Dinner at Rose's (46 page)

‘Mate.’

‘Mate.’

‘How’s it going?’

‘Beauty.’

These formalities having been observed, Scotty put down his motorbike helmet and turned to Kim. ‘I’m sorry about your aunt,’ he said.

‘Thanks,’ said Kim.

He unzipped his leather jacket and shrugged it off. ‘She was a top lady.’

Kim nodded. ‘Y-yes,’ she whispered. Andy tore a paper towel off the roll on the windowsill and wordlessly passed it over, and she wiped her eyes. ‘Thank you.’ She rested her cheek against his shoulder, and he put his arms around her.

The tenderness in this little display made my throat ache, but Scotty was affected quite differently. He tightened his mouth into a disapproving line, hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans and did his best to look scary. His best wasn’t bad, just quietly.

‘So,’ he said. ‘Andy, wasn’t it? You’re in a band, I hear.’

Andy looked somewhat taken aback. ‘Uh, no,’ he said.

‘That was the last one,’ I explained. ‘We quite like this one.’

‘Hmm,’ said Scotty.

‘Scott,’ Kim said wearily, ‘don’t be a dick.’

‘Don’t you get fresh with
me
, young lady. I remember the day you laid an enormous turd and painted a window with it.’

‘
Scotty!
’

‘That was mean,’ I observed.

‘I wasn’t even a year
old
!’

‘Man, it was disgusting,’ Scotty continued reminiscently. ‘Were you there, Jo?’

‘No,’ I said. And as punishment for that exceptionally low blow I added, ‘I wasn’t there when you got caught short on that bus in Jordan, either.’ Matt had, however, described the incident in vivid detail over the phone.

‘I was sick,’ he protested. ‘And the bastard driver wouldn’t stop. It could have happened to anyone.’

‘I heard he stopped, alright. And you had to get changed on the side of the road, and you tried to scrape your clothes clean with a stick, and then he made you leave them behind anyway.’

Scott grinned, unembarrassed. ‘Pissed me right off,’ he said. ‘
And
it was my Rip Curl boardies. They cost me a fortune, and I had to leave them in that miserable desert.’

Andy smiled and picked up his keys, looking somewhat relieved that he wasn’t, after all, going to be beaten up by a rat-tailed thug. ‘What time are we starting in the morning?’ he asked.

‘Cups on at five?’ I suggested. ‘Sorry.’

‘See you at the shed at four-thirty, then,’ he said gallantly.

‘Nah,’ I said. ‘Make it five. I’ll get the cows.’

‘Sure?’

‘Yep. Thank you so much for all of this, Andy.’

‘It’s nothing,’ he said, ducking his head in embarrassment.

‘No it isn’t,’ Kim said softly. She reached up and kissed his cheek.

‘Ahem!’ said Scotty pointedly.

‘Shut up, Scotty.’

‘I’ll take you home to get a change of clothes and then drop you back here,’ Andy offered. ‘Okay, Jo?’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘But why don’t you just return her in the morning?’

Scotty’s eyes fairly bulged with horror.

‘That’s okay,’ said Kim, and they retreated back into their sockets.

‘Good girl,’ he told her approvingly.

Andy looked somewhat downcast.

‘I’m not leaving you here by yourself,’ Kim told me.

‘I have Spud,’ I pointed out.

Kim looked across the kitchen at Spud, who was stretched flat on his side in front of the stove, snoring gently. ‘Yeah, but he’s about a hundred years old. And he doesn’t have any teeth.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Hey, Scotty?’

‘Mm?’

‘Want to stay the night and look after Josie?’

‘What, while you traipse off with this seedy-looking bugger? No offence, mate.’

‘None taken,’ said Andy cordially.

‘Good man.’ He sighed. ‘Oh, alright, then. Piss off.’

‘Cup of tea?’ I offered as Andy’s car vanished down the drive at high speed – in case the chaperones changed their minds, presumably.

