I imagine myself driving down to the coast the next day. The rattle and pull of the old van as I crash into the gears. Oh, how good it is going to be . . .
Dad is the first to speak.
‘I don’t want to say anything,’ he says.
Just shut up, everyone, I want to yell. Just shut the hell up about everything.
‘It’s an absolutely wonderful opportunity for Dorothy,’ Gran persists firmly. ‘And I find your attitude very hard to understand, Patsy.’
‘But you don’t even like television!’ Mum exclaims weakly, looking around the table at us for confirmation. I notice that now at least she has some life and animation in her face. ‘Isn’t it true? Gran has been so . . . inspirational in her refusal to watch rubbish!’ Gran simply ignores Mum and reaches over to take Dot’s hand in her old gnarled one and rubs it protectively.
‘I’ve changed,’ she says in a low, intimate voice that excludes everyone else in the room. ‘As soon as I heard your news I began to watch the show and now . . . now I’m a complete convert! I won’t answer the phone or go anywhere in the evening until it’s over!’
‘Really?’ Dot laughs in spite of herself.
‘And once you come on, I’ll take out an advertisement in the local paper so everyone knows you are my granddaughter.’
We all laugh at that, except for Mum.
At last it is over. Five minutes before the two hours are up, Dad suddenly rises from the table and touches Gran’s elbow. ‘I think it’s time we went, Mum,’ he says.
‘Yes,’ Gran nods and, to everyone’s surprise, gets to her feet almost immediately. Gran is not known for doing what she is told. Dad escorts her to the door, then turns to look directly at Mum.
‘Thanks so much, Patsy,’ he says quietly and sincerely, his voice strung out with emotion. ‘It . . . was really good of you to have us.’
Road Trip
Late in the afternoon, just as I’m deciding that my bum is going to stay numb forever, my Grandma wakes. Dad bends forward immediately.
‘Hey there,’ he whispers, gently lifting her up onto a pillow. ‘Guess who has come to see you?’ He motions to me to come nearer. So I make my way around to the other side of the bed and Dad gets out of the way.
‘Hi Gran,’ I say, bending down. ‘It’s Rose.’
Gran stares at me as though she isn’t sure who I am, and isn’t all that interested either, then she gives a big groan followed by a sigh and waves one hand dismissively.
‘What day is it?’ she asks sharply.
‘Tuesday,’ I say.
‘And I’m still here,’ she says crossly. ‘Damn it.’
This makes us all smile. It is so Gran. Always practical and to the point, she’d expected to be dead by now and it’s pissing her right off that she’s not.
‘Rose has come to see you,’ Dad tries again.
‘I don’t want to see anyone!’ she grumbles crossly. ‘I thought I’d be gone by now. Why doesn’t God take me?’
‘You wanted to give something to Rose?’ Dad persists. But the old lady shakes her head.
‘No no,’ she mutters, ‘I’m too tired.’ Her whole faces droops a bit then, and sort of closes down. Her head lolls to the side and she’s gone again, back into deep unconsciousness. Mum and Dad look at each other worriedly, and although I’m feeling a bit awkward, I can’t help finding it a little funny, not to mention a relief. Maybe I’ll be spared after all! I was secretly expecting a big dramatic moment where Gran handed over the Collection into my safekeeping, and I’d been practising sounding sincere as I uttered my words of gratitude. Now it looks like I’m going to be let off the hook. Yippee!
But when Mum’s phone suddenly rings, Gran jerks awake again. Her eyes are clear as she watches Dot dithering around in Mum’s bag trying to find the phone, and she’s annoyed.
‘Who is that ringing?’ she asks grumpily. ‘Don’t they know you’re visiting someone in a hospital?’ But after saying, ‘Hello, Dorothy here,’ Dot immediately frowns and turns her back to us to take the call.
Gran turns to me.
‘People can be very inconsiderate, can’t they, Rose?’ she says really clearly.
‘Yes, they can,’ I say, surprised, and pleased, too, that she actually does know me.
A nurse bustles in and excuses herself. She needs to check Gran’s temperature and blood pressure. We smile politely and pull away from the bed to allow her access.
