks his notes. “Hmmm…it’s possible. We’ll run the gamut of tests to be sure. Don’t worry—most likely everything will be perfectly fine. But we like to be safe.”
He leaves, and Gammy crosses her arms over her chest. “I told you I tripped over the carpet. Why are you bothering the doctor with all that?’
I sigh. “I worry about you, that’s all.” I cup her cheek with one hand, and she smiles.
“You don’t have to worry, love. I’m perfectly fine, apart from this ridiculous boot.” She flicks her eyes in the direction of her foot, disdain clearly written across her features.
With a chuckle, I sit back in my chair and cradle my stomach. My mind is full of all the things I want to ask her.
“That photo you were holding when you fell, Gammy — are you in it? There’s a little girl looking directly at the camera. She looks like I did when I was that age.”
The photo is in my purse, so I draw it free and hold it out to Gammy. She takes it in her hand, which shakes a little as she studies the faces in the image. One finger trails over the children, her knuckle swollen and knotted with arthritis.
“Gammy?”
She doesn’t respond.
“The caption says, ‘Children at Fairbridge Farm in Molong’ — what were you doing there?” I’ve never heard her talk about her parents. Why didn’t I realise this before now? No anecdotes, stories, or yarns about the good old days living on the farm in Molong. And who were all the other children in the photograph with her, scattered across a field and grinning at the camera?
“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, but I’m curious about your past, Gammy. I love you so much, but I’m suddenly very aware that I know very little about you from before I knew you. Everything I know of you comes from Dad or from my childhood. Nothing from before that. Clearly, you’re from England—you’ve still got the accent and we’ve talked about it. But even Dad doesn’t discuss why or how you came to live in Australia, or what your life was like before that.”
Harry didn’t reply, simply stared at the place where the handyman had disappeared. His legs were still bruised from the lashing he’d received, but the pain was welcome now. It reminded him that he was still alive and gave him something else to focus his mind on other than the fact that his mother was gone. He’d always assumed his father had died on a muddy field in France at the end of a Nazi rifle since so many other fathers had, and no one would tell him differently. It was better than believing his father was out there somewhere but didn’t care to know him. And now Mother had left him behind with no one to love who would ever love him back.
Mr Holston banged the crook of his timber cane on the end of the table, silencing the dozens of conversations and the happy laughter of one hundred boys. “Listen up, boys!”
Two women walked to the end of the long timber dining table and stood waiting. They were dressed like the ladies Harry had seen in London when he’d visited Kensington with his mother. She was a seamstress and landed a job for a woman there. These women reminded him of his mother’s client — well dressed, with peaches and cream complexions, tasteful makeup, and shining hair pulled back in waves from rosy faces.
The boys put down their spoons and mugs of tea and turned their heads to listen as one of the women cleared her throat to speak. She wore a blue frock with a thin black belt tied around her plump waist. Her eyes sparkled, and the red on her lips glistened under the fluorescent lighting.
“Good morning, boys,” she said. “It’s lovely to be here with you this morning. My name is Miss Margaret Tanner, and I’m here to talk to you about possibilities.”
She went on to tell them about a spectacular adventure that was available to as many of them as would like to take it. They’d travel by boat to a foreign land where they could learn farming skills, attend school, ride ponies, bathe under the warm rays of never-ending sunshine, and eat as much good food as their tummies could hold. She showed them brochures, which the boys passed around, their voices a dull murmur as they exclaimed over the sight of the sturdy, smiling children in glossy photographs.
The pain in his heart still weighed Harry down so that he could barely hold up his head. Still, the idea of embarking on an adventure, not unlike Robinson Crusoe did in the tattered pages of the book hidden beneath his pillow upstairs, sparked a curiosity in him. He’d always longed to live in the country, away from the Home with its loveless droughty halls. A tiny flicker of nervous excitement twinged in his gut and Harry exchanged a look with Davey, who grinned from ear to ear.
7
Current Day
Mia
Gammy needs a glass of lemon, lime, and bitters. Not Sprite, not lemonade, but lemon, lime, and bitters. No substitute and no off-brand attempts at meeting the mark. So, I’m on the hunt, waddling as fast as my swollen feet will allow through the hospital hallways.
And she killed a man.
The thought lingers in my mind as I scour the floor for a vending machine or a tea and coffee station.
