Inchworm (18 page)

POIGNANT: TOUCHING, PATHETIC, ACUTELY PAINFUL, PIQUANTE

Home-made card with picture of seagull and
Get Well Soon
in a heart:

Der Gussy,

My puppy is groing big and runs farst. She likes Trejer [Treasure, the cat] and sleeps with her. I am bilding a neeu tree hows for yu. Cum soon,

Love,

Gabriel x

PS
I fownd my taran… torren… tran… spider. It was in the erring cuberd. Phaedra fownd it. She screemd very lowddly. Moss sez I hav to giv it bak to Billy. But Billy has lost the snake so I wownt. Claire woent cum in my room enny mor.

Xxx see yu soon.

Home-made card with drawing of Charlie asleep on a chair:

Dearest Gussie,

I hope your recovery is swift and you are feeling stronger each day. We are all looking forward to seeing you and your mother again soon. Claire says you look so bonny. What a shame your homecoming has been delayed. Such bad luck. But, do not worry, your cats are well and happy, though I am sure they are missing you. I have started a painting of them in their various sleeping places. Rambo is very elusive though, and hides. I think he is intimidated by the sheer size of the family and its livestock, especially the rabbits. My own cat is still banished from the garden due to her recently acquired taste for chicks. The surviving chicks are rapidly becoming pullets and the cockerel bullies them fussily. Phaedra is enjoying sixth form college and has joined a rock group – she the drummer, and Troy is studying for exams. Surf has been perfect lately, he says and he is missing it. They both send love,

Looking forward so much to your return,

Give my love to your mother,

With lots of love,

Fay.

A home-made card with drawing of Spike smiling:

Dear Gussie,

When are you coming home? I can’t wait. Our kitten, Spike, is growing up. He prefers me to you know who and sleeps on my bed. Siobhan has a new boyfriend – Leo. He’s sixteen and has long hair and tattoos. She wants a tattoo on her shoulder but Mum won’t let her. I want my hair cut like yours. I got a gold star at school for my English. We had to write a news item for the school newspaper. I wrote a story about you and your operation. I’ve kept it for you to read.

lol,

From your bestest friend in the whole world – Bridget xxxxxxx

The school newspaper article:

NEW ORGANS FOR MY FRIEND

GUSSIE STEVENS IS MY NEW BEST FRIEND. SHE IS OLDER THAN ME, 12, BUT SHE WAS NOT EXPECTED TO LIVE VERY MUCH LONGER BECAUSE SHE WAS BORN WITH A BADLY DESIGNED HEART AND LUNGS, AND SHE COULD NOT BREATHE PROPERLY, SO SHE COULD NOT RUN OR CLIMB. SHE HAS HAD A VERY LONG AND COMPLICATED OPERATION IN LONDON TO REPLACE HER DISEASED HEART AND LUNGS. SHE IS RECOVERING AND SOON WILL BE COMING TO THIS SCHOOL SO SHE WILL BE LIKE ANY OTHER GIRL, AND
WE MUST ALL
BE KIND TO HER BECAUSE SHE HAS HAD A VERY
DIFFICULT
TIME. SHE LIKES ALL ANIMALS AND INSECTS AND ISN’T AFRAID OF ANYTHING, EVEN SPIDERS AND BEETLES. SHE HAS THREE CATS, FLO, CHARLIE AND RAMBO, AND IS A BIRD-WATCHER. SHE IS ALSO A POET. I THINK EVERYONE BEFORE THEY DIE SHOULD DONATE THEIR HEALTHY ORGANS TO SICK PEOPLE SO THAT THEY CAN HAVE A CHANCE OF LIVING A NORMAL LIFE.

SIGNED – BRIDGET HEANEY

I write back straight away to say what a good article it is and to tell her about Beelzebub. Bridget and I both have black kittens now – if I am allowed to take her home with me.

I send a card to Fay, also, thanking her for the felt bag and telling how much my kitten likes it. I hope she doesn’t mind.

DAPPER—QUICK; LITTLE AND ACTIVE; NEAT; SPRUCE

DAPPERLING—A DAPPER LITTLE FELLOW

APT—FIT; SUITABLE; PROMPT; QUICK-WITTED; LIKELY

DADDY HAS GONE
away – Paris I think. I still haven’t had a chance to have a go with his laptop and now he’s taken it with him. He doesn’t have a clue about the kitten.