‘It’s for you.’ Dorothy holds the phone out to me. I don’t immediately take it. There is something about Dot’s expression that warns me off. In fact, I have a strong premonition that there is trouble on the other end. Don’t take the phone, Rose!
‘Who is it?’ I ask suspiciously.
‘Just take it,’ she snaps.
‘Hello,’ I say cautiously. There is a second or two of silence and then a voice I don’t immediately recognise.
‘Hello.’
‘Who is this?’ I ask, but then suddenly I know. I can feel it, and after one moment of pure relief . . . so she’s not dead . . . I am immediately on high alert, wary as hell. My skin prickles with it. The small black phone I’m holding feels dangerous, like a lethal weapon. I am tempted to hurl it from me before it explodes.
‘Why are you ringing me?’ I ask loudly. Mum and Dad, Dorothy, and even Grandma and the nurse look up. So I turn my back on them.
‘I just thought I would,’ comes the uncharacteristically calm reply. ‘My mother has been trying to get in touch . . .’
‘Tell your mother not to do that,’ I bark loudly. ‘Never again, okay?’
‘Yeah well . . . okay,’ comes the mild response.
‘And there is something I want to clear up with you!’ I spit the words out without any clear idea of what I’m going to say. I swear I have not planned any of this. It all just spills out of my mouth.
‘You knew about me and Nat Cummins last summer!’ I snarl. ‘And you pretended you didn’t because, well . . .’ Here I let my voice drop into a very sarcastic tone. ‘Whatever is mine is yours! Isn’t that right, Zoe? Including the one guy that I liked . . . who was interested in me.’
‘Right,’ she cuts in, ‘but nothing happened really . . .’
So nothing happened between them? I try to feel some pleasure, some satisfaction, but . . . it’s all too late now.
‘I don’t care!’ I say loudly. ‘You wanted it to happen! You were all geared up for it to happen big time. Don’t deny it!’
‘It’s true,’ she admits.
‘Because you’re so greedy!’ I’m shouting now and shaking. ‘You want everything! From the beginning of Year Nine you wanted my clothes, my homework, my family, my money! Everything that was mine you thought you could just take!’
‘Well . . . yeah,’ she agrees with a sigh.
This rage is making me pant. Maybe I’m hyperventilating because, at the same time as feeling insanely powerful, I also feel a bit airy-headed, like I might faint any minute. She agrees! So this is real. I’m not just making this stuff up.
‘You even let me take the rap for hitting his sister that time!’ I scream. I’m dredging up stuff from four years ago now! How fair is that?
‘I went into bat for you when Alisha was giving you a hard time. When the shit hit the fan you just left me to cop it. I almost got expelled because of you. Did you help in any way? No! You were too busy with the play. Let Rose do it. My parents split up and where were you? Did you even once ask me how I was feeling?’
I stop, feeling spent and wrecked and nervous all at the same time. I would like to continue screaming at her, but I can’t think of anything else to say. What did I say exactly? Was it even true? Should I put the phone down right now? I look out the window at the little garden, mortified because it is only now that I fully comprehend that I’m speaking to a sick person, maybe a very sick person. Jeez. Something chilly crawls around my neck and ears and head as it sinks in. I haven’t even asked her how she is, or where she is, or if she’s going to ge
t better or . . . I haven’t asked her anything. I open my mouth. But I can’t, somehow. I just can’t. I turn around to the others helplessly.
Dad is standing now. He comes over and stands right next to me. Mum and Dot, still sitting on the chairs, are staring at me blankly. So is the nurse. Even Gran looks alert. Dad puts his arm around my shaking shoulders, ‘Come on now, Rose,’ he murmurs gently. ‘Maybe you should finish up? Say goodbye.’
‘Okay,’ I nod. But I continue to hold the phone tightly to my ear, breathing into it. Let her hang up. I won’t. But she doesn’t either.
‘Zoe?’ I say eventually in a calmer voice.
‘Yes?’
I still have no idea what to say next. I don’t get how quiet and controlled she is being. This isn’t the Zoe I know. She must be on some kind of medication.
I hear faint music from her end. A mad part of me wants to ask what she is listening to now. Has she heard the new Wicked City album? And what about that new band, Fire Witch? Just when I think I will have to hang up, she speaks.
