by Bill Condon
Back home again, we tackle the path first; pull off the old slabs and level the base with sand. I pour in water as Dad mixes cement. He says I’m a first-class apprentice. I don’t say anything back, but it makes me feel proud.
Aunty Lola brings us some drinks while we’re working. She watches while I help Dad smooth out the concrete for the new path.
‘You’re doing a great job,’ Dad says. ‘But I think you should get your hands dirty. We all should.’
Aunty Lola says, ‘What are you talking about, John?’
‘This.’ He bends down and lightly scrapes his finger across the wet cement. ‘Let’s write our names on the path.’
‘In my day,’ Aunty Lola shakes her head, ‘that was called vandalism.’
‘Then be a vandal.’ Dad’s grin is big and broad. ‘Go on. Just once.’
‘Should I, Stephen?’
‘Yes! Do it, Aunty Lola. Do it!’
‘Oh dear,’ she mutters.
‘Rache.’ Dad taps on the side window of the house.
‘What’s happening, John?’
‘Wet cement. We can’t let a chance like this go to waste.’
That’s all he needs to say. We’ve done this before.
Soon Mum kneels beside Dad. She draws a big heart in the concrete. And they kiss. It’s embarrassing.
‘Must you?’ Aunty Lola says. ‘Really, it’s too much. I’ll have nightmares. And I expect Stephen feels the same – do you?’
I pull a face and poke out my tongue.
‘My feelings exactly,’ Aunty Lola says. ‘I couldn’t have put it better.’
Mum and Dad laugh. Then they write their names inside the heart.
‘Your turn, Stephen,’ Mum says. ‘You too, Lola.’
I drop to my knees. Aunty Lola takes a step back.
‘It’s good fun.’ I offer her my hand. ‘We’ll do it together.’
‘I don’t think so, Stephen. It’s a long journey to the ground for someone my age. And then I’ll have to think about getting back up. I’m afraid it’s all too much trouble.’
‘I’ll help you.’
‘We all will,’ Mum says. ‘It’s a family tradition, Lola. It would be marvellous if you could be part of it. It’ll only take a minute.’
‘Will it wash off?’
‘You bet,’ says Dad. ‘Eventually.’
‘Eventually? How long is that?’
‘A year or so.’
Aunty Lola opens her mouth very wide. Her eyes are wide, too.
‘Dad’s only kidding, Aunty Lola.’
‘He better be.’
‘Go on, Lola,’ Dad says. ‘I dare you.’
‘No. No. No.’ She gives her head a quick shake. ‘That’s decided me. I’m too old for dares. I should be inside – tucked up in bed with a hot water bottle and a book.’
‘But Aunty Lola.’
‘But what?’
‘This is family history – like you put in your book.’
‘It is nothing of the kind, Stephen. All it is, is finger-painting in cement. It’s foolish.’
‘But we’re family, aren’t we?’
‘What is your point?’
‘We’re family and we’re making history. See? Family history.’
Aunty Lola makes a noise. Kind of a sigh, kind of a groan. Then she says, ‘Oh, very well. If I must. Tell me what I have to do.’
With Mum and Dad’s help, she struggles down next to me and writes her name. I write mine, too. It’s not very easy to read. The cement is hard to write in, and even on paper my writing isn’t very good. But the smiley face I draw between me and Aunty Lola is perfect.
Next I help fix the stove. Aunty Lola says it hasn’t worked properly for about a year.
Dad knows what the problem is. ‘All we have to do is replace the broken elements. They’re worn out.’
When we first came here I didn’t think Aunty Lola liked Dad very much. It was the way she looked at him; her voice was all cold and angry. But now when she talks, I don’t think that. It’s like all the coldness has melted away.
‘Once you’ve got it going again, John, I’ll make some pancakes for us. I used to win prizes for them at the local show. That was a while ago, but I think I still remember how it’s done.’
‘Let’s get cracking, Steve.’ Dad starts unscrewing the lid of the stove. ‘If we’re scoring pancakes – prize-winning pancakes – then this job’s our top priority.’
