One

“Eliza! Ivy! Leo! Come now!” That was Dad, yelling at us from down the corridor.

“Gawd, really? They’re here already?” I was lying on my bed, laptop open, halfway through watching one of the best championship wins in the history of debating. I did not want to be interrupted.

Ivy, my big sister, was engrossed in some group chat and didn’t budge either, until Dad hollered again.

“Come on Eliza, let’s get this over and done with,” she said, pulling me up and shuffling me out the door.

Dad was waving at us frantically to hurry, my little brother, Leo, already by his side, as the front door downstairs swung open.

It was Mum’s ridiculous idea to have us lined up at the top of the stairs to greet Grandma like she was royalty. I mean, yes, Grandma did have a queenliness about her. Or at least, normally she did. Today she looked sunken, sullen, as Mum helped her up the stairs.

She was here to recuperate after her hip operation. Twelve weeks max, we were told. We’d never spent more than two hours with Grandma, apart from that time she came to look after us for a few weeks when Mum was at Great Auntie Faye’s, helping with her “issues”.

But I was only four then, so I don’t really remember it. Since then, it’s really only been day trips to Grandma’s, one hour there, one hour back, leaving only a two-hour window for lunch and a play on the old swing set, a relic from Mum’s childhood. That is, until the day Ivy pushed me so hard that I fell and landed on my face, cracking my two front teeth. The swing set disappeared after that, and those visits became even more boring.

Two hours seemed to be Mum’s limit. She was usually calm enough, or as calm as Mum could be, on the way to Grandma’s, but definitely more frazzled on the drive home. Maybe it was because of the rules. Grandma had a lot of rules.

No shoes inside. No running inside. No touching anything, particularly not her sacred knick-knacks. No loud voices. No arguing. No talking back. No dessert if we didn’t eat all of our lunch.

I suppose that wouldn’t have been much fun for Mum growing up. But then, Mum also had lots of rules, mainly about keeping the house tidy, looking “put together”, and about eating.

She had lots of eating rules, particularly what you could and couldn’t eat and when you could and couldn’t eat. No chocolate, lollies or cakes—the evil trifecta. Snacking between meals was evil too.

Which was why I’d resorted to concealing a chocolate stash under my bed. Not for every day. But for when I needed it—only when I really needed it.

But here was Grandma, looking old-lady frail, accepting little pecks on the cheek as she passed down the receiving line we’d formed without smiling at any of us.

“The operation must have worn her out,” whispered Dad to I don’t know who, while Mum edged Grandma down the hallway to my bedroom, which I’d vacated two days earlier. We were still lined up in this stupid formation when Mum came out looking relieved, ready to busy herself with her next list of tasks.

But she hadn’t even made it to the kitchen before we heard a bark from the bedroom. “Andrea! I need my medication now!” and Mum went scrambling off like a parlour maid. Maybe Grandma’s queenliness hadn’t deserted her after all.

Twelve weeks? It had been five minutes and our world had already shifted. It all started with the room arrangements.

I howled when Mum and Dad told me I had to shift out of my room and bunk in with Ivy. They made me pack up my clothes and clear my books, so the room looked like a sterile recovery space rather than my refuge.

Ivy didn’t care. She pushed her bed over to one side so we could fit another bed along the far wall, freed up some space in her wardrobe and on her shelves, then left me to it.

I’d always secretly coveted Ivy’s bedroom. Apart from Mum and Dad’s, it was the biggest one in the house. It had floor-to-ceiling windows, views to the bottlebrush trees outside, and a sneaky door out to the backyard. Hmm, maybe the room change wasn’t so bad after all.

Ivy wasn’t really home that often anyway. She was nineteen, in her first year at the Conservatorium of Music, studying classical voice. Most of the time, she was either at uni or at her friend Bernie’s place, except when she needed to do her washing or Mum made her come home for Friday night dinners.

Even so, changing rooms wasn’t the biggest change brought on by Grandma’s arrival. The real issue was the vibe in the house, an energy shift that I couldn’t quite describe. It started two days ago, when Mum and Dad announced Grandma’s extended stay.

“She won’t be very mobile,” Mum said. “So she’s going to need our help.” We nodded. “She doesn’t like too much noise—so Ivy, you’re going to have to rehearse at uni, and Leo, no yelling in the backyard.” More nods. “She also has a special diet, so we’re all going to have to adjust.” That got more nods from us kids, an encouraging smile from Dad, and a major exhale from Mum.

