Read Online Dinner at Rose's by Danielle Hawkins - Free Book Online

people, oncologists.’
    ‘And when is your first appointment?’
    ‘Next Tuesday.’
    ‘Can I take you?’ I asked.
    ‘Too late. Matthew is going to be my chauffeur.’ She bent down and gathered an armful of spiky rose branches. ‘Let’s toss these over the fence and go and have some wine, shall we?’

    I THOUGHT I’D better leave Rose in peace on Tuesday evening, but on Wednesday I drove up the valley through the gathering dusk. It was a spectacularly lovely evening with just the hint of a breeze stirring the golden leaves of the poplars along the roadside and the sun setting behind the ranges in a soft glow of apricot and green.
    Matt’s ute was already there, and Hazel’s zippy little white car. The dogs were evidently worn out from greeting this surfeit of visitors and got up rather reluctantly to wander over and sniff me. The ancient huntaway did manage to lift his leg and squeeze out a drop or two against my back tyre but you could tell his heart wasn’t really in it. Percy was busy under the walnut tree behind the shed and I could only see his well-padded ginger bottom.
    I let myself in at the kitchen door just in time to see Rose throw up copiously into the sink. She stood there a moment, gripping the edge of the bench with her head bowed, before looking up and saying, only a very little less emphatically than normal, ‘Why are there always carrots in one’s vomit even if one hasn’t eaten one of the beastly things for days?’
    ‘My friend Stu has a theory about that,’ I said. ‘He reckons the gall bladder is actually a carrot-storage organ, and whenever you throw up some are released.’
    ‘Ah,’ said Rose, nodding as she turned on the tap to rinse out the sink. ‘That explains it.’
    ‘Oh, Rosie ,’ wailed Hazel from the living room. ‘I can’t bear to see you suffering like this.’
    ‘Then don’t look,’ Aunty Rose muttered, running herself a glass of water and taking a large gulp. ‘That’s better. Come through, sweet pea, the wholeis here, bless their cotton socks.’
    In the living room Kim was curled in an armchair, Hazel was pacing the floor in a distressed sort of way and Matt was leaning against a heavy oak sideboard crammed with dusty willow-pattern dishes. ‘Hey, Jose,’ he said lightly. ‘Have you come to watch Rose throw up? It’s great entertainment.’
    ‘It is,’ I agreed. ‘I had a free evening, so I thought it might be a fun way to spend it.’
    Hazel looked at us more in sorrow than in anger. ‘Your aunt has cancer ,’ she said. ‘It’s not funny. R-remember your father, Matthew . . .’ And pulling a wisp of lace from the sleeve of her cardigan she pressed it to her eyes in a touching display of grief. I looked at Matt’s face and wanted to hit her.
    ‘We might as well laugh. Much better than all sitting around sobbing. Pull yourself together, Hazel,’ said Rose briskly. She sank onto a sofa and leant her head back wearily. ‘Kimlet, don’t look so worried. It’s just the chemo; it’s only temporary. It will be making those cancer cells a lot sicker than it’s making me.’
    Kim nodded, and smiled at her tremulously.
    ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I saw this in town, Rose, and thought of you.’ I passed her a small brown paper bag and sat down on the sofa beside her.
    Aunty Rose opened the bag and pulled out a bright purple Indian cotton scarf shot with silver threads. ‘Josephine, it’s fabulous.’ She smiled.
    ‘It won’t be very warm,’ I said, ‘but I thought it looked nice and glamorous.’
    ‘Darling, you shouldn’t have.’
    ‘It only cost seven dollars,’ I told her.
    ‘Stingy cow,’ she said.
    ‘Absolutely.’ I squeezed her hand for a second.
    ‘Matthew, there’s a bottle of ginger ale in the fridge. Be an angel and get me a glass?’ said Rose. As he went she added, ‘I may as well make the most of all this sympathy, don’t you think?’
    ‘Should I make you a poached egg, Aunty Rose?’ Kim asked eagerly.
    ‘Sweetheart, I