Page 74 of Weekends with the Sunshine Gardening Society
It’s a paradox she doesn’t want to dwell on, so instead she starts to eat her sandwich and wonders if perhaps her mother won’t find the story amusing when she sees her later today.
NOVEMBER 1987
PHEBALIUM
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Eventhough she plainly knew Odette was pregnant, Cynthia hadn’t considered what it would mean to become a grandmother. Especially not at the age of forty. In her mind, grandmothers are well into the grey-hair phase of their lives – possibly even white hair – and have started to take an interest in lawn bowls and baking scones. This is a generalisation, she realises, and her own mother never took up bowls or scones so Cynthia doesn’t know how she came to have such thoughts. Yet they’re in her brain and she can’t reconcile them with the woman she sees in the mirror, whose face is still fairly unlined, her figure still defying gravity – in most areas – and her interests decidedly of the non-baking variety.
When she called Lorraine to tell her about the baby her oldest friend thought it was an opportunity to start teasing her.
‘Can I call you Nana?’ she crowed, and Cynthia realised she was possibly in for months, if not years, of Lorraine enjoying the use of as many names for ‘grandmother’ as she could think of, and probably inventing a few more.
The baby, a boy, has been named Jordan Patrick. Pat, of course, thinks this is wonderful and has been practically stopping people in the street to tell them that he has a grandson who is partly named after him.
At least Pat looks more grandparent-like, with grey creeping into his hair and years of sun damage catching up to him. Not that Cynthia feels any schadenfreude about that; not much, anyway. And it’s not that she doesn’t want people to know she’s a grandmother – she just doesn’t want the appellation. There’s nothing she can do about it, however, because Odette is firmly in the Granny camp, while Pat gets to be Pa, which is so close to his actual name it seems almost like cheating.
One of the things Cynthia didn’t particularly like about motherhood when it happened to her was that she was needed all the time. She was at an age when her own needs were still a priority and suddenly there was this small creature who needed her for absolutely everything and she couldn’t hand her off to anyone else for most of it, for hers were the only breasts that were lactating. Now she is surprised to discover that she likes Odette needing her.
It’s probably surprised Odette too – sometimes when she rings she sounds like she’s not sure why, almost as if she simply wants to hear Cynthia’s voice. She keeps turning up at the house, too, which is why she’s camped today in the sitting room, Jordan in a bassinette in front of her, half a boob hanging out of her top and bags under her eyes.
Cynthia remembers the bags. Her mother told her to put haemorrhoid cream on them to help them deflate. Cynthia thought that was a strange suggestion, but when she moved to Los Angeles everyone was doing it. Too late: by then Odette was a child and Cynthia was sleeping through the night.
‘Where’s Ash?’ Cynthia says, as she does every time Odette appears asking if she can spend a few hours at Wilfred’s.
Odette shrugs. ‘Surfing, I guess.’
‘You guess? He doesn’t tell you?’
‘I don’t really care, Mum. He’s useless. I’d actually prefer it if he never comes back.’
Her big, round eyes are full of confusion and disappointment, and Cynthia wants to scoop her into a hug. They don’t have that kind of relationship any more but Cynthia wonders if Odette becoming a mother will make them as tactile as they used to be.
‘And your father?’ she says.
‘Working.’
Jordan snuffles and Odette’s face cracks into a smile.
Cynthia feels relieved: at least she’s happy with the baby. In the days after his birth Cynthia wondered if Odette would feel regret for what has happened to her life. Cynthia herself had the odd twinge of it, but she was always happy to be Odette’s mother.
‘It’s so cute when he does that,’ Odette coos, and Cynthia remembers all the little things Odette did that she thought were the best things in the world. She’d sit watching her for hours, it seemed, and wonder where the time went.
Luckily Pat felt similarly dotty, so they’d both sit and talk about how their baby was the best, the sweetest, the most adorable. Regardless of what happened between them as husband and wife, they were always united on the subject of Odette and how wonderful she was.
Cynthia doesn’t know if she told Odette that enough in the years that followed; or if Pat told her more and that’s why she felt comfortable moving back here to be with him. Sometimes she wants to ask, but maybe she doesn’t really want to know the answer. It’s not as if she can change the outcome, which is that she lost her daughter for a few years. And she doesn’t wish to lose her again.
‘He isextremelycute,’ Cynthia says as she gets on the floor. All the squatting in gardens has made her more limber, just in time to crawl around after her grandson.
‘Thanks for having us here all the time,’ Odette says and her voice cracks, causing Cynthia to look up and frown.
Just then Wilfred enters the room. ‘Ah, my beautiful granddaughter,’ he booms and that elicits a smile from Odette. He bends over to look at the baby. ‘How is my great-grandson?’
‘He’s good, Pa.’ Odette sniffs and wipes her nose with the back of her hand.
Wilfred straightens and scrutinises Odette’s face. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing,’ Odette chokes out, closing her eyes and wiping again.
