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‘Up ahead?’ I ask.
Nana’s eyes close, and her shaking hand flops onto her lap. Her mouth falls open as she breathes out a long, wheezy breath. I drag my hand away from my belly and stroke the back of her bony hand with mine. She’s exhausted. Even if there is a shortcut nearby, I’m not sure Nana could stay conscious long enough to direct us. Her face is growing paler and her limbs a little heavier. I’m terrified that we’re running out of time.Damn this traffic.
‘I know that shortcut,’ my mother says with childlike enthusiasm. ‘I mean, I think I do. I haven’t been down that way in years, not since they built the main road, but I think I remember the way.’
‘Anything has to be better than sitting in this traffic,’ I say. ‘Dad?’
‘C’mon, George,’ Mam says. ‘Let’s go.’
My father turns the wheel, revs the engine, and veers onto the hard shoulder. Heads turn as agitated drivers stare out their windows as we zip past them. Some even honk their horns in protest. Every time a noisy beep echoes through the car, Nana’s lips curl into the smile of a rebel.
‘Here it is.’ Mam taps a nail against her window. ‘The shortcut. Just here. After this tree. Slow down, George. Don’t shoot past it.’
A barely noticeable gap appears in the hedging that grows neatly along the grass verge. We turn into the gap and onto a bumpy backroad. It’s narrow and full of potholes. My father curses the uneven terrain as his car groans and objects to the torture. I grip my belly and try to hold my baby steady inside me as we bounce around inside the car like popcorn in a hot pan. I worry about Nana’s frail body shuffling and shaking as we trundle along, but her smile is wider and brighter than I’ve seen in weeks.
‘Take a left here,’ Mam instructs.
We take a sharp left onto an even narrower lane.
‘Are you sure this is the right way?’ Dad shakes his head.
‘God, I hope so,’ Mam says.
My father doesn’t say another word, but I see him place his hand on my mother’s knee and give a gentle squeeze as we drive on.
‘Ben and Nate are still behind us,’ Marcy announces.
‘Good,’ Mam and I echo together.
‘I recognise this tree.’ Mam points to an old oak tree with its bark split so badly in half that one side drapes entirely over the road like an arch while the other side points tall and straight towards the sky. ‘There was a really bad storm one time when I was a kid. I was only about six or seven, but I remember this tree was hit by lightning. That’s why the bark is damaged the way it is, see?’
‘It looks pretty,’ I say.
‘S’pose it does,’ Mam says. ‘I never really thought about it like that. I used to use it as a landmark when I was little. When I’d go exploring in the fields with my friends, I knew if I could see the wonky oak tree then I wouldn’t get lost. After all these years, here it stands, making sure we don’t get lost.’
‘Is it much further?’ I ask.
‘There are a few more turns. The road gets a little narrower, so we’ll have to take it slow,’ my mother explains.
‘Narrower than this?’ Dad objects. ‘Jesus, Blair. My alloys will be ruined.’
‘George, please?’ Mam says, and my father doesn’t say another word.
I try to pull my handbag up off the ground at my feet, but the strap is wedged under Nana’s oxygen cylinder. I’m afraid to tug too hard in case I topple the cylinder over.
I wriggle and squirm but I have no luck.
‘Are you okay?’ Nana’s gentle voice rattles.
‘I’m fine, Nana.’ I smile warmly. ‘I’m just trying to fish your book out of my bag. I thought you might like to hear more of your story.’
Nana shakes her head, and her eyes slowly flicker open. ‘Wait,’ she manages.
My busy hands immediately still. ‘Okay, Nana,’ I say. ‘We’ll wait.’
I try to catch Marcy’s eye, hoping she can reassure me at a glance that Nana has plenty of time to wait, but she’s distracted, staring out the window at moonlight shining on the untouched countryside. I don’t call to her and disturb her. Besides, anything she can say won’t change the inevitable. Waiting is all I’ve done since I left my office two days ago and got into my car to drive to Nana’s house. I waited to hear my brother’s voice tell me I wasn’t too late. I waited as Marcy tended to Nana in the familiarity and comfort of her own bed. I waited as doctors at the hospital spoke to my parents. And all along, all I was really waiting for was the time to say goodbye. I’ve been waiting to say the one word I never want to say. Yet there isn’t anything else to do except wait.
‘This is it. We’re here. We made it,’ Mam says, pointing out the window. ‘Look, there’s the gate.’
