I finally catch up with Nick and Robbie on a morning I have free in my part-time roster. Robbie’s come down from Mildura for the day to see her dad and Nick’s just come off night shift. We end up at the bakery. Somehow, if it’s morning coffee, everyone ends up at the bakery, even though it’s mainly for tourists who want to gobble a vanilla slice on their way through Ouyen as they head for more exciting towns like Swan Hill or Mildura or Shepparton.
Robbie’s hug is as warm and genuine as she is. She smells of nail polish and perming solution. Nick’s black hair is flat, and his windbreaker bunches to his elbows. He looks a bit shattered after coming off work.
He stretches back in his aluminium café chair and rubs his arms as he finishes telling us about it. ‘So yeah, the extras are busting my arse. I’ve only taken two this week and I’m bloody knackered.’
‘Come work at the salon,’ Robbie offers, scooping up froth from the top of her cappuccino with her spoon. ‘We’re open six days now, from eight until seven. I swear to god, Mum’s working herself to death. Remind me never to open my own small business. But hey, you can have my shifts if you want them.’ She grins at the idea.
Nick makes a face. ‘Brazilians and chest waxes? Thanks, Rob, that’s real generous.’
I snort at the mention of Brazilians.
‘Couldn’t be worse than bedpans and vomit,’ Robbie counters.
‘I guess.’ Nick shrugs. ‘Nah, I love nursing. I’m in it for the long haul. Not like you, missy, just dipping your toe.’ He raises his chin at me.
‘Mm, I haven’t made my mind up yet.’ I slurp my coffee. ‘But hey, at least one of us has found a calling.’
‘I’m just trying to figure out how people like Barb do it full time for so many years.’
‘You’ll get there. You have to build up your stamina.’ I squint at him. ‘But the extras are for what? You’re really trying to get some cash together for this new car?’
‘Yes. And I’m really trying to sell the Subaru. No joy yet.’ He tilts forward to sugar his coffee. His long blunt fingers destroy three paper tubes before he’s happy.
Robbie raises her eyebrows at him. ‘Procrastinating much?’
‘Shut up.’ He glares at her.
‘Wimp. Are you going to tell her or not?’
I glance between the two of them. ‘What? What’s going on?’
Nick gives Robbie a look, stretches his long legs under the table. ‘I’m moving to Melbourne, Ames. That’s why I need a new car. I know I’ve talked about moving before, but I’m actually making plans now. Grant’s gonna help me set up a place to live.’
‘Really?’ The bottom drops out of my world a little, but I force my expression into neutral. The day is bright, sunny. ‘Well…that’s great. Geez, why were you putting off telling me?’
‘He thought you’d be pissed,’ Robbie confides.
‘I’m not pissed, that’s crazy.’ I’m a bit pissed. Not enough to spoil Nick’s mood, though. ‘I’m happy for you. But what will I do at the hospital without you?’
He grins. ‘Be awesome, like usual? Spread your little brand of joy on the ward? The patients love you, Ames, and you’re good at it. You’re even good at putting up with the nongs, like Harris Derwent.’
‘Harris Derwent was on the ward?’ Robbie presses one hand to her chest. ‘Holy shit. Is he still hot as the sun?’
‘He was a patient. You don’t ogle patients.’ I frown at Nick. ‘And he’s not a nong. He’s an okay guy.’ I see Nick’s eyebrows. ‘Fine, then, don’t believe me. But whatever his rep, he was an all-right person at the hospital. What have you got against Harris anyway?’
‘Apart from the fact he’s a smart-arse brain-dead man-whore? Nothing.’
Robbie waves her teaspoon. ‘Hey, the queue for the smart-arse brain-dead man-whores starts behind me, okay?’
I laugh, but I feel bad for Harris. And the idea of Nick moving away settles on me, like a dark scratchy quilt. ‘So you really want to leave Ouyen? For good?’
Nick puts down his mug, his eyes intent. ‘Mum and Dad are here. It’ll always be the place I grew up and the place I come back to – it’s in my bones. But I want to see different places, try different things. I can’t stay, Ames. Not for my family, not for anybody. I have to go, even if it’s just to see if I can do it.’
I remind myself this was inevitable. Nick’s been talking about it for ages. And around here, the question is always whether to go or stay. This year I’ve seen two other friends, Shelley and Peta, make the switch to city living, and Robbie moved to Mildura when her mum got divorced and started the salon business. It’s one of the conditions of rural friendship: that you hold on tight, and when the time comes, you hug hard…and let go.
