The Minnow (24 page)

‘Nana,' I say. ‘Jonah and I aren't talking.'

I stay with Nana until nightfall. The Minnow has had her evening feed and is tucked up in the pram. Jonathan says he'll drive us home. When I object he tells me he needs to do some washing and get a fresh set of clothes, and he reminds me that Jonah's house is almost on his way. I'm relieved. I didn't fancy another walk home in the dark. I think Bill has been shadowing me. It's nothing I can put my finger on exactly, just a feeling. And I'm positive he was skulking around at Mingin's when I was there last Tuesday.

Jonah had been talking about fixing some cup hooks in the kitchen and I decided to organise it and surprise him. I hadn't been to the hardware shop with the Minnow and I'll admit I was feeling a bit nervous.

Mrs Peck wasn't happy to see me—or the Minnow— but I pretended not to notice and trotted down to fixtures and fittings, aisle three. There was a whole section devoted to hooks. As Nana would say, I was spoilt for choice.

I ended up choosing the white plastic-covered variety as I thought they would be Jonah's preference. They were also quite cheap.

Mrs Peck was waiting at the register, arms folded, impatient.

She looked awful. She had puffy bags under her eyes and her lipstick was running off into the creases around her mouth—bleeding, Nana calls it—and her cardigan was inside out.

I put the hooks on the counter and handed her a ten dollar note. As she gave me my change, there was a loud crash at the back of the shop.

Mrs Peck flinched.

I was about to say something sarcastic, but Mrs Peck looked straight at me and shook her head. It was the tiniest movement, but she meant for me to see it. Then she walked the Minnow and me to the door.

It was very strange. Mrs Peck has never done anything like that before.

I realised we had something in common.

We are both afraid of Bill.

Jonathan looks tired. He drives more slowly than usual, and I keep checking on him to make sure he is awake.

‘Wasn't that cute when I popped the Minnow in bed with Nana for her afternoon nap?' I say, breaking the silence. We swerve to miss a pothole.

‘They're bringing a specialist over tomorrow, to run some tests,' he says.

‘Oh, okay.'

‘I want you to know, Tom, that even though your grandmother and I are not yet officially married, I will make sure she gets the best care.'

‘Okay.'

‘And I've hired a private nurse.'

‘Yes, I met her,' I say, not sure where this is heading.

‘They want to move her to the nursing wing,' he says. He turns to look at me, worry etched onto his face. ‘You understand she can't go back there.'

I nod. Jonathan turns back to face the road.

‘So,' he continues, ‘I've informed Hazel to hire anyone she deems appropriate.'

‘I see. Thank you, Jonathan.' He is an angel. I want to tell him this but instead I look out the window. No use rubbing salt in Papa's wounds.

We drive the rest of the way in silence. It occurs to me that Jonathan has known Nana longer than I've known her. I've never thought about that before.

‘Thanks, Jonathan,' I say, as he pulls the pram up the front steps. I give him a hug. Jonathan hugs me back. I can feel his sorrow. Nana hangs between us.

‘Will you be all right?' I ask.

‘Will you?' Jonathan replies.

Neither of us knows the answer.

‘See you tomorrow, then,' I say, ‘and thanks for the lift.'

Jonathan does a little wave; a hand movement that says a whole sentence. The Minnow and I watch him drive away.

Pinned to Jonah's front door is a note from James Wo. Shit, shit, shit. I forgot all about our Saturday appointment.

Dear Tom,
I heard about your grandmother. I completely understand
that she's your priority right now. I will, of course, cancel
our Saturday meetings if that's what you wish. Alternatively,
I can meet you as per usual and then drive you to the
Mavis Ornstein at midday.

James Wo.

It took more than a week, but eventually Jonah and I made up.

Don't ask me about Caleb. I can't bear thinking about him. Let's just say I'm confident there is no future, so I have given up worrying.

If you're wondering about my complete one-eighty, blame Oscar!

I had gone to the inlet for a swim on my own. I often do this when I wake early. Nothing matches a swim for clearing my head, and Jonah is always happy to mind the Minnow. They were both asleep so I left a note. Back in an hour, it said.

Oscar showed up. He can always tell when something is troubling me, so I told him all about horrible Caleb and my fears for Jonah's heart. I explained the rift between Jonah and me, and that we weren't speaking.

Oscar gave me a crash course in reverse psychology.

I tried it out when I got home and it worked a treat. I told Jonah that I was sorry for being such a bitch and that maybe I had been unfair to judge Caleb so harshly. After thinking it through, I added, I was prepared to be open-minded.

Jonah looked so relieved, I actually felt bad about lying.

That evening, when the Minnow and I returned home from the Mavis Ornstein Home for the Elderly, Jonah confessed—over dinner—that he was having second thoughts about Caleb.

Oh, yes. Oscar is a total legend.

Friday the 26th of December. The Minnow's first birthday.

We celebrated in Nana's room, and I took lots of photos of the two of them together. I'm not sure Nana knew what was happening. It was so sad, seeing her like that. I kept thinking how different things had been twelve months earlier, when she had returned, jubilant, from the nursing wing. The Minnow's party was sedate by comparison.

On Saturday the twenty-seventh of December, at 11.34 am, Nana died.

Hazel handed me a print-out of Nana's ‘last hurrah' that afternoon. ‘If I seem a bit abrupt,' Hazel said when she saw the look on my face, ‘then I'm sorry.'

