Page 31 of Birds of a Feather

‘Yes, yes. You’re right,’ she conceded.

‘We’ll leave next Tuesday and be back a fortnight later,’ I said assertively, hoping my pragmatism would help solidify her decision to go.

‘Okay. But I won’t have you paying for the whole thing. I don’t care how much money you won.’

After some debate, we agreed that I would play for flights, she would pay for accommodation and that we were both as stubborn as each other.

About an hour after we hung up, Gran sent a text.

I spoke to Gerry. She’s excited. London here we come.

I set about booking the flights and accommodation immediately. As far as I knew, airlines did not offer flexibility to accommodate matters of the heart, and travel insurance policies did not cover cold feet. Once the trip was locked in, she wouldn’t be able to change her mind again.

~

‘I’m sorry,’ Mum said incredulously down the phone. ‘You and Gran are going where? And when?’

I realised when Mum called later that afternoon that neither Gran nor I had told her about our trip. Now the trip had been booked, sharing our plans seemed pertinent.

‘We’re going to London. Next Tuesday.’

‘O-kay,’ she said, emphasising both syllables in the way people do when they’re processing information en route to forming a judgement. ‘When was this decided? And whose idea was it?’

It was impossible to answer this without providing the backstory, which I was under strict instructions not to do.

‘Well … we just kind of agreed, I suppose. I can’t actually remember whose idea it was in the first place.’

Not entirely true; I had suggested it. Nevertheless, I didn’t feel the details of our decision-making process had any bearing on our ultimate choice to go.

‘What about work? I thought you had some projects on the go. What about the possums?’

I hadn’t thought she’d been listening when I talked about the bridge project.

‘It’s fine. Geoff has okayed me taking a fortnight off. This was actually the only time I could go for the next couple of months. So we just sort of jumped at the chance.’

‘Oh my God,’ Mum said. I heard the slap of her hand against her mouth. ‘Is Gran okay? This isn’t one of those end-of-life trips, is it? She’s dying, isn’t she? Is she going somewhere to have euthanasia? I’ve read about this, where people travel to places overseas where it’s legal.’

Her words tumbled out of her uncharacteristically. She was usually annoyingly calm when it came to sombre or serious situations. When Grandpa died, she took on an almost ethereal calmness, which she credited to daily yoga and meditation. I suspected the half-smoked joint I found in her bedside table had something to do with it too.

‘She’s not—’ I started.

‘Fuck!’ she said, cutting me off. ‘She was talking about her blood pressure medication the other day. She’d just been to see the doctor, and she’d changed her medication. Or had she increased her medication? I think she said she had been dizzy too. Or tired? Or both. I can’t remember what she said.’ Her tone was becoming more urgent with each word. ‘I should have known something was wrong. I told her she should have been taking lemon and turmeric tea, but you know what she’s like.

‘What is it, Beth?’ she implored. ‘Tell me. Is it cancer? Heart disease?’

‘Mum, she’s—’

‘Come to think of it,’ she interrupted again, ‘she was saying some odd things about righting the wrongs of the past and second chances, or something. She must be making amends with her life before she dies. Fuck.’

‘Mum!’ I said, loudly enough this time to demand her attention. ‘She’s not sick. I promise. We’ve just decided to go on a trip together.’

‘But …?’ The word, loaded with questions, lingered down the line. I had to admit, Gran having an incurable illness was probably more plausible than my decision to take an impromptu holiday.

‘Besides, assisted dying is legal in Australia now,’ I added, in an offer of further assurance.

‘Oh,’ she replied. ‘Yes. Yes, you’re right. It is. Although I’m not really sure if that’s a comfort.’

‘It’s just a holiday,’ I promised. ‘I thought you’d be pleased I’m being more spontaneous.’

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