The Man Ban - Nicola Marsh Page 0,51

thirty-five years. It had been his home too before he’d started med school and moved into dorms on campus. He always wondered why his mom hadn’t found them a place of their own; he’d asked once, when he’d been about ten, and his mom said Izzy needed to be looked after and it was their duty considering his dad had died when he was two and he’d asked Carla Gomes to look after his mother.

A duty Manny had assumed after Carla died.

But he knew it was love more than duty that made Izzy such a big part of his life. He respected his grandmother, and she was the only family he had left. She’d been his rock after his mom died, and for that alone he owed her.

As he strode along the bricked path to the front door, he was surprised to see the garden appeared unattended, with the lawn an inch too long and weeds among the flower beds Izzy had once tended with such patience. These days, a gardener came once every two weeks, but it looked like he hadn’t been in a month.

Manny had offered to buy Izzy a new house many times— something smaller if she liked, or even a fancy unit in a retirement village—but Izzy would have none of it. These days, whenever he brought it up she’d chastise him with You need to bury me under the curry leaf tree out the back, which ensured he’d inevitably change the subject.

When he reached the front door, he knocked three times before using his key to let himself in. The faintest aroma of fenugreek and garam masala clung to the walls, indicative of the many tasty Indian dishes Izzy had whipped up over the years.

“In here, Manish,” Izzy called out from the lounge room. Not that she needed to; it was where she spent all her time, watching soap operas or playing games on her electronic tablet.

“Hi, Izzy . . .” His greeting faded as he caught sight of his grandmother, sitting in her favorite chintz armchair by the gas log fire.

She’d lost weight.

Enough that the red sweater hung from her shoulders and black leggings accentuated her twiglike legs. Her cheeks had a hint of gauntness too. How had he not noticed during their video calls?

Guilt niggled in his gut. Had he been too bamboozled by Harper, too caught up in his own pleasure, to notice?

“Stop gawking and come say hello to your grandmother,” she muttered, holding open her arms for a hug.

When he wrapped his arms around her, it confirmed what he already knew. She’d definitely shed a few pounds. He’d last seen her at Arun’s wedding, and that had been several weeks ago.

Unexplained weight loss at any age wasn’t good from a medical standpoint, and in his grandmother it made him want to call the paramedics.

All the texts he’d pored over as an undergrad flashed before his eyes. Any number of conditions could result in weight loss: muscle wasting, overactive thyroid, diabetes, endocarditis, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, inflammatory bowel disease, peptic ulcer, heart failure, and the big C. The thought of Izzy dealing with any of those made him feel sick.

He wanted to grill her, but he knew from experience Izzy didn’t take kindly to being quizzed. She’d become defensive and shut down, and he couldn’t have that happening, not when he needed answers.

Ironic, that he’d been worried coming here today because he’d expected an interrogation of epic proportions regarding Harper, and now he was worried for an entirely different reason.

“How are you?” He sat on the armchair next to hers, the old springs creaking. It had been his chair since he was a kid, and he’d read many a book curled up in it while Izzy and Carla watched Bollywood movies.

“The usual. Old and decrepit.”

His gran’s unusually morose answers had bothered him in New Zealand, but he’d dismissed it. Now he wondered if her responses were indicative of a deeper problem she didn’t want him knowing about.

“Eating well?”

Predictably, she bristled, glaring at him like he’d asked her something ridiculously personal. “When you’re my age, you don’t feel like eating every single meal, so I might have skipped a few.”

That could explain the weight loss, but Izzy had skipped breakfast or lunch for as long as he could remember.

“And you’re feeling okay?”

“Fine,” she snapped, but her gaze slid away, and he knew there was something going on.

He could hedge around it, but worry would gnaw at him until he confronted her, and if