Frankie (20 page)

No. It's not lucky I know a burglar. Not at all.

In fact, I'd say it was unlucky. And this is exactly what I say. To his face.

‘I'll wait,' he says. ‘Tomorrow. Eleven am. In the alley. You can show up. Or not. Your decision.'

He says this to me as I shove him out the front door. He hovers on the front step, hands in pockets and head lowered. I open my mouth but nothing comes out. Frankie Vega: tongue-tied?

He smiles, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he looks at me. ‘Something you want to ask?'

I hug my arms across my chest, fending off the chill. ‘Why are you suddenly helping me?'

He shrugs as he turns and walks away. ‘Nothing better to do,' he says.

__________

I go to bed telling myself that there is no way in hell I'm breaking into Bill Green's house with Nate Wishaw. I am on probation with Vinnie; I know how close I am to messing up everything. I don't even have to sleep on it: decision made.

I actually get a good night's sleep for once. I wake up early the next day and I'm super perky. My complexion is brighter, my eyes clearer, my conscience is super duper squeaky fresh.

Frankie 2.0 is here. And she is
awesome
.

I bound out of bed. I shower, brush my teeth and comb my hair until it's shiny. I decide to wear a dress, which means I need to shave my legs. Back to the shower.

I make small talk with Vinnie over breakfast – mostly veiled attempts to weasel information about her date – all the while checking the clock. Not because I'm waiting for eleven. I want to know when it's five
past
. Or maybe ten past – I have no idea how long he'll hang around. I just want to know when it's
past
the time of temptation.

Not that I'm going.

Not a chance.

I can find out about Bill Green some other way.

Like . . . like . . . like . . .?

Vinnie dumps her bowl in the sink and searches for a cigarette. ‘Seeing as though you're in such a good mood, why don't we go see your nonna?'

I crunch on granola. ‘Sure. That'd be nice,' I say. I say it like I mean it.

Vinnie nods with approval. She's beaming. I'm beaming. The toaster is beaming. If Daniel were here, he'd melt from all the warmth and love and Disney in the room.

Buttons scowls at me from his bench-top throne, but I ignore him. Don't piss on my parade, fuzzball.

I wash my dishes and tell Vinnie I need a second. ‘Just have to get changed.'

The dress was kind of pushing it.

__________

‘That old guy is staring at me,' I whisper in Vinnie's ear. ‘Make him stop.'

She shakes me off. ‘Quit your complaining. We've been here five seconds.'

The old guy with the terry-towelling bathrobe and saggy skin watches me from Peaceful Pines' shared lounge. He's holding onto his IV drip like he's Gandalf and it's his staff: you shall not pass! There are a couple of other old people, but he's the scariest.

Vinnie marches up to the reception desk. ‘Hi, Gloria,' she says. ‘Has she had a good week?'

Gloria has a moustache. It's not even a few wispy hairs – it's a full on set of whiskers. You really can't miss it so obviously Gloria doesn't give a shit. Even though I can't stop looking at it, I've developed a serious girl crush on Gloria for being so damn self-assured.

‘Not so great,' she says with a sympathetic smile. ‘She's fighting with the volunteers again.' Then she turns to me, mouth pinched. ‘And I hear you've been causing trouble.'

‘No more than usual.'

‘You'll drive your aunt into this place if you keep it up,' she says and waves Vinnie on. ‘Go through. Sofia will enjoy having you two pop in.'

As much as I'm crushing on Gloria, she's talking shit. Nonna hates it when we come. Because we never take her home with us. That and she really hates me.

We leave Gloria and the melty-guy in reception and head to room twenty-three. The corridors are narrow and the roof is way too low; I know you shrink when you get old, but I can touch the plaster without even standing on tippy-toes.

My boots squeak on the shiny laminate floor. Vinnie tells me to lift my feet.

As horrible as Peaceful Pines is, Vinnie did a really good job of setting up Nonna's room like her bedroom on Hoddle Street. It's got the crochet blanket her own nonna made for her, photos of all the family (not Juliet though) and doilies everywhere. Nonna is obsessed with doilies.

When we walk in, Nonna's sitting in her armchair by the window, plaid blanket spread across her knees, a forest-green cardigan draped over her shoulders. She looks older than last time I saw her, smaller too.

‘
E che razza di ora sarebbe questa?
' she says, waving her hand at the clock on the wall.

‘I call this three minutes past ten,' I say.

Vinnie walks in and starts fluffing things. The blanket, the cushions, the curtains. She can never sit still when we're with Nonna. She has to be straightening and sorting things.

‘
Vogliono ammazzarmi
,' says Nonna.

‘The nurses are not trying to kill you,' says Vinnie. She looks at me as she's pulling the blanket across the bed, making sure it hangs down the same length on either side. ‘Tell your nonna about school.'

‘Really?'

Her eyes say ‘No, not really'. ‘Of course, really,' she says.

‘Well, I'm top of every class,' I say, ‘and head of the cheerleading squad. They're thinking of erecting a statue in my honour when I graduate.'

Vinnie's staring daggers, but it's not like Nonna's actually listening. Even when she had all her marbles she didn't listen. She complained. She moaned. She accused. But she didn't listen.

I sit on the little footstool we bought to help with the fluid in Nonna's ankles. She never uses it.

‘You want to play cards, Nonna?'

She pulls a hanky out of her cardigan pocket and holds it over her nose and mouth. ‘
Ma,
chi ti ha fatto entrare, Giulietta?
'

My jaw clenches. ‘I'm Francesca, Nonna,' I say. ‘Not Juliet.'

I shove stuff around on the table beside Nonna, looking for playing cards. She used to play Scopa but now she's a fiend for Patience.

I find a pack being used as a coaster for her cold tea.