Mimi,
The Italian Job
, from Mum’s designer days, who I have met once before, has come to stay for a week or so. She sleeps on the sofa and Mum sleeps in the big bed with me and Beelzebub. The sick bay, we call it. Mimi is a three times widow – which means she has been married three times and all her husbands have died. She’s fiftyish – the same age as Mum. She teeters on stilettos, wears glinting rings on every finger, cooks great pasta and is teaching me how to make sauces. She’s taught me Bolognese, Marinara, and basic tomato. There’s good deli close by where we can get lovely Parmesan cheese. It’s all we seem to eat these days – pasta. I’d like roast chicken, or a chicken pie like Claire makes, or sausages and mash, or mussels and chips. (I’m not allowed shellfish ever again, though.) But Mum and
The Italian Job
prefer to spend more time wine-tasting than cooking.

We invite Willy down to supper and he kisses Mimi’s glittering hand and she giggles as if she likes it, even though he must be nearly a hundred years old. Mimi wears a low-neck fluffy fuchsia pink jumper. Mum always says if you’ve got it, flaunt it. But when will I have it? Will I ever have it? Willy brings champagne and they drink three bottles. That’s one each. I have my favourite – elderflower.

‘What’s that blue stone, Mimi?’ I think I can recognise diamonds and rubies but that’s about it.

‘It’s Tanzanite, Gussie, a very rare stone, found only in one place in Africa, in the shadow of Mount Kilimanjaro. A gift from a Kenyan lover – a man who knew all about big cats. Beauty, isn’t it?’

Mum and Mimi smile at each other and Mimi winks at me.

‘How romantic,’ I say. The cut stone is ultramarine blue with a slight hint of purple. A new one for my colour chart – Tanzanite Blue.

‘And this one is a fire opal from a geologist who lives in the Yukon.’ The stone looks as if there is fire in its blue green heart. Mimi looks wistful as she twists the ring on her little finger. ‘And this little cluster is from a Yankie fighter pilot I met during the Vietnam War. And my other opal is from an Aussie croc hunter. Dickhead, he was.’

‘Don’t believe everything she says,’ says Mum, and Mimi raises her eyebrows at me.

‘May I look, my dear?’
The Italian Job
gives Willy her hand and he smiles approvingly and takes out a little magnifier from his pocket. ‘Charming.’ He raises her hand to his lips and kisses it again.

‘What happened to your three husbands, Mimi?’

‘Don’t be rude, Guss.’

‘No, sorright, darl, no worries.’ She is becoming more Oz as the evening goes on. ‘’S a long story.’ She pours herself another glass of wine. ‘A long, sad story. The first one – Arnie – he was an Aussie, died on the job.’

‘Mimi…?’ Mum’s eyes widen.

‘Trucking, poor man. I was nineteen. Gutted.’

‘What about the second one?’

‘Charlie? Oh Charlie… was my darling.’ She begins to sing and Mum shushes her. ‘Fifty to my twenty-five, but oh could he dance. Died of a heart attack. Only married two years.’ She takes another glug from her glass. ‘I was very unhappy until I met Johann. Dutch – big yacht. Big car, big head, big everything. What a berk he was.’ She pours them all more wine. ‘And well, poor old Johann’s liver gave out on him. Poor sod. Hah! Less said about him the better. Big emerald, though!’ She waves a hand in the air before wiping her eyes with her paper napkin and then blowing her nose loudly on it. Willy takes her hand and kisses it yet again.

Enough’s enough, already. I’m going to bed.

Mimi is taking Mum out to have her hair done. I am staying home with Beelzebub. It’s pouring with rain. Willy looks in but is disappointed when he sees that Mimi isn’t here and goes away when I insist that I am going to rest. I doze – what a nice word – reading my cat behaviour book. Beelzebub snores in my ear. She has this thing about my hair – licks it. Maybe she likes the taste of the gel I use for the spikes, or perhaps she is being affectionate, or maybe I remind her of her mother. Yeah – a scruffy mangy stray. I’ve made sure she hasn’t been on any more fishing trips.

