The idea I might be expected to go through something like this myself at some point is more than I can imagine right now. I take a breath, set down my glass. ‘Mami-ji, is Nani going okay? When I’ve been on the phone with her lately she’s sounded a little…disoriented.’
‘Nani hasn’t been in the best of health,’ Hansa confesses. ‘She’s all right, but she’s getting older, Amie. We’re keeping an eye on her.’ She changes the subject quickly. ‘Now, you should find a room and unpack.’
‘Is it okay if I take the outhouse? Beena’s already gone to the trouble of cleaning it up. Jasminder has her hands full, and she’ll probably need her sleep. She doesn’t need to be tripping over me in her bedroom as well.’
By lunchtime I’m installed in the little bedsit studio, and already busy helping Hansa prepare dinner. Then Beena arrives back home and there’s a lot of hugging and squealing.
‘Oh my god,’ Beena says breathlessly, ‘you have to show me what you’re wearing for Mehndi Night. And then you have to tell me what I’m wearing doesn’t look too over-the-top.’
‘Bee-bee, she’s only just arrived!’ Hansa rolls her eyes at me. ‘She’s been waiting for you to come.’
Beena drags me back down the hall to her room to do a fashion audit. She shows me the jewellery she’s borrowed for the wedding. ‘Mum is wearing Nani’s, and I’m wearing Mum’s, and Jas is wearing some from the boy’s family and some from Nani, so everyone is being placated. Are you wearing a sari to the ceremony?’
I actually have two options, a sari and a salwar kameez, so it’s good to have someone to consult about what to wear.
‘I think the sari for the wedding,’ Bee confirms, ‘and the salwar kameez for Monday. And great, you’re wearing your mother’s jewellery. What about your shoes?’
I show her. ‘Are you working this week?’
Beena is studying nursing – our family is chock-full of nurses, my god – and has been working at Mallee Health, in a different unit to her mother, for about a year.
But now she shakes her head. ‘I took two weeks’ leave, starting last Sunday, and thank god I did. Mum’s been running around like a lunatic, and she doesn’t finish work herself until tomorrow – they couldn’t spare her. I’ve been doing most of the organising and shopping.’ She grins. ‘It’s so good you arrived early. Now I have someone to whinge to. Jas won’t hear it, and Mum doesn’t have time to deal.’
‘WhereisJas? And where’s Nani?’
‘They’re together. Jasminder wanted to look at dinner sets, and Nani insisted on going, too.’ Beena re-folds my Mehndi Night kameez, lowers her voice. ‘Hey, are you going out this week? Like, to a club or something?’
‘Well, I told Robbie I’d catch up with her at some point…’ I almost don’t want to explain because I think I know where this is going.
Sure enough, Beena makes a pleading face. ‘Then will you take me along? Please? Amie, I’m dying, I need to get out. Mum keeps saying we should just concentrate on the wedding, but all I’ve done for a month is work, wedding-plan, go to college, and sit with Nani in front of the TV in the living room. If I have to watchDevdasone more time, I’m gonna spew.’
I hesitate, reluctant to be the meat in the sandwich. ‘Bee, if your Mum doesn’t want you going out –’
‘But if I go with you, and we say we’re meeting Robbie, I’m sure she’d be okay. I mean, Girls’ Night Out. That sounds pretty sedate, right?’
I pause, then nod. ‘Okay, I’ll do my best. But it depends on your mum.’
She hugs me ecstatically. ‘Amie, you’re a lifesaver!’
Nani and Jasminder don’t get home for another hour. When I hear Nani’s quavering voice saying, ‘Is she here yet? Has she arrived?’ in Punjabi, I take my hands out of the bowl I’m mixing roti in, wipe off fast and go out to greet her.
‘Amita!’ Nani’s arms are outstretched. ‘Ah, bebe, come here to me!’
She’s thinner than I remember: her pale yellow salwar kameez billows over her bony edges, and the sharp line of her nose seems more severe. Her hair, under her dubatta, seems more white than steel now, and the arm of her glasses is held on with tape. I take in all of this in an instant, like I’ve clicked the shutter on a memory.
I do namaste, and a quick ‘Sat sri akal’, but we’re both more excited to exchange hugs. ‘Oh, Nani-ji, I’ve missed you!’ My eyes well up, although I promised myself I wouldn’t make a scene.
‘Ah, my girl…’ Nani’s own eyes are shiny with emotion, and she squeezes me hard. ‘My girl has come back home.’
Later, after family dinner is over, Hansa helps me shove around some extra junk in the outhouse to make it more habitable: my aunt has an enormous collection of plastic storage boxes. I’m just making up the bed with fresh sheets when there’s a knock on the open door.
‘Turn on the heating, Amita,’ Nani’s standing there with a giant pillow, a pillow case and towel balanced on top. ‘You will get cold out here.’
I walk over and take the things out of her hands. ‘It’s warm enough, Nani-ji. It’s the middle of September.’
We stand in the doorway for a moment looking across the carport to the house. The smell of cumin and star anise lingers on my hands. The eaves of the house are bright with fairy lights to mark the approaching wedding.
This house isn’t only where I recovered from my mother’s death. It’s also the place where I realised how deeply my parents had loved each other.