‘Tell your nonna about that award you won,' says Vinnie. She's going through Nonna's drawers, pulling out her clothes and re-folding them.

I drag the little card table between Nonna and me. ‘It wasn't an award.' I deal us both seven cards. I used to start with five, but Nonna calls me a cheat if she doesn't feel like she has enough cards. ‘It was just a best essay thing. And it was last year. And I've already told her fifty times.' It was one of those sympathy awards, actually. Something they give to troubled kids to make them feel part of school, important and smart and like a winner. It's to stop us from going full-on dark side.

Clearly it works.

‘I was so proud,' says Vinnie, holding up a blue sock and looking around with a frown. ‘
Così fiero.
You should have seen our girl marching up those steps to collect her award.'

‘Not an award.'

I put a card face up on the table. Nonna snaps it up and adds it to her hand.

‘I wish you'd worn that dress like I asked you to,' says Vinnie.

‘We had to wear uniform.'

‘But you look so pretty in that dress.
La mia bella principessa.
'

I place another card on the table, this time I try face down. Nonna picks a card from the pack and puts it on top of mine.

She holds her cards close to her chest, practically in her bra. ‘Don't cheat.'

‘How can I cheat if I don't know the rules?'

‘You know, I really need to talk to them about the way they fold your clothes,' says Vinnie. ‘Does this sock have a pair?'

‘Your turn, Nonna,' I say. I haven't had my turn yet but I'm worried about running out of cards.

A bit of pink tongue peeks out from the corner of her lips as she looks at her hand. There used to be a time when Nonna would never have left the house without her hair set and her lips painted with Peach Dreams. Now her hair hangs in limp, grey clumps; she won't let the trainee hairdressers touch her because she thinks they poison her. If they've spent more than five minutes with her it could be true.

She slaps two cards on the table, a seven of clubs and a king. ‘Pair.'

I check the time: ten-thirteen.

‘They poison my food,' says Nonna.

‘No, they don't,' says Vinnie. ‘But I think they might be stealing your socks. I'm going to have a word with Gloria. Back in a sec.' She waves the sock at me as she heads to the door. I don't know if that's a warning for me to behave myself or an extension of her anger at the sock-stealing staff of Peaceful Pines. Maybe both.

Nonna laughs and points her cards at me. ‘
She
steals.
Giulietta è un seme cattivo.
'

At least
I
don't stink of pee.

‘Hush, Ma,' says Vinnie, bustling out the door.

My jaw is clenched so tight the muscles down the front of my neck are starting to ache. ‘I'm Francesca, Nonna.
Not
Juliet.' I drop a five of clubs on the table and pick up a replacement. ‘Your turn.'

Nonna looks at me. Narrowed eyes. ‘
Ti ho detto di andartene, Giulietta,
' she says. ‘How dare you show your face again.'

For the love of Gloria's moustache . . .

I lean in close. ‘Fran-chess-car.'

She waves me away. ‘I'm not deaf.'

I've never gotten the full story of what happened between Nonna and Juliet. I'm pretty sure Juliet getting preggo with me at seventeen didn't help. That and the drugs. And the things she did for money. Nonna didn't want to take me in, but Vinnie won that argument. It's not like it's my fault Juliet didn't put a ring on it.

I lay down a card, face down, and pick up another.

‘Nonna,' I say, flicking the edges of the cards still in my hand. ‘You haven't heard from Juliet, have you?'

She presses her lips together and picks up my five of clubs, sliding it between the cards already in her hand. I wait but she doesn't say anything.

‘She had another kid,' I say. ‘You've got a grandson.'

She looks at me, frowning.

When I find Xavier, after I'm done beating the crap out of him for lying to me and freaking me out, I'll bring him here to meet Nonna. She'll love him. Vinnie always said Nonna preferred the boys, always smiling at Terry even when he lied, stole and cheated. When she meets Xavier she'll pinch his dimples and coo at him.

‘Do you hear me, Nonna?' She squints at me, lips pressed into a firm, thin line. ‘She had another kid and she kept him. You always said she never saw anything through. Well, she did. She kept him.'

Nonna lays down a card. A knave. I see her throat contract as she swallows. It's hot in this room. Old people always have the heat up too high.

‘His name is Xavier. He's fourteen. He's got shit taste in music and he does dumb things like Uncle Terry but he's all right. He's an artist.'

I try picturing Xavier in this stale, floral-patterned room. Would he sketch Nonna on the back of a doily? Would he teach her to play Texas holdem? Would he chat up Gloria or one of the volunteers? Would he steal Nonna's meds, or her stash of money under the mattress, or the jewellery Terry nicked for her, hidden in an old biscuit tin at the bottom of her wardrobe?

I pick up a card from the pack – seven of swords. ‘I'm going to ask Xavier about Queensland. When I find him. I've never been to Queensland. Have you? Feels like everyone's been but me.'

I lay my seven on top of hers. ‘Snap.'

There's a second of silence – wrinkled-brow, narrowed-eyed silence – and then Nonna throws her cards at me. ‘Cheater!
Baro!
'

I hold my hands in front of my face and shrink back as cards fly at me. I guess we're not playing Snap.

‘
Baro!
'

She reaches out to claw at my face, but I jerk out of her reach and fall backwards off the footstool.

Ouch.

Seriously ouch.

It's not like Nonna doesn't do this every time – mistakes me for Juliet, yells at me, calls me all the bad words she can think of and then falls asleep, drooling. But it doesn't usually end like this. Me sprawled on the floor; bum aching, face flushed, biting my tongue because I don't want to start swearing and I really don't want to start crying.

‘
Ti ho detto di andartene
,' says Nonna. She's got her hands in her hair, pulling at the grey clumps. ‘You were born bad. I wash my hands of you.'

A cry catches in my throat. I keep it back with a hand pressed over my mouth.