What Love Is (10 page)

Final Waiting Room of Life

11 March

What a day! Up early this morning to feed Ata, then pack the car, every available space filled with baby stuff and the car seat taking up so much room, but at least Bevan’s dad was able to anchor it into Mum’s old car.

Perhaps Ata picked up on our anxiety – she was grizzly the whole way down. I made Mum stop at Huntly to try to figure out why she was so whiny, but she refused the breast, her nappy was dry and she didn’t feel hot, so I jumped back in the car and we carried on.

We went to the unit first to dump all our stuff, and then we went to the rest home. They were just starting to move Nonna, and it was apparent why they needed us because Nonna was talking in Italian again and not responding to English.

“You’ll need to talk to her and tell her what’s happening,” they said.

Ata choose that moment to break into a high-pitched wail. One of the caregivers stepped forward, “Do you want me to take care of the baby while you talk to your grandmother?”

I was reluctant to hand Ata over, but I knew that they could take care of her, they were nurses after all. I felt a wrench at placing her in the caregiver’s arms. Mum didn’t offer.

“Hello, Nonna,” I said in Italian as I went in.

“Are you taking me home, child?”

“No, Nonna, not yet,” I said. “They’re moving you to another room.”

“I like this one.”

“Yes, I know, Nonna, but you need looking after.”

“I can take care of myself.”

But I knew from looking at her that she couldn’t look after herself. She was thinner and had shrunken in on herself. She’d always been small and now looked even smaller, her wrinkled skin hanging like the clothes on a stick figure. Her movements were slow and she couldn’t get out of her chair. It took two caregivers to get her into a wheelchair.

She was silent as we wheeled her down the corridor, into a lift, down a few floors and into another wing of the rest home. While this was still modern and new, it had the look and feel of a hospital about it, and this was confirmed when we entered the room in which Nonna would stay. It was big, with its own bathroom, but there was a proper hospital bed as opposed to the ordinary single bed in her previous room, and there was lino on the floor instead of carpet. The room was empty apart from the bed, as Nonna’s chest of drawers and armchair still had to come down from her old room. To me it seemed sterile and unfriendly.

A familiar sound behind me alerted me to the fact that the caregiver holding Ata was close behind me. I had no idea where Mum was.

“We’ll get your grandmother settled in bed first,” the other caregiver said. “She can get into the armchair when it comes down.”

I took Ata, and waited while they lifted Nonna onto the bed. She sat there looking a little dazed, and then she turned her head and fixed her eyes on me.

“Ah, Patty, have you brought little Gina to see me?”

Patty is my mother’s name. “No, Nonna, it’s me, Gina, and this your great-granddaughter, Ata.”

Nonna frowned and looked at me.

“Poor Mamma,” she said, like she had said when she had first moved in. “Poor Mamma, sins of the fathers.”

Then she turned and looked out of the window. Mum came bustling in, saying, “The rest of the stuff is coming.” She looked around the room, and kind of deflated like a balloon as if the significance of this room had suddenly hit her. It was the final waiting room of life. In a moment of clarity I realized that someone must have died for us to be able to move Nonna into this room. I backed out of the door, Ata crying in my arms, and almost collided with the men bringing the armchair on a large trolley.

“Sorry, miss,” said one of the men. “Are you all right?”

“Is there somewhere I can go?” I asked, glancing down at Ata.

“Yes, there’s a lounge just down the corridor. There shouldn’t be anyone in there at this time of the day.”

I stumbled down the corridor and found an empty room with couches, armchairs and a TV in it. It looked like a normal lounge in a family home, complete with oil painting over the fake fireplace. I sank down onto one of the chairs and held Ata to me. She immediately started rooting for my breast, so I sat back and let her feed. As if sensing that I needed some peace, she drank quietly, her eyes staring up into mine as they always do, her little fingers curled around my index finger.

I bent down and placed a kiss on her forehead.

“It’ll be all right,” I said to her … to myself. “Nonna will be okay.” I was lying to myself. I knew it, but saying the words made me believe them.

12 March

Nonna is not okay. We spoke to the doctor today. Basically her heart is failing and it’s only a matter of time. Mum didn’t even cry, but I did. I think my hormones are all mucked up again.

Mum asked how long it was going to take because she was again having to take time off work, but the doctor said that he couldn’t say when the end would come and we’d have to be close, just in case. Really, it’s embarrassing how heartless my mum can be.