It doesn’t make the sting less painful.
But Nick has already gone on. ‘…so Melbourne would be a good start. And you should be looking further afield, too.’
I baulk. ‘Come again?’
‘You should be thinking about where you want to go from here.’ Nick leans forward. ‘Amie, you know what I’m talking about. Since your mum died it’s like you’re glued in place.’
‘Hon, he’s right.’ Robbie nods, sipping her coffee. ‘You do seem a little rusted on.’
‘What?’ I stare between my two best friends. ‘Where’s all this coming from?’
‘Now who’s procrastinating?’ Nick levels a glare at Robbie.
She presses her lips before looking at me properly. ‘Amie, don’t be mad, okay? But me and Nick have kind of been scheming on your behalf.’
I frown at them warily. ‘You’ve been scheming to get me to Melbourne? I can’t do that. You know I can’t do that.’
‘This isn’t about Melbourne,’ Robbie admits. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a purple document folder, places it on the table. ‘It’s about this.’
I blink between them, blink at the folder. ‘Okay, I’m…confused.’
‘Remember all those AusArt scholarships and stuff the school guidance counsellor sent you links for at the end of last year? And you were all, Oh, this looks so cool but it’ll never happen? Well…’
‘Me and Robbie submitted your photos to a residency program.’ Nick gets it all out in a rush. ‘It’s an overseas study grant, and you would be awesome at it, and we really just want you to give it a chance.’
I gape. ‘You submitted my photos?’
Robbie jumps in, pulling out sheets from the folder. ‘Yeah, check it out. It looks fantastic! You get to choose the place you want to go, and all you have to do is agree to an interview.’
‘An interview.’ I’m still gaping. ‘Are you kidding?’
‘Amie, come on.’ Nick looks at me sternly. ‘Your photos are amazing.’
Robbie nods. ‘Sweetie, we’re not trying to be the boss of you or anything, but you have to know you’re talented. And it would be sad if you wasted that because you weren’t given the right opportunity.’
‘I can’t…’ I really can’t. My brain just isn’t keeping up.
‘Robbie found the links from last year.’ Nick’s face turns pinker as he explains. ‘And she sent them to me, and…the whole thing kind of snowballed.’
‘First we joked about it, then Nick wrote an application for you, but we still weren’t really thinking about it like a real thing…’ Robbie says, taking up the story, ‘…until we got the email –’
‘Which said you’d been shortlisted,’ Nick finishes.
Robbie nods. ‘Which said you’d been shortlisted, yeah. So you just have to fill in the forms, and sign up for an interview, and you’ll be good to go!’
There’s a long pause as my head spins its wheels. Nick and Robbie are both looking at me expectantly. I don’t know what to say, or even if I can form words. My friends are nuts. Nuts. They’re so nuts, it’s making my eyes well up. And a residency. A shortlisting. Ohmigod –
‘Ames.’ Robbie grabs my shoulder. ‘Amie, say something, you look like you’re going into shock. Oh my god, Nick, is she okay?’
‘Amie, I’m sorry.’ Nick holds my hand across the table. ‘We really didn’t mean to freak you out. But would you at least think about it?’
I try to clear my throat by taking a long slug of my coffee. ‘Guys, I appreciate you did this. Really. It’s…a surprise.’
‘A good surprise?’ Robbie looks so hopeful.
I hate to bring her down. ‘It’s lovely you did it. But –’
‘Here come the buts.’ Robbie looks at Nick.
‘But I can’t just pick up and go overseas! With Dad’s condition, and my extended family here, and –’
‘It’s okay, it’s really okay.’ Nick shushes Rob with a raised hand. ‘I know you’re dealing with stuff, and you don’t have to make a decision right this second. We’re just asking you to have a go. That’s all.’
‘Right.’ Robbie looks like she wants to say more but is restraining herself. She passes me the purple folder. ‘I’ll forward you all the emails and stuff. Just…have a look at it.’
‘Please?’ Nick makes the puppy dog eyes. He has beautiful eyes, so it’s pretty effective.
I hold the folder gingerly. ‘Okay, I’ll look.’ Robbie cheers, and I stare her down. ‘But I really don’t –’
‘Don’t overthink it,’ Nick says. ‘Just go with your gut. And don’t worry if it sounds crazy. You should do something crazy at least once a day.’
I roll my eyes. ‘That’s your suggestion, is it?’
‘I’m a nurse. That’s my medical recommendation.’ He grins.