She killed a man and even though two days have passed, I still haven’t found out anything more about it. I’m a chicken, of course. This is well documented. I hate confrontation or making people upset. And as much as I love Gammy, she’s a little bit scary at times. Not in a dangerous kind of way, but still. Her steely-eyed gaze can make the strongest person squirm. I’ve seen it happen plenty of times.
Besides that, I’m not sure I really want to know. If it was a confession, it could change everything I believe about my grandmother, my family, and my life. She could go to prison if she starts confessing all over the place. And what if it’s just the beginning? What if my sweet little grandmother is a serial offender? That’s not information I want. Leave me in the dark. I’m happy there. It’s quiet, and I have snacks.
I like my innocence intact, exactly the way it is. The naiveté that believes in the goodness of grandmothers is all I’ve got. I don’t know what to do with a felon in cushioned orthotics.
For all I know, she might be offloading her guilty conscience on her doctor right now. So, I’m happy to let this particular subject lie. And anyway, we have other things going on. My inquisition about her confession will have to wait.
Thankfully, I know the hospital fairly well, since I’ve visited enough times over the years — between my own patients who’ve been admitted and my husband who works here. Ben is on the next floor up, and since I’m already scampering around in search of the perfect beverage for my picky grandmother, I figure it wouldn’t hurt to check the staff room and see if Ben is between surgeries. I have no idea of his schedule today, but it’s worth a shot.
I miss him.
Between his busy work schedule and Gammy’s broken ankle after her fall, I’ve barely seen him in days. When I’m not visiting Gammy, I’m usually passed out fast asleep in bed or in front of the television on the couch with a thin blanket pulled up over my enormous belly.
He’s doing his best to get as much work out of the way as he can before the baby comes, since he’s taking six weeks of paternity leave to help me and Peanut get settled. I’m excited, since we’ve never had six whole weeks together. Of course, I’ll probably be completely exhausted by motherhood. Still, maybe we can finally sit down and talk about all the things we never seem to have time to discuss — like hopes, dreams and the future.
He’s not much of a dreamer. That role falls to me. But my dreams tend to be bite-sized. Small things really, but big in the scheme of life. Me staying home with the baby seems like an enormous dream after the childhood I had, with the relentlessness of my parents’ ambitions for me. But it’s those kinds of dreams that fill me with a deep contentment. Maybe even a family trip to visit all the worldwide landmarks that’ve piqued my interest over the decades. The Eiffel Tower, the Sistine Chapel, Big Ben, and the pyramids. So much of the world I haven’t explored. Even though my parents dragged me from place to place when I was young, it was never to the famous tourist spots. They considered those to be beneath us in some way — we were the family who lived and worked in Dubai, Singapore, Canada and Malaysia. And as grateful as I am for the experiences I had in those places, there’s still so much I want to see.
But not on my own. I want to go with Ben and little Peanut someday, when he’s old enough to appreciate it. It’ll be something we can share for the rest of our lives.
Remember that time we were in Florence?
We’ll laugh together and reminisce over photos. That’s what I’m looking forward to, what I’m dreaming about as I traverse the hallways and take the lift up to the fifth floor of the Royal Brisbane Hospital. I stop outside the staff room and take a deep breath. I’m puffing hard from the short walk and feel as though my entire uterus might lose traction and slip out into the floor. My hips ache, my neck aches, my feet are twice their usual size and hurt all the time. If Peanut doesn’t make his entrance soon, I’m not going to make it.
Once I’ve caught my breath, I push open the staff room door and poke my head through. I’m looking around when I see Ben in the small kitchenette on one side of the room. He’s stirring a spoon in a cup of something hot and staring at the beverage in a daze, as though not seeing it at all.
“Ben,” I whisper.
He jolts, looks up at me, then grins. “Hey, what are you doing here?” He strides to me and kisses me with both hands cupping my face. His eyes glow with joy. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
“I’m visiting Gammy, so I thought I’d surprise you.”
“Well, you did.” He runs his fingers through his black hair, mussing it in the best possible way. I love this man more than I can describe; it’s a feeling that shifts something in my heart and makes it ache with bliss as I stare at him and drink him in. His dark brown eyes are warm and sexy.
I shimmy into his embrace and rest sideways against his chest. “It’s nice to see you.”
He sighs. “You too. It’s been a — a day.”
“Bad one?”
He shrugs, stroking my hair. “Not anymore. Hey, I was thinking, we should get away before the baby comes. Just the two of us. We haven’t had a holiday in a while.”
