‘Better rush then.’
‘Yep,’ she says. ‘I’ll phone tomorrow.’
As she’s squeaking down the slick linoleum corridor, she realises she’s forgotten to give him Penny’s card. Her daughter had drawn a Papa Bear and a Baby Bear and asked her to write Come home soon, Grumps on the inside. It was the name she’d chosen when he became a grandfather. Because he had been to begin with. No patience at all. But even she had to admit that he’d softened over the past few years.
She hurries back to the nurses’ station and hands it to the ponytailed young woman behind the desk.
‘Could you give this to Mr Stillwater, please? It’s from his granddaughter.’
‘Oh, how sweet,’ says the nurse, examining the drawing, but she’s already heading towards the double doors.
* * *
The junior doctor meets him as planned, at the entrance to the isolation room.
‘You’re looking well, Mr Stillwater.’
‘Fine and dandy,’ he whispers.
‘The thyroidectomy went well, I see.’
He nods.
‘Good to see your voice starting to come back.’
He shrugs.
‘This week’ll be a bit of a change for you.’
‘Change is as good as a holiday,’ he replies breathily.
‘Won’t be much of a holiday, I’m afraid,’ she says. ‘Not all beer and skittles.’
He looks at her without smiling. ‘Beer and skittles aren’t my idea of a holiday.’
The doctor almost replies, ‘Yep. Fair enough’. She catches herself and clears her throat. ‘So you understand what isolation means, Mr Stillwater?’
He nods and glances at the yellow radiation sign.
‘Okay,’ she says and checks her watch. ‘Well, your food will be delivered through this hatch here.’
‘Just like in prison,’ he says, looking her in the eye.
She notices a harshness in the lines of his eyelids.
‘Hopefully a little nicer than prison food,’ she says, wondering if he’s speaking from experience.
He shrugs. ‘Can’t be worse than what I make myself.’
She smiles, picturing her own grandfather’s soft-boiled eggs and toast. ‘And when the nurses come in, they’ll be all covered up in lead smocks, with masks and gloves.’
He nods slowly.
‘Will I glow?’ he asks, looking at the Geiger counter by the door.
‘No. But you will need to take precautions to avoid contaminating others.’
‘Fine,’ he says.
‘We’d discourage any visits, although you could have a short visit once a day from your wife, if you like.’
‘Lucia passed away last year.’
‘Of course. I’m sorry.’ She looks down at the file of notes open on the desk. ‘Will your daughter be coming in?’
He shrugs.
‘Well, it’s best not to have visitors anyway.’ She eyes the plastic chair pushed against the far wall. ‘It’s quite complicated with all the protective gear.’
‘Sure.’
‘But you won’t be totally isolated,’ she continues, smiling. ‘You’ll have a telephone.’ She picks up the receiver. ‘If there’s anything you need, you can talk to the nurses’ station by pushing the star key,’ she says gesturing like a flight attendant. ‘And you can dial out by pressing zero, so you can call and have long chats with your family and friends.’
‘Oh, long chats,’ he says. ‘Fine and dandy!’
The doctor puts the receiver quietly back on the hook.
‘The radiation will be evacuated mainly through your urine, and most of it will be out of your system in a few days.’ She smiles and raises her eyebrows. ‘And then you’ll be free to go home.’
‘No rush,’ he says, looking out the window. ‘Wouldn’t want to take any chances.’
‘It should be fine. You’ll just need to avoid close contact with small children and pregnant women for a week.’
‘Oh. Okay.’
‘Do you have any contact with …?’
‘Yes. I’m living with my daughter at the moment,’ he says, still facing away. ‘She’s got a four-year-old. Almost five.’
‘Then you’ll certainly have to avoid any kissing or hugging, and you’ll have to keep a safe distance from them.’ The doctor pauses and studies the back of his head. ‘Alright then.’ She clicks her pen. ‘Well, if there are no more questions, I’ll let you get settled.’ She clicks her pen again and closes the door behind her.
* * *
The new nurse calls when she comes on duty early the next morning.
‘How are we feeling, Mr Stillwater?’