My friends are certifiable but they love me, and they mean well. I’ve missed Robbie since she moved to Mildura and now I’m going to miss Nick when he leaves. Goddamnit. Even though his departure is still only in the planning stages, I already feel lonely.
And the idea of a residency is…well, it’s amazing, but it’s impossible. I planned to go overseas once – my plans changed. And now I can’t go anywhere. That’s not me being rusted on, that’s just reality.
That’s the way it has to be.
*
I’m turning the key in the lock, mulling over Nick and Robbie’s ‘surprise’ and Nick’s decision to leave, when the landline rings.
‘Hello?’ I answer with a query, even though I know who’s calling. There’s only one person who rings our landline.
‘Amita, it is Nani.’
‘Hi, Nani-ji.’ Her voice always makes me smile. ‘Is it sunny over there today?’
‘It is a lovely fresh day, dearest. The weather is getting warmer. I went to the market with Hansa yesterday. I had to take off my cardigan.’
‘Did you have a nice time at the market?’
‘Yes, indeed, thank you. A woman there is selling fresh paneer. Many women now don’t make their own paneer. They say it’s time-consuming. Well, of course it’s time-consuming, that’s what cooking is about. Amita, are you oiling your hair like we discussed?’
I sigh and smile at the same time, let my bag slip off my shoulder onto the floor. ‘Nani-ji, it’s only August.’
‘August, yes, we are coming into Spring. And you know Jasminder’s wedding is nearly here. You should have nice hair at the wedding.’
The wedding. Jas is my twenty-two-year-old cousin and she’s getting married to a twenty-five-year-old irrigation scientist. The wedding preparations have been driving me a bit crazy. Nani wants me to go to Mildura for all of them. They’ll go for days and I’ll have to take time off work, not to mention leaving Dad here on his own, but I can’t just say no. It’s family.
‘I’ll do my best to have nice hair at the wedding, Nani-ji,’ I say dutifully.
‘Amita, is there something troubling you?’
I laugh as I sink onto the armchair near the phone. ‘How do you always know?’
‘I am your grandmother, it is my job to know. Now tell me.’
‘My friend, Nick? You remember him? Well…he’s moving away.’
‘This is the boy you walked with.’
‘Yes, we dated.’ I smile and nod, even though she can’t see me. ‘Nick’s talked about moving to Melbourne before, but this time he sounds serious.’
‘He has a place to go in the city?’
‘His older brother, Grant, lives there. In Collingwood.’
‘Two sons – such a blessing!’ I hear her bangles tinkle; the phone is in the living room of my aunt’s house, and I’m pretty sure she’s just lifted an acknowledging hand towards the large portrait of Guru Nanak above the mantlepiece there. ‘And this boy who is your friend, he is alone in Ouyen?’
My cheeks warm. ‘Nick’s not alone. He’s got the rest of his family, and he’s got me.’
‘But you are not walking together anymore,’ Nani points out.
I grin ruefully. ‘No, we’re still broken up, last time I checked. We get on better as friends.’
‘So he looks for a new life and someone of his own. Amita, you cannot stop the tide. It is a normal thing, this leaving.’
‘I know, Nani-ji. But I just…’
‘You will miss him.’
I think about it. ‘I’ve got other mates, but Nick’s my best friend at the hospital. It’ll be hard without him.’
‘Most certainly it will be hard. But if his family is here, he will be back. And if you are a true friend, you will want him to be happy. Do you believe he will be happy in the city?’
I don’t have to think too hard about that. ‘Yes,’ I admit. ‘Yes, I think he’ll be great in the city.’
‘Then go to him and give him a gift of parting and wish him well. Maybe it is his destiny to be in Melbourne. You cannot stand in the way of destiny.’
‘I guess.’ I try to smile. Then I think of the residency and my face falls. ‘So what’s my destiny?’
She answers quickly, with utter certainty. ‘To meet a handsome Sikh man at your cousin’s wedding, and fall deeply in love, and give your Nani many great-grandchildren for cuddling.’
I can’t help but laugh. ‘I think you should talk to Jas about the great-grandchildren before you talk to me.’ I try not to sigh into the phone when I continue. ‘Everyone really wants me up there for the wedding?’
‘Of course they want you here! What a thing to say. I want you. Hansa and the girls want you. Apu wants you here also.’
