If she can do it, so can I.
We sit and sit and sit, Grandma and I, dripping water and shivering and waiting. And then, all in one arc of light, the rain stops, the sky clears and Grandma hears something.
“I think they’re coming,” she says, her voice trembling and her chin jutting out like she’s trying to catch a sound. “I can hear voices.”
I stand up, trying not to fall over. A lot of sitting with super-tired legs makes for a wobbly start. “I’ll go and see.”
I dash over the roots and rocks again, trying not to slip on the mud that the storm has created. In the late afternoon light, I can see through the bush, down the main path. A rescue party. Four men and a woman in bright yellow overalls. They’ve got backpacks and what looks like a stretcher.
My wobbly legs are forgotten. We’re going to get out of here. I dance up and down, waving wildly. “Hi, over here. Hello. It’s me. We’re here.”
Nothing’s over until much, much later. First we have to get down the mountain with Grandma on a stretcher. She’s embarrassed and apologising until the woman tells her it’s fine, just to relax, that these things happen, and we make our way slowly down to the bottom where there’s an ambulance waiting to take us both to the hospital. Even then it isn’t over. We still have to wait and wait and wait while doctors do tests and take x-rays and check bloods. Grandma gives me Adrian’s number and he comes right over with a hamburger for me in a large paper bag, stays until everything is sorted out and then promises to pick us up and take us wherever we need to go whenever we need to go there.
Grandma has to stay in overnight with a broken wrist and sprained ankle and knee and I stay with her in the room, curled up and snoozy in an armchair, ignoring all the nurses who come in and take her blood pressure and give her pills in the middle of the night. I’m so stiff from my 20 kilometre walk up and down a mountain twice that I can hardly move in the morning but a kind hospital person brings me a tray of breakfast with Grandma’s.
Grandma’s face is still white but she looks better than she did yesterday. And she’s hungry.
“So,” she says, looking down at the tray and then up at me and grinning. “What do you love?”
“Plain white toast,” I say. “With jam.” I take an enormous, deliberate bite in front of her. She makes an amusing disgusted face but eats hers just as quickly as me.
“When you’re hungry, it all goes down,” she says. “I’d prefer eggs with a hollandaise sauce, but at least we’re not eating bush tucker at the top of Trembler’s Rocks.”
My eyes get big in alarm. “I wouldn’t know what to look for,” I say. “Anyway, would you really eat a grub or a spider? Assuming I could catch one of course.”
“Maybe.” She shrugs. “I’d probably give it a go. Especially if it was the only thing on offer.”
“Remind me never to go camping with you,” I say and sip my hot chocolate.
She picks up her cup. And then puts it down again.
“I need to apologise to you,” she says.
I open my mouth, but she speaks over me. “No, I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this so I’ll have to just say it all in one go or I might not do it at all.”
I blink a little and sit back in my chair, waiting.
“The truth is, I got upset when you asked me about your mum and you. I know it was unfair of me, I mean, I told you to ask whatever you wanted to ask and not worry about the elephant in the room and all that.”
She takes a sip of her tea and swallows. “When Matt—your dad—died, like I told you, it was absolutely devastating. I was broken up. But even in the middle of all the agony, I felt like… I don’t know. Like I’d have to change something.” She puts down her cup and shakes her hair around a little.
“It seemed like there were only two choices for me: stay home and cry and then get old and die. Or get out and keep living. I decided that I would do things to be happy. Things like eating out, going dancing, moving house, making new friends.”
I nod slowly.
“Your mum was different to me,” Grandma says. “She cried all the time. And I got so that I couldn’t bear being around all the tears and the sad faces. It made me feel so much worse, almost like I was being suffocated.”
She looks up at me. “Sorry. I don’t want to upset you.” She stares at the wall for a bit. I wait.
“After a little while of this, because we were there together a lot in those months, if you remember, we had a big fight. She said that I wasn’t even missing Matt, and I mustn’t have loved him. And maybe… well, maybe that was the reason he, you know… took his own life.”
She stops for a moment, looks down at her lap and twists her napkin around her fingers.
“I’m sorry. This is probably hard for you to hear,” she says.
I don’t really know how to answer. I’m listening, but it’s almost like it’s not me, here in my body, using my ears and my hearing aid and my eyes to read Grandma’s lips when she gets quiet. This person, whoever it is, is calmer than I could be, or maybe it’s because she just can’t feel anything much.
“It’s okay,” says whoever-is-in-my-body. “It’s okay.”
Grandma keeps on going. “But I have to be honest. I said terrible things to her too. I told her that she was weak. No spine. No character. I said if she kept crying and crying she’d cry a river that would eventually sweep you away. I told her she’d destroy you. Just like she’d destroyed my son.”
A tear trickles down Grandma’s cheek, and then another, until her face is as wet as it was in the rain last night. I put my tray down on the floor, leaving the toast half eaten (Grandma was right: white bread tastes terrible after you haven’t had it for a while) and go to sit next to her on the bed. All I can think of saying is ‘don’t cry’ but it’s such a stupid thing to say that I slap myself over the head in my imagination. Instead I put my arms around my grandmother and just hold her tight, like she needs to be held. She cries for a few minutes, dribbling tears onto my lap, but I let it go. The shorts need to be washed anyway.