‘Why not?’ said Scotty idly, leaning back against the kitchen bench. ‘What happened to your car?’

‘I ran into a pillar in the hospital car park.’ I hefted the kettle experimentally, found it was nearly full and switched it on.

‘Blinded by tears as you rushed to Matt’s bedside, were you?’

‘Shut up, Scotty.’

‘Well,
there’s
a nice thankyou for dropping all my Friday-night plans and rushing over to make sure you were alright.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said repentantly. ‘Did you have Friday-night plans?’

‘Of course I did,’ said Scott. ‘You know me. Booked up for months in advance – new woman on my arm every week . . .’

‘Waimanu’s most eligible bachelor,’ I agreed.

‘There’s no need to be sarcastic.’

‘I wasn’t!’ I said. ‘Chocolate biscuit to go with your cup of tea?’

‘You can’t just buy my forgiveness with chocolate biscuits, you know.’

‘Not even Jaffa Thins?’

‘Nope.’ He looked pensive. ‘Mallowpuffs, perhaps.’

‘I
am
sorry,’ I said. ‘Thank you for coming over. How did you know Matt was in hospital?’

‘He rang just before,’ Scotty said.

‘How did he sound?’

‘Like a bloke who’s been run over by a truck.’

I winced.

‘He’ll be alright,’ said Scott comfortingly. ‘Very hard man to kill. He asked me to come and check up on you.’

‘Oh,’ I said, slightly taken aback. ‘Thank you.’ It’s funny how when you become the girlfriend you are instantly transformed in the eyes of your partner from reasonably capable adult to delicate blossom. It’s sort of sweet, I suppose.

‘So,
are
you okay?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ I assured him. ‘Although Aunty Rose’s house feels all wrong without Aunty Rose in it.’

‘I always liked coming up here,’ Scott said. ‘You always got put to work, but you didn’t mind. She was a very cool lady.’

‘She was,’ I agreed, hunting through the biscuit cupboard and finding that we had neither Thins nor Mallowpuffs. Very poor form from the grocery shopper – we would have to settle for Shrewsburys, and jam in a biscuit is a poor substitute for chocolate.

‘When’s the funeral?’ Scotty asked.

‘I don’t know. Wednesday, perhaps. But they might put it off if Matt’s still in hospital. Hey, Scotty, would you mind coming round the cows with me before you go?’ I would probably be able to find the calving cow by myself, but my chances of cutting her out and getting her to the shed without bringing everyone else too were slim to none.

‘I’m staying the night, aren’t I?’

‘I wouldn’t,’ I said morosely. ‘Every bit of this house except the kitchen is freezing, and most of it’s underwater.’

We had our cup of tea, went round the cows and decided that any more work on the swamp in the hall was above and beyond the call of duty. So we had a brief argument about whether or not I was fit to be left alone for the night, and then retired to bed.

‘Hey, Jo?’ Scotty called as I went down the hall from the bathroom.

I looked around the kitchen door. He was stretched on the chaise longue with a blanket, and he lifted his head and said, ‘I know a bloke who’ll fix your car up for you. Panels, paint – the lot. Under the table.’

‘Does this bloke spend most of his time repainting stolen cars?’ I asked.

He grinned. ‘That would be telling.’

I grinned back. ‘’Night, Scotty. Thanks for staying.’ I didn’t really believe the man lurked on the fringes of the criminal underworld, but he liked us thinking he did.

Chapter 41

I
WENT DOWN
the corridor of ward twelve, turned expectantly into the end room – and found the far bed occupied by an elderly Indian man with his leg in traction.

‘King?’ repeated the nurse on reception. She shook her head. ‘Not in here. Perhaps he’s in a different ward.’

‘He was here this morning,’ I said. ‘I talked to him on the phone. I’ve come to take him home.’

‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Then he’ll be waiting in reception.’