‘That’s…nice.’ Apu is my grandmother’s pet name for my grandfather, Anupam. Who died before I was born. Before Nani ever moved to Australia, in fact. She talks about my grandfather a lot, which isn’t unusual. What’s unusual is that, in our most recent phone calls, she’s started talking about him as if he’s still alive and well and chatting to her on a daily basis.
‘The wedding is in a month,’ Nani goes on. ‘That is barely time enough to prepare. And I want you to come to gurdwara with me and help with langar.’
‘Tell me the dates again and I’ll see what I can arrange with work.’
She tells me, after finding her glasses. I see her in my mind’s eye as though she’s right in front of me: a slightly shrunken-looking woman in a pale peach-coloured salwar kameez, with grey hair pulled back in a tidy braid. Her glasses will be balanced on her nose and she’ll have her feet up on a cushioned footstool in front of the wing-backed chair in the lounge room. I gave her the footstool three years ago for her sixty-eighth birthday. A cup of tea will be settled on the little table at her left.
‘And Mehndi Night!’ she exclaims. ‘You must come to Mehndi Night or your cousins will miss you.’
I think my cousins will do fine without me, but I agree to come to Mehndi Night anyway because it’ll be one of the more enjoyable activities related to the wedding.
We chat for a bit longer before saying our goodbyes. Resting the phone back in its cradle, I think about how Nani talked about my grandfather. She wasn’t acting like this last month when I visited. But that was a month ago.
I need to try to visit her every fortnight like I used to. Stay on top of things. Last year, with exams followed by the CNA course straight after, I was often too exhausted on the weekends to drive to Mildura. But that’s no excuse. Nani and the family depend on me.
Suddenly I’m filled with a desire to see Nani. Her arms are bony, but strong when they hug you. Her eyes are always a little starry. I hope she’s not tiring herself out with all the flurry over this wedding business.
Dad lets himself through the front door and a flare of sunlight invades the hall, illuminates the spot where I’m sitting.
‘Hey, you’re here,’ he says, taking off his sidearm. That’s always the first thing he does when he comes home. ‘Thought you’d be out with the camera.’
‘Not yet.’ I pull my bag onto my lap as I sit up. ‘Just finished on the phone with Nani.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I’m a bit worried about her.’
‘What, is she not all right?’
Dad frustrates me sometimes. It’s like he can’t bear to say the word ‘sick’. In both our minds, sickness leads inevitably to something worse. For Dad, the aversion to talking about it, even thinking about it, is more severe. It’s made it hard to get straight answers out of him about his heart condition, and it’s wearing at times, considering I work in a hospital.
Dad cares about Nani, though. He isn’t as close with my aunt’s family since Mum’s death, but Nani is different. She’s the closest direct link he has to my mother, apart from me. Nani is important.
‘Her health is fine,’ I say patiently. ‘But she talks about Nanaa like he’s still around.’
Dad hangs up his utility belt on the hat-stand in the hall. ‘Maybe, in her mind, he is.’
‘Doesn’t that bother you?’
He pauses before replying. ‘I don’t think it’s awful.’
A little knife slices through my heart. Sometimes it’s these tiny moments that get you. Or maybe it’s just been a shit week. First the business with Harris Derwent, and Craig Davies, then Nick and Robbie’s announcements, and now Nani…
I know why Dad doesn’t think it’s awful to believe the person who you loved most in the world is still around. Even after four years I wish I could get up one morning and see my mother preparing breakfast in the kitchen. The wishing makes a small, but very deep, glassy-black wound inside me every time I let it. But I don’t let it as much as I used to.
‘Nick’s leaving Ouyen,’ I blurt out.
Dad walks over and pats my shoulder gently. ‘Nothing you weren’t expecting, eh?’
‘No, I know. But…’
‘Imagine you’ll be telling me the same thing one day. Y’know, studying in Melbourne, or Adelaide maybe. What kids do.’
I consider the residency concept for one second – tantalising, terrifying, impossible – before shaking my head at him. ‘Dad, I’m not leaving.’
Dad takes his hand away. ‘Okay. Right. Well, come on then. Help me out the back for a second? I wanna move that engine block winch.’
Out in the workshop Dad tosses me gloves, gives instructions. The winch is easy, and physical, and I don’t need to think about anything else for a while. Which is good – I’m done thinking for the day.
I try to let go of my conversations with Robbie and Nick and Nani, concentrate on the rough weight of the metal and the smell of grease. Then I wash up and collect everything I need for a shoot, and go lose myself in the minute texture of mistletoe, the squirming smother of its growth.