Tigers on the Beach (5 page)

‘What on earth are you boys doing?' she says.

We stop murdering each other because we know Grandma doesn't like that.

‘Just mucking around,' I say.

‘Adam is being gay with me,' says Xander.

‘Don't say such stupid things,' says Grandma.

‘Only if Adam stops being gay.'

‘Xander is being a haemorrhoid,' I say.

‘I'm very angry with you, Alexander,' Grandma snaps. ‘You threw those stupid balls at me, didn't you?'

‘I don't know what you mean,' says Xander, innocently.

Grandma holds out four wacky balls.

‘I was walking around with balls on my back, until your mother told me.'

Xander giggles and Grandma frowns.

Mum enters behind her. ‘Apologise to Grandma,' she says.

Xander looks sullen.

‘If you don't apologise,' says Mum, ‘we'll confiscate every single one of your wacky balls.'

This is a severe threat. Xander knows Mum is serious.

‘Sorry, Grandma,' says Xander, softly, ‘if I upset you.'

‘That isn't a proper apology,' says Mum.

‘Sorry Grandma,' says Xander.

Grandma turns to Mum. ‘Georgia, you really need to use a firmer hand with these two. When I was a naughty girl, the teachers caned me.'

‘I bet you caned them back,' says Xander.

Grandma leaves, but Mum stays behind.

‘I don't want any bad behaviour tonight,' she says. ‘Grandma will be staying for dinner.'

‘Why does she have to come here all the time?' says Xander.

‘Because we love her. And she doesn't have anyone else in Samsara. And she
doesn't
come here all the time. Be nice to her.'

Mum leaves us.

‘Grandpa walked to the shop,
' Xander whispers.

‘Don't say that,' I tell him.

‘
Grandpa walked to the shop.'

Xander knows he is not allowed to utter this phrase. It's forbidden within our family, liable to cause eruptions of temper and sadness.

Here is why . . .

Grandpa's funeral wasn't a good one. I shudder at the memory. First thing in the morning, we drove Grandma to the crematorium, which was more than a hundred kilometres away. We had to stop twice for Xander to get out of the car and pee. By the time Xander had yet another toilet emergency, we were running late.

‘Could you stop the car, Dad?'

‘Hold it in for a few more minutes,' Mum said. ‘We're nearly there.'

‘But my bladder's going to explode.'

‘Think of something else,' Dad said.

‘I
can't
. If we don't stop soon I'll have to go in Grandma's purse.'

But I knew how to distract him. When I discovered that Xander could do incredible sums in his head, I used to show him off, as if he were some kind of human computer. Kids at school were amazed. They used calculators to check the results. Xander was right every time.

Mum and Dad didn't like it when I made Xander do the sums in front of other people. They said that Xander was not a performing monkey, he was a human being and deserved to be treated as one. I was not to treat him like a sideshow attraction. There were exceptions to this rule, however. If it was important to take Xander's mind off something, I was allowed to ask him difficult sums.

‘What do you get if you multiply 137 by 38?' I asked.

‘5206,' Xander replied.

‘And what if you multiply 892 by 63?'

‘56,196,' said Xander.

I kept asking him difficult questions, which he answered effortlessly.

‘His grandfather could do that too,' said Grandma. ‘It was as if Reginald had a computer in his head.'

‘Why did he want to be created?' Xander asked.

‘
Cremated
,' Dad corrected.

‘We often talked about it,' Grandma said. ‘Reginald didn't want to be buried in a coffin in the ground. He wanted his ashes to be spread somewhere special.'

Grandma dabbed at her eyes but didn't cry. She was hiding her feelings.

At the funeral home, sisters, brothers, cousins, uncles and aunts flocked to Mum and Grandma to embrace them and tell them how sorry they were. Xander joined in, overdoing the hugging. He doesn't know when you're supposed to let go. He even hugged one of the funeral directors. There were public toilets, but Xander wandered off and peed in the garden, before anyone could stop him. To make matters worse, Xander peed on a special area called ‘the memorial garden', which probably meant he'd urinated on someone's grave.

People glared at Mum and Dad as though they were terrible parents. They gave apologetic looks and Dad fetched Xander. Mum didn't realise, but she had sat on one of Xander's wacky balls. A bright green ball stuck to her like a bunny tail. I hastily removed it from her backside before people saw. You shouldn't attend a funeral with McDonald's balls stuck to you. People might think of hamburgers and you really don't want that happening at a cremation.