It only takes Dad half an hour – with my help.
‘All finished, Lola.’ He lights up every hotplate to prove it.
‘What a good job you’ve done. Thank you so much.’
‘No thanks needed.’ Dad rubs his stomach. ‘Just bring on those pancakes.’
‘I’ll get right onto it,’ she says.
‘What now, Dad?’ I follow him outside to the front verandah. Mum’s already there, watering pot plants.
‘I’m going back up on the roof, Steve. Have to make sure all the tiles are in good shape so there are no leaks when it rains.’
‘Can I come with you?’
‘Yeah, you might as well.’
‘Not so fast,’ Mum says. ‘Are you certain it’s safe up there for him, John?’
‘It probably is. Not too sure. But hey, it’s not very far to fall.’ He looks at me, grinning. ‘It’ll take more than that to hurt you, won’t it, Steve?’
‘Yep!’
Dad bumps me with his shoulder and I give it back to him – double.
‘Ouch! I’ll get you for that!’
He wraps me up in a bear hug and lifts me off my feet. ‘Now for the body slam,’ he says, laughing.
‘John, I wish you’d take this seriously. I asked if it was safe.’
Mum says it loud enough for us to hear above our playing. She’s leaning against the verandah wall and looking out at the garden, arms folded. She doesn’t get cranky very often, but I think she is now.
‘Steve.’ Dad squats in front of me. ‘Please tell Mum it’s okay. Tell her I’d never let anything happen to you.’
‘He wouldn’t, Mum.’
‘I know.’ She looks at me, but not at Dad. ‘I worry about you. I can’t help it. Tell him that.’
‘Rache.’ Dad comes over. He stands behind Mum and rubs her shoulders. ‘I’m glad you’re careful about Steve. I wouldn’t want it any other way. I promise to take good care of him.’
She rests her hand on his. For a second. Then she turns to me. ‘And you take care of your father. Make sure he doesn’t fall off the roof.’
‘Okay, Mum.’
The ladder shakes when I climb it, even with Dad holding onto its sides. My legs shake a bit, too. I’m scared. But I try not to let it show on my face.
‘That’s the hard part over,’ Dad says as I step onto the roof.
He climbs up and joins me. We walk around the edges and right to the top, checking for loose or broken tiles.
‘Easy-peasy, Dad.’
Just as I say that, I step on a tile and break it. I think I might be in trouble, but I’m not.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Dad says, ‘I was going to replace that one anyway. It’s all good, Steve.’
When we see Mum at the clothesline, hanging out washing, I flap my arms like a bird. She shakes her head and looks away. Me and Dad chuckle to each other.
‘It was heaps cool up there,’ I tell Mum when we come down. ‘You should try it. You can see all the way into town.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’ She pushes her finger down on my nose like she’s pressing a doorbell. ‘I think you should take a break soon, boys. I can smell Lola’s pancakes. They’re almost done, and knowing her, they’ll be delicious. You better wash up now.’
‘Give us ten more minutes, Rache. Steve’s going to fix the back-door lock, aren’t you mate?’
I hold up Dad’s drill and press the trigger. It roars.
Mum’s brow creases up, but only for a second. Then she smiles.
She walks to the kitchen, calli
ng behind her, ‘I’ll expect you at the table in twenty minutes. No longer.’
Dad lets me drill in a screw. He puts his hand on top of mine and we both squeeze the trigger.
‘Good job, Steve. I’ll make a carpenter out of you yet.’
‘Can I do another one?’
‘Nah. I better do the rest. But you can help me, like this … ’
My job is to hold the lock so it doesn’t wobble when Dad drills the holes.
‘You got it nice and tight, Steve?’
‘Think so.’
‘Are you sure? I don’t want any wounded apprentices.’
‘I’m sure. Go on, Dad.’
‘Here we go then.’ He squeezes the trigger.
‘Johnnn!’
Dad turns off the drill.
‘Johnnn!’
We run towards Mum’s voice.
Aunty Lola is laying face-down on the kitchen floor. Mum is beside her.
‘Holy hell,’ Dad says.
