Being Bee (5 page)

I stayed with Nanna on the weekend because Dad and Jazzi wanted to go away. I suggested they take me too, but Dad laughed and tugged my hair and said that wouldn't be the most romantic thing now would it? They wanted some child-free time, he said, not that I wasn't the best girl in the world but he and Jazzi wanted to go out for dinner and tell each other soppy things over a glass or two of champagne.

I told him that I didn't mind, but asked if he and I could have a Jazzi-free weekend sometime too. I reminded him that I hardly ever seemed to see him by himself these days, and although Jazzi might be
wonderful I wanted to do some of the things Dad and I used to do together, before Jazzi.

‘It seems fair,' I said, ‘if you and Jazzi can go away without me, that you and I can stay home without her.'

‘Well, yes, I suppose so, Bee. But let's not put it to Jazzi quite like that, okay? She might be hurt.'

‘You put it to me like that,' I said.

‘But I've known you all my life,' Dad said, ‘and I can trust you to understand and not be hurt. You're a sensible kid, Bee. You know that adults need time away together and that I love you and always will and that has nothing to do with Jazzi and me.'

I didn't feel sensible. I felt hurt but I couldn't tell Dad that.

‘Where are you going?'

‘Daylesford,' Dad said. ‘It's got everything – good restaurants, some shops that Jazzi will love, and I'll book a spa for us, too. The water is supposed to have special healing properties. I think Jazzi would like that, don't you?'

‘I guess so. Is it the beach?'

‘Good heavens no, it's the mountains.'

I felt better then. I wouldn't have been able to be sensible about the beach.

In the end I had a good weekend anyway. I beat Nanna and Stan at poker and won seven dollars and eighty-five cents. We went to see a movie together and
to the Jade Cherry Blossom for dinner.

‘Makes a change,' Nanna said.

‘Not as spicy as Thai,' Stan said. ‘I think I'll have sweet and sour pork.'

‘Jazzi doesn't like Chinese food,' I said. ‘She said it's got too much MG something in it and that they use too much food colouring to make things look red and shiny.'

‘Ssh, Bee.'

‘Sorry.' I thought I'd whispered quietly, but Nanna looked around worriedly in case someone had heard me. They hadn't though, because they brought us over free prawn crackers. That could have been because of Stan. He always ate there on movie night. He had pizza or pasta at Bella Mama's on Tuesdays, the Polish Club on Thursdays, his own cabbage soup on Fridays and the rest of the time Nanna took pity on him.

‘I enjoy a multicultural diet,' he told me once. ‘In this beautiful country of ours, I can eat a different nationality every night of the week.'

‘So where were your dad and his girlfriend going again?' Stan asked.

‘Daylesford,' I told him. ‘It's in the mountains.'

‘Ah, Daylesford. They will be enjoying a romantic spa together. It is a beautiful place. I should take your Nanna there. What do you say, Patreeecia. We deserve a romantic weekend too.'

‘Oh, Stan, at our age. What a suggestion!'

‘Well, if not at our age, when? Soon we'll be dead, Patreeecia. That's what happens at our age.'

‘You're not that old,' I said, ‘either of you.' But secretly I thought even Dad was a bit too old for a romantic weekend.

‘I think we should do more at our age.' Stan reached across the table and grabbed Nanna's hand. ‘It is nice at our age to do unexpected, pleasurable things. There are some things you should never be too old to do. Like a spa, for example. It would be good for our arthritis.'

‘You get these essential oils put in them,' I told him. ‘They probably have something for arthritis.'

‘There you are, Bee agrees with me.'

‘Oh, Stan.' But Nanna didn't take her hand away, I noticed, and Stan held it until our meal arrived.

I meant to ask Nanna if that meant she was Stan's girlfriend, but I forgot because we didn't get home until late.

When Dad got back from Daylesford I told him he should give all his Daylesford brochures to Stan, so that he and Nanna could chose somewhere to stay. Dad looked a bit surprised, so I didn't tell him about the hand-holding at the Jade Cherry Blossom. He and Jazzi brought me back a bead bracelet from Daylesford and Jazzi had some wool she'd bought there.

‘For a vest for your dad,' she said. ‘It has to be a vest, not a jumper.'

‘Why?'

‘Because of the Boyfriend Jumper Curse.' She laughed but she looked hard at Dad when she said it.

‘The what?'

‘Knitting wisdom says that as soon as you make a jumper for a boyfriend, the relationship breaks up.'

‘That's just not going to happen,' Dad said, hugging her.

‘That's right – because I'm not making a jumper. I'm making a vest.'

‘Why would someone dump you for making them a jumper?'

‘You should see some of those jumpers,' Dad joked, keeping one arm around Jazzi. ‘But not my chocolate vest – it will be the envy of the office.'

‘So has that happened to you?' I asked Jazzi.

‘No, but I've never knitted a boyfriend a jumper.'

‘Because of the curse?'

‘Well, you have to like someone an awful lot to make a jumper for them.'

‘What about husbands? Is there a husband jumper curse? And what about Stan and Nanna? She's making him a jumper.'

‘Husbands are different,' Jazzi said, ‘and Stan's different too. He wouldn't dump your Nanna.'

‘So you can make a husband a jumper?'

‘Of course.'

‘How come?'

‘Because ... well, I suppose because once you're married to someone ... well, I don't know, Beatrice, I've never been married. Ask your dad.'

‘I don't know anything about knitting,' Dad said, ‘but I do know there's ice-cream in the freezer for anyone who wants dessert.'

‘Is there a girlfriend jumper curse?' I asked. This cursing thing was getting to me. I wanted to know.

‘What?'