Mum, Dad, Xander, Grandma and I sat in the front row of the overcrowded chapel. Mum was getting ready to make a speech about her dad. I could see she was nervous. A fountain tinkled in a little rock garden directly outside the chapel.

Sad music played. The minister said some gentle words about Grandpa, even though he never knew him. He said a bit from the bible that involved Hittites, an ancient tribe famous for hitting people, and everyone nodded respectfully. Then Grandma stood to speak. She walked to the pulpit, took a deep breath and regarded us all. She didn't have notes. She assured Mum that she wouldn't need them and that she would speak from the heart. That was the way she wanted to do it. Grandma started by saying that Grandpa would be sadly missed. The size of the gathering was proof that Reginald was much loved and would never be forgotten. Then Grandma paused, as though she didn't know what to say next. It wasn't like Grandma to be lost for words. And Grandpa was such a wonderful man. There was no shortage of things to say.

‘Every day, Reginald would go to the shop,' Grandma said at last. ‘He would wave to people on the way and they would wave back, for he was much loved by the local community.'

People nodded sadly. Yes, he was much loved by the local community.

‘Reginald would have conversations at the shop,' Grandma continued, ‘because everyone was Reginald's friend.'

There were more nods. He was everyone's friend.

‘And then Reginald would buy things at the shop and he would return home. He did this every day of his life and I remember this about him. He walked to the shop. That's the sort of man he was. Sometimes I walked with him. He would tell me things. Then we would both walk home carrying things from the shop.'

By now people weren't nodding quite so much. They wanted to hear something else about Grandpa. But Grandma was lost. She took out her handkerchief and blew her nose loudly. She couldn't think of another word to say. Mum stood and put her arm around her, then directed Grandma back to her seat. Bravely, Mum faced the audience. She delivered a speech that was moving and sad. She managed to say some of the things that Grandma could not.

After the funeral, people told Mum what a beautiful speech she had made. But no one mentioned Grandma's speech. What was there to say? Relatives just hugged her and squeezed her hand. Grandma said nothing. She looked more angry than sad.

After a small reception at Auntie Margaret's house, we drove back to Samsara.

‘What an awful funeral,' Grandma said.

‘It wasn't awful,' said Mum. ‘Everyone said it was lovely.'

‘I'm only glad that Reginald didn't see it. All that stupid stuff I said about going to the shop.'

‘It was nice,' Mum insisted.

‘It was the worst speech in the history of funerals. Goodness knows what came over me. I'd worked out exactly what I wanted to say. What made me talk about the blasted shop? It's a wonder I didn't say that Reginald has now gone to that big shop in the sky.'

‘Everyone understands, Mum.'

A strong smell of tomatoes filled the car. We discovered that Xander stole some bubble packs of tomato sauce from the reception and some had burst in his pocket.

‘Perfect,' said Dad.

‘Auntie Joyce wet herself at the funeral,' said Xander.

‘I thought we'd agreed not to talk about that,' Dad said.

‘She said the fountain made her do it.'

‘Xander, I forbid you to mention Auntie Joyce's toilet accident again,' Dad said.

‘Oh, it doesn't matter,' said Grandma. ‘I made such a terrible speech, it doesn't matter what Joyce did. She could have peed a whole ocean. But I'm the one who ruined the day. What an idiot I am. Reginald must be so disappointed.'

Whatever we said to Grandma, she wouldn't stop being angry with herself.

That's how
‘Grandpa walked to the shop'
became a forbidden phrase in our family. Xander managed to use it every day.

Dad has made curried mince and mashed potato for dinner. Xander makes a little igloo out of his mashed potato.

‘Don't play with your food, Alexander,' says Grandma.

Xander continues playing with his food. Mum talks too loudly about the events of the day, which really aren't that interesting, but Dad and I pretend they are, because we know it's what Mum wants.

‘Bananas are fourteen dollars a kilo,' says Mum.

‘Goodness. I wonder if they let you buy bananas on hire purchase?' says Dad.

Mum and Dad laugh. But it's fake; not their usual chuckling.

‘Reginald liked bananas,' says Grandma.

‘Yes,' Mum nods. ‘He certainly did like a banana.'

‘He often walked to the shops to buy them,' said Xander.

‘Alexander, hold your fork properly,' says Grandma.

‘He always holds his fork like that,' I say.

‘He looks like a monkey,' Grandma says.

‘3.141592653589793238,' says Xander.

‘The guests have been quiet,' Dad says, with forced casualness. ‘Nathan and Marika haven't had much to do lately.'

‘Did you know that Nathan is in love with Marika?' I say.

‘Of course, Adam,' says Dad. ‘Anyone can see.'

