‘I went to the dentist today,’ she said. ‘I had to have a new tooth moulded. They put one in months ago, but it didn’t take, and just the pin was left hanging there, but I was too scared to go back so I left it for a while and then it abscessed and I had to go back.’
‘Ah,’ said the boy.
‘I can tell you, it was worse than having a baby. They kept telling you there was only half an hour to go and there was ages to go – I was in there for four hours and they wouldn’t let me go to the toilet and I do have a weak bladder. Well anyone would need to go in that time wouldn’t they?’
The boy smiled and gave a brief nod, then stared out the window.
‘It’s like a different world in town isn’t it?’ the woman went on. ‘Too expensive to live there though. I’m way out in Upper Hutt, so I don’t make it in that often. I’m in a Housing Corporation flat so I’m all right, only $33 a week. I love the harbour at night – I wonder what would my English penpal say if she could see that view. I wish she’d come and visit, but it’s such a long way isn’t it?’
‘Mmm,’ said the boy.
Bridget felt sorry for him; she had been trapped next to passengers before who insisted on making conversation. But now, Bridget found herself straining to catch every word over the noise of the train. She hardly dared breathe in case the woman realised someone was listening.
‘I’ve got a T-shaped kitchen,’ the woman was saying. ‘There’s room for a table in front of the stove, but I’ve got the cats’ dishes there of course. I was given a cockatiel not long ago. It used to be called Fred but I changed it to Susan. My penpal’s husband’s called Fred. I never liked the name.’
‘No,’ said the boy.
‘They all sit round the heater at night, the cats and Susan. The cats don’t mind her. It’s just like having kids.’
The woman was silent for a moment then. Through the gap in the seat, Bridget could see her running her finger along a back tooth and looking out the window.
‘You know,’ she said, turning back to the boy, ‘the whole time my tooth was abscessed it only ached twice. In ten months. The dentist couldn’t believe it, he said something’s wrong and x-rayed it and it was abscessed.’
The train began pulling into Bridget’s station. She walked to the doors as slowly as possible.
‘My church does the laying on of hands,’ the woman was saying as the train stopped. ‘When it ached those two times I had the laying on of hands and it went away just like that. We’ve had people in with diabetes, and burns, and cancer. You just have to believe.’
As Bridget stepped off the train and into the warm air she heard the woman saying behind her, ‘I kept the moulded tooth. It was a beautiful tooth, just like a real one.’
At home, Bridget found Gene rummaging through the freezer. He jumped when she snapped the light on.
‘Foiled again,’ he said.
‘Dad, what are you doing? It’s past midnight.’
‘I wanted an icecream. But that woman’s eaten them all.’
‘Mum? She hardly ever eats it, you know that.’
‘To identify the culprit on the street,’ he said, ‘you need to check whether the nose is wet or dry. Healthy possums have wet noses.’
‘I see,’ said Bridget. ‘Look, why don’t you go on up to bed, and I’ll dish you out some icecream in a plate.’
‘Do you know,’ said Gene, holding on to the fridge, ‘that Dad came into the office?’
‘Did he,’ said Bridget, taking Gene’s arm. ‘Raspberry ripple okay?’
‘I didn’t tell anyone. They’d have thought I was mad. He’s never been to the North Island, you know.’
‘No,’ said Bridget.
‘I told him, though. I said I’d ring the police. Stroppy old bugger, bothering me at work.’
‘Yes,’ said Bridget, ‘that’s nice.’ She took Gene’s arm and led him out to the stair chair. ‘There we are. In you hop, and I’ll buzz you up.’
‘I don’t know why I said that just now,’ said Gene. ‘Do you?’
Now 9.30 a.m. Mum goes on the Plane to Wellington at 2.10 p.m. Mum is now getting ready to take to the air her first flight & her first trip to the North Island. She has promised to bring me back the very first stone of any description she can pick up in Wellington. I will add it to my collection suitably inscribed.
‘You mustn’t take any notice of me,’ Gene said the next morning. ‘I say some very confused things. These days I seem to be making comments that are more and more irrelevant.’