‘Well, suppose I knitted something for Sally or Lucy, not that I would because we're not talking anymore, but if we were and I did, then would she dump me as a friend? Or suppose I was going out with a guy who knitted ... I mean, I don't know that any guys do, but if they did and I was with one and he knitted me a jumper, a really cool jumper in my favourite colours, would I dump him? And if you dump someone when they've knitted you something, do you have to give it back?'

‘Bee, I think this is taking an odd little superstition just a bit far, okay?' Dad said.

‘There are some knitters,' Jazzi said, ‘that get their boyfriends to sign contracts before they start knitting a jumper.'

‘Contracts?'

‘Mmm. So, for example, I'd get your dad to sign a contract stating that if he dumped ... I mean, if the relationship between us ended, say, up to six months after the jumper was finished, I'd get to keep the jumper. He'd have to give it back.'

‘You're making this up,' Dad said, laughing.

‘No, Nick, it's true. Why not? Think of the time and effort that gets put into something like a man's jumper. The yarn alone – well, the yarn for your vest wasn't exactly cheap. If you spend time making something, you want it to be the best possible thing you can make, don't you? You don't want to skimp on the yarn or do a second-rate design. You want it to be a work of art. It should be a work of art. Something you can hand over with pride and something the other person can wear with pride.'

‘It's only knitting.' Dad smiled. ‘I mean, it's not Michelangelo's ceiling or anything. It's just a jumper.'

I thought for a minute I could see tears coming into Jazzi's eyes, but she turned away from us before I could be certain and busied herself in the cutlery drawer, getting ice-cream spoons. When she turned back, she wore a half-smile on her face.

‘Perhaps knitting is as close as you can get to the Sistine Chapel. Perhaps knitting is your way of expressing, not just love for the recipient of the
knitting but love of colour, texture and pattern. And you know you're not Michelangelo, because you failed art because the art teacher was some ghastly woman who thought you should be more like your ... well, someone else, and you weren't, but you were good with some things and colour and patterns were those things. So what you do with your knitting is as important to you as Michelangelo's chapel was to him. I'd want a contract to get back that knitting.'

‘Well, yes,' Dad said, ‘I'm sure you would. And I'd be happy to sign one, believe me.'

‘Oh, Nick, I didn't mean you. I'm sorry. I just meant in general.'

‘Wouldn't it be better if they wore it and felt really bad because they'd dumped you?' I asked.

‘No,' Jazzi said.

‘Let's change the subject,' Dad said. ‘Who wants this ice-cream?'

I had plans for my Jazzi-free weekend. The first thing Dad and I did was go to the pool and he held the hoop for me to dive through. We had pies for lunch, which we never had when Jazzi was around. And in the afternoon we played games. I beat him four out of nine games of advanced connectors. He played randomly, whereas I had real strategy.

We were to go to Bella Mama's for pizza and then to the movies but the phone rang.

‘If that's Jazzi,' I hissed at him, but he silenced me with a warning look.

‘Hello? No, of course not, darling. What's wrong?'

It
was
Jazzi. I didn't want to hear anything more, but I didn't want to let him talk to her in private either, so I poured myself a glass of juice and sat down at the kitchen table. Served him right for not having a cordless phone like everyone else.

‘Darling, that's terrible. No ... well, I don't know. You've got notice, at least. Maybe the son will want to keep tenants ... Oh, that complicates things, doesn't it. Still I'm sure we can find you somewhere ... Of course I'll help. More than happy, darling, after all the things you do for me. No, it won't be any trouble ... Don't you worry about anything, darling. Maybe you'd like ... Just a minute, I'll check something...'

I knew what was coming. I wanted to put my fingers in my ears but I couldn't because Dad had his best puppy dog look on.

‘Bee, sweetheart, Jazzi's upset. The old lady who owned her flat has died and the son's given her notice. I know we've organised this weekend together but she is terribly upset. Would it be okay with you if she joined us for dinner and the movies? Please?'

Somehow Dad made his brown eyes all soft and then he ducked his head the way he does when he really wants something, like the last piece of chocolate.
I can't say no when he looks like that.

‘You'll just talk about the flat and everything.'

‘Not until you go to bed, I promise.'

‘I'm staying up late tonight, remember.'

‘We still won't talk about it. Well, at least not after Jazzi's told us the whole story, okay?'

‘The whole story will take
hours.
It will be boring.'

‘She's upset, sweetie. If one of your friends was upset, you'd want to help.'

‘Not if it was going to be boring and take forever.'

‘Bee, please?'

‘Tell her she can only talk about the flat for five minutes, okay?'

‘It's a deal.'

I timed her and she talked for fifteen minutes and thirty seconds exactly before the pizza arrived. But she did apologise for interrupting my weekend with Dad and she looked pretty terrible, as though she hadn't slept much, so I sort of forgave her. Also I had pizza and tiramisu which is just the best thing you can eat, and I had a choc top at the movies, too, and neither Jazzi nor Dad said anything, although ordinarily the rule is that you can have dessert and no choc top or a choc top and no dessert.

But the next morning, of course, she was there and Dad wouldn't do anything with me, as he was too busy looking up flats for rent online. We didn't even have
the breakfast I wanted – pancakes and maple syrup. There were no eggs and Dad wouldn't go to the supermarket because Jazzi wanted to start looking that very morning, and ‘No, Bee, it couldn't wait'. I had toast with the last of the jam, the awful last bits that everyone else leaves because there are bits of butter in them and even an ant or two. Dad claimed that the ants were toast crumbs and washed them quickly down the sink before I had a chance to point out the little legs to him.

It was shortly after that that Jazzi burst into tears. I'd never seen her cry before, not really cry out loud. It was interesting. Her mascara smudged all over her face and she bit her lipstick off so her lips went totally pale. She put her hands over her face as though she didn't want us to see her, but all that did was mess up her hair.