It sounds amazing, divine even. The idea of lazing in a swimming pool, making love in a luxury holiday unit, and strolling along the beach front to eat at a seafood restaurant is exactly what I need. But thoughts of impending labour and Gammy’s broken ankle disturb my idyllic imaginings.
“I’d love that. Can we even go away this close to the birth, though? And what about Gammy?”
“Gammy will be fine for a couple of days. They call it a babymoon. Apparently, it’s what everyone does before the baby comes. Who knows when we’ll get a chance to holiday, just the two of us, again?”
“Who told you that?” I pull away and study his smooth brown face.
“What?”
“That everyone does it? Have you been reading those books I gave you?” I quirk an eyebrow, fighting back a smile that tugs one corner of my mouth. He’s resisted reading every single baby book I purchased. Even when he tries, he ends up falling asleep on the sofa with an open book resting on his chest. He’s not interested, or at least I thought so.
He chuckles. “Maybe. I know it’s important to you, so I brought one to work to read between surgeries.”
I lay a hand on his chest. “I know you’re busy.”
“That’s okay—this is important. So, what about the getaway?”
“I think we should do it. It’s the perfect time. I can’t promise I’m up for much walking, but if you’re looking to float, hippopotamus-like, in a swimming pool, then I’m your gal.”
He throws his head back and laughs, then kisses my forehead. “That sounds perfect to me. We’ll be hippos together.”
I grunt, studying his lithe frame, muscular arms, and thin waist. “Nice try. You don’t qualify.”
“We can work on fattening me up this weekend.”
“Perfect.” I grin.
“I’ll book something as soon as I get the chance,” he says.
“You’re busy. I’ll do it,” I object.
He kisses my lips, soft and sweet. “No, I’m being romantic. Let me do it.”
I swoon, literally swoon. Maybe it’s the hormones, I’m feeling extra warm and fuzzy towards Ben these days. But it makes sense—we’re on a journey together, sharing something so special no one else will ever be part of it. We’re becoming parents, just the two of us. It’s scary and wonderful and completely out of control, and I can’t wait.
“Paging Doctor Sato to Surgical Five, paging Doctor Sato…” The voice booms through the staff room’s loudspeaker system.
Ben looks at his watch. “Sweetie, I’ve got to go. Have a good visit with Gammy, and I’ll see you at home.”
He kisses me again, takes a swig of the tea from his cup, and sets the cup in the sink before hurrying from the staffroom.
I tell him goodbye, that I love him, and watch him leave. Then, I’m huffing back down the hallway to the lift. I find the soft drink for Gammy, but now my stomach is grumbling, followed by a flash of nausea. Great. It’s time for another snack or I might upchuck the last one I ate into the nearest rubbish bin. One thing about this pregnancy that has frustrated me to no end is the amount of food I have to eat if I don’t want to be constantly nauseated. I’ve stopped weighing myself. I don’t want to know how much bigger I am than what I should be. I’ve simply got to make it through these next few days and worry about getting back into shape later.
Gammy is lying on her bed under a cream blanket and white sheets, eyes shut, when I enter her room. So, I’m quiet and do my best to tiptoe to the chair in the corner and put her drink on the small bedside table on wheels that also serves as her meal table. Her skin is pale, there are blue veins on the backs of her hands, crossed over her abdomen that are protruding more than they used to. Her grey hair stands on end around her face, splayed out across the mound of pillows propping her up. One leg has no pale, cream blanket over it — it sticks out, with a pink plastic boot wrapped from her toes to just below the knee. The pink complements the polish on her perfectly shaped toenails. Still, she looks older than usual, and the reality of that is like a sucker punch to the gut.
I know I won’t have her with me forever, but this hospital visit is a reminder of that. Of the thing I try not to think about, that I push to the back of my mind most days since I can’t picture a world without Gammy in it. I sit slowly, grunting my way into a semi-comfortable position, and lean my head to one side to watch my grandmother. I’d found a vending machine while out and about and bought a Mars bar to help stave off the nausea cramping in my gut. Now I pull it out, unwrap it and take a bite. Thoughts slink across my conscious mind as I chew, thoughts I’ve been ignoring but which keep rising to the surface like bubbles from a crab hole in wet sand.
She killed a man. There it is again. The same thought as before, unbidden. It jumps into my mind like a compulsive thought-rabbit.