‘Except Marika,' I say.

‘She wouldn't know if her bum was on fire,' says Dad. ‘Even if it had a fire alarm on it.'

Dad and Mum do their artificial laugh again. Grandma just scrapes up her mince and eats slowly.

After we finish the curried mince, Dad brings out fruitcake and puts it on the table.

‘Reginald used to make fruitcake,' says Grandma.

‘I remember,' says Mum.

‘It was the most awful fruitcake in the world. So heavy you could have moored a boat to it.' Grandma smiles sadly. ‘I miss his fruitcakes.'

‘There are turnips in the cake,' says Xander.

‘What? What are you talking about?' says Dad.

‘They use fake cherries in supermarket cakes,' says Xander. ‘And they're made from turnips.'

‘I got it from the bakery, not the supermarket,' says Mum. ‘I'm sure they're real cherries.'

‘They aren't,' says Xander.

‘How can you tell?' asks Dad.

Xander sticks his finger in the cake. Grandma pulls his hand away. ‘Alexander,' she snaps. ‘Behave yourself!'

Xander looks angry.

‘I've told you before not to stick your fingers in food,' says Dad.

‘3.1415926535897932384626433832,' says Xander.

‘Would you like some fruitcake, Mum?'

‘No thank you, Georgia,' says Grandma. ‘Not now that Alexander has filled it with his germs.'

Xander has a very small finger and it's a very large cake. I doubt that he has contaminated the whole thing. Under his breath Xander mutters,
‘Grandpa walked to the shop.'
Fortunately, I am the only one who hears. I kick him under the table.

‘Could you switch on the TV, please?' Grandma asks.

Dad doesn't like it when the TV is going while we're sitting at the dinner table, but Mum turns it on. It's a wildlife documentary. Sir David Attenborough tells us about migrating wildebeests.

‘This looks interesting,' says Mum, as Sir David Attenborough tells us that wildebeests usually mate after the rainy season in the African grasslands.

‘Reginald looked a bit like Sir David Attenborough,' says Grandma.

‘He did,' says Mum.

‘Back in the days when he had hair, of course,' says Grandma. ‘I'm sorry, I shouldn't keep mentioning him.'

‘We don't mind,' says Mum.

‘Of course we don't,' says Dad.

‘3.1415926535897932384626433832,' says Xander.

Sir David tells us that wildebeests are very good at mating, with one of the highest success rates of impregnation. We contemplate the wildebeest's impregnation rate.

‘What annoys me most about Reginald is that he didn't leave a ghost,' says Grandma. ‘I'd like to be haunted by Reginald. The least he could have done was leave a ghost.'

I have a lump in my throat.

‘It's such a big house,' says Grandma. ‘There are plenty of rooms to haunt. But the lazy blighter hasn't turned up in a single one.'

‘Mum, why don't you stay with us for a little while?' Mum says.

‘I'll be all right in the big house,' says Grandma.

‘Come on, Mum. You won't be a bother. Will she, Ken?'

Dad gazes at the wildebeests. ‘Of course you won't,' he says.

‘You could stay in one of the cabins,' says Mum. ‘Number two is free. We'll be right next door if you need us.'

‘Who'll look after the big house?' says Grandma.

‘We'll arrange something.'

‘But you've a business to run.'

‘We'll manage. Won't we, Ken?'

‘It would be our pleasure,' Dad says, because he knows it is the right thing to say. ‘We insist.'

‘We'll organise it right away,' says Mum.

Mum drives to Grandma's house and collects three boxes of stuff. We spend the rest of the evening unpacking the boxes and making cabin number two into a granny flat. I find an old black-and-white photo of Grandma and Grandpa at the seaside. Grandpa looks odd with his long floppy hair. I don't recognise the beach in the photo. We set up Grandma's computer. She says she doesn't want to leave it in the big house on The Escarpment because burglars might take it. In one of the boxes is a bottle of multicoloured balls the size of marbles. Xander opens the bottle and takes out one of the balls. It's a milky pink colour. Its surface is soft and dimpled. Intrigued, Xander rolls it between his fingers. Then he squeezes and the ball bursts open. Sweet-smelling goo oozes out. He wipes the perfumed mess on his shirt.

‘Alexander, please leave those things alone,' says Grandma.

‘What are they?' Xander asks.

‘Bath beads,' says Grandma.

‘What are they for?'

‘You eat them with ice-cream.'

Mum has a minor panic attack. ‘Grandma's making a joke, Xander. Don't eat them. They're probably poisonous.'

