Chapter 14

Beth

Despite being elbow-deep in the environmental assessment of a proposed road that, if built, would likely wipe out a population of a particularly rare and fascinating moth, I jumped for my phone when I saw it was an incoming call from Gran.

I hated the thought that my actions had rattled her and had spent the night interrogating everything I had said and done. Should I have chosen a different way to tell her I’d found Gerry? Should I have made contact with Gerry myself? Should I have asked Mum for advice before telling her? Or should I have just bought her a skvader, which I had learned was a relative of the jackalope made from a hare and a wood grouse, rather than delve into her deep, unresolved issues in the first place?

‘Okay,’ she said when I answered, skipping over our usual exchange of pleasantries. ‘I’ve waited six decades to find out what happened to her. Let’s not wait another second. Do you have a profile on this networking site she’s on?’

‘Yes, I do,’ I replied.

‘Good. Can you come around tonight, and we’ll send her a message?’

‘Yes, of course. I’ll come after work.’

‘We’ll need your computer. Mine’s only good for solitaire.’

‘Yes, I’ll bring it with me.’

‘Excellent. Brilliant,’ she replied. ‘I love you.’

She hung up before I could respond. The knot in my stomach loosened slightly.

‘That was a short call,’ Alannah said sheepishly from over their computer. They leaned in conspiratorially. ‘Are you up to something dodgy? Is that a burner phone?’

I laughed loudly, expelling twelve hours of anxiety as I did.

‘It was my gran.’

‘Is your gran up to something dodgy?’ Alannah hypothesised in a mocked, hushed whisper. ‘Is she a drug dealer? I mean, you’ve mentioned she takes trips out to the bush to visit her “special plants”. I should have guessed.’

I laughed again. ‘No, not exactly.’

Gran’s only brush with the drug-dealing underworld had been when she worked at the herbarium and was called as an expert witness to identify marijuana in a criminal case against one of the city’s most notorious drug lords. Her boss decided the task exceeded his own personal risk threshold, so he delegated it to her. Fortunately, the accused was found guilty and received twenty years; Gran was hopeful he wouldn’t hold a grudge for that long against the botanist who identified his prize crop.

‘It would be the perfect cover, though,’ Alannah continued, closing one eye and holding up their hands in a square to capture my face in a frame as they imitated a newsreader. ‘Nerdy council worker teams up with green-thumbed Gran to grow drugs.’

They put their hands back down and examined me through a sidewards squint.

‘No one would ever suspect. It’s genius. Next, you’ll be turning up to work wearing gold bling and an over-the-shoulder bag, and driving a new car.’

‘Oh! That reminds me,’ I blurted. ‘What’s the time?’

‘Three-thirty,’ they said after glancing at their watch. ‘Why?’

‘Because I have to go and pick up my new car.’

‘Really?’ they snorted.

‘Yep. I pick it up this afternoon.’

‘Well, I never,’ they said, shaking their head and looking back to their computer. ‘Drug dealers … you can never pick ’em. It’s always the ones you least expect.’

~

The car dealer handed me the keys to my new car like he was presenting me with a Nobel Prize. He told me it had a full tank of fuel and then he handed me a picnic rug with the dealer logo on it – a gift, apparently. It felt odd to accept free fuel and merchandise when the car itself was paid for by my lotto winnings, but the rug felt like it was good quality, and I’d been meaning to get a new one ever since a dog had cocked its leg over mine at a sunset cinema. And it was good I didn’t have to stop at a petrol station on the way home and endure the midweek price spike. I was thoroughly pleased.

I couldn’t help but reflect on how this experience differed from when I’d bought my other car. Dad and I had driven to east of the middle of nowhere and taken possession of the vehicle from a man wearing a singlet that told the story of his last few meals, who was selling it because he’d lost his licence. Again.

Once in my new car, I adjusted my mirrors and seat, each with the simple press of a button, and without the need for a wrench. I lowered the sun visor to reveal a small, lit mirror; the last time I’d done that in my old car I had discovered a spider had taken up residence there. And, I had to admit, the new car smell was indeed an improvement on the odour of mould.

I glanced in the rear-view mirror to see my old car in the parking lot, which I’d traded in for not much more than the cost of the complimentary picnic rug. I felt irrationally disloyal to it, but was chuffed to have my first-ever new car.

I pulled out my phone and opened the Dwyer family chat. I didn’t usually contribute much to the conversation – my family had a habit of talking even more rubbish in the messenger chat than they did in person. And while I was happy to share information with my family on a need-to-know basis, I felt uneasy about not having told them about my lotto win – the biggest thing to have ever happened to me – especially since I was now the beneficiary of Gran’s secret too. But they had ribbed me so much over the years about my old car that I thought they would be pleased to know I finally had one that didn’t have a leaky roof. So I decided to share the news.