It took me another fifteen minutes to locate him, during which I think I toured most of the hospital. But finally, more by accident than design, I stumbled into a reception area and found Matt reading
The New Zealand Gardener
, wrapped in a dark green velvet dressing-gown and with a lock of hair falling most artistically over his brow. ‘G’day,’ he said.

‘G’day. How are you feeling?’

‘Better.’

I bent and kissed him. ‘You look a bit like Hugh Hefner.’

‘Thanks,’ said Matt, somewhat sourly. ‘You didn’t bring me a change of clothes, by any chance?’

‘Never even occurred to me. I’d better go and get you a wheelchair; it’s a fair distance to the car.’

‘I can walk,’ he said. ‘I’m alright once I’m up. It’s just getting there that’s the problem.’

I helped him to his feet and picked up his bag, and we began to make our way slowly across the room. ‘Your mum and I played paper-scissors-rock to decide who’d get to come and pick you up,’ I told him. ‘Best of three. It went to the wire.’

‘I’m honoured,’ said Matt.

‘I lost.’

‘Don’t make me laugh,’ he said. ‘It hurts.’

‘No, I did lose, but then the vicar rang wanting to go over the music for tomorrow. So I was allowed to come after all.’

‘Ah.’

We progressed in silence through the doors and along a corridor, hugging the wall as official-looking people bustled past.

‘I don’t really believe she’s dead,’ he said suddenly.

‘Me neither. I think of something I want to tell her a dozen times a day, and each time it comes as a shock that I can’t.’ We were passed by an obese woman with a walker and a moon-boot, which was a little discouraging. Wheelchair?’

‘No, thank you,’ said Matt with dignity. ‘I’m coming along nicely.’

‘So’s Christmas,’ I murmured.

‘Oh, shut up. I thought women were supposed to be gentle and nurturing.’

‘Bad luck,’ I said sympathetically. ‘You must just have got a dud one.’

Matt sighed. ‘Yeah,’ he agreed. He reached for my hand, and I slid my fingers down between his.

‘Can you remember the accident?’ I asked.

‘Most of it, I think. The ambulance ride – God, that’s a lousy way to travel – and poor Cilla trying to get me out from under the bike.’

‘Hmph,’ I said.

‘Hmph?’

‘
Poor
Cilla? She made quite a good job of flattening you.’

Matt smiled tiredly. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘fair enough, I suppose. I haven’t treated her very well.’ He stopped and leant against the wall. ‘Might need that wheelchair after all, Jose.’

‘ERIC!’ CALLED MUM
. ‘Eric, where are you?’ She rammed a final bobby pin into the knot of hair at the nape of her neck and frowned at it critically in the bathroom mirror. ‘Where
is
the man? We need to go. Josie, are you ready?’

I was, and having winkled Dad out of the bedroom, undone and retied his tie and removed a rogue stain from the lapel of his only jacket, we departed for the church.

It was a huge funeral. The Presbyterian church was crammed full, with people shoulder to shoulder all round the walls and another thirty on the steps outside.

Matt gave the eulogy (as requested by his aunt), white-faced and with great dark smudges under his eyes. His shaky progress to and from the podium, coupled with that careless lock of hair tumbling Byronically across his brow, gave a beautifully dramatic effect. Aunty Rose would have loved it. I could almost hear her appreciative murmur, ‘Simply dripping with pathos, isn’t it, Josephine? Marvellous stuff.’

We didn’t, after all, sing ‘Another One Bites the Dust’ as the coffin was carried out; Hazel and the vicar had settled instead on the more traditional ‘How Great Thou Art’. And Aunty Rose’s old adversary the mayor was pressed into service as a coffin bearer to replace Matt.

Rose Adele Thornton, born in Bath, England, died in Waimanu, New Zealand, a mere fifty-three years later. Adept and compassionate nurse, fervent advocate of animal welfare, champion of correct diction and tireless crusader against the misuse of apostrophes. Experimental chef, peerless aunt, brave sufferer and true friend. She had the grace and courage to thoroughly enjoy a life which denied her everything she most wanted. The bravest woman I ever knew.