by Ben Karwan
I text Elliot and Sophie to tell them what’s happened and though they both offer to come over, I don’t want to see either of them. Instead, Aaron and I spend the whole day together, reminiscing about Grandpa.
‘Remember when he used to pretend to fish in the backyard?’
‘What about when he first got diagnosed and would put on Grandma’s dresses because he thought it was funny to exaggerate the disease?’
We go back and forth, trading Grandpa stories and laughing. Before his mind went, nobody could laugh at themselves the way he could. I always admired that.
In the evening Mum and Dad return home, bringing Grandma with them. She looks as though she’s only just stopped crying.
‘Hi Grandma,’ I say, kissing her cheek. ‘I’m really sorry and I hope you’re okay.’ I hope it sounds as sincere as I mean it to; I’m not sure I have the words to do it justice.
‘Quite, dear, thank you. I think we all realised it wasn’t far off, what with his health and all, but it still shakes you up,’ she says, a rhythmic crack in her voice. ‘I did think we had a bit more time …’
I hug her again because I have no idea what to say to that.
Aaron gives her a large canvas, a painting of Grandma with Grandpa. They’re standing, holding hands, smiling at each other, their feet entangled in colourful flowers. The sun’s rays are almost visible, warming their faces from the crystal sky; only a few fluffy clouds are in sight.
I honestly have no idea when Aaron found the time to do that.
Grandma has been on the brink of tears since she arrived but this gesture tips her over the edge and the tears flow freely.
‘Oh sorry, Grandma,’ says Aaron awkwardly. ‘I thought you’d like it …’
‘No, I love it,’ she says, grabbing him in a tight embrace. ‘It’s wonderful. So professional. You have a real talent. Lauren,’ she adds, turning on my mother, ‘you have raised two beautiful children and you should be very proud of them.’
Grandma will stay with us until the funeral, which will be in a week. Despite her protests, I insist she sleep in my bedroom. We don’t have a guestroom in our house and I argue that it’s much easier to sleep on a couch when you’re young.
That night, Elliot pops in to make sure I’m doing okay and to offer his condolences. Unfortunately, I forgot to tell him that I’m sleeping in the lounge, which leads to a slightly awkward encounter when he knocks on my window, almost scaring Grandma to death. After that he uses the front door for the first time in months.
After I’ve finished laughing at him and he’s headed home, I go up to my/Grandma’s room to apologise.
‘No, no, deary, it’s fine. Makes me miss the days of sneaking around to avoid motherly detection. He seems to be quite a catch.’
‘Oh yeah, he’s great,’ I say, sitting down on the bed. The idea of Grandma sneaking around with a boyfriend in her youth is a weird one. ‘But he isn’t my boyfriend.’
She smiles. ‘Of course. A charming young lady like you is bound to have millions of boys sneaking through her bedroom window.’
‘Just the one boy sneaking through; I just happen to not be dating him.’
She giggles and it’s strange to see because I always thought giggling was reserved for teenage girls and Luke.
‘What does the actual boyfriend think of this?’ she asks.
‘He isn’t around anymore.’ I tell her the story of my relationship with Dylan ending. She’s almost as easy to talk to as my dad. I wish she lived closer. Mum moved out here with Dad before I was born. I used to see Grandma a lot more when I was younger – until I was about five – but I don’t really remember that. Now we see each other only a few times a year but that usually means we have to catch up rather than have an actual conversation.
‘Well, it sounds like you made a wise decision. Remember not to judge yourself on the boys you pull. Did I use that phrase right? I’m a bit out of touch with the slang you all use these days.’
I laugh. ‘Very good, Grandma.’
Our talks become a nightly ritual. I like talking to Grandma and I think she likes talking to me. We don’t discuss boys again. Instead we talk mostly about literature. She brought with her a couple of the books I gave her for Christmas. She’s halfway through Gone Girl and she wants me to read Go Set a Watchman so we can talk about it.
