Mei was right, the prognosis is good, but Dad isn’t buying it. He’s ready to chuck it all in and become an old person.
‘What do you mean, you want me to put the house on the market?’ I ask.
‘It’s too big for me to manage on my own.’
I look at him in the hospital bed. To be fair, he doesn’t look like he could boil water, let along vacuum a floor. ‘You might feel like rubbish now, Dad, but give it a few days. You’ll be back to your old self. Don’t make decisions that you’ll regret when you’re back on your feet.’
He waves me away. ‘Just go see Ray, he’ll look after it.’
Ray Emanuel is Dad’s accountant. He’s the person I’ve always been told to contact if anything ever happened to my parents. Ray lives on ten acres of riverfront south of town, and smells of straw and horse manure and cigarettes. He taught me and Matt how to ride. For a while, when I was still in primary school, our horses were agisted on his property. We used to take them down onto the riverbed in summer when it was dry. His son, Vince, was a stockier version of my brother and he’d come with us, cantering ahead with Matt to put distance between themselves and the embarrassing little sister.
‘And where are you going to live?’
‘I’ll go to The Village. They’ve got vacancies. You can go up there and reserve one for me. The corner villa, with the view. Do it today, could you?’
‘How do you even know if that one is vacant?’
‘Sandra Davies’ mum, Joan, is there. She told me at the tennis club.’
‘Sandra Davies’ mum is in her eighties,’ I protest. ‘You’re not even seventy.’
‘That’s what Joan said. She reckons I should move in sooner rather than later so I can enjoy the facilities while I can. Get involved. Make some friends.’
‘You have friends already.’
‘Just go up there and reserve it for me. I don’t want to end up out the back looking at the railway line.’ He pushes down on the mattress to lift himself up.
‘Where do you think you’re going, Mr Geller?’ Dave marches into the room, clicking the pen in his hand. He holds it to my face. Click, click, click. I push him away.
‘Stop that.’
‘Stop what, Franny?’ Click, click, click.
Dad chuckles. ‘Go easy on her, Dave, she’s already annoyed.’
‘Oh, I see. I told you she wouldn’t like it, Joe.’
‘You were right.’
‘You’ve told Dave about this already?’
‘He thinks it’s a good idea.’
‘Dave also thinks he can sing.’
‘Now, now, don’t get personal.’ Dave attaches a cuff to Dad’s arm, and it swells. ‘Joe’s an adult, he can talk to whoever he likes.’
‘But he’s fine, you said it yourself. He’s got a stent in and there was no damage from the stroke.’
‘Where there’s a stroke, there’s fire.’
‘Jeez, Dave, that’s awful. I hope that’s not the material you’re using at the Murch.’
He writes in Dad’s chart and puts his pen back in his pocket. When he turns to me, he has his medical-professional face on. ‘A heart attack followed by a stroke is pretty serious stuff, Fran. Joe did a great job in calling the ambulance on Friday, but next time he might not be able to get to his phone. At The Village, he’ll have an emergency pendant that will call an ambulance just by pressing a button. He won’t even have to speak. They’ll have all his details on file, and they’ll come straight to him.’
‘But what are the chances that there’ll be a next time? The artery’s clear and the new meds will keep his cholesterol on track.’
‘They will, and the chances are low, but what if he does? Wouldn’t you rather he was closer to help?’
I look at my dad, watching me and Dave discuss him across his hospital bed. I hate it, but Dave’s right. ‘Fine. So, you’re selling the house and the business.’
‘Sold. The business settled on Thursday.’ He rubs a hand over the blanket. ‘I was going to tell you on Friday.’
‘Right. And now you want to sell the house and buy into The Village.’
‘Yep.’
I sigh, possibly louder than necessary. Mum always said there’s no point fighting with Dad when his mind is made up. ‘Do I need to give them a deposit or anything?’
‘Don’t know.’ He waves his hand at me. ‘Sort all that out with Ray.’
I feel my face crumple into a scowl but promise Dad I’ll call Ray today. ‘Is there anything else you need?’
‘No, I’m good.’
‘What about lunch? Can I get you a pie? A salad roll? Doughnut?’
‘Are you saying we don’t feed our patients?’ Dave plants his feet and puts his hands on his hips. I can see it now, the theatrics of the stand-up.
‘No, but I bet you bring your own lunch.’
‘That’s because the taxpayer doesn’t spring for my meals. As you would know.’
‘Even so.’
‘Even so, it’s a good thing Joe has such a devoted daughter. The new café at the town beach does a good line in bratwurst dogs. You can get me one while you’re there. Sauerkraut and mustard. No tomato sauce.’
I look at Dad.
‘Same.’
From the car, I call Ray and ask him to put my childhood home on the market and reserve the corner villa at The Village.