‘Oh,’ said Bridget. ‘Okay. Well. You will call out if you want anything, won’t you?’
When Gülten writes, it is a one-page note to say that her mother has been admitted to hospital and is not expected to last more than a few weeks. Gülten has had to move home, to Istanbul that is, to look after her father and her brothers, for a while at least. She thinks of Bridget often, she says, and hopes things are not too hard. Her aunts and their daughters all disapprove of her and talk about her behind their hands, but loudly enough. Look at her tight jeans and her low tops, they say. Look at the way she paints her lips. Gülten doesn’t give a shit about them, she says, they are just jealous they don’t have the guts to dress how they want. The men look at her too.
By the way, she writes, squeezing these last words in around the hugs and kisses, I have married.
Bridget re-reads the letter several times, trying to make sense of it, wondering if Gülten is trying to tell her something her family wouldn’t let her write. If she is really saying, save me.
Dear Gülten, she finally writes, I was very sorry to hear that your mother is now so ill. I realise things may have altered even by the time you get this. I do feel as if I know what you’re going through; Dad’s condition is also advancing faster than anyone can believe. We’re nursing him at home, with the help of the hospice, but it’s difficult to keep up with the changes we’re seeing every day. I must admit, I don’t know much about Turkish weddings – you’ll have to tell me all about yours, and send some photos. I know you would have looked beautiful. What is your husband like? Is he a DJ?? If I were him I would be very happy. Love Bridget xxxxoooo.
Antony rings just as she is sealing the envelope.
‘Hi, how are you?’ she mumbles, running her tongue along the gummed flap.
‘Not bad. What’ve you been up to lately? I haven’t heard from you for days.’
‘Oh, it’s been all action here, believe me. We’ve only just got the carpets back down and the furniture in from the garage. Mum flooded the place.’
‘I see,’ says Antony. ‘Were the phones cut off too?’
‘And Christina’s come over for a visit, and Thorsten. Look, I’ve been meaning to ring, but Dad takes up all my time these days.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Sorry.’
‘I’m starting to wonder if you –’
The baby monitor crackles.
‘Father to daughter, father to daughter, come in daughter,’ says Gene’s hugely amplified voice. ‘The troops require sustenance. Cups of tea: one. Mallowpuffs: three. Over and out.’
‘Antony,’ says Bridget, ‘can I ring you back?’
She creeps up the stairs and opens her father’s bedroom door. He is sitting up on the edge of the bed, his pyjama trousers gaping open.
‘Aha!’ he says.
‘Do you need syrup too?
‘No no, I just had some before.’
‘Okay. Back soon.’
Bridget plugs in the electric jug and peeks under Native Birds of New Zealand while she waits for it to boil. All of Gene’s medication is laid out in neat rows, the edges of the boxes parallel with the sides of the tray. The embroidered tray cloth, too, is dead straight. She tweaks a corner, pulling it just a fraction out of line. Then she replaces the teatowel.
‘Here we are, Dad.’
‘Thanks love. What would we do without you?’ He bites into a Mallowpuff and lifts his cup of tea to Bridget. ‘Cheers,’ he says. ‘We’re n
ot dead yet.’
Oh Hell I had a dreadful experience at Birdlings Flat today. Cyril had a bad turn like an Epileptic Fit I yelled & yelled for help but the noise of the sea stopped anyone hearing me. I’ll swear that Cyril died I was desperate I gave him mouth to nose resuscitation he was frothing at the mouth. Len Booth reached us first & he helped me carry Cyril back from the edge of the sea then I sent Len for help. He told them there was no hurry as Cyril was dead. Anyway about 1/2 hr later Cyril came to & I couldn’t hold him down he kept picking up stones. I am still suffering from shock. Dolly 7 p. m.
Bridget has noticed how Gene uses ‘we’ more and more these days. ‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ she says.
‘Did you bring the syrup?’
Bridget frowns. ‘Oh …’ She straightens Gene’s slipping bedspread. ‘Sorry. I forgot. I’ll get you some.’
