Page 73 of Birds of a Feather

‘Gerry, are you comfortable, or would you like a shower and a change of clothes?’ Mum asked. ‘I can lend you some, or we can run you back to Mum’s.’

A vision of Gerry in one of Mum’s flowing boho dresses popped into my head, and I worked hard to suppress the urge to laugh.

‘Thanks, Rosie,’ she said, lifting one of her arms slightly and sniffing in the direction of her armpit. ‘I hope I’m not unpleasant to be around.’

‘No, no,’ Mum exclaimed, ‘not at all.’

‘I’m just not sure I’m ready to wash the morning off my body just yet.’ Gerry’s words tumbled out of her and at the completion of the sentence, she burst into tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ she sobbed. ‘It’s silly. But I just hate the thought of washing her touch off me.’

My heart ached for Gerry. How cruel that their long-awaited reunion had been so short-lived. And I couldn’t shake a twinge of guilt that if I’d left well enough alone, Gerry would be living her life in London, instead of sobbing at Mum and Dad’s kitchen table on the other side of the world. I hoped that the time she’d spent with Gran, and the sense of resolution they’d both received, would make up for the loss she felt now.

I took another big gulp of my drink.

‘Where are the others?’ I asked Dad.

‘Jarrah will be home shortly, she just had to wait for someone to relieve her at work. And Elijah’s on his way home now,’ he explained.

‘Jarrah’s at work?’ I asked curiously.

‘Yes, she got a temp job at a not-for-profit that supports homeless young people. It’s just for a couple of months, while someone’s on leave, but she’s enjoying it, apparently.’

‘That’s terrific,’ I said sincerely.

The next few hours were spent crying, laughing and drinking around the table. It could have been awkward to have Gerry spend this day with us, given we’d only just met her, but it was really nice to hear stories about Gran that we hadn’t either lived or heard a thousand times. Gerry told us that when she and Gran were living in the college, she’d baked a batch of cinnamon twists because she knew Gran missed her mum’s baking. But, instead of using a teaspoon of cinnamon she’d used a whole tablespoon. Gran was so touched by the gesture, and she didn’t want Gerry feeling bad, so ate the entire batch before Gerry could try them and discover what she’d done. As Gerry recounted the story, I remembered all the times Gran had made cinnamon twists for us and told us they were flavoured with love.

I couldn’t believe I’d never taste her cooking again.

Chapter 33

Beth

As the sun set on the day, my phone chimed again. It was another message from Nick.

It’s okay, I googled the answer about thongs. Unfortunately, I did it at work, so may get sacked for looking at pictures of women in their underwear. Hope you’re having a good day. x

I moved into my parents’ lounge room so I could type my reply away from my family’s chatter, which had grown louder with every passed hour and each consumed drink.

I placed my cursor in the message field.

Gran died today.

I paused to wipe away the fresh deluge of tears that cascaded down my cheeks.

She was on a field trip with Gerry when she collapsed. They think she had a stroke. I’m just so shocked. And so very, very sad. I think Gerry feels much the same, but we’re taking good care of her. X

I pushed send on the message without re-reading it; I didn’t want to have to read those three hideous words – Gran died today – again. A few moments later a dancing ellipsis appeared on the screen indicating he was replying. It disappeared again, and my phone rang in my hand.

‘Oh, Beth. I’m so sorry,’ Nick said when I answered.

I tried to say something, but all that emerged from my mouth was a giant, wet sob. A few moments passed before he spoke again, but the silence wasn’t strained or awkward; it felt more like an acknowledgement that conversation wasn’t necessary to communicate the gravity of the situation.

‘I suppose there’s no point in asking how you are?’ he said finally.

I managed a tiny ironic huff. I appreciated him saying that, as I’ve always found it deeply irritating when people ask it of bereft people, as though it wasn’t completely obvious. After a few deep breaths, I told him as much as I knew about what had happened and the preliminary funeral plans that had been discussed over the course of the afternoon.

‘Is there anything I can do? Can I …’ his voice trailed off as though he was running through a list of ways he could help from across the other side of the world.

‘Would you like me to come over?’ he asked after a few moments.

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