‘O..k..a..y,' I said, drawing out the word. ‘She has been dead, what, three hours?' This was not what I expected.

‘Sorry,' said Hazel, and she turned and walked back into the common room.

‘That was weird,' I said, aloud.

‘Don't worry, dear,' said Betsy Groot, who had materialised in front of me. ‘Hazel is an absolute pet, and she grieves for us terribly when we pass.'

That made sense. ‘Thanks, Betsy,' I said, but she was gone.

I walked to the end of the veranda, hoping to find Papa, but the place was deserted. I sat myself in the rocker and began to read Nana's instructions.

Nana wanted to be dressed in her whites and buried with her favourite bowling ball. Her favourite photo—the one taken when the Great Eight won the District Champions Trophy—was to be placed on the coffin and given to Jonathan after the service. She had paid in advance for a celebrant. There was to be no religious rubbish. The service was to be brief yet personal.

Luckily for the Minnow and me, on the Saturday that Nana died, James Wo had a dentist appointment at eleven-thirty, so he dropped us off at the Mavis Ornstein Home for the Elderly an hour earlier than usual.

When the Minnow and I arrived, Jonathan was giving Nana some water. I stood at the doorway for a moment, watching him go through the ritual.

It was a painstaking process, taking almost an hour to get Nana to drink just half a glass. Jonathan would repeat the exercise four times a day.

He winked at me as the Minnow and I walked over to the bed and I kissed first Nana, then Jonathan, on the cheek.

‘How's she doing?' I asked, knowing the answer.

‘Great,' answered Jonathan.

‘Gigi,' said the Minnow, as I lifted her up and plonked her on the bed.

‘The Minnow's here,' said Jonathan, leaning forward, gently brushing Nana's cheek with the back of his hand. No response.

Jonathan resumed the water ritual. ‘How's that, Valerie?' he asked, tipping a fraction more into her mouth. ‘I bet that feels good.'

‘It'd be better with a bit of gin in it,' she replied.

Her first words in four months.

Jonathan and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. The Minnow joined in. When we looked back at Nana, she had died.

Jonathan is devastated. I'm not sure he'll know what to do with himself after the funeral. He has spent every moment of the last four months at her bedside. The poor thing still wanted to marry her, but seeing as she couldn't speak, it seemed wrong. Besides, Nana hadn't officially accepted his proposal.

Jonah is staying with his grandfather. He might stay for a while as we're worried about Jonathan being alone.

Papa, on the other hand, is being really cagey. I want to know what will happen next, but he refuses to discuss it. I get the feeling that he and Nana will disappear after the funeral, and it is really pissing me off that I'm going to lose both of them and he won't even talk to me about it. I've asked Oscar for his thoughts, but he is no help. Says it is none of his business.

Jonathan is the executor of Nana's will.

‘Everything is yours, Tom,' he says. He is looking better, if a little too thin. ‘I will have her savings transferred to your account if you let me know your bank details.' Jonathan shuffled some papers. We are sitting in his study. It's all brown leather and bookshelves. Jonah describes it as old-school masculine.

Jonathan cleared his throat. ‘It will take a few months, but eventually her room will be reassigned and her bond will be returned. It's over two hundred thousand, Tom, and you will have access to it when you turn eighteen.'

It was a lot to take in. Two hundred thousand. And change.

I've always wanted to say that.

I'm sitting at Jonathan's desk. Jonathan's study door is half open and I can see Nana and Papa sitting on the couch in Jonathan's living room. They're holding hands. Papa looks happy, content. He has aged thirty years.

Nana looks sad and tired and a bit stressed. God knows why they're here—probably Nana's weird sense of etiquette, and, knowing Nana, I bet she is wishing Papa wasn't quite so attentive.

The Jeffrey Gallico Chapel is crowded. Nana was popular. Bowls players from clubs as far away as West Wrestler and Banyaban Creek have made the journey. All of them are dressed in their whites. There is a collection of trophies at the front of the chapel. Each one bears Nana's name, with some of the wins going back decades.

Friends are taking turns to speak. The bowls players tell funny anecdotes. Eventually it is my turn.

‘My Nana was one of the most amazing people I've ever met.'

I hadn't rehearsed or written anything down. I had cried so hard on Sunday that I figured I would be able to get through my speech without a hitch. Now, I wasn't so sure.

I looked around the chapel. It was hard to tell who was dead and who was alive. Some of the guests were sitting on the laps of others and there was some loud complaining. But what could I do?

‘When my family died, Nana saved my life,' I said. ‘She was strong and no-nonsense and loving and kind and sympathetic. She knew and safeguarded all my secrets, she watched over me and trusted me to survive—even when she disagreed with my choices—and she loved the Minnow and me with all her heart.

‘One of the saddest things is that the Minnow will never know
my
Nana. My Nana wasn't that old woman, stuck in bed against her will, unable to speak. My Nana was a champion bowls player, a royalist, a gin drinker, an ex-smoker, and a loyal friend. Most of all, she was funny and full of life and I will miss her forever.'

I turned to the front row. ‘Nana was saved from the nursing wing by a kind and wonderful man, Jonathan Whiting. And, while her last months weren't what she would have chosen, Jonathan made them bearable.' Jonathan is sitting next to Jonah and the Minnow. He is crying.

‘We love you, Jonathan,' I said. ‘And Nana loved you too.' I had to say it. Papa would just have to understand.