‘Stop it!’ Bonita scolded herself, joining her mother and aunts, making small talk as she prepared the drinks—immersing herself in what was important.
Making today the best it could possibly be.
Carmel’s military-style preparations paid off.
The Azetti barbeque was held in early autumn. The grapes were generally in, or the last of the fruit hung plump and ready on the vines, and Carmel and Luigi had for as long as anyone could remember held this celebration for family, their regular workers and the seasonal staff who descended between January to April to pick the fruit. Despite his failing health, despite the fact the winery employed its own winemaker now, Luigi had still assisted in the important decision as to when to harvest the grapes. And this year’s vintage would, Bonita knew, for so many be an extra-precious one in the years that followed.
Everyone Luigi loved was there on his land, eating, milling around, chatting, eating, drinking, oh, and eating, and the smile on her father’s face, the pride in his eyes as he watched the people he adored all together, all enjoying themselves, was, Bonita realised, surely the best medicine of them all.
Even the weather behaved.
Early autumn, it could have gone any way, yet the sun was out, but not too hot, and seeing her father laugh and joke with his sons, Bonita wondered for a moment if she was worrying about nothing—that the frail man she had kissed goodnight to last night might actually be around for a good while longer yet.
‘He’s had a great day.’ She and Hugh were washing up, Bonita staring out beyond the dark window to the pergola. She watched her father sitting on the cane couch with his family, heard the laughter and chatter drift back into the home. ‘He doesn’t even seem tired.’
‘He’s been looking forward to this.’ Hugh’s eyes followed her gaze.
‘Maybe it was what he needed,’ Bonita said. ‘Maybe this will give him a bit of a second wind…’ Her voice trailed off, waiting, hoping, desperate for Hugh agree, for him to ignore the fact that despite the copious food, despite Luigi making a token effort at carving the lamb, he hadn’t eaten a single thing. ‘Maybe he’ll pick up a bit! Now that he’s—’
‘Bonny.’ Hugh stopped her there. ‘Your dad’s not going to get better.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘I do know that,’ Hugh said firmly, ‘and so do you.’
‘Can’t I just have one nice day?’
‘You’ve had a nice day,’ Hugh pointed out. ‘Have you told him?’
‘Told him what?’
‘Everything you want to.’
‘Such as?’
‘That you love him?’
Clutching the stem of the wineglass she was washing, for a moment she thought she might snap it. ‘I don’t have to tell him. Dad knows that I love him.’
‘Have you told him, though?’ Hugh pushed.
‘I think so.’ She was washing up quickly now, sloshing the glasses in the soapy water and trying very hard not to think about it—trying very hard indeed. It was easier in many ways to focus instead on Hugh. ‘Did you?’ She watched his hand pause as he picked up a draining plate. ‘Your dad was dying when you went back to England. Did you tell him you loved him?’
‘I tried.’ Hugh shrugged. ‘You know, when I went back home, I really wanted things to be different. I’d seen how your family worked and I had this idea that if we just…’ He shook his head. ‘I tried to tell him, but it was way too late, we just didn’t have those sort of conversations, we had never had them.’
‘Never?’ He gave a brief shake of his head, and for the first time Bonita delved. So many times she’d wondered about his past, had heard bits and pieces from her brothers and parents, but it had never seemed appropriate to ask…
Till now.
‘What about when your mum was alive?’ She held her breath after she’d voiced her question—this was one of the first conversations they’d had without barbs and she was loath to end it by probing too deep, yet it felt right to ask. It felt right to know a little more about the man who consumed her. And instead of holding back, as he usually did, Hugh actually opened up.
‘I guess.’ He gave a sort of half-laugh. ‘It’s funny you ask because before I came back here I was boxing things up, sorting things out, and I came across some photos. I actually recognised Mum. It was my father who looked completely different from the man I remember.’
‘In what way?’ Bonita asked. ‘Younger?’
