Chapter 32

Beth

I reached into my back pocket to retrieve my ringing phone.

I had spent the morning with Alannah doing a site visit of the area where the possum bridge was being installed. Usually, I wouldn’t dream of using my phone while on a site visit, but Nick and I had been exchanging messages all morning and I was powerless to resist the urge to read and respond to them immediately.

Part of me was infuriated at myself; I was carrying on like a lovesick puppy with someone I had only just met. The other part of me had never felt more hopeful at a chance of a relationship with someone, even if he did live on the opposite side of the world.

‘Mum mobile’ flashed across the illuminated display.

I rejected the call and pushed the ‘send message’ option.

I’m on site for work. I’ll give you a buzz from the car in an hour or so.

I had received a photo from Gran and Gerry at Woodside Ridge earlier, which I would reply to at the same time.

I returned my phone to my back pocket where it sat for less than a second before it rang again. ‘Mum mobile’ it announced again.

It wasn’t unusual for my family to lack respect for my boundaries. When I was a kid, them knocking on my bedroom door was part of the process of opening it, rather than a request for permission to enter. And they frequently turned up unannounced to my house with little regard for whether I was busy or didn’t fancy company.

But something in the pit of my stomach implored me to answer it.

‘Hi Mum,’ I said warily. ‘Is everything okay?’

Mum sniffed audibly down the phone. ‘It’s Gran, Bethie.’ She inhaled sharply. ‘She died.’

I replayed the words in my head, desperately hoping that I could derive an alternative meaning from what I knew they meant.

I felt my breath quicken. Every cell in my body felt like it was vibrating and the only thing keeping me from disintegrating right there on the spot was the skin that was holding it all together.

‘What happened?’ I managed to ask finally.

‘She was out on a field trip with Gerry,’ Mum replied, now through guttural sobs. ‘And she collapsed. By the time the ambulance got to her, she’d gone. They think it was a stroke.’

I realised I was now sitting on the ground, but didn’t remember lowering myself down. Alannah had arrived by my side and was mouthing ‘Are you okay?’, their brow furrowed with concern.

I wanted to ask Mum a million questions: what was she doing beforehand? Did anyone give her CPR? Had she been carrying heavy equipment? Who was with her when she died? Where was she now? Where was Gerry? Upon reflection, some, which I was no less compelled to ask, seemed absurd: what night does her bin go out? Had anyone thought about cancelling her library card? Who would clean out her fridge?

But all that came out of me was a noise that sounded like a wounded animal.

‘I’m coming now,’ I said finally, suddenly feeling a compulsion to move. Somewhere. Anywhere. ‘I’ll be there soon. Where are you? Where is she? Where should I go?’

‘Come to the house, Bethie. Gerry’s here, and they’ve already taken Mum aw—’ She didn’t even finish the word before she started sobbing again. ‘Oh Bethie, what are we going to do without her?’ Mum wailed between large wet sniffs.

‘I have absolutely no idea,’ I replied, feeling like my heart was actually breaking in my chest.

I lowered my head into my hands and allowed the tears I had been stoically trying to hold to cascade down my face.

‘We’ll see you soon, Bethie. Drive carefully. Is there someone that can bring you?’

I turned to Alannah, who was holding out a crumpled tissue that looked like it may have been used. I took it anyway and dabbed at my face, although it felt a little like trying to mop up a large-scale flood event with a face washer.

‘Yes, Alannah’s with me; we’ll work something out.’

Alannah nodded fervently. ‘Anything you need,’ they whispered, extending their hand to my arm and giving it a gentle squeeze.

‘I’ll be there soon,’ I said and then hung up on what I knew was probably the most significant phone call of my life.

~

As we rounded the corner into my parents’ street, I thanked Alannah for driving me and for their assurances that they would tell Geoff what had happened and see to the handful of urgent work items that needed to be completed over the next couple of days.

I exited the car and walked up the path towards the front door as I had done a million times before. It struck me that so much was the same, but everything was different. I was different now. Before today I was a person who, despite feeling like I didn’t fit in anywhere, had Gran. She knew me. She understood me. She was the one person on the planet who loved me because of the person I was, not in spite of it.

I knew that from this day on, my life would be divided into two parts: with Gran and without her.

My head seared with an intense headache and I felt like I was going to throw up. Dad opened the door, and I fell into his arms and sobbed into his shoulder. He cooed my name as he stroked my hair, and then guided me into the kitchen where Mum and Gerry were sitting at the table.

Mum stood up and wrapped me in a hug, her usually athletic frame seeming smaller somehow. She pulled back to look at me.

‘How are you doing, kiddo?’ she asked. Her eyes were red and brimming with tears, and her nose was shiny and swollen. A drip of clear snot dangled from the tip.

I shook my head solemnly, unable to articulate the magnitude of emotions that seemed to come in waves like an unrelenting tsunami.

I looked to Gerry. Somehow, she still looked elegant sitting there in Mum’s kitchen wearing a polo shirt I recognised as Gran’s and a pair of hiking trousers. But she looked vulnerable, as if someone had chipped away a strong clear lacquer, revealing a delicate layer beneath.

I noticed she had a smear of dirt up one of her arms and across her left cheek. It must have been horrific for her, to be out in the bush with Gran having collapsed, in a country she’d only landed in a few days beforehand.