Mum and I are going to take turns sitting in her room because she’s talking in Italian more and more now and seems to have forgotten that she understands English. It makes it hard for the caregivers, and hard for us too because either myself or Mum has to be there so that the caregivers know what she is telling them – when she’s able to.

Mum’s at the hospital now and I’m at Nonna’s unit, as it’s easier to deal with Ata here. I’ve just spoken to Bevan on the phone, telling him about Nonna and that we might be down in Hamilton for a while.

“So does she know who Ata is, that she is her great-granddaughter?”

“Sometimes she does and then sometimes she thinks I’m Mum and that Ata is me as a baby.”

“Have you spoken to her any more about what’s in the diary and about your great-grandmother, her mother?”

“No, I daren’t. I mean she hardly remembers who I am, never mind remembering the diary.”

“But it sounds like you’re running out of time.”

“Maybe some things are best left in the past.”

“Maybe they are, but maybe this is something you need to talk to your Nonna about before she goes, or else you’ll wonder about it forever.”

I could hear Ata getting restless in her portacot – she wasn’t used to it. I wish I’d been able to bring the bassinet. “I’ve got to go, Bevan, Ata is due for a feed.”

“Give her a kiss from me.”

“I will.”

“Love you.”

I cut the call without replying.

13 March

I was feeding Ata when my grandmother woke.

“Ah, Gina,” she said, and I looked up, surprised that she was speaking so clearly.

“Nonna,” I said, leaning forward so that I could take her hand in mine. It felt like a bag of bones under my palm. Ata wriggled in my arms as I moved but remained attached to my breast.

“So beautiful,” she said and smiled. “Children are a gift from God.”

I smiled – it was forced. Sometimes I didn’t feel that Ata was a gift, just a burden, something I had to feed and clothe and bath like she was an extension of myself. It was hard to tell where I finished and she began. I remembered the circumstances of Nonna’s birth and wondered how Lina had coped in those first weeks. It was hard enough in the modern world; what was it like for Lina in a country just recovering from war? It was a miracle that Nonna had survived.

“Always girls,” Nonna said with a sigh.

“What do you mean?” I asked her.

“We always have girls,” Nonna said. “Mama had me, I had Patty, Patty had you, and now this little one. There’s never any boys and only one, only one.”

I thought about that and realized that she was right. There had been only one girl per generation since the war.

“Sins of the fathers,” Nonna said. “It’s our curse since the war – to have only one child and for that one child to be a girl. You have to break that curse, child.”

“How?”

“Marry the father of your child, that’s how. That’s why we’re cursed, we don’t marry the fathers of our children.”

I frowned at her. “But you and granddad were married.”

She touched the ring on her finger and smiled. “We never were. Hugo gave me this ring when Patty was born – a promise ring. We talked about getting married but never to got around to it, and then he died.”

“What did he die of?” I asked in trepidation.

“Cancer. Funny that he should think to set up life insurance so I was able to buy the unit for Patty and me. We did all right, the two of us, until she met that man, your father. I never trusted him!”

“But Mum married him.”

“The man she married was not the father of her baby.”

I gasped. The man I knew as my father was not my father! How could that be? I hardly remembered him, a dark face in a grainy photograph that evoked sharp memories. Who had that been if not my father? I was hardly aware that Nonna was still talking.

“The father of her baby moved to Australia and she followed him there, left you with me because he didn’t like children.”

I was stunned. My mum had said that my father was a loser, but she must have been talking about my real father, not the man I knew as my father! How could she lie to me? And then she runs off and leaves me, to be with the man she called the loser and abandoning her husband – my so-called father?

“Poor Patty, always going with her heart and not her head,” Nonna said. “She had to leave in the end, of course, it wasn’t a good relationship. He was a bad man. I think he’s in prison now.”

Great! What chance did my baby have with two crims in the family?

Nonna raised a shaky finger and placed it alongside her nose. “Our secret, eh?”

I wondered how she thought I could keep this a secret. I didn’t know how I felt about it, knowing that my father was not my father. Talk about a dysfunctional family!

19 March

Nonna is sleeping most of the time now. She seems peaceful. I asked one of the nurses whether she was in any pain or discomfort, because I’d hate for Nonna to be suffering and not be able to tell us. But the nurse shook her head and said that in her opinion, and with all her years of experience, she could tell that Nonna was not in any distress. I was relieved at that. The nurse patted my hand and smiled before leaving the room.

