Etiquette for a Dinner Party (6 page)

'I'll bring more blankets for tonight.' .

Hannah has stopped crying. She leans into her mother's side. She refuses to look at her grandmother. She whispers into her mother's shoulder that she doesn't want to stay.

'I don't want to see her die,' she says. Her chin wobbles and the tears come again. 'Do I have to watch her die?'

'No,' says June, holding her close. She looks at Luke, who is crying again too, and wonders whether it was a good idea to let the children see their grandmother like this. It will be their last memory of her.

'Here,' she says, reaching into her handbag. 'Take the keys and get the soccer ball out of the boot. Go and have a kick around on the park.'

Hannah, who hates soccer, is first out the door. .

The books the pensioners have brought for Mrs Harrison are stacked on her bedside table. Most of them are historical romances, library books out on loan for two weeks.

The book on the top of the pile is a small, thin paperback. There is a dark green leather bookmark protruding from inside the front cover. The edges of the bookmark are embossed with gold. Ewan recognises the bookmark as one he brought back from a holiday in Rotorua. He pulls it out and picks up the book.

'She must have been reading this one before she came in,' he says. The book has a black cover, with a drawing of an old bearded man writing on white paper with an old-fashioned fountain pen. The title is
The Death of Ivan Ilyich
and the author is Leo Tolstoy. Across the top of the cover is a thin red strip, with the words Bantam Classic. He holds the book up to June.

'It's not one of her usual writers,' says June. 'Looks a bit depressing.'

'Don't ask me,' says Ewan. 'You know me and books.'

He turns the book over, reads out loud from the back cover. 'The world's supreme masterpiece on the subject of death and dying . . . a thoroughly absorbing and, at times, terrifying glimpse into the abyss of death.'

Ewan puts the book back down on the pile and runs his fingers along the gold edges of the bookmark.

'The bookmark was in the front. Maybe she hadn't started it, do you reckon?'

'Probably not,' says June. 'If the bookmark was in the front. Definitely not, I'd say.' .

Colleen arrives with a brown cardboard box. It is huge — twice the width of her, and she is a big woman. She sets the box down across the armrests of the recliner chair and hugs Ewan and June.

Colleen is Mrs Harrison's neighbour and closest friend. They have known each other for thirty years, though Colleen is fifteen years younger than Mrs Harrison. It is her third visit in the five days, and each time she brings food.

'How is she?' she asks, looking at Mrs Harrison.

'She's good, resting well.'

June holds Colleen tight, feels her big wobbly body twitching. Colleen's tears come quickly. Again. It is like this every visit.

'Has she woken up?' Colleen is embarrassed, and tries to compose herself. She breathes deeply and wipes at her eyes with a tissue.

'No, but she's peaceful. No pain.'

Inside the box there is a huge bacon and egg pie, three dozen little savouries and two packets of chocolate biscuits.

'I figured you wouldn't have eaten today, so I did a big one,' says Colleen, cutting into the pie with a knife that was taped to the lid of the box. 'It's a dozen-egger.'

'You beauty,' says Ewan.

He is starving. He lifts a slice of the pie out and starts eating. Pastry falls away, on to his crumpled shirt and over the floor.

June has had breakfast, but the smell of pastry and pie is too much to resist. She eats one savoury, then another.

The soccer ball comes through the open French doors, bounces once on the floor, then lands in the middle of the bed. On top of Mrs Harrison. June and Ewan leap to their feet, but Luke gets there first.

'Sorry Gran,' he shouts. He plucks the ball from the white sheet and races out the door.

Mrs Harrison sleeps on, mouth open, lipless. .

Colleen sits next to Mrs Harrison. She takes in her face, then looks at the white sheet rising and falling. She gently takes the old woman's hand in her own.

'You know, I miss her already. She was wonderful, your mum.'

'I know. She's a real lady. From another time really.' June's voice chokes. She won't speak of her mother in the past tense.

'You're exactly right, that's what she is. She's a lady. Gentle, kind, not one to push her point of view on anything. An ordinary person. Funny, when you think about it.'

'Funny?' June smiles at Colleen.

'No, I don't mean your mum is funny. I mean, it's funny that there are still ordinary people around. You know, the sort that are just there. They just quietly get on with their lives, without making a drama about things.'

June knows what she means. She has been to funerals where there have been a lot of 'remember when' stories. She can't think of one story like that to tell about her mother. Maybe those sorts of memories come later. After.

Colleen can't control her emotions. She puts her head on the side of the bed and cries again.

'Sorry,' she says. She gets up and walks out into the corridor, leans against the wall under the sign that says: In Case of Fire, Please Exit in an Orderly Fashion.

Ewan sighs and rolls his eyes at June. Then he follows Colleen out, holds her while she sobs.

'It's alright, Colleen,' he says, dry-eyed. 'It's alright.' .

There are ripe, heavy buds on the trees and the air is thick with pollen. Ewan goes out to the veranda and sits on the wooden railing, sneezing and coughing and rubbing his red eyes. The hay fever sneaked up on him this year. His medication is at home.

He blinks in the strong sunlight and watches his niece and nephews kick the soccer ball around the field. He feels exhausted, and tries to count the number of days and nights since he slept well. He cannot remember. He moves further away from the doorway and lights a cigarette.

A door opens behind him, and Reg Bryant comes out of the room next to Mrs Harrison's. Reg and Ewan have known each other all their lives. Reg is blinking in the sunlight too, scratching his head and stretching.

'Ewan. I never realised it was you next door.' Reg reaches out, shakes Ewan's hand. 'It's your mum, eh?'

'Yes. Yours too?'

'Yeah. Not long to go now.'

Ewan offers Reg a cigarette and they smoke in silence, watching the kids play.

'You busy with work?' Reg asks.

'Pretty full on. Not much I can do right now though,' says Ewan.

Reg finishes his cigarette, stubs it out under his foot on the decking.

'I've got to go into town soon. You guys need anything in there?'

'Nothing I can think of right now,' says Ewan. 'But there's bound to be something.'

'I'll give you a yell before I go, see if you need anything, eh?'

'Cheers.'

Ewan returns to his mother, to the remaining empty armchair in the room. The children follow him inside and sit silently on the bench stool. They say nothing. Everyone watches the white sheet rising, falling. .

At three o'clock, Mrs Harrison's arms fly up into the air, as though she is reaching for something on a high shelf. Hands outstretched, lunging. Her eyes open, for just a moment, and she stares straight ahead.

'Wiener schnitzel,' she says. Then she resumes her sleep. Eyes closed, mouth open, head tilted to one side.

It is some time before they dare to take their eyes off her. They look at each other.

'Jesus Christ,' says Ewan, softly. 'What was that about?'

'Jesus Christ,' repeats Josh. 'Gran woke up, Mum. She's hungry. Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ.' He does a little dance at the end of the bed, rocking sideways foot to foot. 'Wiener schnitzel, wiener schnitzel . . . I'm hungry. Gran and me are hungry.'

'Should we call a doctor?' says June. She is leaning forward in her armchair, half in and half out, as though in the starting blocks for a running race.

They look at Mrs Harrison again.

'What for, ask him to cook her schnitzel?' says Ewan. He shakes his head, his eyes fill with tears. He looks down at his shoes, his jiggling knees. When he looks up again, he is smiling.