Etiquette for a Dinner Party by Sue Orr Read Free Book Online

hungry. Gran and me are hungry.'
    'Should we call a doctor?' says June. She is leaning forward in her armchair, half in and half out, as though in the starting blocks for a running race.
    They look at Mrs Harrison again.
    'What for, ask him to cook her schnitzel?' says Ewan. He shakes his head, his eyes fill with tears. He looks down at his shoes, his jiggling knees. When he looks up again, he is smiling.
    He starts chuckling, quietly at first, then Colleen joins in and they are laughing. June joins in, little giggles, and soon everyone except Mrs Harrison is gasping for air, giggling, then collapsing into mad laughter again. The children too.
    'Gran smiled,' says Hannah, excitedly. 'Look, she's smiling.'
    Mrs Harrison's mouth has changed shape, the corners twitch. She sleeps on.
    'Someone once told me that the hearing is the last thing to go,' says Colleen.
    They settle down again, thinking carefully now about their words. They watch the white sheet.
    An hour passes, then another. The adults doze and wake, talk quietly. They take turns at watching the sheet. The children come and go between the room and the field. .

    Mrs Harrison begins to tear at her clothes, at the sheet. Her eyes are still shut, but she picks at the right shoulder strap of her nightie, as though it has fluff or something objectionable on it. She pulls the strap down, exposing her bare, thin shoulder.
    June reaches over and pulls it back up. With her other hand, Mrs Harrison pulls the white sheet to one side. Her nightie has ridden up and her legs are exposed to her thighs. They too are thin, the skin a blue-grey colour.
    She is restless, muttering words that make no sense. Names no one knows, places she has never been to. But her eyes stay closed.
    June sends the children outside, then talks quietly to her mother.
    'It's okay Mum, it's June. I'm here. I'm with you.'
    Mrs Harrison pulls and grabs, agitated, eyes closed. As soon as June rearranges the bedclothes, they come off again.
    Colleen goes out into the corridor and comes back with a nurse. It's the loud one.
    'Oh Mrs Harrison, what are you doing?' the nurse says, quietly this time. 'I think we'll give her something to calm her down.'
    She disappears.
    June tucks the sheets in around her mother, and Ewan moves into the seat on the other side to help.
    'It's okay Mum,' he says, softly. 'We're right here. It's okay to go.'
    Mrs Harrison is fighting hard now; she has pulled the shoulder strap of her nightie down, right down to her elbow.
    Her breast, a flat and wizened fold of skin, is on display.
    She tears, frantic, as though she is a child opening a wrapped gift. Her eyes are closed, her breathing shallow and the strange words keep coming.
    Ewan senses a presence at the French doors. When he looks up, Reg is stepping into the room. Ewan gently pulls the strap of the nightie up again, covering his mother's breast.
    Reg stops, his eyes turn away, his face scarlet.
    'Sorry, mate. Sorry,' says Reg. 'I was just . . . town . . . sorry.'
    'It doesn't matter Reg.' Ewan repositions himself in the chair, protecting his clawing, agitated mother from Reg's line of sight.
    'It doesn't matter,' Ewan says again, as Reg disappears and the last of the day's sunlight comes back into the room.

    Colleen has taken the empty food cartons and all the other rubbish from the room. The children have gone home with her.
    June finds a cloth and disinfectant and wipes down every surface in the room.
    It is clean and warm and quiet.
    June and Ewan sit at Mrs Harrison's bedside, listening to her death rattle, watching the white sheet. Rise and fall. Rise and fall.
    It moves up and down quickly now, and there are moments when it doesn't move at all. June holds one of her mother's hands, and Ewan the other. They watch the white sheet rise and fall. It falls and does not rise again. Mrs Harrison has died.

LOOK, MA, NO HANDS!
    It was just after midnight when Jim arrived at his mother's. It had been a fast trip from Wellington, six