I scrolled back over the unread messages.

There were a few back and forths between Mum and Elijah about whether he’d used the last of the almond milk. (Yes, apparently.) And there was a message from Dad pleading with everyone to avoid any spoilers about the latest episode of Farmer Wants a Wife. (He hadn’t watched it yet and was rooting for Amy, whoever that was.)

The last message was from Jarrah.

Hello fabulous family. I don’t have any petrol in my car (or moolah to correct the situation). Can I borrow someone’s wheels for a couple of hours tonight?

Underneath the message was a thumbs up from Dad.

I was outraged. Again, her financial mismanagement was someone else’s problem to solve. And, again, Dad was bailing her out. I threw my phone a little too roughly onto the passenger seat. I certainly wasn’t going to share the news of my car with my family now. I wouldn’t put it past her to ask to siphon some petrol out.

~

When I arrived at Gran’s and smelled my favourite dinner – pork in mustard sauce, served with rice and green beans – which she made for me on special occasions, wafting from her kitchen, I felt relieved. When she told me she’d made my favourite dessert – rice pudding – I knew for sure she wasn’t mad.

She insisted we eat dinner before sending the message to Gerry. This suited me fine; I’d barely eaten all day. By the time my stomach knots had untangled, it was time to pick up my car, and I hadn’t had a chance.

‘Okay, then,’ I said, after we’d eaten and cleared away the dishes, and I had transposed Gran’s handwritten draft into Gerry’s ‘contact me’ dialogue box. ‘You’re sure about this?’

‘Wait on,’ she said, lifting the handwritten pages towards her face. ‘Just let me read it one more time.’

She had filled two sheets of thin, lined paper. The pages were covered with passages that had been crossed out and rewritten, and single words that had been scribbled out and replaced. The paper she’d written on had yellowed in the years it had been stored in the writing bureau in the corner of her lounge room, and the note looked like it could have been as old as the feelings it conveyed.

Gran’s handwriting was neat and feminine, but not too flowery. I loved the way her S’s began with a severe straight edge but then curved into a soft half-circle, and the way her R’s looped at the top. Even the veggies in her garden were identified by little plaques that she’d prepared with as much care as would be given to the little name cards on the banquet table in the state dining room at Buckingham Palace.

Over the years, her writing, like her voice, had developed an ever-so-slight wobble. Her written strokes were lighter and less confident, and her spoken words had a tiny tremble that was almost imperceptible – except to anyone who hung on her every word, like me.

‘Dear Gerry,’ she read under her breath. ‘I hope my getting in touch will be a welcome surprise. It may seem that I’m contacting you out of the blue, but the truth is that I have thought of you often over the past sixty-or-so years.

‘I was thrilled, but not surprised, to read about your illustrious career. I always knew you had so much to contribute to science. Elizabeth Gould would be proud. I worked in the state’s herbarium for many years and now volunteer there to keep them, and me, on our toes. Coincidentally, I contributed to the Millennium Seed Bank Project in Kew Gardens, which I see you were involved in.

‘I married John Evans, and we had one daughter, Rosie. I have three grandchildren, including Beth who is helping me make contact with you.

‘I’m so glad I’ve found a way to reach you, Gerry. I don’t expect anything from you but want you to know that I’ve thought of you often and with fondness.

‘With love and best wishes, Elise (nee Simpson).’

‘It’s perfect, Gran,’ I offered.

‘Do you really think?’ she asked, sitting back in the chair and removing her glasses. She looked apprehensive. ‘Maybe I should just—’

‘Don’t get cold feet now,’ I interjected. ‘You said yourself you’ve always wondered what happened. This is your chance.’

‘You’re right,’ she said with a decisive nod of her head. ‘Send it.’

I ceremoniously tapped the mouse button before she could change her mind.

‘And now we wait,’ I said with a nod.

‘And now we wait,’ she repeated, rapping her hands on the table and then getting up and walking to the stove. ‘Do you want more rice pudding?’

‘No thanks, Gran,’ I replied, rubbing my uncomfortably full belly. ‘I couldn’t eat another thing.’

After Gran had loaded me up with Tupperware containers of leftover food, I farewelled her with the promise that I would let her know right away if I heard anything from Gerry and the assurance I would return her Tupperware when I next saw her. I effortlessly slid into the driver’s seat of my shiny new car, pushed the button on the dash that engaged the keyless ignition and then tapped the button to fire up the seat warmer. The night was crisp but not cold, so I opened the sunroof and welcomed in the fresh night air to mingle with the new car smell.

It was nice to know I would make it home without needing a call-out to roadside assistance.