He leans forward but can only see her hand holding the receiver and an olive-skinned cheek.
‘A little nauseous,’ he replies.
There’s a pause as she makes a note.
‘That’s quite normal.’ He sees her little finger stretch and scratch her nose. ‘Lunch’ll be round soon. Just call me if you need anything.’
He naps and wakes to find his lunch tray by the metal hatch. The sun is shining through the window and onto his face. He draws the blue curtains and sits on the side of the bed. His cheeks are flushed from the sun and the blue light is like a damp facewasher on his skin. He picks up the phone and presses the star key. He can hear it ringing in the nurses’ station. A different nurse picks up the phone. He can’t see her face at all, just her small hand on the receiver, and her dull brown ponytail. From this angle, she looks a little like his daughter when she was younger.
‘What can I do for you, Mr Stillwater?’
‘Oh, sorry. Just testing the phone. Didn’t mean to disturb you.’
‘That’s alright,’ she says. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘It’s my granddaughter’s birthday tomorrow.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘Tuppence.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Her name’s Penny, but I call her Tuppence.’
‘Sweet.’
‘She’ll be five.’
‘Five,’ she repeats.
‘I wanted to send her a card.’
The nurse pauses. ‘Would you like me to get you one from the gift shop after my shift?’
‘Yes, that’d be good. With a dolphin if they’ve got one.’
‘Okay,’ she says, running her fingers through her ponytail. ‘I’ll see what I can find.’
* * *
When he wakes from his nap, there is a greeting card by the food hatch. A yellow sticky note reads: Sorry—no dolphins. Little Mermaid was closest I could find.
He examines the drawing on the front, then opens the card.
Dearest Tuppence, he writes.
He can’t remember ever having written a birthday card to his own daughter. That was Lucia’s job. And she did it so well. Never a tired cliché. Always a heartfelt sentiment. Real wishes of happiness. Real expressions of love. Not that he didn’t love his daughter. Of course he did. She was just always much closer to her mum. And when Lucia died, he knew their daughter wished it’d been him instead. That had hurt a little. But not much. What could he expect? He knew he’d been an absent father. All those trips away. Been an absent husband too. That’s what’d made the two of them so close probably. All those evenings at home. Just the two of them. Long chats while they cooked their dinner and watched the telly together.
He can’t imagine what they talked about. He’d never been a talker. Even when he was home. And then, after his indiscretion, conversation had been a minefield. Best not to risk it. Never knew when you’d brush against a tripwire. He wonders whether Lucia had told her about it. Surely not. Not the type of thing a mother tells a daughter. Even grown up. Though that could explain why she’d become so distant. So hostile. Especially after her mum got sick. No, surely not. Lucia would never have told. Not even her friends. Too ashamed. Too humiliated. Still. That’d explain it.
* * *
He’s woken by the phone ringing. His dau
ghter’s voice saying, ‘Dad? Dad?’ His tongue is stuck dry and he has to swallow before he can answer.
‘Yes, I’m here.’
‘Thought you’d dropped the receiver,’ she says. ‘How you feeling today?’
‘Same.’
‘Do they know when you can come home?’ she asks.
‘Friday probably.’
‘Okay. So, do you want me to come in and see you tonight?’
‘If you want.’
‘Right. Thanks so much, Dad.’
He starts. ‘Huh?’
‘Do you even want me to call you?’
He doesn’t know what to answer, so he lets the silence last. Maybe a little too long.
‘Yes,’ he says eventually.
He’s expecting her to come back with something cutting, something accusing; she’s never short of a word. But there’s nothing. He presses his ear to the receiver, suspecting his failing hearing. She’s still there. He hears her breathing. He hears Penny singing in the background. ‘Rock-a-bye baby. On the tree top.’
‘You still there?’ he asks.
‘Uh-huh,’ she answers. More silence. Then suddenly she starts talking and doesn’t pause at all. Not even enough to let him say a word. ‘I miss Mum so much, and you never talk about her. I feel like a little girl and I know that’s dumb. I’m forty-one. I’m not supposed to feel like this. But I need my mum. And now, with your cancer, I’m going through the whole thing again.’ She pauses and takes in a breath. ‘And it’s stupid, but I don’t want to be an orphan. I know it’s ridiculous. I’m an adult. I can’t feel like an orphan.’
