Dan leapt to his feet, grabbed the car keys and flung them at Dennis, who caught them in a graceful swipe.
‘Come on, cuz,’ said Dan. ‘Let’s go for a drive.’
Cuz. He liked the sound of the word as it fell from his lips.
The two men were playing Mortal Kombat on the PlayStation when Bettina got home. Dan could see that she was unnerved to see the two men comfortably slouched on the sofa together, but she was also pleased. Dan handed his cousin the console and followed Bettina into the kitchen to give her the car keys.
‘We went for a drive. Dennis showed me West Beach.’
‘It’s his favourite place in Adelaide,’ she said. ‘He’s always loved the water.’ She was standing in front of the open pantry, examining rows of cans. She pulled out a can of tuna and a packet of dry pasta. ‘You want some lunch?’
‘No, thank you. I should eat with Mum.’
Bettina grunted. He couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or relieved by his response.
‘I let Dennis drive part of the way to the beach.’
She was scowling as she bore down on him and tossed the tin and pasta onto the bench. She’s frightening, thought Dan. No wonder his mum was so scared of her, she was ferocious.
‘What did I say to you? Do you know what could have happened? How dare you!’
Dan frantically searched for the words to explain that Dennis had only driven down a deserted dirt road behind the beach; that there were no other cars, that Dennis was a good driver. But the words eluded him, though he doubted they would have made any difference to this vengeful, angry woman. He was his mother’s son — he could tell from the rage sparking from her eyes that she was prepared to loathe him as much as she hated her own sister.
‘Mamá, I’m alright, it was safe. It was only for a few minutes on a quiet road. I had fun, I wanted to do it. Don’t blame Danny for any of it.’
In the time it took for Dennis to shape his words, both Dan’s fear and his aunt’s anger had dissipated. Dennis looked exhausted from the effort of making his speech.
His mother’s tone softened. ‘I’m going to drive Danny to Jo’s place. You want to come along for the drive?’
Dennis’s gaze didn’t shift from the ceiling. Dan had to fight the urge to look up.
‘You want to hang out tomorrow?’
Dan didn’t hesitate. ‘Yeah, yeah. That’d be good.’
Dennis cocked his head in his mother’s direction. ‘Nah, I’ll stay and play some more on the PlayStation.’
Dan patted his back pocket, took out his phone. ‘What’s your number, mate?’
Dennis began to recite the number. As Dan started punching in the digits, Bettina was repeating each numeral.
‘It’s OK, Mamá, Danny understands me.’
Bettina was silent as Dan saved his cousin’s number. He typed a quick text and sent it. A tinny treble of techno rang from Dennis’s pocket.
‘All good.’
All good.
Bettina didn’t say much until they were nearly at Joanna and Spiro’s house. It was then she blurted out, ‘Have you worked with disabled people, Danny?’
He shook his head.
‘You’re really good with your cousin. You know how to listen and you have patience. Thank you for spending time with him today. He really enjoyed it.’
You don’t have to thank me, he wished he could say. And stop treating him like a baby. He doesn’t want that, he can’t stand how you treat him like a child not a man. But he couldn’t figure out how to say that without hurting her. And he was confused: his family loyalty meant he should see her as an enemy — he wouldn’t and couldn’t forgive the hurt she’d caused his mother — but he didn’t want to be part of that enmity. You’re really good with your cousin. He was grateful for those words. It was a long time since anyone had said that he was good at anything. That he was good for anything.
His mother was alone in the house, in the kitchen. Two bags of shopping were on the bench; she was slicing chicken breasts. She was still not wearing make-up, in a drab dark top and shapeless black slacks. She didn’t look like his mother — Dan thought he could see Bettina in her, see the shape of Dennis’s mouth in hers.
‘I’m so glad to see you,’ she said. ‘I’m preparing something for dinner tonight, to thank Jo for having us. How did you go with Dennis?’
‘Great. I really like him.’
‘He seems like a nice man.’
Dan sat down. ‘What happened to him?’
‘He had a motorbike accident when he was nineteen. He hadn’t long had his bike. They thought he was going to die, he was in a coma for four months or so.’ His mother shook her head. ‘It was terrible — it must have been awful for Bettina.’
‘When did you find out about it?’
‘Not till a few years ago.’ His mother’s smile was wry and resigned. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, your aunt and I don’t talk very much.’
‘What about his dad?’
‘He died a long time ago. Cancer — and from what I know, which is not much, it was a slow, horrible death. She’s suffered a lot, your aunt.’
‘She doesn’t have to be such a bitch to you.’
His mother shrugged, wiped her hands on an apron, and started bashing a stem of lemongrass. It was clear she didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to think about Bettina.
Dan’s phone vibrated. He had a new message, from Dennis: Hope my mum didn’t break your balls. Dan texted back: All cool, and returned the phone to his pocket.
‘Do you want to come with me to the hospital this afternoon?’
Dan couldn’t believe they had to return to the hospital. His grandmother was a vegetable. She’d never know if they were there or not. ‘If you want.’
‘Thank you so much for all of this, baby.’ His mother reached into a shopping bag and pulled out a small plastic bag of chillies, and started slicing one.
‘I hope Jo and Spiro like Asian food,’ she said. ‘I can’t find a bloody wok in the house.’
It wasn’t that the food was Asian that was a problem for Joanna and Spiro, it was that it contained meat. They arrived back in the mid-afternoon, just as Dan and his mother were getting ready to go back to hospital.
‘Jo,’ Dan’s mother said cheerfully, ‘I’ve cooked us a meal, it’s in the saucepan. We can heat it up tonight.’
Biting the corner of her bottom lip, Joanna said something in Greek.
Dan’s mother’s face fell. ‘Oh,’ she said simply, ‘I forgot.’
‘What’s the problem?’
Joanna scratched her ear, obviously embarrassed. ‘It’s our Easter next week and Spiro and I are fasting: we can’t have meat.’
Dan looked at his mother. ‘Is that some kind of weird Jehovah’s Witness thing?’
Spiro burst out laughing. ‘No, mate, no! It’s an Orthodox thing — your cousin and I are both Orthodox and our Easter is next week, not this one.’
‘Right.’ Dan marched to the stove, scooped the food onto two plates, and sat at the table, beckoning his mother over. ‘We’re eating,’ he announced. ‘I haven’t had lunch, I’m famished.’
He tore into the food, relishing every bite, every explosion of spice in his mouth. He chewed slowly, extracting every possible flavour and pleasure from it. He ate with a gusto and loyalty that declared him his mother’s son.
It was just Dan and his mum in the hospital room — himself and his mother and his dying grandmother. His mother hadn’t sat down; she was standing at the head of the bed, holding the old woman’s limp, bird-boned hand.