When she comes back upstairs, Gene has disappeared. She hears a thud from her room, and finds him trying to move her dressing table.
‘I thought we could put all the beds in here,’ he says. ‘Along this wall, because you’ve got those extra power points.’
Thorsten hands Christina a mug of coffee. She grunts.
‘I thought I’d take Gene for a walk in the wheelchair, if you want to come,’ he says.
‘Oh. I wanted to go to Eastbourne today, actually. If it stays fine we can catch the ferry back into town.’
Thorsten frowns. ‘The fresh air would be good, but I don’t think he’s up to a boat ride, is he?’
‘I meant just the two of us. No parents, no sister.’
Thorsten puts down his coffee. ‘I think he’d really like it if you came.’
‘Would he? You’ve discussed this with him, have you?’
‘You can’t expect him just to sit inside all day.’
‘What did he say, “To catch sausages you have to attach a feather”?’
‘I just thought you’d want to spend some time with him, that’s all. He is your father.’
‘I get to see enough sick people at work,’ says Christina. Her voice is becoming louder and louder. ‘And he’s not technically my father.’
‘Sick people. In Maternity?’
Christina ignores him. ‘Sick people shouldn’t be at home. I don’t know why they’re persisting with this bloody hospice home care performance. Home is the one place where you can get away from sick people.’
‘I already asked him if he wants to go.’ Thorsten studies his hands. ‘Etta’s just getting his shoes on him.’
‘That’ll take a while then.’
‘Bridget’s coming too.’
Christina stares at him. ‘Bridget. I see. Look, here’s an idea, why don’t you all spend the day together, get icecreams, have a picnic, skip stones, whatever. And I’ll go to Eastbourne by myself. Keep out of your way, how would that be? And I know, while you’re at it, why don’t you feed him and give him a bath, too?’
‘Christina – ’
‘And no reason to stop there. Mum’s been kind of tense lately, can’t imagine why, why don’t you sleep with her, cheer the old thing up a bit?’
Before Thorsten can answer, Gene’s motorised chair begins to rumble down the stairs.
‘Here we are,’ says Etta. ‘We’ll just get our jackets on. Left arm, Gene.’
While the others are out Christina wanders around the house. In Bridget’s room she finds a letter next to the messy bed. She can recognise that it’s in German, but can’t make out any of the words. At the bottom are rows of kisses and hugs, and a scrawled name Christina cannot read. Something like Suiter, Geller … Günter? Bridget never mentioned anything about a boyfriend over there. She wonders if Antony knows.
In her parents’ room, the double bed and Etta’s mattress on the floor have both been made with military precision, blankets tightly tucked and sheet corners like origami. On the bedside cabinet, bottles of pills and syrup have been lined up in rows. The morning paper has been folded and placed neatly on a chair. Christina picks up a hairbrush. There is not a hair in it.
There are four loaves of bread in the pantry, all white, sandwich-sliced. A fifth loaf has been half-gutted; only emptied crusts remain.
The washing machine is shuddering in the garage, working itself up to its morning finale. On the floor, spread out on newspaper, are books and papers and plans. Bridget retrieved them from the cupboard under the stairs when Etta flooded the bathroom. Christina’s heard all about that. You mustn’t think it’s your fault, Etta told her. I just forgot about the bath when I was talking to you. It’s nobody’s fault. We’re all under a fair bit of pressure at the moment, aren’t we?
Christina nudges one of Clifford’s diaries with her toe. A page falls out.
he was up on their roof doing some repairs & he fell off, missed the fence, grabbed a very small tree & finished up at the feet of his neighbour, flat on his back on the concrete path next door. No bones broken but the Doctor has ordered him to bed for a couple of days. Etta saw Gene’s dark form flash past the window she was very upset & said how could he climb all that scaffolding at work & then fall off the roof at home. Next time take a ruddy parachute with you Gene. Health all right but this bloody indigestion keeps me awake.