‘Happier.’ Hugh shrugged. ‘Just a completely different person really. When Mum died I went to boarding school so I only ever saw him during term breaks and even then he was always working. There’d be an aunt or a nanny looking after me.’ He said it without a trace of pity, just stated the facts.
‘Did you get lonely?’
‘Nope!’ He shook his head, made heavy work of drying a plate as he thought about it for a moment. ‘It wasn’t lonely, it was just the way it was. And not just for me—most of my schoolmates came from similar families. It wasn’t until I came to Australia and met your family that I realised how different it should be.’
‘Should be?’ Bonita checked.
‘Do you remember the row I had with your parents?’ He registered Bonita’s frown. ‘You were probably too busy slamming doors of your own to notice. I was staying here over the summer break and I’d gone away for a weekend with some girl…’ He frowned as he tried to remember the name, then quickly gave up. ‘We were having a great time and ended up staying on an extra day—I swear it didn’t even enter my head to ring and tell your parents. I was twenty-two, I’d never had to ring in to anyone before! I came back here and your mum was crying, your dad was shouting at me and telling me how inconsiderate I’d been…’ Suddenly he laughed. ‘It was great! You know, till that point I’d sometimes thought that I could disappear for six months and no one would actually notice.’
I’d notice, Bonita thought as he spoke on.
Had noticed.
In those hellish months after he’d gone back to the UK, Bonita had missed him so much it had actually hurt. She’d cried so hard sometimes at night it had felt as if she hadn’t been able to breathe.
‘You should tell him.’ Hugh broke into her thoughts. ‘You should say it while you have the chance.’
‘I guess!’
‘I’ve told your dad what he’s meant to me,’ Hugh said, by way of convincing her.
‘You told him!’ Bonita blinked. ‘How? I mean, if you start talking like that then you’re saying that…’
‘He’s dying,’ Hugh finished what she couldn’t. ‘He knows, Bonny. Is there anything you wish you had said?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Like what?’
‘That even when he was cross, even when he was angry…’ tears plopped into the soapy water ‘…that even when I was cross, when I was angry, I always knew he was only looking out for me…’
‘Tell him.’ Dishes done, he threw down the teatowel.
‘I’ll think about it.’ She closed her eyes at his raised eyebrow, knew that maybe she didn’t actually have time to think about it, and wasn’t particularly grateful to Hugh for pointing that out.
‘I’m going to go and say goodbye and then I’m going home.’
‘You’re not staying?’
‘Nope.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m on at seven tomorrow morning. You think about what I said, Bonny, but don’t think about it for too long.’
And because her parents weren’t there, because he didn’t have to pretend to be polite, he didn’t give her a friendly kiss on the cheek, just offered a quick ‘Goodnight’. And as suddenly as that he was gone. She watched him walk over and kiss her mother, shake hands with her brothers and then hug her father.
Watched him lavish the affection he gave so generously to everyone except her—only that wasn’t what was hurting right now.
Seeing her father hug him back, seeing the open affection between the two men she adored, brought a huge lump to her throat.
He’d told her dad just how much he meant, had managed what she could hardly bear to attempt…but knew somehow that she had to.
So later when Hugh had long since gone and her brothers’ cars were a noise on the drive, Bonita walked out to where Carmel was tidying up, and helped. Luigi was sitting on the recliner, just as he always had, and she waited till her mother had stacked the last of the plates and was carrying them inside.
‘It’s been a wonderful day,’ Bonita started.
‘It’s been the best day.’ Luigi smiled.
‘Thank you.’
It felt like a speech—the worst sort of speech as she approached him, as he patted the cushion beside him.
‘For what?’
‘For loving me.’
‘You are so easy to love.’
‘Even when I was horrible.’ Bonita gulped. ‘Even when…’
‘Always.’ He pulled her towards him, held her so close she could feel the thud of a heart winding down. As she resisted, he cuddled her in, held her closer.