I knew she liked to read but I didn’t know just how closely she read everything. She plucks books from my bookshelf and we discuss them all, books stretching from contemporary fiction to the American classics, even back to Shakespearean plays. None of my friends is particularly literary (not unintelligent, just not avid readers) and it’s refreshing to be able to discuss books with somebody who truly appreciates them.
Grandma gives me a new perspective on Stasiland – she used to know somebody who lived under the East German regime – and she laughs the whole time as I explain my Freudian reading of The Hunger Games. Freud’s theories are a joke but psychoanalytic readings are still hilarious. We discuss the significance of Holden’s hat in The Catcher in the Rye, whether the Stella Prize is a good idea or not (it absolutely is) and whether Snape is a good guy or a bad guy (Snape is the worst). I also have issues with Dumbledore as a person – he’s so manipulative! – but you don’t want to get me started on that …
This is one of the remarkable things about literature, though: everybody reads a slightly different story from the same text. Our discussions often last for hours and I’m worried we’ll run out of books to talk about. But Grandma reads as frequently as I do – perhaps more – and she has a head start of sixty-odd years.
I also think she likes the distraction from thinking about Grandpa.
We keep this routine up until the night before the funeral, when she packs up all of her things and goes to sleep early.
The funeral is at nine-thirty in Grandma and Grandpa’s home town, so we all get up early for the drive. It’s a long day but the service is beautiful. There are gorgeous flowers, heartfelt eulogies and lots of tears. Grandma thanks everyone for coming and we wait until everyone has left so we can drive her back to her house. Mum doesn’t say much all day.
We invite Grandma to stay with us for a bit longer and I’m a bit disappointed when she says no. She insists she has to get back into a routine to help herself grieve and move on. We stay with her for dinner and then begin the journey home.
I’m going to miss having Grandma around. She was only with us for a week and I’m so excited about sleeping in my bed again, but the house feels empty without her.
As soon as I get home, I head up to my bedroom and start reading Go Set a Watchman. I read the first line and immediately get the urge to ask Grandma what her all-time favourite opening paragraph is, but then I remember she’s not here anymore. Mine is the opening to The Bell Jar, for the record.
About halfway through chapter three, I put the book down for a break and two pieces of paper fall out of the dust cover. One is a note, written in Grandma’s impressive cursive.
Jen,
Just a little something to say thank you for this week. You’re a remarkable young woman and I’m really proud of you. Use it wisely – meaning ‘go crazy’. Do something for yourself. Not for your mum. Not for me. For yourself. Our little secret. Don’t let me down.
Grandma xx
The other piece of paper is a cheque. For five thousand dollars.
Chapter Nine
I have no idea what to do with Grandma’s money. Elliot reckons I should just keep it though I call her the day after she leaves, insisting that I can’t.
‘Nonsense,’ she says. ‘You made life much easier for me while I was dealing with your grandfather’s passing. You deserve to treat yourself.’
I can’t help but smile a little. ‘I’m glad I helped, but still …’
‘No,’ she says, cutting me off. ‘No “but still”. This is not up for debate, young lady.’
‘But –’
‘No “buts”. I’m not going to say it agai
n.’
I guess I know where Mum gets her stubbornness from. I thank Grandma four or five times and hang up the phone before going straight to the bank. I don’t trust myself to keep a cheque safe.
‘Our little secret.’ I guess that means nobody else got a cheque and that announcing my gift would indict her in the un-grandmotherly crime of favouritism.
Until the weekend I read, I work and I think about the extra five thousand dollars in my bank account. On at least three separate days I consider spending the whole lot at once on a personal air conditioner for my bedroom. We have cooling downstairs but halfway up the stairs the heat collapses in on you and you feel like the gates to hell have opened up and are dragging you in. It makes sleeping a nightmare but I put up with it. Buying an air conditioner could hardly be considered ‘going crazy’ – and that’s what Grandma has demanded I do.
It’s supposed to be thirty-eight degrees on Saturday, making it the coolest day of the week, so Elliot and I go to Teddy’s place on account of him having a swimming pool.
