She bit into her sandwich and, though the bite was tiny, she moaned a little, which reminded me of Abbey and brought a smile to my face. Then I remembered I may never hear that sound again, and it fell off my face as I almost cried into my lunch.
‘Nicholas, you are not normally so easy to read.’ She wiped non-existent crumbs from her mouth. ‘Why aren’t you at work?’
I finished chewing the mouthful I had, and it went down in a lump. ‘I’ve let Abbey take over until Ollie is well.’
‘Abigail has always been exceedingly competent at whatever she did. Swimming lessons, school, boys through her teenage years.’ I snorted a laugh at that. ‘She will do the job you want her to do.’
‘I hope she will do the jobshewants to do,’ I said quietly.
‘Why are you denying you are in love with my granddaughter, Nick? Or are we to have untruths between us?’
‘I care for her,’ was all I could manage. ‘Very much.’
She looked at me thoughtfully and I was certain she was going to call me out on my absolute bullshit, but she seemed to see something, and she held back.
‘Tell me about your wife, Nick. Tell me about your life.’
And so I did. I told her about my whole fucking life.
The police coming to the door to tell us that Mum and Dad were in the accident. Ev’s heartbroken cries and terrified screams as they took her away from me. Oliver’s stoicism in comparison. The lovely people who fostered me and how I was a little prick to them – sullen and silent. How I left them the day I turned eighteen and took possession of my inheritance. The first judge, a guy in his fifties, who told me I was too young to have custody of my teenage siblings. Oliver setting up this credit-card-fraud scheme with his schoolmates and how much money I’d had to pay to cover it up. The second judge, an old-timer, who ruled that if I was old enough to own a multi-million dollar company and vote, I was old enough to be the head of my family. Kids went to war at that age back in his day.
I went to tell her about the day I got married, the light that poured in through the church’s stained-glass windows, but that wasn’t the story that came out. Instead, I told her about the funeral. Details that I did not think about anymore. The flowers – blue hyacinths. The rain. Summer, crying through the whole thing so that the nanny had taken her, and how I had watched her crawl around the grass amongst the gravestones getting mud all over the little white outfit she was wearing instead of watching my wife’s coffin lowered into the ground. How I delivered an economical speech during the funeral service that made it sound as if I only knew Bec in passing. How my brother and sister had made polite conversation, while I sat mutely in the corner of the room at the wake.
Strangely, as I was talking, what kept playing over and over in my mind were Bec’s insults, as the tumour ate her brain and anger filled her soul.
You fucking cunt.
I hate you, Nick. I wish we had never met.
That child you wanted to kill in my womb that looks just like you. I wish you had killed her.
I left that shit out for Iris, but somehow, I felt she knew.
She asked me questions here and there, but mostly she listened.
I asked her about Harry.
‘He was … unexpected. He would sing all the time. His laugh sounded like the perfect song, and he gave the most spontaneous cuddles. He loved with his whole body. He was magic.’
‘That sounds like Abbey.’
‘The greatest love of my life was my second marriage, Nick.’
In the end, she was getting tired, and I stood to leave.
‘Come here, child.’
I went to her, as she held out her arms for a hug. I almost wept. It felt so good to be held.
‘Nick, dearest. You are a young man. Please remember that you did not die. You must live, dear child. Living does not mean working. Please remember that, Nick.’
I’m not ashamed to admit I shed a tear.
‘Iris, I’m leaving for London tomorrow. I can’t stay in Sydney and not be near her.’
She nodded. ‘Goodbye, dear boy.’
I kissed her cheek. ‘Iris, one more thing. I need you to stop calling Abbey feeble.’