‘He knows I'm making a joke,' says Grandma. ‘Don't be silly. He only pretends to be odd.'

When Grandma's back is turned, Xander grabs a handful of the bath beads and stuffs them in his pocket. I don't know why he wants them, but I'm sure he isn't going to put them in the bath. In the bottom of the box is the little silver urn that contains Grandpa's ashes. It's a plain metal container with a wooden base and a screw top, the sort you'd find on a jar of pickles. It's about twenty centimetres high. Grandma looks around, trying to find a suitable place for it.

‘I'll look after it, if you like,' Mum says.

‘No, I'd like to keep him here,' Grandma says. She talks about the urn as though it is Grandpa himself. ‘Adam, could you move one of those chairs so that it's facing the TV set?'

I move the chair until Grandma is satisfied. She carefully places the urn containing Grandpa's ashes on it.

Mum shakes her head. ‘No, Mum, you can't leave it there.'

‘Why not?'

‘Someone might sit on it.'

‘They'd have to be an idiot. I suppose Alexander might.'

‘Please put the urn somewhere else,' says Mum.

‘I like it where it is.'

‘We are
not
leaving Dad out on a chair.'

Mum picks up the urn then looks around, trying to find a more suitable location. Where do you stick an urn full of ashes? Grandma takes the urn from Mum and places it back on the chair.

‘Reginald liked watching Sir David Attenborough,' says Grandma. ‘I want him there.'

‘All right,' says Mum. ‘And Xander has Asperger's. Please don't make fun of him.'

That night I ring Sam to see if there's any hope for us after the disastrous thing that happened in the general store. I wonder if Sam is wearing tights and what colour they are. I don't ask, in case she thinks I'm a tights-pervert.

‘Today was unfortunate,' I say. ‘Can we just forget it happened? I liked talking with you.'

‘Me too,' says Sam.

I get tingles. There is still hope.

‘We should go to a movie,' Sam suggests.

I'm being given a second chance. Suddenly the world is a happier place where wildebeests can procreate happily and successfully.

‘You choose the movie,' I say.

‘There's a good one on at Flanders,' says Sam.

‘Great.'

‘It's pretty sad. You might not like it.'

‘I like sad movies,' I insist. ‘The sadder the better. I only ever see movies that are sad.'

‘It's called
Eternal Winter
. Do you want to go this weekend?'

‘I'll have to make sure I'm not needed here. After all, I'm the assistant manager,' I say. ‘And the possums might get diarrhoea.'

There is a pause as Sam wonders if I have lost my mind.

‘I'll email you the session times,' says Sam. ‘I should go now. I need to practise.'

‘I haven't heard you play your flute yet,' I say.

‘You will. But I'm no James Galway.'

‘That's okay. Neither am I.'

Later that night in the darkness, Xander is lying in bed doing Sir David Attenborough impersonations about the miracle of migrating underpants.

‘Xander, go to sleep,' I say.

‘Why?'

‘Because it's late and I have to start work early.'

‘But I'm being funny.'

‘Underpants are only funny for a little while, not for half an hour.'

Something lands on my face and startles me. For a moment I think it might be a giant moth. I brush it away then realise it isn't a moth at all.

‘I am going to murder you,' I say to Xander, tossing the thing back at him. ‘I am really going to murder you for throwing your underpants at me.'

‘I didn't,' says Xander. ‘They migrated.'

He laughs loudly. I toss the pants aside then lie back and think about next time I see Sam. I could really use the world's funniest joke that makes people fall in love with you, but Grandpa died before he could tell it to me. I feel guilty for wishing Grandpa could be alive just to tell me a joke.

There is a loud bang as something lands on the roof.

‘The Martians have landed,' says Xander.

‘With any luck they will abduct you,' I say.

Xander and I pull on our shorts and run outside to see what caused the noise. Grandma is in her dressing gown, throwing stones at something neither of us can see.

‘Go away!' she yells.

Holiday-makers are calling out to her to be quiet.

‘Go away, you wretched possums!' she yells.

Mum appears, wearing her tracksuit. She has a quick word with Grandma, who drops a stone to the ground.

‘I'm very sorry about this,' says Mum, to the disturbed holiday-makers. ‘Everything is under control.'

On the second night of her stay, Grandma again throws stones and swears at the possums. Some of the guests wake up and swear at
her
. I think I'd prefer Martians. Mum appears and gently directs Grandma back to her cabin. The guests retreat and close their doors. Dad watches, shaking his head. I have never seen a more troubled look on Dad's face, which is bad for someone who works in the hospitality business.