‘Born angry!’ Still he held her. ‘The midwife said we must be pleased to have a daughter. I was, till I held you…’ And she couldn’t help but smile as her father spoke. ‘You were this angry little thing and nothing I tried calmed you. Born feet first and defiant. “We have trouble,” I told your mother.
‘You changed our world.’
He lifted her chin and the same hazel eyes that greeted her each morning in the mirror held hers—except the fading colour told Bonita he’d soon be gone.
‘We were too old for a baby—your mother was forty, I was fifty. The boys were all at school, everything was sorted, and then you came along.’ His hand cupped her cheek. ‘You—the best accident that ever happened.
‘Sometimes when I was cross, when your mother was cross…’
‘I’m so sorry—’
‘I am sorry,’ Luigi interrupted, apologising when he had nothing to apologise for. ‘I was scared to let you grow up, scared to let you go, scared of the mistakes you might make, and I wanted to prevent every last bit of pain for you. And yet I see now I tried too hard. You were not careless or about to make a big mistake, you already knew your mind. You really were a good girl…’
‘Not always!’
‘Good!’ Luigi smiled. ‘It means you have lived!’
Oh, she’d miss him for ever, couldn’t bear to be in his arms and know that it wouldn’t last, that every day they enjoyed was one day nearer to being without him. Daddy’s girl wouldn’t be a daddy’s girl soon. She could see her mother looking over through the kitchen window. The trestle tables had all been cleared and she still tried to look busy, tried to let a moment that just couldn’t last, last for just as long as it could.
‘I love you, Dad.’
It was the only thing left to say.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘BONNY!’
Snapping open her eyes, Bonita forced herself to alertness.
She recognised that urgent summons for help, because she’d heard it so many times at work and had been dreading it in the last week. Luigi had faded since the barbeque, that last stab at living utterly depleting him. Bonita was sleeping in shifts with her mother, the palliative nurse was coming in twice a day to help with meds and to turn her father, the family GP was visiting daily, oxygen tanks were being delivered, family, friends all descending—the house a hive of activity.
Except for this morning when it was the three of them alone, and as she ran through the house Bonita prepared herself for the worst, determined to be strong.
But it was hard to be strong when the scene she faced was worse than the worst-case scenario she’d predicted.
‘He can’t breathe…’ Carmel was frantic as she hugged her husband, her eyes urgent, as Bonita raced into the room.
‘It’s OK…’ Sitting him up, Bonita grabbed at pillows, thrust them behind his head, listening to horrible gurgling noises from his chest, feeling his clammy skin covered in sweat. Yet her hands were remarkably steady, fiddling with the flow on the oxygen tank that was by the bed then feeling again her father’s thready pulse. ‘Mum, call an ambulance!’
‘No.’ Carmel shook her head. ‘That’s not what he wanted. He wants to die here—we planned—’
‘Mum, he can’t breathe, it’s his heart…’ She was dialling for the ambulance herself, but Carmel stopped her. ‘No!’
‘He needs treatment.’ Bonny tried to keep her voice even. ‘This isn’t how it should be—he needs something to get that fluid off his chest…’ He was literally drowning in it, Bonita could hear it.
‘Please, Bonny, ring the doctor, tell him to come here!’
What to do, what to do…Her head was whirring, every ingrained response depleted by love. He wanted to be here, Bonita knew that, and that thought alone had her dialling one of the many numbers on the list by the phone.
‘It’s his paging service,’ Bonita said, leaving a frantic garbled message, begging the doctor to come. ‘We’ll have to call an ambulance.’
‘Paul!’ Carmel urged. ‘Ring Paul! He’ll know what to do.’
But Paul was in Theatre, the calm voice of the switchboard operator just increasing Bonita’s agitation as, for the second time, she was put through to the second on call.
‘Put me through to the nursing station in Emergency.’
‘Charge Nurse Baxter…’
‘Bill!’ Just to hear his kind efficient voice helped so much. She closed her eyes and pictured the emergency department, knew that if she couldn’t get hold of Paul, then that’s where they would soon be. ‘Dad can’t breathe—they won’t put me through to Paul.’