Dad, in his usual kind way, made it sound like everything would be fine if we just did whatever Mum asked. Situation normal. Meanwhile, Mum seemed to be spinning out—and that was before Grandma had even arrived.

Now Grandma was here, and it was the first Friday family dinner since she’d arrived. It was also the last weekend of the summer holidays—school would start on Monday—and that’s when we were truly sucked through the vortex.

It wasn’t Mum managing mealtime, ordering Leo to get his elbows off the table, telling me I was eating too fast, telling Ivy she wasn’t eating enough, barking at Dad not to chew with his mouth open. It was Grandma doing all those things.

“Leo, sit still, for goodness sake! Eliza, are you sure you need that much food? Ivy, why don’t you have a little more? Andrew, I can hear your chewing from here! And Andrea, next time you make stir fry, use less broccoli. It’s bad for digestion, you know.”

She didn’t speak in kindly tones with gooey, isn’t-it-lovely-to-be-here-with-you Grandma eyes. This was a monarch at the helm, presiding over her subjects, setting the standards, expecting total obedience. And I thought Mum was bad.

In fact, Mum looked like a withered, weathered version of herself under Grandma’s gaze, and Dad seemed even more subservient. It was Ivy who cut through the tension. Somehow, she knew how to handle Grandma.

Back when Ivy was thirteen, she went to stay with Grandma for six weeks. I’d been furious that she got to miss so much school, I thought it was totally unfair—even though I wouldn’t really want to miss school, let alone spend that much time with Grandma. But Ivy had come back happier, and somehow calmer, so I suppose that was good.

I found it hard while she was away. Ivy provided a handy buffer between me and the full blast of Mum’s wrath. She had a way of being calm, but kind of commanding. It was sort of her superpower, and she was executing that right now. I watched as she rose from the table.

Wait, wasn’t she supposed to stay until she was excused? Bold move.

“It’s lovely to have you here, Grandma,” she said. “I’m looking forward to spending more time with you, but right now I need to head off to rehearsal.” Did she have rehearsal? “Eliza, will you help me clear the table?”

I glanced over to Mum, who seemed frozen, obviously another feature of this new world order, so I checked with Grandma instead. She gave me an ever so slight nod, so I gathered up the dirty dishes and scampered after Ivy.

Ivy and I scraped the plates, filled the dishwasher and wiped down the kitchen benches while Dad got Leo into the bath. Meanwhile, Mum helped Grandma into her armchair, the one that none of us kids were ever allowed to sit in, which was usually by the window overlooking the ash tree but was now front and centre in the living room, with the best views of the TV. Clearly, it wasn’t Mum’s chair anymore.

Once the dishes were done, I retreated to my—well, Ivy’s—room, still a little unnerved. How were we ever going to get through twelve weeks of this? I considered raiding my emergency chocolate stash.

Family-size blocks of Cadbury Dairy Milk chocolate had always been my favourite. Yes, it was sickly sweet and overly milky, but it was the first chocolate I remember eating. We’d spent the day at my friend Kelly’s place down at the river and I’d gobbled down six pieces before Mum could stop me.

Did I need some now? Maybe. Yes. Probably. I could just have two pieces, while I had the bedroom to myself. It was the perfect opportunity.

Grandma’s arrival, ratcheting up the stress levels in the house, wasn’t helping my own stress levels, which were already sky high with anticipation of the coming school year.

This year needed to be epic. I had to win the National Schools Debating Championships. The regional debating comp or the state one wouldn’t be good enough. Only the nationals would cut it.

And I needed to be prepared—no stone unturned, no room for error. I could not fail at this. It was too important. Debating was my calling card, the way I distinguished myself from all the other riff-raff at our school.

I yanked out my wooden keepsake box from under my bed. Mum and Dad gave it to me for my twelfth birthday. It probably wasn’t the use they’d intended, but it was the perfect size to stash those Cadbury family blocks, hidden beneath the upper tray. 

I was halfway through my second block of chocolate and I was still feeling stressed, damn it. I was also feeling more blah and bloated. Aargh. The chocolate was meant to make me feel better, not worse.

I shoved it away, disgusted. It was meant to be a balm, but it was feeling like a curse. I did not need that this year. I needed all the luck and good fortune I could get, otherwise debating glory would just be some stupid unattainable dream.

My phone pinged. I grabbed it, hoping it was Tilly, my best friend. Tilly was the only person I could speak to about this Grandma takeover, and maybe my debating worries, although she was probably sick of hearing about those.

Tilly kept assuring me that everything would be fine, but I knew differently. We still had to find an extra team member. And they couldn’t just be any old debater—they had to be a really, really good one.