Nonna’s eyes fluttered open then and she turned towards me.

“Gina, you be a good girl for your mother.”

I had a lump in my throat. I had a feeling that she was saying goodbye.

“I will, Nonna,” I told her. “Is there anything I can do for you?” I thought she might want some water or something.

“No, there is nothing more that I need. I’m ready to go to Mamma now. Look after the little one, Gina.”

I struggled to get the words I needed to say out of my throat and onto my tongue. “Thank you, Nonna, for looking after me when Mum left.” Tears prevented me from saying more.

She smiled and said, “We did okay, didn’t we?”

“Yes, we did, Nonna.” More than she realized, I thought, and I wanted to tell her that but she slipped back into sleep.

A Vision

20 March

Nonna has taken a turn for the worse. She has lain in bed all day, her breathing a gentle snoring sound, but it has been hard to wake her and she has been confused when she does wake up. She hasn’t eaten or drank anything all day. The caregivers have been trying to coax her to drink but it just dribbles out of her mouth, as if she’s lost the ability to swallow.

Mum and I sat beside her all day while the caregivers came and went. Sometimes they asked us to leave and we waited outside the room anxiously. They helped me with Ata, walking her around the hospital in her stroller twice today so that I could have a break. For some reason she is better behaved with them than she is with me.

Finally, at the end of the day, with Nonna no better and no worse, Mum said that I should come back to the unit with Ata and get some rest.

“I’ll do the night shift,” she said with a smile.

“Okay,” I said. “But call me if Nonna gets worse.” To be truthful I was glad to come back to the unit. I can’t bear to be in the same room as Mum since I found out the truth about my real father. But I’ve not been able to talk to her about it while Nonna is so ill. If Mum has been aware of my mood, then she hasn’t said anything; in fact, I doubt she noticed anything about me at all. That’s how it has been my whole life – I’ve been practically ignored, while she does exactly as she likes.

It has been difficult to see Nonna lying there, quiet and hardly breathing as though she is already dead. And it has been difficult having Ata with me, in spite of the help I get from the caregivers.

So Mum ran me back to the unit and then returned to Nonna’s bedside. I’ve bathed Ata and settled her into the portacot. Like me, she seems exhausted and soon falls asleep.

I thought about phoning Bevan but decided against it. I’m too tired and I don’t have anything to say, so I came to bed.

21 March – middle of the night

I’m lying awake, trying to make sense of what just happened. Ata is asleep in the portacot beside me – it wasn’t her that woke me, but a vision, at least I’m calling it a vision as I don’t know what else to call it. It wasn’t a dream, but I’m not sure that it was real either.

I woke suddenly – I thought I heard Nonna call my name, as if calling me from the next room, her room. My room was dark and quiet, and yet I sensed that there was someone else in here, not just me and Ata. I sat up slowly, searching in the dark for the person I knew was there. Nonna was standing at the foot of my bed!

“Nonna! What are you doing here?”

She didn’t answer. Behind her I could see another woman in the doorway. I thought it was my mother and I began to get out of bed, but stopped as Nonna moved so that I could see the woman clearly. It wasn’t my mother.

I hesitated, my feet dangling over the edge of the bed. Something wasn’t right here.

Nonna smiled at me and turned towards the woman, who came forward while reaching out her hand towards Nonna. As she turned, Nonna’s appearance changed, the lines fading from her face and her hair becoming long and thick and lighter, until she looked like she was about twenty. The woman behind her appeared to be the same age, and I noticed that the two women looked very much alike.

“Lina.” The word escaped from my lips in a whisper and the strange woman turned to me as I said it. She nodded, took Nonna’s hand, and together the two left the room leaving me staring at the empty doorway, not knowing what to make of it.

The ring of my phone sent my feet to the floor as I sprung out of bed, startled. I grabbed the vibrating phone quickly.

“Gina,” my mother’s voice was hoarse, choked up. “Gina, she’s gone.”

“I know,” I said.

“How can you … she’s just died. I’m still here at her side.”

“She was here.”

“Don’t be silly, Gina. She’s not left this bed and I’ve been here with her all night.”

“She was just here, and Lina too.”

“What are you talking about, Gina? You must have been dreaming.”

“No, Mum …” I stopped. I knew that there would be no convincing her. “I told you to call me if she got worse. I wanted to be there.”