‘I’m so sorry, Gerry,’ I spluttered.

‘Oh, Beth,’ she replied, standing and making her way towards me. ‘I’m the one who’s sorry. I know how much your gran meant to you.’

We hugged.

‘What happened?’ I asked, bracing myself for Gerry’s recount of how it had come to be that I woke up this morning happy and full of optimism, and now I was grieving the loss of the most important person in my life.

Dad handed me a glass of ice-water. I sat down at the kitchen table, took a large sip and discovered it was, in fact, a very stiff gin and tonic. I coughed and then took another big gulp.

‘Thatta girl,’ Dad said, giving me a wink.

Gerry described that they had been at the nature reserve next to Woodside Ridge, where they had just seen an echidna and a curious-looking orchid.

‘I’d noticed that she was a little breathless as we were walking to the car to get the equipment,’ she said. ‘But it was a warm morning, so I just figured she was a bit puffed.

‘When I looked back …’ she paused as her voice cracked, ‘she was just standing there, leaning against a tree, looking towards the sunlight. She looked ashen, but not sick. Just vacant, as though she was somewhere else entirely. I called out to her, but she didn’t seem to hear me.’ Tears were streaming down her face. ‘I rushed over, but by the time I reached her, she’d just slid down the tree, and landed in a crumpled heap, like someone had let go of the strings on a marionette doll.’

She blew her nose loudly; it reminded me of the sound Gran made.

‘We rolled her over and Emily – the trip leader – started doing CPR.’

Emily was efficient and competent, exactly the sort of person you’d want conducting CPR if you needed it.

‘She tried and tried,’ Gerry continued, her voice strained. ‘But we couldn’t save her.’

Mum and I sobbed in unison.

‘I should have known she’d go and do something like this,’ she continued with a sad irony-ladened chuckle. ‘Lure me to the furthest corner of the world in the promise of making up for a lifetime of lost moments, and then go and die on me.’

Mum, Dad and I laughed, grateful for the brief moment of release that macabre humour brings to grief-stricken people.

My phone chimed in my bag. I reached in and saw a message from Nick.

I must know. Do Australians wear thongs as underwear or footwear? I’m researching cultural differences in case I ever make my way out there. I’d hate to get it wrong. Although I suspect you’d look great in both.

I slipped my phone back into my bag without replying. I wasn’t ready to announce Gran’s death to anyone – even him. An irrational part of me felt that doing so would somehow make it more real, and remove any last glimmer of hope for negotiation.

‘I can let him know, if you like,’ Gerry said quietly, intuitively knowing it was a message from Nick.

‘That’s okay, I can do it. Just as soon as I find the words. Unless you want to,’ I added hurriedly, aware that Gerry might want to reach out to her family about Gran herself. She would need support from her people too.

‘Whatever you want, Beth,’ she said kindly. ‘But not before you’re ready.’

I smiled gratefully and blinked away the fresh tears that had gathered in my eyes.

‘Gerry, are you comfortable, or would you like a shower and a change of clothes?’ Mum asked. ‘I can lend you some, or we can run you back to Mum’s.’

A vision of Gerry in one of Mum’s flowing boho dresses popped into my head, and I worked hard to suppress the urge to laugh.

‘Thanks, Rosie,’ she said, lifting one of her arms slightly and sniffing in the direction of her armpit. ‘I hope I’m not unpleasant to be around.’

‘No, no,’ Mum exclaimed, ‘not at all.’

‘I’m just not sure I’m ready to wash the morning off my body just yet.’ Gerry’s words tumbled out of her and at the completion of the sentence, she burst into tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ she sobbed. ‘It’s silly. But I just hate the thought of washing her touch off me.’

My heart ached for Gerry. How cruel that their long-awaited reunion had been so short-lived. And I couldn’t shake a twinge of guilt that if I’d left well enough alone, Gerry would be living her life in London, instead of sobbing at Mum and Dad’s kitchen table on the other side of the world. I hoped that the time she’d spent with Gran, and the sense of resolution they’d both received, would make up for the loss she felt now.

I took another big gulp of my drink.

‘Where are the others?’ I asked Dad.

‘Jarrah will be home shortly, she just had to wait for someone to relieve her at work. And Elijah’s on his way home now,’ he explained.

‘Jarrah’s at work?’ I asked curiously.

‘Yes, she got a temp job at a not-for-profit that supports homeless young people. It’s just for a couple of months, while someone’s on leave, but she’s enjoying it, apparently.’

‘That’s terrific,’ I said sincerely.

The next few hours were spent crying, laughing and drinking around the table. It could have been awkward to have Gerry spend this day with us, given we’d only just met her, but it was really nice to hear stories about Gran that we hadn’t either lived or heard a thousand times. Gerry told us that when she and Gran were living in the college, she’d baked a batch of cinnamon twists because she knew Gran missed her mum’s baking. But, instead of using a teaspoon of cinnamon she’d used a whole tablespoon. Gran was so touched by the gesture, and she didn’t want Gerry feeling bad, so ate the entire batch before Gerry could try them and discover what she’d done. As Gerry recounted the story, I remembered all the times Gran had made cinnamon twists for us and told us they were flavoured with love.

I couldn’t believe I’d never taste her cooking again.