Page 33 of Birds of a Feather

‘Ha!’ I exclaimed, louder than I’d intended. ‘Can you imagine?’

Not telling my family about my lotto win had been weighing on me, but after my first failed attempt at sharing the news, I wasn’t in a rush to try again. I couldn’t tell Mum and Dad, but not Jarrah and Elijah. Nor could I give money to one of my siblings but not the other. So I’d decided to wait until we returned from London to tell any of them. I hoped that Jarrah would have found a job by then, so I wouldn’t be funding her Bikram yoga and coconut water smoothies while she looked for her next soul-nourishing appointment.

‘It sounds like you’ve got it all sorted,’ Mum said. ‘Maybe we can do dinner the night before you go then.’

‘That sounds great.’ I was pleased I would have an opportunity to give them the perishable food from my fridge, so it didn’t go off while I was away. I would hate to see any go to waste.

Chapter 19

Beth

I spent the next few days washing and packing, finishing any work that couldn’t be passed to Alannah or shelved until I got back, and worrying about whether we were doing the right thing. When I arrived at Gran’s house on the morning we were due to leave, I was hoping she might provide me with some reassurance. Instead, I found her in a complete tizz. It was unnerving, to say the least; Gran was usually a pillar of calm who I relied on to coax me in off the edge. But, instead of hearing her melodic trills as I dragged my suitcase up her front path, I heard her ranting to herself.

‘Gran?’ I called out through the opened front door. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Come in here, will you,’ she called as she bustled into the kitchen. ‘Come and see what I’ve done.’

I hurried after her and found her standing over the kitchen table staring at a sodden pile of papers. Beside them, a potted cyclamen was lying on its side. Water was cascading off the edge of the table and pooling on the floor, where it was mixing with spilled potting mix. I stepped over the slurried mess and grabbed for her passport which was among the papers. Mercifully, only the cover was wet.

‘Can I smell burning?’ I asked.

‘Oh, God!’ she lunged towards the toaster and popped up a charred piece of bread.

‘Are you okay, Gran?’ More than just frazzled, she looked pale and a bit off kilter.

‘I’m okay; I’m just a bit lightheaded. I’ll be fine in a sec. The pot was slippery so I dropped the ruddy thing.’ She gestured to the plant as if it should take its share of the responsibility for the mess.

‘Come and sit down.’ I guided her to a seat. ‘I’ll look after this.’

I wiped up the water while I made another piece of toast and boiled the kettle for tea. I righted the cyclamen, scooped most of the potting mix back into its pot and replaced it on the windowsill, then cleaned up the mud on the floor.

‘Right,’ I said as I washed my hands. ‘All better. Are you okay?’

‘Yes. Thanks, pet,’ she said nodding.

‘But are you still dizzy? Should you even be travelling today?’

Mum told me that, after freaking out we were travelling to the UK to take part in an assisted dying program, she’d pressed Gran on her health. Apparently her doctor was monitoring her blood pressure, which was a bit high. I wondered if she’d told her doctor that she was travelling to the other side of the world for a life-altering adventure filled with nervousness and exhilaration. I doubted it.

‘Oh, don’t worry about that. It comes on sometimes, but it’s nothing,’ she said dismissively. I looked her up and down for signs she was okay, or otherwise.

I set her tea down in front of her and watched as she put three heaped teaspoons of sugar in it.

‘Sweet tea. My mother’s cure for nerves,’ she said, anticipating my reaction. I hoped her nerves would subside quickly, or she’d likely be battling diabetes as well as light-headedness before too long.

‘I’m not surprised you’re nervous, Gran,’ I offered. ‘It’s a big deal.’

Gran was fiddling with her wedding band again.

I had been anxious about the trip too, and not just because it was so spur-of-the-moment. (Mum was right; I’d spent more time deliberating on what to have for dinner than I had on booking the trip.) I was worried that Gerry might not be as pleased to see Gran as Gran was to see her. Or that Gerry had changed, and Gran would be disappointed. But, most of all, I worried that Gran would get hurt again, and she’d blame me.

I tried to remind myself about how I had convinced Gran to come on the trip in the first place: we were simply a grandmother and granddaughter going on a nice holiday together. If one of us happened to meet up with someone from their past, then that was just a bonus.

I also couldn’t shake the sense of discomfort I had felt since I told Mum about the trip. She was so excited at the prospect of us all travelling together. Had I been too quick to shut it down? I might have been irritated when she suggested Jarrah come too, despite her not being able to afford it, but it would be hypocritical to ignore that the only reason Gran and I were going was because I’d won the lotto. Of course I had savings, but I certainly wouldn’t have been digging into them for an impromptu jaunt to the UK. And if I had given my family some of my winnings when I’d planned, Mum and Jarrah could have come as well. The guilt sat in my stomach uncomfortably, but I reminded myself that when we booked the tickets and accommodation, no one else knew about Gerry. Besides, the focus of the trip was on Gran’s reunion; the last thing they needed was the entire Dwyer circus arriving to pull focus.

The car that picked us up – part of our business class ticket – was a fancy BMW that smelled like new leather and a hint of the driver’s cologne, or possibly the air freshener hanging from the mirror. After insisting that he look after our suitcases, rather than have me lift them into the boot, he ran through all the mod-cons of the car and took our preferences for music selection and ambient temperature. It was the most luxurious car I’d ever sat in. The royal treatment continued when we arrived at the airport and were welcomed into the business class lounge, which provided access to delicious food and free drinks.

‘I could definitely get used to this,’ Gran said, as we clicked our champagne flutes and ate a selection of cheeses. Calm-looking travellers chatted away in hushed voices or tapped at keyboards, while staff poured drinks and surreptitiously cleared tables around us.

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