leafed through the letters next to the telephone. The same city council rates bill she had in her own house, the gas company bill, a flyer advertising gardening services, lawn mowing, tree surgery, Turk of America, Kilim Monthly. And among these, letters addressed to Sir Michael de Waldegrave Esq., Lord Forrest Waldegrave, Waldegrave House, Sir Van Der Waldegrave, The Manse. An A4 envelope with the sender recorded as Who’s Who. Who’s Who. The phrase owled around inside her head, talons out.
Dorothy leaned against the bench for a few seconds then reached down to pick up the envelopes that had fallen onto the floor. From here she could see a spray of sauce flecks on the skirting boards, a swept line of crumbs in the corner, a squashed kidney bean. She opened the cupboard and a meal moth flew out. The women were knocking hard on the front door, ringing the doorbell. She checked the empty living room, then the bedroom before opening the door; the bedding was rumpled, the bed half made, and a pillow lay on the carpet next to a roach-studded saucer. The house hung with the stale stench of pot. Outside, the dog barked.
‘He’s not here,’ she said, and walked out the front door and shut it behind her. Rena pushed at the door but it had automatically locked; there was no handle.
‘No,’ Rena said. The dog was out of sight, still barking, after a cat perhaps. The four of them stood on Michael’s doorstep and Rena said, nodding towards the side of the house, where the bubbled glass louvres would be stacked against the weatherboards, spotted with rain, and the bathroom window blackly open, ‘Why’d you do that? We’re going to have to go in again.’
‘Why? He’s not there. He’s probably gone away.’
‘He would have told you.’
‘For god’s sake. He isn’t there. Leave it.’ Dot stood by Michael’s letterbox, facing away from the house across the road.
‘Come on, Granny,’ said Susan. ‘I want to go.’
Over by Dorothy’s house the sound of the dog barking was incessant.
‘What do you want to do?’ Mei asked her mother. She stroked a hand down the crimped slope of Rena’s shaggy hair and pulled her into an embrace. Rena rubbed her eyes into Mei’s shoulder, while Susan patted her grandmother’s back with a small, childish touch. When the old woman lifted her head and rolled it on her neck and sighed, the edges of her eyes were red. ‘If he doesn’t care,’ she said to Dorothy. ‘I’m dying. I need to know from him before I finalise the will. If he doesn’t care, it’ll go somewhere else.’
‘Mum,’ Mei said gently, ‘please don’t keep saying that.’
‘What, I’m dying? What’s the matter, it’s not enough that I’m dying, now I’m forbidden to say I’m dying? It’s the lying that gives you cancer, Mei, I’ll tell you that much.’ They were all speaking loudly now, over the maddening relentless sound of the dog.
‘OK.’ Dorothy stepped back towards them. ‘Does he know how to get hold of you? Why don’t you give me your number, in case he’s lost it. I’m sorry, I’ve got to see what’s bothering the dog. She brings rodents in the house.’
‘I’ve been leaving messages for a week.’ Rena’s voice was losing some of its resolve.
‘Can you wait a bit longer?’
‘OK.’
In the glove box of the van they found a piece of paper from a notepad with a real estate agent’s face on the right-hand corner, and Susan had a pink glitter pen in the back seat. The girl buckled herself in and picked up a comic book. Rena wrote her number on the paper, and Urgent across the top. ‘I need to see him,’ she said quietly. ‘Can you tell him that, Dorothy? Even if he doesn’t want what I can give. I need to see him before I die. I have to make amends.’
‘Oh, Rena.’ Dorothy took the note. She didn’t want to ask for what. ‘Michael’s had a hard life.’ She hugged the older woman, her velvety purple jacket, inhaled her smell of citronella. Ribby Mei stepped forward to be held too. From the van’s back window, through a rubbed hole in the condensation, Susan blinked.
‘Happy birthday for the other day,’ Mei said.
‘Oh yeah. Thanks. Same to you.’
The dog arrived at Dorothy’s side, half-jumping up at her. ‘Down!’ she said, but the dog kept barking as they drove off.
Halfway up the path to her house Dorothy smelled burning. The kitchen was on fire.