‘You got your own back, Rose.’
This pulls me up. Something heavy jams its way straight through the centre of me and I’m stuck, legs and arms and head flailing around like an insect caught live on a pin. This is it. No way out of this one.
‘With my father,’ she adds slowly.
‘Yes, but . . . I didn’t mean to . . . let it happen,’ I whisper. What are you talking about, Rose? That’s not even true! Stop being so gutless!
‘I know,’ she sighs softly, ‘you didn’t mean to hurt me.’
‘So . . .’
‘I’m in hospital again, Rose,’ she says in a more normal way, ‘and I miss you. Will you come and see me?’
‘Well . . . I don’t know.’
‘Don’t think about it. Just come.’
‘Okay,’ I say, ‘I’ll come.’
On the way out of the hospital we run into Cassandra coming in. I’m feeling so wired up after the conversation with Zoe that I don’t immediately recognise her. I do vaguely notice this very attractive woman dressed in a conservatively cut summer dress and high-heeled shoes, walking briskly along towards the hospital entrance as we make our way out towards the car. It goes through my mind that she’s probably not a local. Way too glamorous.
‘Hello Cass,’ Dad calls out reluctantly.
She stops, sees us, and walks carefully over the grass. She’s holding her head high, but I can see she’s nervous. She wasn’t expecting to meet up with the family. It’s a weird moment as Dad introduces her to Mum. It had to happen. After all, it’s been over a year.
‘Er . . . Cass, I’d like you to meet Patsy.’
Dot and I instinctively draw closer to Mum. All the sadness, the crying and the fury our mother went through, trying to come to terms with Dad leaving her for this woman. Now here she is, standing before us, squinting nervously through her small, pretty, almond-coloured eyes.
‘How do you do,’ she nods politely, then, about to hold out her hand, suddenly changes her mind and doesn’t. It gives me some satisfaction to see how uncomfortable she is. It is probably the first time in her life she hasn’t known how to deal with a situation.
Mum is nervous, too, but touchingly polite.
‘Hello,’ she says in a weak voice. Then she holds out her hand and gives a tentative smile. Cassandra flushes as they shake hands briefly, then she turns to Dad.
‘How is your mother, Justus?’ she asks in this sharp, strained voice.
‘She has actually picked up a bit,’ Dad says with a smile. ‘The nurse told me that everything is better than it’s been in weeks.’
This makes us all laugh a bit.
‘Maybe she’ll make it after all,’ Cassandra says carefully. As though she cares!
‘Maybe,’ Dad says wryly, ‘but I don’t think so.’
‘I’ve got to get back to town,’ Cassandra says, looking straight at Dad so she doesn’t have to look at the rest of us. ‘There has been an adjournment.’
‘Really?’ Dad slips into instant lawyer mode. ‘So they got the hearing?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well done!’ He smiles at her. ‘When will you go?’
‘Well . . .’ Cassandra shakes her head uncomfortably. ‘Within the hour, I guess.’ She hesitates. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to.’
‘Of course you do.’ Dad puts a hand each on my and Dot’s shoulders. ‘I’ll just see this lot to the car, Cass. Be right back.’
‘So pleased to have met you.’ Cassandra gives Mum one of her icy sharp smiles and backs off. ‘Goodbye, Dorothy and Rose.’
‘Yes,’ Mum replies faintly. ‘Me, too.’
At the car Dad is strangely reluctant to let us go. He seems preoccupied, troubled.
‘Listen,’ he says, ‘what about we all have dinner tonight?’
‘I thought you wanted to sit with Gran?’
‘I’d like a break for a couple of hours,’ he says. ‘The nurse can ring me if . . . things change.’
‘Okay, Dad.’ Dot and I are in agreement. We look at Mum.
‘All right.’ Then she looks away into the distance, very strained.
At around six a.m. the next morning, when I’m out on my board, catching my first wave for the day, my grandmother dies. Not that I know it then, of course. I find out later.
There are about eight of us out that morning and I’m the only girl. Early on, I have a short conversation with the guy nearest to me when he makes room on a nice, low swell and lets me ride across his path, but after that it’s just me and the waves.