‘Have you rung an ambulance?’
‘Mum doesn’t want that. He wants to be home. Please, Bill, can you just tell Paul?’
‘Your dad needs to come here.’ Bill wasn’t debating the point—especially when Bonita described the symptoms and, no doubt, Bill could hear for himself the horrible sounds Luigi was making in the background. ‘Andrew’s here now—he’ll be waiting for him, Bonita. I can call an ambulance for you…Just hold on a second…’ There was a low murmur of talk, and then for Bonita a flood of relief as a clipped English voice came onto the phone.
‘I’m on my way!”
He’d cut himself shaving that morning—tiny details were just so much easier to deal with as she prepared the diuretic for Hugh. And his hair was still wet from his shower…He probably hadn’t even had a coffee…
Yet he was so focussed, so completely together and assured he might just as well have been in the emergency room as in her parents’ bedroom. He’d strode into the house, told Carmel to wait outside for a few moments and was now snapping his fingers impatiently as Bonita struggled to pull up a large bolus dose of diuretic from the card of 2 ml ampoules he must have grabbed as he’d run out to help.
‘Morphine,’ Hugh said, only he must have seen her shaking hand with the diuretic and instead drew it up himself, delivering Luigi an IV bolus and talking to him at the same time. He whipped out his stethoscope again and listened to the flooded chest.
‘That’s better, Luigi. The medicine will work quickly now and you’ll be able to breathe much more easily.’
Funny that he sounded like a doctor, Bonita thought, just the way he had when he’d come in to her room that morning and checked her arm. The cool detachment she had hated so much that day suddenly made more sense. Because cool detachment was needed—especially on a day like today when you were dealing with someone you cared for deeply.
‘What’s that?’ Bonita asked as he pulled up another drug.
‘Atropine,’ Hugh answered. ‘It will help dry up secretions.’
‘And what are you doing now?’ Bonita asked as he pulled out a large white pack.
‘Could you wait outside with your mum now?’
That didn’t make sense—she was a nurse, his daughter. What right did Hugh have to tell her to leave?
‘I’d rather stay with Dad.’
‘I’ll come and get y
ou soon,’ Hugh said firmly, and it was then that she realised he was opening a catheter pack.
‘The diuretic should start taking effect soon.’ He was talking to her like a relative, showing her outside, ushering her out as he would a crowd of onlookers. And so she stood in the hall and gulped in air while he quickly fitted a catheter. And Bonita realised he was looking after his patient, as well looking after her.
Her dad wouldn’t want her there now.
She didn’t need to be in there either.
Because Hugh was.
‘He couldn’t breathe…’ Carmel just sat at the table as Bonita walked into the kitchen on shaky legs. ‘I never thought I would panic—they told me what to expect and I thought I was ready…’
‘This was an emergency, Mum.’
‘I nearly called an ambulance—your father had made me promise that I never would, that he’d be able to die at home.’ It was the first time her mother had acknowledged to Bonita he was dying. Not ‘not good’ or ‘not so well today’. Perhaps, Bonita realised, this was the first time they’d been truly honest. ‘I so nearly let him down.’
‘You’ve never let him down, Mum,’ Bonita said, taking Carmel’s cold hand and holding it. It felt right, especially when Carmel gripped Bonita’s hand back.
‘Acute on chronic.’ Bonita looked over to her mum. ‘That’s what it’s called—an acute event on top of a chronic illness.’
‘It makes sense, I suppose.’ Stoic, practical, Carmel nodded. ‘I mean, when everything else is failing, you’d expect his heart to suffer. So what happens now?’ For the first time her mother asked her opinion and it was the one time Bonita wasn’t able to give it. ‘How long do you think he’s got?’
‘I don’t know, Mum.’
She just didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t be a nurse and a daughter today and do justice to them both.
‘He’s a lot more comfortable.’ Hugh walked into the kitchen where they sat on tenterhooks. ‘Did you ring the boys?’
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