Page 72 of Birds of a Feather

I knew that from this day on, my life would be divided into two parts: with Gran and without her.

My head seared with an intense headache and I felt like I was going to throw up. Dad opened the door, and I fell into his arms and sobbed into his shoulder. He cooed my name as he stroked my hair, and then guided me into the kitchen where Mum and Gerry were sitting at the table.

Mum stood up and wrapped me in a hug, her usually athletic frame seeming smaller somehow. She pulled back to look at me.

‘How are you doing, kiddo?’ she asked. Her eyes were red and brimming with tears, and her nose was shiny and swollen. A drip of clear snot dangled from the tip.

I shook my head solemnly, unable to articulate the magnitude of emotions that seemed to come in waves like an unrelenting tsunami.

I looked to Gerry. Somehow, she still looked elegant sitting there in Mum’s kitchen wearing a polo shirt I recognised as Gran’s and a pair of hiking trousers. But she looked vulnerable, as if someone had chipped away a strong clear lacquer, revealing a delicate layer beneath.

I noticed she had a smear of dirt up one of her arms and across her left cheek. It must have been horrific for her, to be out in the bush with Gran having collapsed, in a country she’d only landed in a few days beforehand.

‘I’m so sorry, Gerry,’ I spluttered.

‘Oh, Beth,’ she replied, standing and making her way towards me. ‘I’m the one who’s sorry. I know how much your gran meant to you.’

We hugged.

‘What happened?’ I asked, bracing myself for Gerry’s recount of how it had come to be that I woke up this morning happy and full of optimism, and now I was grieving the loss of the most important person in my life.

Dad handed me a glass of ice-water. I sat down at the kitchen table, took a large sip and discovered it was, in fact, a very stiff gin and tonic. I coughed and then took another big gulp.

‘Thatta girl,’ Dad said, giving me a wink.

Gerry described that they had been at the nature reserve next to Woodside Ridge, where they had just seen an echidna and a curious-looking orchid.

‘I’d noticed that she was a little breathless as we were walking to the car to get the equipment,’ she said. ‘But it was a warm morning, so I just figured she was a bit puffed.

‘When I looked back …’ she paused as her voice cracked, ‘she was just standing there, leaning against a tree, looking towards the sunlight. She looked ashen, but not sick. Just vacant, as though she was somewhere else entirely. I called out to her, but she didn’t seem to hear me.’ Tears were streaming down her face. ‘I rushed over, but by the time I reached her, she’d just slid down the tree, and landed in a crumpled heap, like someone had let go of the strings on a marionette doll.’

She blew her nose loudly; it reminded me of the sound Gran made.

‘We rolled her over and Emily – the trip leader – started doing CPR.’

Emily was efficient and competent, exactly the sort of person you’d want conducting CPR if you needed it.

‘She tried and tried,’ Gerry continued, her voice strained. ‘But we couldn’t save her.’

Mum and I sobbed in unison.

‘I should have known she’d go and do something like this,’ she continued with a sad irony-ladened chuckle. ‘Lure me to the furthest corner of the world in the promise of making up for a lifetime of lost moments, and then go and die on me.’

Mum, Dad and I laughed, grateful for the brief moment of release that macabre humour brings to grief-stricken people.

My phone chimed in my bag. I reached in and saw a message from Nick.

I must know. Do Australians wear thongs as underwear or footwear? I’m researching cultural differences in case I ever make my way out there. I’d hate to get it wrong. Although I suspect you’d look great in both.

I slipped my phone back into my bag without replying. I wasn’t ready to announce Gran’s death to anyone – even him. An irrational part of me felt that doing so would somehow make it more real, and remove any last glimmer of hope for negotiation.

‘I can let him know, if you like,’ Gerry said quietly, intuitively knowing it was a message from Nick.

‘That’s okay, I can do it. Just as soon as I find the words. Unless you want to,’ I added hurriedly, aware that Gerry might want to reach out to her family about Gran herself. She would need support from her people too.

‘Whatever you want, Beth,’ she said kindly. ‘But not before you’re ready.’

I smiled gratefully and blinked away the fresh tears that had gathered in my eyes.

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