He doesn’t know what to do. He’s never heard her speak like this. He feels like it’s not his brain that’s listening. Like he’s eavesdropping on someone else’s conversation. His throat is hurting and his voice comes out all hoarse. ‘I’m not dead yet,’ he says.
He hears her exhale. He waits for her to speak, gazing up at his reflection on the black television screen.
‘Can you put Penny on?’ he says, not sure she’s even there still. ‘I want to wish her a happy birthday.’
He hears her put the receiver down on the bench and walk away. Then footsteps run and Penny’s voice arrives.
‘Hello, Grumps.’
‘Hello, Tuppence,’ he replies. ‘How’s my little girl?’
‘Good. How are you, Grumps?’
‘Well, my throat’s sore and I’ve been feeling quite nauseous.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means I feel like being sick.’
‘When are you coming home?’
‘Soon, Tuppence. When the doctors say I can.’
‘I’m going to have a birthday cake tonight with five candles.’
‘I wish I could be there.’
‘Do you want me to save you some cake?’
‘No, that’s okay, Tuppence. My throat’s too sore for cake.’
‘I’ve gotta go. Bye-bye, Grumps.’
‘Love you, Tuppence,’ he says, but she’s gone.
* * *
Once the discharge is organised, he waits on the bed for the man from the patient transport vehicle to arrive. He has to travel behind as he’s still too radioactive for close contact. That’s why his daughter and Penny couldn’t fetch him, he explains. They’ll have to take precautions for another week, he says.
When she hears the van pull up, she leaves the front door open and retreats to the kitchen. She sees him pass the window, walking along the side path to the granny flat. She’s left a note in there inviting him to come inside and have some afternoon tea.
Penny is kneeling on her stool, watching him come back along the path.
‘I miss going to Grandma’s house,’ she says.
‘So do I, sweetheart.’ Funny how they called it Grandma’s house. ‘You felt like Little Red Riding Hood, didn’t you, Pen?’
Penny laughs. ‘And Grumps was the Big Bad Wolf.’
‘That’s not nice, Pen.’
‘Grumps!’ calls Penny as he opens the kitchen door. ‘You’re the Big Bad Wolf.’
‘Grrrr!’ He laughs, baring his teeth.
Penny screeches.
‘I’m a scary old bastard, aren’t I?’
His daughter bangs the teapot on the kitchen bench.
‘I’m in trouble now, Tuppence,’ he whispers.
They move into the lounge room, circling and backing away, like boxers taking their corners. The recliner’s been pushed to the other side of the room, next to the fireplace. The daughter pulls Penny tight to her side on the couch.
‘How was your birthday, Tuppence?’
‘Good,’ she says, squeezing her bare toes in both hands. ‘I had a dolphin cake.’
‘Oh, that reminds me. I’ve got something for you.’ He unzips the side compartment of his overnight bag and takes out the birthday card. ‘You can’t touch it just yet. It’s still got my radioactivity on it. So I’ll just put it up here on the mantelpiece and Mummy can read it to you in a week.’
‘You read it, Grumps.’
‘Oh,’ he says, looking at his daughter. ‘Alright then.’ He puts on his reading glasses. ‘You know, I’m not very good at birthday cards.’ He clears his throat.
‘Dearest Tuppence,
Sorry I couldn’t find a dolphin card, but I hope you like the Little Mermaid.
Your Mummy had the same story in her Big Book of Classics.
Anyway, I’m very proud of you and Grandma would be too.
You’re such a big clever girl now.
Love,
Grumps.’
Penny smiles and looks up at her mother.
‘Do you still have your big book, Mum?’
The daughter stares at her father’s hands clutching the bright pink card.
‘No. I don’t know. I don’t remember really.’
She draws her feet up onto the couch. The father stands and places the card on the mantelpiece. He leans against the marble and turns his face towards his daughter. She holds her cup of tea carefully.