Eventually Grandma comes up for air, gasping a little, and wipes her face. I shift my arm and loosen the hug.
“You’re an amazing person, Jazmine,” she says. “Really. I am proud to have you as my grand-daughter.”
Immediately I land in my body again, swamped by a pile of odd-sized emotions. Embarrassment, disbelief, shock and then a very, very warm feeling that starts in my toes and moves up to my heart. I can’t stop a smile.
“I’m proud of you too,” I say.
“Well, I’m not proud of me,” she says, decisive. “I treated your mother badly. And I let my fight with her take over even things like sending you birthday cards. So I treated you badly too. And I’m really sorry. I’ve missed four whole years with you, and I can’t get them back.”
“Do you think you meant what you said to Mum?” I ask.
“Do any of us know what we’re saying when we’re hurt and angry?” she says. “I probably thought I meant it at the time. I certainly wish now I hadn’t said it. In the end, I think we just really didn’t understand each other. And I was mean.”
Chapter 20
When we finally get home Adrian checks we’re okay and that the fridge has food in it.
“Call me if you need anything,” he says. “I can be up here in five minutes.”
l nod and wave good bye and walk back into the house where Grandma is propped up on the sofa, her wrist in a cast and her foot on a pillow.
“I think I should call Mum,” I say. I’m calm, even though it feels like it could be a dangerous thing to say. “She’d probably want to know what’s happened.”
Grandma nods. “I think that’s a good idea.”
“She might want me to go home.”
“Whatever you need to do is fine with me, sweetheart. I’ll be okay. I’ve got people who’ll help me out.”
“l don’t want to go,” I say. “You know that, right?”
She lowers her head slightly.
“Of course.”
When I dial the number there’s a ‘brr, brr’, a tiny pause and then Mum’s voice, loud and worried. “This isn’t your usual time to call, Jaz,” she says. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “But Grandma’s not.”
I know Mum has always been a worrier but I’ve never heard her go off on the end of a phone before. Once we finally get through the exclamations of What? and Where? and You ran how far? and then limp back into Are you sure you’re okay? territory, she starts to calm down a bit.
Until she asks me about booking a ticket home early.
“I’m going to stay,” I say. She starts in but I talk over her. “No, Mum. I’m going to stay until Saturday, like we planned. Grandma needs me. I want to look after her.”
There’s a silence on the phone. And then a small voice. “Will you stay there forever?”
“Dont be silly. I’Il be back on the weekend.”
“Do you even know how to look after someone?” Mum’s voice sounds disappointed, almost… bitter?
“I can figure it out,” I say.
And I do.
We need to eat so I cook. We need to drink so I make cups of tea and juice. We need to sleep so I put Grandma to bed and take a nap myself. I help Grandma to the bathroom and I tidy up the house.
Day one sorted.
On the second day I help Grandma get to her crutch so she can hobble out to the deck. We slowly edge out through the front door when she says, “I think I can hear a car coming.”
I turn to look and, sure enough, coming up the road is a grey hatchback. Just like our car.
As it gets closer I can see the driver. It’s a woman. She looks just like Mum.
It is Mum.
My heart leaps at exactly the same time that my stomach freezes. I’m looking at the car and then looking back at Grandma who hasn’t recognised her yet. She’s still fussing with her crutch, trying to get through the sliding glass doors without sticking the end of it in the frame. My face goes hot and red and my fingers start twitching.
The car, my car, pulls off the road and into the drive and I can’t even move. Grandma, on the other hand, is walking remarkably well. She’s seen the car and is now clumping down the steps, one at a time, onto the gravel. As the car pulls to a stop, she’s right there, exactly opposite the driver’s side.
The door opens and Mum gets out. She just stands there for a bit at first. Grandma is watching her, waiting, for something. I’m not sure what, but I hope it happens soon because I can’t actually breathe. I know what would go down if this was school. Mum would throw the first punch and Grandma would kick back and then the two of them would be surrounded by a mob, yelling and screaming for more.
This isn’t school.
Instead, Grandma holds out a hand, just quietly. And Mum takes it. And then the two of them are hugging like they’ll never let go, hanging on to each other like people you see on TV who’ve just survived an earthquake and have found their family again, and then they’re crying with tears like fountains out of their eyes, sobbing like the worst, saddest thing in the world has just happened.
I stand and watch, under a blue sky with clouds and shadows and sunshine. I look at my mum and my grandma and then I look out, past them, at the view of the world out there, where life is happening right now, for more people than I can count. Life’s happening here for me. And for Mum. And Grandma. I look back at them, still with their arms around each other, and swipe a little tear of my own out of my eye.
Then I walk down the steps.
“Mum, Grandma. Shall I make some tea?”
I make them hot drinks to have on the deck, cold drinks and sandwiches to have inside and then, later, soup and toast for dinner.
“Can I help you?” asks Mum. She’s asked me that a few times but each time I’ve said no. I’m fine, thanks.
“Are you sure?” she says, and I smile.
“It’s all good. Just relax.”