“It happened so fast, Gina, there wasn’t time. And I would have had to leave here to pick you up and I didn’t want Mum to die alone. I owed her that, at least.”

I was surprised at that, at her compassion, even though that decision had meant that I’d not been there when Nonna died. Yet, in a way, I had, just like I’d been at her birth through Grandpa Harry’s words in the diary.

“Listen, darling, I’ve got to go, the priest’s here.”

I disconnected and sat down on the bed again. I looked towards the doorway but it remained empty. I looked at the phone in my hand. The time on the display was 3.21 a.m. I hesitated. There was only one person I knew who could sort this out for me.

I touched “Bevan” on my phone and listened to it ring. He’d be asleep, and I felt guilty for waking him but I had to speak to him.

“Hello?” His voice was a bit slurred.

“Hi, Bevan, it’s Gina.”

“Gina!” he said, and I could hear the brightness in his voice. “What’s up?”

“Nonna just died.” I started to cry then, as the reality of it hit me.

“Gina, Gina, baby, I’m so sorry. If only I could be there with you. Is your mum there?”

“No,” I sniffed. “I’m at Nonna’s house. Mum’s at the hospital.” I tried to pull myself together.

“You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I’m not alone … I mean … I just saw Nonna. She was in this room and then she was gone. There was another woman here too – her mother, I think, Lina. It’s like she had come to fetch her. They left together.”

“That’s nice,” Bevan said.

“Nice?! Are you crazy? I saw Nonna but she’d just died.”

“She came to say goodbye,” Bevan said softly. “You must have been important to her.”

I received this in silence, a million thoughts going around in my head.

“Is she going to haunt me forever?” I demanded.

“I don’t think so. She came to see you one more time before she went to heaven.”

“Heaven? You think she went to heaven?”

“She was Catholic, wasn’t she?”

I looked up at the icons in the room – the statue of Christ on the cross, the picture of the Virgin holding the baby Jesus, halos around each of their heads. Yes, of course, I thought to myself, Nonna would go to heaven where she and Lina would be reunited. I had to believe that rather than think about Nonna lying lifeless in a hospital bed.

“This is so easy for you, isn’t it Bevan?” It came out angrier than I intended. “After what you saw when you were having those crazy dreams and visions, well, it’s not so easy for me!”

“It wasn’t easy, Gina, it was damn hard, but in the end I had to believe what I experienced had a spiritual aspect, one that I couldn’t deny. It’ll be the same for you.”

“I don’t know that it’ll ever be like that.”

“I believe it will, babe. Just give it time. I love you.”

The tears threatened to well up again and I found it difficult to speak.

“I love you too,” I managed to say, and for once I really meant it.

22 March

I woke this morning and knew something was wrong. For a start, it wasn’t Ata that woke me, and I realized that I couldn’t hear her. Even when she’s asleep I can hear her, just the soft breathing sounds that she makes. She wasn’t breathing! I sprung out of bed and lunged at her portacot. It was empty. I stifled a wail that threatened to escape from my throat. She couldn’t have left the portacot by herself. I whirled around the room – had I got up in the night and put her somewhere else, in the bed perhaps? I flung back the sheets but the bed was empty.

That’s when I really started to panic. Had someone stolen her? Then I heard a sound in the lounge – a sort of cooing sound. Ata? I stumbled down the passage into the lounge where Mum sat in the armchair with Ata in her arms. I stood in the doorway, shocked. She looked down at Ata with a softness in her expression that I’d never seen. The knuckle of her finger was in Ata’s mouth and she sucked it contentedly. Mum looked up when I came into the room.

“I let you sleep,” she said. “You needed the rest.”

I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times before sitting down in the armchair opposite her. Ata seemed contented enough, although the fullness of my breasts told me that she was due for a feed.

“I’d forgotten how small babies are when they’re born,” Mum said. “I remember you being this small and I was frightened of handling you in case I dropped you. Ray was better at it than I was.” I held my breath. “He fell in love with you the moment he saw you.”

“But he wasn’t my dad, was he, Mum?”

I saw Mum’s pupils dilate as she stared at me. I could see the emotions as they passed across her face : puzzlement, anger, resignation.

“Mum told you,” she said, her voice a murmur.

I nodded. I could feel all the anger and frustration boiling up within me.

“So who was my father?” I demanded. “My
real
father.”

“His name is Simon Field,” she answered, sinking into her chair, her anger fading with the movement.

“Where is he now?”

“In jail,” she answered.