‘I dreamed of your mother last night,’ he says suddenly.
The daughter blows on her tea, but doesn’t take a sip.
He goes on. ‘She was young with her crazy red beehive and those yellow boots she loved. Do you remember?’
The daughter nods and picks at a stitch in the hem of her skirt.
‘She was sitting on my lap, pressing her face into my neck. Her breath was all warm on my throat.’ He touches the scar running between his collarbones. ‘Right here.’
The daughter lifts her eyes.
‘I can feel it warm now. Must be that radioactive stuff working,’ says the father, not meeting his daughter’s gaze. She nods. The father is silent. ‘I miss her,’ he says suddenly and his face crumples. ‘I miss her so much.’
She looks down at her knees all covered in goose bumps. Penny tries to pull away from under her mother’s arm.
‘I want to give Grumps a cuddle.’
‘You can’t, sweetheart.’ The daughter’s chest is tight and a flush creeps up her neck and over her jaw. She swallows and pushes her lips together till they ache. She’s still looking down, but she can tell that he’s crying, wiping his shirt sleeve across his eyes.
‘We can’t, Pen,’ she whispers. ‘We’re not allowed.’ She pulls her daughter firm against her chest.
Sweet
Maudy’s not turned twelve and already she owns fifty pairs of latest-fashion sunglasses. She’s got more sunglasses than anyone else in town. Maybe the whole country, while she’s at it. Why not? She found them all by herself in a cardboard box in a weed-tangled ditch on the side of the high road late one afternoon when she was walking back from school. Must have fallen off a truck that was going in to market. She’s found other things that way too. A frying pan with a see-through lid and six big plastic bags of jelly beans. Before anyone saw, she picked that box of sunglasses up and ran all the way home with it and hid it under her bed where her big sister Ernestine wouldn’t fin
d it.
Maudy’s sunglasses are her most treasured things in the world. She lays them out on the floor of her room and makes them into patterns. Love hearts and circles and zigzag lines. All the sunglasses are the same shape, but with different coloured plastic frames. Some are blue and some pink, but most of them are yellow.
She wears her latest-fashion sunglasses every day, a different pair each morning, depending on the weather—yellow for sunny, blue for rain and pink for all the rest. Even inside she wears them still. They help her see things that other people don’t. When you’re wearing sunglasses, Maudy’s figured out, people don’t know that you’re looking at them. They act like you’re not there. Already, being little, people don’t pay her very much attention. With her sunglasses on, she’s near on being invisible.
Ernestine’s allowed to borrow Maudy’s sunglasses if she promises to give them back. She only wears the yellow ones. She wears them when she goes into town to see her boyfriend. He works at the Zimchick Inn making chicken and fries, and his skin smells good enough to eat. If Maudy was older, she’d steal that boy away from Ernestine. Ernestine is plain-looking and too flat-chested for her fifteen years. That’s why she wears the yellow sunglasses. To make her look mysterious.
Maudy knows she’ll be prettier than Ernestine when she’s her age. Her breasts are already pushing out and soon she’ll be wearing a bra. When she’s older she’ll wear a swishy, slinky dress with high high heels and walk around the town. She’ll get her own chicken-smelling boy and sit with him out front of Zimchick on his breaks. They’ll wear matching coloured sunglasses and he’ll slide his hot hand into hers and she’ll kiss him on his oily lips.
Maudy wonders what Ernestine’s boyfriend’s thing looks like. She wonders what it’s like to have it in between your legs. She’d like to ask Ernestine, but her sister’d probably tell her to nick the hell off. She’s all nice when she wants something like a pair of sunglasses or telling Mum a lie when she’s out with her chicken boy, but then she’ll turn on you and not give you the time of day when she doesn’t need anything from you. Maudy thinks she’ll probably be that way too when she’s Ernestine’s age. Although there’s no little sister anymore to be mean to. There used to be a littlest sister, Kasie, but she died in her cot one night. That’s why Maudy and Ernestine’s dad’s in jail. He says he never shook her and their mum said she believed him, but the medical experts showed the X-rays and scans in the courtroom and the jury said he did.
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