‘We need to get her on her side, John. Help me.’
They roll her over. Then Dad calls an ambulance. ‘It’s my wife’s aunt,’ he says into the phone. ‘She’s unconscious … yes, she’s breathing. No, we don’t know what happened.’ He gives the address and hangs up. ‘They’re on their way, Rache.’
I ask if Aunty Lola’s going to be all right. Mum and Dad don’t answer.
Dad puts a wet cloth on her face. ‘Lola.’ He presses the words right into her ear. ‘Can you hear me?’
Aunty Lola looks all around her, as if she doesn’t know what’s going on.
‘I’m so glad you’re back with us.’ Mum is crying. ‘There’s an ambulance on the way.’
‘I was making pancakes. I don’t remember anything else. Did I have a fall?’
‘We don’t know,’ Dad says. ‘You were on the floor when we found you.’
‘Hello, Aunty Lola.’ I drop down next to her. ‘I’m glad you woke up.’
‘Thank you, Stephen … Rachael, did you say something about an ambulance?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh Lord, no. I feel enough of a goose as it is. Call them up and tell them it’s a mistake. I don’t want to waste their time.’
‘We can’t do that.’
‘Then I’ll do it.’ Aunty Lola tries to stand. She sways and almost loses her balance, then slumps back down. ‘What is wrong with me?’ she mutters.
The ambulance takes Aunty Lola to hospital. We follow in our car, but when we get there we’re not allowed to see her.
‘You might be here quite a long while,’ the office lady tells Dad. ‘We’re short-staffed.’
The waiting room is nearly full. There’s a TV on. It’s a show about cooking. Not interested. We sit on hard plastic chairs. Mum tells me I can go out to the car and wait if I like. Dad says he’ll come with me.
‘No thanks. I want to stay here so I can see Aunty Lola when she’s better. She is going to get better, isn’t she?’
Mum says, ‘I hope so.’
Dad goes to the office to ask about Aunty Lola. ‘They can’t tell us anything yet,’ he says when he comes back.
Every time we see a doctor or a nurse I think they’re bringing us some news. They walk past.
Hours go by. I wish I had a computer game to play. I go to sleep for a while, and wake up leaning against Dad. He said I snored. I don’t think I did.
A nurse comes over to us. ‘Miss Webster’s family?’
‘Yes.’ Mum stands. ‘How is she?’
‘A lot better than when she came in. But still a little shaky. She’ll need to stay here tonight, and possibly tomorrow. It depends on her condition.’
‘Was it her heart?’
‘At her age it could be a number of things. The doctors are still waiting on tests. We’ll be able to tell you more when we have the results.’
‘Is it okay for us to go in and see her now?’
‘By all means.’ The nurse smiles at Mum. ‘She’s sitting up and waiting for you.’
We walk down a long aisle with beds on each side. There are doctors and nurses dressed in whites and blues. Some of the patients have visitors and flowers. Some are alone. It smells bad in here.
Dad thinks so, too. I know because he sniffs the air and pulls a face. ‘Chemicals,’ he says.
I see Aunty Lola in a bed down at the end of the room, and I run to her. I’m not sure what I should do when I reach her. She decides for me.
‘Give me a hug,’ she says.
‘Sure.’ I do it and I don’t even count off the seconds. Hugging still isn’t much fun, but it’s getting easier.
Mum kisses Aunty Lola on the cheek and says, ‘Love you.’ I should probably do the same … I will.
‘Love you.’
No one hears me because it comes out in a baby whisper. But I still said it.
Dad straightens Aunty Lola’s blankets, pulling them up to just under her chin.
‘You had us worried there for a while, old girl,’ he says.
‘It happened so suddenly, John. I remember I was baking and then – nothing.’
‘But you’re all right now,’ I tell her. ‘The doctors won’t let anything happen to you.’
‘Look at this.’ Aunty Lola shows me her hand. The top of it is dark blue; almost black. There’s a bandage on it and a thin tube sticking out. The tube is hooked up to a machine beside her bed. ‘I’ve had so many needles I feel like a pincushion,’ she says.
