Page 68 of Birds of a Feather

‘Opa!’ Gerry replied enthusiastically.

Gran and Gerry sat next to each other on the couch. There was a casual intimacy about how they were sitting that I had observed the whole time I’d seen them together. It was the type of ease you see in couples where an invitation to be in each other’s space is implied. They both had their knees pointed towards each other, and their bodies were as close as possible to one another without actually touching. I had to admit that I had missed Gran in the days since we’d got back. We’d spoken so regularly in the weeks before we left and I’d barely seen or heard from her since we’d landed. But it was so good to see her so happy.

Gerry was indulgently answering my dad’s questions about her time at university in Australia and entertaining his playful attempts to extract incriminating stories about Gran. I felt like, after the revelations about their relationship, any tales about having one drink too many or coming in past curfew would be benign in comparison to a same-sex affair. But she played along anyway.

‘So what else have you got planned while you’re here, Gerry?’ Mum asked.

‘I don’t know what else we’ve got planned,’ Gerry replied, looking to Gran in the way couples do when answering questions about one’s plans is a job for two.

‘Actually,’ Gran said, turning her body further towards Gerry and placing her hand on Gerry’s knee. ‘We do have something planned for Monday. We’ve got to go and check on my little orchid babies.’

During our visit to the Millennium Seed Bank, Gran had told Gerry all about the project to reintroduce the warty swan orchid at the bush reserve next to Woodside Ridge in the hopes it would attract the wasp.

‘Oh, how wonderful,’ Gerry replied. ‘It will be lovely to head out there again after all these years.’

‘I think it’s meant to be a warm one on Monday,’ Dad said.

‘Yes, I saw that,’ Gran said before turning back to Gerry. ‘I hope you haven’t lost your chops for a hot Australian day.’

The conversation over our Greek-themed dinner of slow-cooked lamb and fried cheese was as lively and as animated as ever.

Gerry managed to cut through my family’s competition to occupy centre stage and entertained us with amusing anecdotes and captivating tales of her adventures. Everyone seemed completely taken by her.

‘Gerry seems great,’ Mum said as she washed and I dried the dishes in the kitchen after dinner.

‘I think I even saw Mum giggle,’ she said as though it was as implausible as having seen her cartwheel. ‘I mean, I’ve seen her laugh, of course. But giggle? That’s definitely a new one. I didn’t even know she made that sound.’

‘They definitely get along well,’ I offered.

Mum absentmindedly soaped a plate that was well and truly void of food remnants until I took it from her hand and broke her daydream.

‘You know,’ she said, ‘one of the hardest things about losing one of your parents is worrying how the other one will cope and whether they’ll be lonely.’ Her voice was hushed, as if speaking the thoughts out loud made it more likely the notion would come true. ‘Mum is more than capable of looking after herself, obviously. But when you lose a spouse, you also lose your companion.

‘I’m not sure how it will all work,’ she continued, ‘with Gerry living in London and Mum living here. But I’m glad she’s got someone. And I’m sure they’ll work it out if it’s meant to be.’

She handed me a washed cup.

‘What about you, Bethie?’ she said, her voice bouncing again. ‘What did you get up to? Did you have a good time in London?’

An image of Nick involuntarily flashed in my mind’s eye. I felt my cheeks flush.

‘Beth Dwyer,’ she said mockingly. ‘Are you blushing?’

‘Who’s blushing?’ Jarrah said as she appeared in the doorway, her impeccable timing adding to my mortification.

I diverted my eyes and busied myself putting the stack of dried plates I had created on the bench away in the cupboard.

‘Ohhhh,’ Jarrah exclaimed. ‘Bethie. Did something happen in London that you’d like to share with us?’

‘No,’ I responded curtly. ‘I have no intention of sharing anything with you about what happened in London.’

‘So something did happen, though?’ she narrowed her eyes in contemplation.

I scoffed, aware that the once light blush on my cheeks had transformed into a prickly, angry heat that spread across my chest, neck and face.

‘Is this about Nick?’ Gran asked innocently as she walked into the kitchen carrying empty glasses.

I glared at her.

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