So she does. At least, she’s beginning to, by the end of the day. At first I can see her looking over at me, obviously worrying. I can just about hear the thoughts churning in her head. Can she do this? Is she okay? But by the time she’s been served fruit for dessert and her third cup of tea for the afternoon, her face is telling a different story. And the story is mostly about Grandma.
The two of them have talked and sat and talked and cried and sat and talked some more. They’ve looked at photos, they’ve held hands quietly and they’ve giggled like nine year olds.
Finally Grandma is tired and white-faced.
“She needs to sleep,” I tell Mum. “I’ll just put her to bed.”
Mum raises her eyebrows and sits back. “Sure.”
“Are you ready?” I ask Grandma before I help her out of her seat. “One, two, three.” We stand up together and I help her find her crutch so she can hobble down the hall and into her room, but she’s not even looking for them. Instead, she stands as straight as she can, her hand resting on my arm.
“Helen,” she says to Mum, her voice nearly breaking. “Your daughter is incredible.” Her fingers squeeze my arm and my face gets hot. “She is the bravest young woman I know. She’s honest. She’s loving. And she’s completely, totally, genuine. You have done an amazing job.” She half shakes her head. “I want you to know I was completely wrong.”
My scalp is burning with so much embarrassment that I’m sure my hair must be turning red as well.
Grandma’s voice goes back to normal. “Jaz,” she says. “Can you find your mum a towel and some blankets? In the hall cupboard there should be some. See what you can manage.”
When I turn off Grandma’s light after settling her into bed and come back to the lounge room, Mum is standing at the kitchen bench, looking at the two photos in frames that Grandma brought out before. Dad and me.
I walk up beside her and she turns her head.
“You were so cute,” she says. “Look at you.”
“I was so young,” I say. I gesture to the picture of Dad. “Do you think I look like him? Grandma does.”
She tilts her head to one side, thinking. “Sometimes you do. And then sometimes not at all. Maybe, though, you look more like Grandma. I saw it today.” She goes quiet.
My voice jerks into the room. “Do you think you guys will be friends again?” I ask. The question seems to fill the kitchen.
There’s a space and then Mum nods. “I think we will,” she says.
Later, just before I turn off my light, she knocks on my door in her pyjamas. “You asleep yet?”
I make a face and let her in. “Um, obviously not.”
She steps in and looks around. “It’s nice in here,” she says. “Maybe we need to redecorate at home a bit. I never liked Grandma’s style much but maybe it’s grown on me. Kind of fresh.”
“Adventurous,” I say, sitting on the bed. Mum sits beside me and then swings her feet over so she’s lying down.
“Especially that,” she says, pointing to the print of the boat and the sea. “That’s amazing.”
I look at the blue and green swirls of water from across the room and imagine myself in that boat, in that ocean, sailing out to somewhere. Doesn’t matter where, I think to myself. Just as long as it’s out of the harbour. I think of Vincey, bobbing and puttering along and standing her ground in the middle of a storm and I realise, for the first time in my life, that ‘safe’ isn’t always the most important thing. Living, doing what we’re built for, is better. And in that second, I know, more deeply than I’ve known anything else, that I, Jazmine, want to live.
“I can’t believe you ran up and down a mountain twice,” says Mum, reaching out for my hand.
“I can’t believe it either,” I say. “My legs still hurt.”
“Mine would have fallen off,” she says, and I laugh.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I say.
“I couldn’t not come,” she says.
“I know,” I say. And I hold her hand.
The next two
days are all about getting Grandma to physio, moving things around so she can be more and more independent, and talking to Adrian so he knows how to look after her. She’s napping and getting lots of rest but she looks better. I know she’s starting to get back to normal when I catch her outside trying to prune a hedge, balancing herself on her crutch.
“No!” I say firmly, but smiling.
She raises one eyebrow. “Just try and stop me.”
When I hug her goodbye on Saturday, she holds on to me for longer than I expect.
“You can’t go for too long, now,” she says. “Now that I have you both back, I need to see you. Next holidays.”
“Really?” I say. I’m jumping on the inside.
“Really,” she says. “You and me. Lots of cafés. No bushwalks. Deal?”
“Deal.”
In the car on the drive home Mum’s quiet and so am I.
“Thanks for letting me go,” I say.
“Thanks for asking,” she says.
“I’m looking forward to going back,” I say.
“I’m sure you are,” she says.
We sit in silence again until my new, grownup self tries to make conversation.
“So. How were things at home, anyway?”
Mum twists her mouth up a little and tilts her head.
“Things at home?” She pauses a beat. I can see her choosing her words. “Things at home are probably going to be a bit… different.”
Chapter 21
The only thing that’s different is the fact that Mum’s moved the sofa to the other side of the living room.
“Is that what you’re talking about?” I ask. She shrugs. “Maybe.”
I frown slightly and look around the rest of the house and outside.
“You didn’t water my garden much,” I say, accusingly. The new flowers are drooping and some of the seedlings I put in just before I went away have shrivelled up and died. Luckily I’ve brought back some cuttings from Grandma’s garden.
Invincible (Invisible 2) Page 12
