“Don’t leave that there,” says Mum when I dump the remnants of the trail mix on the kitchen counter. “Boris and Rocky have already been into the pantry today. Between Rocky’s ability to claw open just about anything and Boris’s extreme greed, no foodstuff is safe around here any more.”
Gran goes over to Rocky’s perch and tickles him under the chin. “Don’t blame Rocko; he’s just easily led.”
Mum raises her eyebrows at me before changing the subject. “Nice day at the beach?”
“It was just what we needed,” says Gran, turning to give me a conspiratorial wink.
“Glad to hear it,” says Mum, switching on the kettle. “I’m sorry I couldn’t go with you, but it’s just as well we hadn’t planned anything for the afternoon because I went and got my tattoos.”
“A tattoo?” I’m not sure whose mouth is gaping wider, mine or Gran’s. (Actually, it’s surely mine – Gran’s probably got a tattoo somewhere under all that crochet.)
“For radiotherapy,” says Mum. “They’re so happy with the way I’ve responded to the antibiotics that they think I can have my first session next week. I have to go to the hospital for it every morning for three weeks, but the good news is that I’ll be finished treatment before uni goes back, so it won’t affect my classes.”
Gran starts to say something about Mum taking a semester off but she’s interrupted by her phone ringing.
“Thanks for going today,” says Mum when Gran goes to the living room to take her call. “I hope it wasn’t too painful.”
I spoon fresh tea-leaves into the pot and fill it with water. “It had its painful moments, but it was mainly good. Gran kind of grows on you once you get used to the bossiness, like mould on an expensive cheese.”
Mum laughs. “I hope my grandkids don’t say that about me one day.”
Dad comes into the kitchen holding a thick stack of paper in both hands and grinning like Loony McLoon. “O frabjous day! Calloo! Caallay!” he croons. When we don’t react he holds the paper closer for us to inspect. “My novel. It’s finished!”
Mum puts down her wooden spoon and walks round the kitchen bench to give Dad a hug. “Oh, darling, that’s wonderful!”
I don’t know what to say. Dad’s been working on his novel for so long that I’d begun to wonder whether it really existed. I pour the tea so I don’t have to watch the two of them smooching.
Gran’s sitting on the couch when I take her tea in, staring into space. When she doesn’t react to me holding the cup out to her I get worried.
“Everything okay?”
Gran lifts her head slowly, as if it’s a huge effort to raise her head. “That was Maisy,” she says. “Archie had a stroke.”
“Is he all right?”
She shakes her head. “The funeral’s the day after tomorrow.” She stands, snapping back into Gran mode. “I have to get home.”
She strides past me before I can think of anything comforting to say. After a few seconds, I pull myself together enough to follow her back to the kitchen, still holding the tea.
“You need a new computer!” Gran looks like she’s about to throw something at the monitor, which is whirring slowly through its start-up messages.
Dad goes over to the desk. “Why don’t you let me book the flight, Thelma, and you can get your things together.”
“Thank you, Terry. I want to go as soon as possible, please, tonight if you can wrangle it. Archie left his funeral instructions with me and if I’m not there to sort it out, his kids’ll organise something he’d hate.”
Gran is cramming knitwear into her suitcase when I knock on the open door.
“Mum said to ask if you want dinner.”
“Thanks, Bloss, but your dad’s booked me on a nine o’clock flight so I’d better keep going here. He’s a good man, your dad.”
“I’m sure Archie was a good man, too.” I want to tell her how sorry I am that her boyfriend’s gone and she’s all alone again.
“He was,” she says matter of factly before going back to her packing. “Pass me my nightie from under the pillow, will you?”
When I don’t hand it to her she looks up again and sees that I’m crying. She pulls me down to perch on the edge of the bed next to her and pats my knee. “Don’t be sad, love. All good things come to an end, as they say. I’ll miss Archie, but when you get to our age you know you’re together for a good time, not a long time.”
Gran holds me and rocks me back and forth until I stop sobbing. It feels just the same as when Mum does it.
I want to go to the airport, but Gran says she doesn’t believe in long goodbyes. She puts down Rocky’s cage so that she can hug me again.
“Goodbye, Bloss. It’s been lovely having this time with you. You’ll look after your mum for me, won’t you?”
I nod, scared that if I try to speak, I’ll start crying again. I’ve already had to bite my lip and stare at the light while she and Mum were saying goodbye to each other. I don’t think there’s a clean tissue left in the house.
“The cab’s here,” says Dad, quietly.
Mum puts her arm around my and Ziggy’s shoulders and we watch Dad carry out Gran’s luggage and Gran tell him off for not putting it in the boot correctly.
“I guess things are starting to get back to normal around here,” Mum says as we wave to the departing cab.
I go to the study to get my stuff and pick up Boris, who’s sitting on the windowsill, staring sadly at where the cab was, as if he’s already missing his partner in food-related crime.
The only traces of Gran left in my room are an empty box of birdseed and the half-finished scarf lying on my desk. The room is so tidy I almost don’t want to unpack my things. Gran’s done some reorganising in my absence, including arranging my wombat collection on top of my bookshelf. If I’d noticed it yesterday, I would’ve said she was interfering, but it’s kind of nice having them there, looking down on me with their sweet wombatty faces.
I put the photo of me and Dan on my bedside table, right next to the one Steph gave me for Christmas. The last day of term feels like a lifetime ago.