9

Nan is so small. She seems to be dissolving into the air. Still works hard though she breaks up all her jobs with little rests. Still loves a smoke and keeps her fags in her apron pocket till after she’s hung out the washing and then sits on the box in the sun savouring the work that’s behind her. Above her the washing flies like empty people.

She makes the beds early and does a bit of washing every day plus any dishes hanging around. When all her work is done, she sits at the table with a cup of tea, her smokes and her pack of cards and plays Patience, her fag burning long in the ashtray beside her. She seldom eats but when she does, she loves bread and jam and choc wedges. Sometimes she’s still at cards when the kids get home.

In the days of Nan, being the first one home is worth something. At ten Louisa is the same height as her grandmother and, getting home, she slides her bag into the corner and puts her arms around her. Nan smells of ironing and of Lily of the Valley talc. Her softness, her mildness is an antidote to Emmett, and Louisa thinks of her Nan as purely good. When Lou gets home she says, ‘Hello little darl, what’s cooking today?’ and before long she’ll be dealing Louisa a hand after she’s put the kettle on, saying, ‘I saved you a tic-toc, last in the packet, and while Louisa is licking the biscuit, she’ll think that if he would only stay away, life could be like this. Could be perfect.

Sharon James’ old man runs Jim’s Butcher Shop on Willy Road, a blue-and-white striped shop with a sawdust floor and more than the occasional low-flying blowfly making passes at the meat. Sharon, who’s in Louisa’s class at school, has curly blonde hair and plenty of dough because, according to Nan, there’s one certainty in life, and this is that publicans and butchers are always rich. Louisa knows Nan says this to soothe her because Louisa wildly envies Sharon’s blonde hair and her popularity, even if the girl does look like a pig. Something about the nose. When she mentions the snout to Nan, they laugh with a hilarious shame until Nan says, ‘Well, my darlin’ girl, we should not be passing remarks, Louie, the poor wee lassie can’t help her schnoz,’ and they’re off again.

Louisa’s the only girl not invited to the party at the James’s house and though she hates herself for it, she follows the group home instead of taking her usual route through the lanes. At Field Street, Mrs James, a large version of her daughter, nose and all, is ushering the girls into the house and when she sees Louisa straggling behind, she calls, ‘Sweetheart, don’t dawdle, the others have all gone in,’ and gestures towards the front door. ‘Hello, Mrs James,’ Louisa says glumly, coming to a halt at the picket fence.

At the questioning she replies, ‘Um. Well, I wasn’t invited to the party.’ Though Louisa is transfixed by the possibility of going inside, shame surges through her like a tidal wave. Just as she guessed, the woman takes pity on her and will have none of her leaving. ‘But what about the party? We’ve got lots of lovely food. Oh, how awful you weren’t invited, there must have been a mistake. Sharon would never leave one of her little classmates out. It’s Louisa Brown, isn’t it, from down in Wolf Street? Would you like to come darling? Of course you would. Just nip home and get your party dress on and we’ll be underway.’

And before another second has passed, Louisa is sprinting towards home like a runaway racehorse, cutting a swathe through the street. At home, the boys are having a sedate little game of kick-to-kick and the footy bangs against the house, which means Emmett’s not home. She’s too winded to speak. In the fernery she grabs Nan, gasping, ‘Dress. Party. Sharon.’ They both know there’s no party dress, but Nan makes straight for the ironing pile and soon extracts something Anne made for Louisa years ago. It has lace, which qualifies it. ‘I’ll run over it with the iron, my darling, and you’ll be the most beautiful girl there. And what about we let you wear your hair out for a change?’

Nan unearths a block of chocolate for a present from somewhere in her bowerbird room and brushes Louisa’s long hair until it reaches a semblance of decency. Of course the summer dress is too small and slight for winter. The lace is torn but the old green jumper covers much. Her grandmother walks halfway to Field Street with Louisa and watches her all the rest of the way down that needle-straight street, worrying whether the chocolate will be enough.

Louisa’s singing ‘Yellow Bird’ loud and flat when she hears of the death of her grandmother. She’s just home from school, walking down the sideway, past the ferns with their long green fingers when Emmett’s voice reaches her before she sees him. ‘Stop singing, Louisa,’ he commands. As she walks through the door he says, ‘It’s not a day for singing. Your grandmother has died today.’

Her father is in the kitchen with her mother. They don’t spend much time in the same room. It must be true. She looks at her mother leaning against the Kookaburra stove, all cream and green, cream and green and Anne nods and makes it true. Louisa’s eyes rest on the small picture of the kookaburra on the stove, covered by a slick of dusty grease, and as she notes this, the crushing weight of the universe settles in forever.

Nan had gone down to the milkbar for a packet of smokes and in the shop she had a heart attack and fell to the crazed red concrete floor and died.

She’s now lying on her bed. The stillness of Rose strikes Louisa with the force of a truck but this is the last time Louisa will see her because Anne believes kids should not go to funerals, that they should be shielded from death.

The girl cries for a month. Nothing can stop her. She goes to school and does her school work and cleans and does the potatoes for tea. She walks the lanes to school with Frank leading the way like a pilot but she’s in a trance and the tears just keep coming. Whether she’s at school or in her room, at the shop or at the table, they seep forth as if there’s a spring inside her.

She decides dying is a good option. She can’t live without her Nan. Simple really. Why doesn’t everyone just leave her alone? Rob and Peter and Daniel manage to keep going though there is a flatness to their eyes. And then, with the suddenness that is pure Emmett, he has seen enough.

It’s one Saturday morning when he decides it has to end. ‘Louisa,’ he roars from the kitchen, ‘get out here.’ Carefully the girl edges from her grey bedroom like a sea creature stranded in a tidal pool. Her hair is unwashed and her clothes smell of every single day she’s worn them. ‘Get yourself cleaned up. We are going for a walk.’ Louisa is shocked into waking. Into thinking. Emmett has never taken the kids for a walk.

They walk down to the shop where Rose died. It isn’t far. Emmett holds Louisa’s hand and she barely notices despite not being able to remember it happening before. Rob and Peter and Daniel trail behind like a chorus. ‘Now,’ he says patiently, ‘we are going in here and we are buying the newspaper.’

She steps inside behind him and looks at the red floor and wonders where her Nan’s head fell. Which spot was it? They buy the paper and he shoves it under his arm and it flaps as if it were a dying bird.

Outside a tide of cars passes and the sun shines with morning hope. Emmett stands Louisa on the step of the shop and looks her in the eye, a pair of matching indigo eyes, and says, ‘This, and you know what I’m talking about, this is going to end now. Finished. Finito. This is it.’ He makes a sideways cutting motion with his hands.

‘I know you’re sad and that is right, she was your grandmother and you loved her and you know Louisa, she loved you too, but she has died and it’s time to stop grieving. I’m your father and I’m telling you that now is the time to stop. It can’t go on. Your Nan would not want to see you sad. It’s all over now Lou.’

Her brothers are cantering around, close enough to hear but far enough to be out of clouting range. They notice Louisa nodding and hiccoughing through streaming tears, but then she always cries when people speak up close to her. Such a sook.

Emmett grabs her hand and he swings it towards home, making an effort towards joy, and now Emmett’s palm seems like a bit of wood but it feels like they’re leaving her Nan behind and that’s got to be some kind of betrayal. And she knows it is. Even so, she feels the burden of her grief leaving her like a boat slipping its moorings.