‘I was wondering when you two would show up,’ Teddy says.
Elliot is wearing a T-shirt and boardies, with a beach towel draped over his shoulder. I’m a little less obvious about why we’re here, with my towel hidden in my bag and my swimwear hidden by my dress.
Teddy reckons his dad’s house is embarrassing. Without cause, I might add – he just feels as though Elliot and I might judge him or something because our houses are bigger than his. It is quite small – two bedrooms, a kitchen, a bathroom and a living room – but I don’t really see why that’s a problem. Teddy lives here full-time and only sees his mum on alternate weekends or when he needs her house for a party.
‘We just missed our number-one pal,’ says Elliot.
‘Yeah, right,’ says Teddy. ‘Nothing to do with the pool outside, is it?’
‘I mean, it helps,’ I say.
Teddy flips me off. ‘You guys want a drink?’
‘If you’re offering,’ Elliot says.
‘They’re in the garage – I’ll go grab them.’ He pauses. ‘Go on, then. The pool’s waiting.’
Elliot and I head out through the sliding door and I’m slightly surprised to see Christina on the deck that surrounds the pool. Teddy’s relationships rarely last longer than the first hour. Things must be going well between them.
Christina looks up from her phone and waves at us. ‘Hey!’
‘Hey. It’s Christina, right?’ I say. ‘I’m Jen.’ I’ve only met her once before, on New Year’s Eve, and if she was drunk enough to hook up with Theodore, she probably doesn’t remember Elliot or me.
‘Yeah, of course,’ she says, standing up. Her blonde hair swings in a tight ponytail as she steps forward to hug us both. ‘I love your necklace,’ she says to me.
My hand instinctively grasps the crucifix around my neck. ‘Thanks.’
Sixteen seconds later, Elliot pulls his top off and launches himself into the pool, emptying half of it onto the deck. My dress follows suit and I leap in after him. Christina shows us both up with an elegant dive that hardly creates a splash.
‘Show-off,’ Elliot mumbles while she’s underwater.
The sliding door opens and Teddy steps out with three apple ciders and a bottle of Mountain Dew. We hoist ourselves up onto the edge of the pool and Teddy hands out the bottles.
‘Christina doesn’t drink,’ he explains, giving Christina the Mountain Dew and sitting himself between Elliot and her.
‘Then how exactly do you survive the pretentious Theodore C. Block?’ Elliot asks.
Christina laughs and Teddy shoves Elliot back into the pool.
Teddy and Christina finish their drinks first. They slip back into the water and swim towards the opposite end. When I finish mine, I dip myself in and push off the wall, covering the entire length of the pool in one breath. I come up for air and find the lovebirds wrapped around each other, connected by their mouths, sitting on the built-in seat. Not wanting to disturb their love fest, I return to Elliot’s end.
‘Disgusting, aren’t they?’ I say.
‘Pathetic.’
For the next few hours, we swim, splash and wreak all sorts of havoc in the water. Elliot tries to see how fast he can run through the water with me on his back (not very fast, it turns out) and we try ballroom dancing underwater, which ends disastrously.
And the whole time Teddy does not leave Christina’s side. They’re perpetually connected by their hands, legs or lips. Or a combination of the three.
I dry myself off, reapply sunscreen and lay my towel on the deck. I lie on my back, shielding my eyes with my arm, and soak up the sun. Elliot joins me, not wanting to be the third wheel in the pool.
‘When does Nessie return from her homeland?’ I ask, turning my head to look at him.
‘Not for another week and a bit,’ he says. ‘It’s killing me.’
I mime vomiting. ‘You’re as lovesick as those two,’ I say, gesturing at Teddy and Christina, who are still all over each other in the pool. Then I have an idea of sheer brilliance. I sit up. ‘Oh my God.’
‘What?’ Elliot says.
‘Why don’t we go to Scotland?’
He sits up, too, and looks at me. ‘Yeah, right, let’s just fly to the other end of the country.’