‘You’re going to be fine,’ Mum says. ‘Isn’t she, John?’
‘Oh for sure, Lola. You’re looking much better than you did when it happened. You must be feeling better, too?’
‘I don’t know what I’m feeling, John. I can tell you it’s a shock being here. And I’m exhausted. I want to sleep. But I can’t.’
‘Should we go?’ Dad asks. ‘Let you have some rest?’
‘I’m not leaving.’ Mum strokes Aunty Lola’s hair. ‘I don’t think she should be alone tonight.’
‘I’ll stay with you, Mum.’
‘Nah, Steve.’ Dad jangles the car keys. ‘Your aunty could be here for ages yet. Best if I take you home.’
‘Please can I stay?’
‘Your father’s right, Stephen.’
‘But Mumm … ’
‘No buts. If I need you, I’ll give you a call.’
‘Hope you have a good night, Lola.’ Dad pecks Aunty Lola’s cheek. Then he gives me a gentle shove. ‘Come on, mate. Let’s hit the road.’
‘Wait.’ Aunty Lola holds up her hand. ‘Seeing as Stephen can’t stay, I’d like him to have a couple of minutes alone with me. Would that be all right?’
‘That’s a lovely idea,’ Mum says. ‘We’ll come back in a little while.’
‘On the bed, Stephen. Up nice and close.’
I shift closer.
‘I’m glad you didn’t mind staying with me.’
‘I’d stay the whole night if Mum and Dad let me. I wouldn’t go to sleep or anything. Not once.’
‘That’s kind. I wish I’d known you years ago.’
‘So you could have fixed up my English and stuff?’
‘No. Good English is not the only thing that matters.’
‘Aw.’
‘It would have been nice to watch you growing up. That’s what I meant.’
‘You still can! I’ve got heaps of growing up to do yet!’
‘Yes, you have … ’ Aunty Lola’s words trail away. She sighs like people do when they’re sad.
‘Is something wrong?’ I ask her.
‘No. Nothing’s wrong … But I’d like to talk with you about something that’s been on my mind. Would that be all right?’
‘Yep.’
‘For hours I’ve been lying here, thinking – what if I hadn’t woken up when I fell down? What if it happens again?’
‘Nothing’s going to happen, Aunty Lola.’
‘I know you’re probably right – but if it does—’
She sits up in the bed and looks from side to sid
e. No one else is close by except the lady asleep in the next bed.
‘If it does, I wonder if I could ask you for a favour.’
‘All right.’
‘This is a very big favour, Stephen. You may need to think about it before you answer.’
‘I’ll do it, Aunty Lola. Whatever it is.’
‘Sweet boy.’
I smile and shrug.
‘Very well … do you remember that special case I told you about?’
‘Your secret?’
‘Yes. This favour is about that.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘The keys for my shed and the room inside it are on a nail in the outside toilet – behind the calendar.’
‘Right.’
‘If I don’t come home—’
‘But you will.’
‘You have to let me finish … If I don’t come home from here, I want you to get the key from the toilet and go into my room.’
I nod.
‘When you’re alone, when no one sees you, take the case from the room and put it in the garbage bin. That’s all. Will you do that for me, Stephen?’
‘Yep.’
‘Yep isn’t enough. I need you to promise.’
‘All right, Aunty Lola. I promise.’
I don’t say a word all the way home. Dad notices.
‘Thinking about your aunty, Steve?’
‘A little bit.’
‘What did she say to you back there – when you were alone with her?’
She told me I couldn’t tell anyone. Not Dad. Not Mum. No one.
‘Nothing much. She was tired, so we didn’t talk for long.’
‘Try not to worry about her. She’ll get through this.’
‘Are you just saying that, Dad? To make me feel better?’
‘No, I believe it. The doctors will look after her. But … ’
‘What?’
‘You have to remember that she’s eighty years old. No matter what happens, she’s had a long and happy life. That’s as much as anyone can hope for.’
As soon as we get back home, I go to bed. I’m not tired, but bed’s a good place for thinking.
‘See you in the morning, Steve.’