My stomach lurched as I looked at my phone. The message wasn’t from Tilly—it was from Seb. The boy I’d spent the whole summer with.

SEB: Whatchya doin?

Quick, quick, think of something clever to say, something amusing or insightful. Or maybe I could just tell the truth.

ME: Avoiding the lounge room.

SEB: Huh?

ME: Grandma got here today. Everyone’s on edge.

I waited. No response. No ellipses. Obviously not clever, amusing or insightful enough. Or even worthy of a reply.

But then again, Seb was like that. Present and then not present. That was how he’d been for our relationship so far, if you could call it a relationship. It had been one month since we met down at the beach house over summer.

My family had a humble weatherboard at Port Eaton that was three blocks from the beach, and Seb’s family had an ocean-front palace, a boat and a pool. I wasn’t sure why you needed a pool when the ocean was right there, but there you go.

We met when I was trailing down Longley Beach, doing a first-day reconnaissance. I passed the arc of the jetty and the boat ramp and headed towards the nature playground, feeling bummed about how boring this holiday would be without Ivy there. It was the first year she’d been allowed to stay home.

I’d invited Tilly, but she’d been set on staying in the city for summer—I’m not sure why.

I’d paused for a moment to take in the view, the glistening turquoise water and blazing blue sky. That’s about all that was on offer at Point Eaton. Boating, fishing, swimming, sunning and staring at the water.

That was when I spotted him, by the big rock pool, all sandy-coloured hair, bare chest and big grin. He was as hot as the weather. Even hotter. It was like I was caught in a freeze frame, because even though I wanted to get the hell out of there before this beautiful boy saw me gawking at him, I couldn’t move.

That was when he sidled over. “Hey,” he said, “I’m Seb.” Just like that.

Suddenly, I didn’t care about the blue water or the blue sky? The blue that was mesmerising me now was his eyes. God damn. They were ocean deep.

“Hey, I’m Eliza,” I managed to mumble.

“Well, Eliza,” he said, bumping me gently, “I think we need to spend some time together this summer.” Just like that.

We spent the whole of January swimming, fossicking in the rock pools, having fires on the beach and making out under the rocky outcrops. So yeah, it was the perfect summer. Except for the times he went AWOL, which was only ever for a day—or two.

But now that we were back home in Adelaide and school was about to begin, I didn’t know what would happen. Would we hang out? Would he message me? Would he become a proper boyfriend instead of just a summer fling?

On our last day together down the coast, Seb had made no promises. In fact, his final words were, “See you around, Peaches.” He called me Peaches, because he said that’s what the colour of my hair reminded him of.

My hair was long and dead straight, so I’m not sure about the fruit reference. But the colour, yes, it was kind of a blondy, pinky orange, so peach probably fit.

Anyway, “See you around” was good, right? That meant he wanted to see me. To be honest, I wasn’t absolutely sure what it meant. This was new territory. Seb was the first boy who’d ever been “into me”.

He wasn’t my first kiss. That was Jeremy in Grade 6 at the school social. But my “relationship” with Seb had already lasted longer than two hours. A world record.

Now that we were back in reality, maybe everything would be different. He went to Callington, the fancy private school down the road from Heathgrove High, our public school. Maybe that would be it. Game over.

Or maybe not.

SEB: Come over.

I felt the familiar rush that had flooded me so many times over summer, whenever he headed my way with that sexy swagger, fixing me with a goofy grin and nodding for me to follow him down to the breakaways, stealing the last of the sunlight before we were expected home. He was irresistible.

But sensible Eliza was taking over. I mean, I needed to prepare for school. This year was important, super important. We were going to win the national debating comp even if it killed me. Well, hopefully it wouldn’t kill me, because I desperately wanted to revel in the glory, be featured in the yearbook, and maybe even win Mum’s approval. That would be a first.

Godammit, my stomach was feeling huge. Why did I eat all that chocolate? Why did I eat anything at all?

ME: It’s late

SEB: So?

I heard Mum and Dad call goodnight and shuffle off to bed. Grandma and Leo were already snoring, and Ivy was still out. I suppose 10.15 on a Friday night wasn’t so late, really.

Maybe sensible Eliza didn’t need to make the call. And maybe Grandma’s stay, which had forced me into Ivy’s room with that very convenient back door, wasn’t such a bad thing either.

Seb’s next message was a photo of his cheeky grin. Irre-freaking-sistable.

ME: Yeah okay

SEB: Sweet