Gammy confessed right before the paramedics arrived. I didn’t have time to ask her about it and after we got to the hospital, she was in and out of scans and X-rays, then getting her boot fitted, then loopy on pain medication. I want to pry, to ask her all the questions I’ve been bottling up inside. But at the same time, I’m nervous. If I find out what she’s talking about, perhaps I’ll discover that either Gammy has lost her senses and will need to go into full-time care with Gramps, or she really did kill someone and I’m not sure how I’ll cope with that knowledge. I’m having these circular arguments with myself every hour or so, while I’m with her and when I’m waddling through the halls in search of a drink or a jelly cup or on one of my many trips to the nearby toilet to pee.
I sigh, and as I do, her eyes flicker open. She blinks a few times, then catches sight of me in her periphery and swings her head around to look directly at me.
“Mia, you’re still here,” she says.
“Of course, Gammy. I went to see Ben and find something to eat. But I told you I was coming back. You fell to sleep.”
She nods, smiling. “That’s right. Silly me, it must be the medication they’ve put me on. I thought you’d left.”
I stand with effort and sidle over to her, wrapping up my chocolate bar. “Would you like some?” I hold it aloft, and she shakes her head.
“No, thank you. My metabolism hasn’t allowed me to indulge in one of those for forty years. And anyway, they’re too sweet for my tastes now.”
I laugh. “All the more for me.”
With it safely tucked into a pocket, I reach for Gammy’s hand and hold it softly. “Are you in any pain? Do you want your drink? I found your lemon, lime, and bitters.”
“Water would be nice. And no, not in pain.”
There’s a cup of water on the table beside her, and she slurps it up through the straw as I hold it to her mouth.
Gammy’s orthopaedic surgeon—Doctor Doug, as he makes us call him—pushes open the door to Gammy’s room and walks inside. He’s holding a clipboard with some paperwork on it, and there’s a stethoscope around his neck. Could he be any more of a cliché? Then he opens his mouth and the deep booming voice confirms it — he’s the picture-perfect surgeon, brimming with confidence and compassion. I can’t help liking him.
“Good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” He checks Gammy’s blood pressure and listens to her heartbeat while she tells him she’s feeling fine but for a little dizziness.
His brow furrows. “That’s not good. I think we’ll do a few tests to make sure you don’t have a concussion before we let you go home. How does that sound?”
“Fine with me, Doctor Doug,” she says with a chuckle. “The Bold and the Beautiful is about to come on the telly, and I’m dying to find out whether Dwight’s evil twin will fool everyone into believing he’s his brother or not.”
Doctor Doug laughs, his brown eyes sparkling. “Don’t tell me what happens. I’d hate to spoil the surprise.”
I want to laugh along with them, but there’s something buzzing in my mind around and around like a bee. I try to catch the thought, but it’s just out of reach until —
“Doctor Doug, Gammy says she’s dizzy, but maybe it’s not a concussion. I mean, she fell for a reason. Could she have been dizzy before the fall?”
The doctor’s smile fades, and he checks his notes. “Hmmm…it’s possible. We’ll run the gamut of tests to be sure. Don’t worry—most likely everything will be perfectly fine. But we like to be safe.”
He leaves, and Gammy crosses her arms over her chest. “I told you I tripped over the carpet. Why are you bothering the doctor with all that?’
I sigh. “I worry about you, that’s all.” I cup her cheek with one hand, and she smiles.
“You don’t have to worry, love. I’m perfectly fine, apart from this ridiculous boot.” She flicks her eyes in the direction of her foot, disdain clearly written across her features.
With a chuckle, I sit back in my chair and cradle my stomach. My mind is full of all the things I want to ask her.
“That photo you were holding when you fell, Gammy — are you in it? There’s a little girl looking directly at the camera. She looks like I did when I was that age.”
The photo is in my purse, so I draw it free and hold it out to Gammy. She takes it in her hand, which shakes a little as she studies the faces in the image. One finger trails over the children, her knuckle swollen and knotted with arthritis.
“Gammy?”
She doesn’t respond.
“The caption says, ‘Children at Fairbridge Farm in Molong’ — what were you doing there?” I’ve never heard her talk about her parents. Why didn’t I realise this before now? No anecdotes, stories, or yarns about the good old days living on the farm in Molong. And who were all the other children in the photograph with her, scattered across a field and grinning at the camera?
“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, but I’m curious about your past, Gammy. I love you so much, but I’m suddenly very aware that I know very little about you from before I knew you. Everything I know of you comes from Dad or from my childhood. Nothing from before that. Clearly, you’re from England—you’ve still got the accent and we’ve talked about it. But even Dad doesn’t discuss why or how you came to live in Australia, or what your life was like before that.”