‘We could drive. It’d be fun. And you can surprise her by showing up with a whole bunch of flowers and she’ll swoon and you’ll get married and have lots of babies and live happily ever after.’
‘You don’t think you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself?’
‘Maybe,’ I say, ‘but why not? Do you reckon Theodore would come? Sophie, too!’
‘I don’t know about Teddy, but Sophie has Luke. And how are we going to pay for hotels and petrol and everything else?’
‘I’ll use Grandma’s cheque. She told me to do something crazy with it. What’s crazier than a spontaneous road trip?’ Excitement is really building in me now. I haven’t been on a holiday for ages and I’ve never been on one without my family. On top of that, Mum still doesn’t know about my new uni preferences and I can’t shake the feeling she’s going to find out soon. It might be a tad easier to deal with from the other end of the country.
‘You know, you make some compelling arguments,’ says Elliot. ‘I’ll have to check with Mum and Dad, but if you’re being serious …’
Of course I’m being serious. I could easily get some time off work – we have so many new staff members left over from Christmas and I haven’t asked for time off in ages. Even during exams, I kept my regular work schedule. And uni offers aren’t even out yet, so it’s not like classes are going to start any time soon.
‘You reckon Vincent is up to it?’ I ask. Vincent is Elliot’s car. He isn’t the most luxurious car in the world but that’s half the fun.
‘If he isn’t, then we’ll deal with it,’ says Elliot. ‘When should we go?’
I think for a bit. ‘Tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow?’ says Elliot. ‘That’s so soon.’
‘Yeah, but the whole point of this is to see Nessie because you miss her. I don’t have anything else I’ll be doing … Do you?’
He runs it through in his mind. ‘Yeah, fair enough. Let’s do it.’
‘Theodore, get your arse over here,’ I call.
He detaches himself from Christina and we fill him in on the plan.
‘Yeah, I’m in,’ says Teddy. ‘No more than a week, though, right? Christina’s working every day until next Saturday, so it’s all good, but I want to hang out with her after that.’
‘A week should be long enough,’ Elliot says.
‘Sweet. Let’s do it.’ Teddy looks over his shoulder towards the pool. Christina blows him a kiss. ‘Where are we going to stay?’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ I say, pulling my dress back over my head. ‘We’ll figure it out on the way.’
‘Are you going somewhere?’ Elliot says.
I pick up my towel. ‘I’m going to Sophie’s. I want to s
ee her face when I ask her.’
‘Shouldn’t we plan –’
‘Later, guys!’ I wave and practically run to Sophie’s house.
When I get there, Luke is asleep in his cot and Mrs Anderson is busy mowing the lawn out the back. Apparently she works better in the heat.
Sophie leads me to the kitchen and starts to prepare iced coffee. We stand on opposite sides of the bench.
‘So,’ I say, ‘how much do you reckon you need a holiday?’
‘Oh God, escape would be amazing. You know how we used to make fun of all those mothers who always said they needed a break? I totally feel them right now.’
I laugh. ‘But Luke’s adorable.’
‘I know he is. But it’s not super-adorable at dinnertime when he decides to throw a tantrum.’
‘You want to come to Queensland for a week?’
She looks up from the tub of ice-cream. ‘A week in Queensland? That would be awesome.’
‘We’re leaving tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ She stops mid-scoop. ‘That’s so soon. I mean, it’s such a good idea but I wish we’d planned it ages ago so I could’ve saved up. There’s no way I can afford that now.’
‘But that’s the best part,’ I say. ‘You wouldn’t have to pay a cent.’
She gives me an odd look. ‘Why, did you win the lotto or something?’
‘Not quite.’ I tell her about the money Grandma gave me. The blender drowns the sound out, so we pause our conversation for a minute. ‘She told me to do something crazy with it, so I figured you, me, Elliot and Teddy could drive up in Vincent.’
‘Are you serious?’ says Sophie. ‘I couldn’t let you pay for a holiday …’
‘Don’t think of it like that,’ I say dismissively.
She hands me my drink. ‘How should I think of it?’