Mum and
The Italian Job
come home looking great. Mum’s hair has turned dark reddy brown and is much shorter than before with a side parting so there is a wing of hair over one eye. It suits her. The grey bits have gone. They also went shopping in Hampstead and are trying on their ‘bargains and investments’ while I cook supper. I am inventing a sauce tonight – roasted aubergine with sun-dried tomatoes, anchovies and olives. The aubergines were left over from yesterday, the tomatoes and olives were from the deli, and I find a jar of anchovies in the cupboard, so there’s very little work to do. I mix them all up and add garlic and balsamic vinegar and threw some basil leaves in at the end – over the spaghetti. Mum and Mimi are dressed to the nines. Where does that expression come from? Mimi says I must have Italian blood, and so I speak with an Italian accent for the rest of the evening.

‘It was beauty this arvo, Lara. We oughta do it more often.’

‘Yeah cobber,’ says Mum, getting into the swing of things Aussie. They get very silly and giggly on red wine and me ditto on Cola. Mimi brings out the best in Mum. Makes her relax and enjoy herself.

I go to bed early with Bubba and Rena Wooflie – mustn’t neglect
her
. It is good to see Mum looking and acting human again. I didn’t hear her mention her bowels once today – a record.

Mimi takes Mum and me to the hospital for my last two-weekly biopsy. It’s nearly three months since my transplant. I have been very lucky to have only had two complications so far. Acute rejection of transplanted tissue happens mostly in the first year, so that’s why I have to have regular checks. But now I only need a biopsy once a month, so I won’t have to be near the hospital all the time.

It is reassuring to see other post-transplant patients who are doing well and awful when they become sick and have to go back into hospital for treatment. Judy, she’s in her twenties, had her transplant when she was eighteen and she’s since had a baby. She looks great and her baby is very sweet and absolutely healthy. She comes back for check-ups once a year only, and occasionally to give talks to people waiting for a transplant. Saul, he was fifteen, died after kidney failure. I am one of the lucky survivors. Two babies, who were very ill, couldn’t survive long enough to get donor hearts. Half the people waiting for transplants die before a donor is found. The transplant unit is a strange mixture of joy and sorrow.

Precious arrives and I feel happy again, carefree. I had forgotten how tall he is, and how hunky. We don’t talk for long as they split us up for various tests, but I catch sight of him before we leave and blow him a kiss, and he smiles his piano-key smile – the white keys, not the black ones.

The grey hospital grass has turned green. I would like to give all the patients birdfeeders to hang outside their windows. It would cheer them, I think. Perhaps I’ll leave them enough money in my will to always be able to feed birds. I do have about a hundred pounds in my bank account, from when Grandpop and Grandma died.

The doctor says I am allowed to go home to Cornwall. Yippee!

On her last day, Mimi drives me to Camden Town to get my hair trimmed and buys me a beautiful white duffle jacket from the market. Mum says she shouldn’t have, but I love it. It’s a bit big on the shoulders, but I’ll grow into it.

I’m sorry to say goodbye to Mimi, she’s been such good fun. She’s promised to come and visit us in Cornwall.

I think I might write a book of recipes made from leftovers. Mum has invented some interesting meals using leftovers: curries and soups and stir-fries, mostly – like a soup made out of cauliflower cheese and potato-pie leftovers, and another of leftover curried hake and coconut milk. She has bought a new baking tray for Daddy. For some reason she didn’t like the idea of roasting food in the old one after the kitten has used it as a litter tray. Bubba now goes outside after each meal and performs. She’s a fast learner.

‘Mum, can we keep Bubba, please?’

‘How can we, Gussie? Three cats are more than enough. It’s expensive to keep them in food and flea injections and flu injections… and she’ll need to be spayed and micro-chipped. No, I think we should give her to Willy.’

‘
Free Willy
?’

‘Don’t start that again.’

‘I was thinking of calling him
Willy Wonka
, but
Free Willy
suits him much better.’

‘It’s in very poor taste, darling, so please don’t do it. Anyway – the kitten: she’ll be company for him. He’s a lonely man, you know.’

‘I think he’d rather have
The Italian Job
.’ I say.

‘Gussie!’

So we invite Willy again for a drink and ask him if he would like to have Beelzebub.

‘My dears, I would love to have her, but you know I am nearly eighty-three. How long will I live? The poor kitty would get fond of me and then –
kaput!
– I will die. No, that is not fair for her,
nicht war
? And you know, I would fall over her all the time with my stick. And my beautiful Staffordshire figures? She would knock them down.
Nein, nein, nein
. I really cannot have this kitty.’