‘I first saw your grandmother in Sydney in 1962. I was twenty-three years old and literally fell over her in Darling Harbour.’

Granddad had his cane between his legs and he’d propped his chin against the handle. I sat next to him on the couch in his apartment and we stared out through the window towards the distant lake. A few ducks wandered around and the fountain gurgled and belched, though at this distance we couldn’t hear it. Grandad occasionally gurgled and belched as if to provide the missing sound effects.

‘You have to understand,’ he said, ‘that Darling Harbour was very different in those days. It was probably a good twenty years before Neville Wran made it into the upmarket place it is now. Then, it was an industrial area gone to seed, a place that had outlived its usefulness.’

‘You bumped into Gran,’ I reminded him. This was not the time for social history. I was about to learn something about my grandmother and I was excited.

‘She was carrying a bag of groceries and it spilled all over the street.’ He laughed as he watched it in his mind. ‘She said afterwards it was my fault, that I’d been running along the street and hadn’t paid attention. Just barged straight into her, sent the groceries flying. But it wasn’t like that, Rob. I wasn’t running. I walked. And she bumped into me. But she’d never admit that.’ His eyes took on a faraway look. ‘Your grandmother didn’t brook arguments. She knew she was right, even when she was wrong.’

‘What was her name?’ I asked. I needed basic information before we got into who was at fault about flying groceries over fifty years ago. It didn’t matter, at least to me. Maybe it did to Pop.

‘Bella,’ said Grandad. ‘Beautiful in Italian. And my God she deserved that name.’

Bella. I knew my grandmother’s name! I nearly burst into tears there and then. I’m such a sook. But I kept control because if I sobbed, Grandad would pay attention to me and I wanted him to pay attention to his memories. To keep control I had to curl up my hands so my nails bit into my palms.

‘I stood there dazed,’ said Grandad. ‘I couldn’t believe how beautiful she was. It was like being hit over the head with something soft and heavy.’ He fell silent.

‘Love at first sight,’ I offered.

‘Maybe,’ said Pop. ‘Maybe that was it.’

‘What did she say?’ I asked. I leaned forward on the couch, eager to catch every word. Pop’s voice had softened and his eyes had become dreamy. I leaned a little more. I had only a portion of one butt cheek on the couch and worried I’d collapse into a heap on the floor unless Pop said something.

‘She didn’t,’ said Grandad. ‘She just looked at me with those brown eyes.’

‘And?’ I said.

‘And then she kneed me in the nuts,’ said Grandad.

This was so unexpected I did slip off the couch and bruise my tailbone. It really hurt.

‘She did not,’ I wailed.

‘No, she didn’t,’ agreed Grandad. ‘I made that up.’

‘I hate you, Grandad,’ I said.

‘No, you don’t,’ he said. ‘It’s not my fault you’re a romantic idiot, Rob.’

‘It’s not my fault, either,’ I pointed out. ‘So, was any of that true? Her name, your first meeting?’

Grandad stood and arched his back as if ironing out aches and pains.

‘The violence was my only fiction,’ he said. ‘Your grandma’s name was Bella and I met her by falling over her in 1962 in Darling Harbour. And she was beautiful. She was so beautiful.’

‘So what happened then?’ Grandad was right. I am a romantic idiot and this was a story that already had me on the edge of messy, hysterical sobbing.

‘Ah,’ said Pop. ‘I didn’t see her again for five years. But I never forgot her, Rob. Hardly a day passed in those intervening years when I didn’t think about those eyes. I knew we were destined to meet again.’

‘Oh God, Grandad,’ I said. ‘That is so romantic.’ I couldn’t help myself this time. It was like a wall had given way and I burst into tears. Grandad put a hand on my shoulder.

‘Without a doubt, Rob,’ he said, ‘you are the most spineless sook in the entire Southern Hemisphere.’

‘I know, Pop,’ I spluttered between sobs. ‘Maybe the world.’

He didn’t argue.