“What for?”

“Manslaughter.”

“Great, so my father killed someone!”

“It was an accident
-
that’s
manslaughter
.”

“And how long ago was this?”

“Six years.”

“So you only came back for me because my father was in jail?”

“Without him earning, I couldn’t support myself. I had to come back. Besides, I missed you. Mum sent me letters and photos, but it wasn’t the same as being with you.” She looked down at Ata. “I had missed so much of your life already.”

“So why didn’t you take me with you to Australia?”

“Simon didn’t like children. He wouldn’t take me back if you came with me, even if you were his child.”

“So you choose him over me and left me with Nonna! How could you do that?”

There was no way I could imagine leaving Ata with anyone, it would be like wrenching off a part of myself.

“I did it to protect you!” Mum shouted back. “I knew he was dangerous, that’s why I loved him. He was exciting, but I knew you’d not be safe. I left you with Mum knowing you’d be better off with her than with me. For a while it was exactly that, exciting and a little mad, but it wore thin after a while, when he started to hurt me.” She rubbed her arms as if rubbing imaginary bruises. “And when they arrested him, I knew I had to get away. So I came back and took you away from Nonna.”

“Why? I was happy here.”

“I knew you were, but Nonna was struggling to cope. You probably didn’t see it, but even then she was having trouble with her heart and her health and I had to take you back. I’m sorry, Gina, I mucked everything up, I know I did. I thought I could be happy with the man I loved but he took that love and trampled on it. I would have been better off staying with Ray, dependable and boring Ray.”

“So who was Ray and why did you marry him?”

“He was Simon’s best friend. Simon left when he found out I was pregnant, then Ray stepped in and said he would marry me. I don’t know why, but I did. I thought he would look after me and my baby, but in the end he left too. I guess he realized that my heart belonged to another and he couldn’t compete. And looking at you every day reminded him that you were not his child.”

In my memories of Ray, he was dark. “Simon had blond hair, didn’t he?”

I saw her cast her eye over my long blonde hair. “Yes, he was, more red than blond really, went with his temper.”

“So it was Simon that was the loser who abandoned you, not Ray, the man I thought was my father. And you thought that Bevan would do the same – abandon me like you had been abandoned. And you married a man you didn’t love. You think I don’t love Bevan? That I’m going to make the same mistake you did. You’re wrong. And to think I almost had an abortion because of your fear.”

I stood up then, and took Ata from my mother. She was restless, so I sat down in the armchair and put her to my breast. She curled her fingers around mine as she drunk. Mum slumped back, tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Gina, I know it was a mistake. I looked at Bevan and saw the bad boy in him and I was afraid for you, afraid that you’d be treated as badly as I was by a violent man. I should have known that you are more like your grandma – maybe it was because she raised you. I made a mistake, I admit that, and I don’t blame you for being mad with me. If only I had stayed with Ray and provided you with a proper home, even if he wasn’t your real father, then maybe you’d have grown up different – stayed at school perhaps? Gone to university, had a chance for a future? Now you have none. It seems such a waste.”

I looked down at Ata at my breast, her eyes staring into mine, and my heart melted as it always did. I looked across at Mum.

“It’s not a waste, Mum,” I said. “I can’t imagine life without Ata now. I didn’t think there was room in my life for a baby but now that she’s here, I can’t imagine living without her. I read Lina’s diary – have you read it?” Mum shook her head. “She was raped, Mum, raped by a German soldier and because of that she became pregnant.” Mum’s eyes were fixed on mine as I told her. I could see that she didn’t know this. “That baby was Nonna. If you don’t believe me then you should read the diary for yourself. It means that Grandpa Harry was not really your granddad, Mum, he was just the man Lina married.” I saw the pain in my mother’s eyes. “But she grew to love her husband, and her baby too, it was love that brought her here to this country. Nonna found love, so did you and now so have I.” As I said it, I knew with all my heart that it was true. “I know you don’t like Bevan but he’s the man I love and want to marry. We can’t know what’s in our future, but I’ll not find out if I don’t take that next step.”

“You don’t have to marry Bevan to show you love him.”

“It’s a sign of my commitment, Mum. It’s like when he did that baptism thing.” I ignored her tsk-tsk of derision. “For him it was a public declaration of his beliefs, a way to show what is in his heart. For me to marry Bevan is the same – a public declaration of what is in my heart. I love him, Mum, I really do. I know what love is.”