Two hours into it and I’m so thrilled to be back out there on the water again, in daylight, that I don’t notice much at all, certainly not Dad waiting for me on the beach. In the still, grey, early-morning light, the ocean is perfect, green and clear as glass. Within an hour, I’m a mass of aching muscles. My left wrist hurts from a massive tumble I took early on and my eyes sting like crazy, but I don’t stop. As soon as I surf in I paddle right back out again. Time ticks away.
This has to be the best thing in the world! Of course, I’m out of practice, and when the easy ones slip away I curse and swear like anyone else, but . . . the joy factor is immense, believe me. Immense. Ray and Zoe, Dad and Cassandra, Mum, university and the rest of it float into consciousness occasionally, but they slide out again before anything like worry can take hold. Just being here charges me right up.
Eventually, I get out, completely exhausted, and stumble through the shallows to collapse onto the sand. When I sit up again I see Dad coming towards me. I had noticed a lone figure in black, strolling along the shoreline earlier, and I’d idly wondered if he was okay without realising he was my own father.
As he gets closer, I see he looks even worse than the day before. Strained and pale, his face so lined and thin it makes me want to yell out some joke to make him smile. Hey Dad, aren’t you getting fed these days?
‘How long have you been down here?’ I ask as he sits down beside me, my teeth still chattering a bit.
‘Ages,’ he smiles. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to get out.’
‘You should have called out, waved.’
‘No,’ he shrugs, and when I stand and unzip my wetsuit he gets up too. ‘How was it?’
‘Fantastic!’ I say, drying myself. ‘Did you see me?’
‘I did.’
‘You see that last one?’ He nods and I laugh, pleased. The last one would have to be my best ride ever. ‘Thought I’d leave on a high note!’
‘Always a good idea.’ He smiles then takes my arm suddenly, not looking at me but at his feet, frowning. ‘Now listen, Rose, your Gran died this morning.’ He is trying to sound easy and matter-of-fact but the strain is evident in the slight waver in his voice and the way he turns away abruptly to look at the car that has just pulled up. ‘Three hours ago, to be exact.’
‘Oh.’ I’m rudely catapulted out of my present happily exhausted state to stand looking at him, trying to comprehend what he has just told me. My
mind immediately goes into overdrive. So what now? I start calculating. There will be a funeral in a couple of days so that means I’ll have to stay here. When I was out on the waves, Go see Zoe regularly flashed across my mental screen. Her way-too-calm voice has been playing away in my unconscious all night. Go see Zoe. God, I’m nervous just thinking about it. Why the hell did Gran have to die today? It means I won’t be able to get back to town until after the weekend and . . .
Then I actually see my father, the slump of his shoulders, the red exhausted eyes, his tight mouth trying to hold in the sadness and . . . I’m ashamed. Gran was the rock on which Dad built his life. And now she’s gone.
‘Hey Dad.’
‘Oh pet,’ he says, putting one hand at the back of my head, holding me close as a couple of deep sobs wrench through him.
‘Dad,’ I say again, tears stinging my eyes. ‘Don’t be sad. Please.’
‘Okay,’ he murmurs but continues to hold me tightly, like he really needs to.
What a totally stupid thing for me to say! Why shouldn’t he be sad?
‘Disregard what I just said, Dad,’ I murmur. ‘Be as sad as you like!’ He laughs and holds me tighter.
It feels good to have my arms wrapped around my father after all this time, even though I can’t remember his shoulders and chest ever being so bony before. I smile to myself. He’s probably thinking the same about me. Who is this bony, sharp, shorn-off girl who used to be mine? Eventually we pull away, he kisses me on both cheeks and we laugh a bit. Without another word I finish getting dressed and we walk up through the sand to the van together, arm in arm.
Don’tcha just hate it . . . when you realise that you are a jerk, too! For years you’ve thought that ‘jerkiness’ was a trait that belonged to other people. Then you find yourself in a situation that calls for more. Maybe it’s only a bit of empathy and kindness . . . And your immediate response? You behave just like all the other self-centred arseholes on the planet! Oh, how inconsiderate of my grandmother to die just when I needed to get back to town!
‘Were you there?’ I ask.
Rose by Any Other Name Page 26