Next to the diaries is a buckled plan of the house Gene built in Christchurch when he and Etta were first married, and some of Christina’s lecture notes from her first year at med school. In the margins she can see where she was practising her signature: Dr C Stilton, Dr C Stilton. She does not remember doing this. The notes Gene started making for his survival guide are splayed in a fan shape, the edges curling upwards like dried leaves. There is a neat chart with the heading Ground to Air Emergency Visual Signalling Code, and a column of symbols. Signals should be at least eight feet in length and the area chosen to display them should provide as much contrast as possible, it says.
Gene’s lecture notes from his night classes are there too: Technical Mastery. The Development of Leadership. Avoiding Playing the Game of Favourites. Delegation of Authority & Responsibility.
Christina looks at the tools hanging on the wall, all outlined in black marker so they will be returned to the same hook each time. She is aware that behind each tool, written by Gene within each outline, there is a label. Electric sander. Plane. Hammer. Hacksaw. A precaution against chaos.
The washing machine beeps twelve, thirteen, fourteen times and falls silent. Christina gathers up her lecture notes, feeling them to make sure they are completely dry, and tidies them away into the cupboard under the stairs. When she reaches back a hand to turn the cupboard light off she flicks the switch connected to the motorised chair by mistake, and underneath the stairs there is a sound like thunder.
‘What have you got planned for the rest of the day?’ says Etta when they arrive back.
‘Thorsten and I might go to the beach,’ says Christina.
‘Why don’t you get out of the house for a while on your own?’ says Thorsten. ‘Go shopping, visit a friend. We’ll stay with Gene, won’t we, Christina?’
‘Oh no, I couldn’t,’ says Etta. ‘If something happened – ’
‘Etta, we are both doctors. Nothing will happen, I promise. You could do with a break.’
‘Christina?’
‘Sure, Mum, why not,’ she says, looking at Thorsten.
‘There goes Eastbourne,’ says Christina when Etta has gone.
‘Look, he’s going to be in bed anyway, it’s not like you have to talk to him the whole time. Haven’t you noticed how haggard she looks?’
‘It suits her.’
A distant rumble begins above their heads.
‘He’ll be in bed, you say?’
Thorsten sighs. ‘Help me get him off the chair.’
‘And how’s work?’ says Gene.
‘It’s fine.’
‘Long hours?’
‘Yep.’
‘Can’t make babies come when you want them to.’
‘No.’
‘Any named after you?’
/>
‘I don’t think so. Thorsten, could you put some music on?’
‘Now tell me about her,’ says Gene.
‘About who?’
‘Jane.’
‘I don’t know any Janes,’ says Christina.
‘Ah … Joan? The birth mother person you met.’
‘Joanne.’
‘Joanne. You did meet her, didn’t you.’
‘Best of Crowded House all right?’ says Thorsten.
‘Have you got any photos?’ says Gene.
‘No. No photos. But we’re going to stay in touch.’
‘That’s nice. Your mother’s been terribly worried about it.’
‘Why would she be worried?’
‘She likes to worry,’ says Gene, and then he blinks very slowly and watches the lights on the stereo. ‘We got a twelve-pointer,’ he says. ‘Three shots.’
‘Dad,’ says Christina, ‘Thorsten and I have to fly back to Sydney tomorrow. Got to get back to work.’
Gene continues to watch the stereo. His lips move slightly, but he makes no sound.
‘Our flight’s quite early,’ she says, ‘but I’ll come and say -I’ll come and see you in the morning before I go.’ She touches his hand.
They tried to swim Cook Strait today. Bill Penny swam South to North & missed by about 1 hour. Barrie Davenport got to within 1 mile from the South Island after swimming from Wellington. Perhaps next year someone will do it but it won’t be me, too far away.
Gene is in his prime time now, the hospice doctor tells him when she calls by, and she asks him if he still wants to go to the lake. Gene thinks this is an extremely stupid question, but he decides to answer her in a friendly manner because, he reasons, she cannot help her stupidity. Indeed he does still want to go, he says, there are some bloody big fish out there whose time has come. And the doctor says very earnestly that while she can’t make that sort of decision for him, she would be going now if she were him, as there is no telling how long his prime time will last. I see, says Gene, I see. Well.
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