The phone rang shrilly, as I lay sprawled on the couch, watching the late news. I picked up.
'Chello, Darling.' A thick middle European accent greeted my ears. My aunt, Daphne. 'I'm coming with Joseph to Melbourne for Jennifer's wedding. Can we stay with you for a few days?'
'Sure. That'll be lovely.'

I scratched my head. My quiet life was about to be disrupted but my auntie had a sweet sweet face to complement her sweet nature. Or so I believed. One of my favourite things about her was the way she always called me Darling. I was partial to people that called me 'darling', unless they looked like Za Za Gabor and spoke with turgid Hungarian accents.
'Are you sure we won't be any trouble?'
'No, it'll be fine.'

I set about cleaning the house, weeding the garden, and giving Petal, the dog, a hasty haircut that may in retrospect have been a mistake. She looked decidedly more like a boy than a girl dog. Oh well…

Earlier in the week, my other aunt, aunt Anna, had rung up. After that phone call my aunt Daphne looked even better. The phone call had began innocuously enough.
'Hello, who is it?'
'It's your auntie Anna, Sophia.' I smiled. I had sent her my manuscript not long ago and was hoping she would have some useful positive feedback for me. However, as the week wore on I realized that perhaps I had once again underestimated my aunt. She could be a real bitch.
'Auntie, how lovely to hear from you.'
'Well what are you doing with yourself, Sophia?'
'Oh, you know, the usual. Apart from the cooking, cleaning and the mowing, I'm writing a book, practicing the piano, weeding the garden, walking the dog and learning a new computer package, that's all.'
'Well, why don't you do something useful with yourself. Really, you should join a club, or do some social work?'
'Yes, Auntie.'
'Now look here, Sophia, I read your book.'
That 'look here, Sophia' should have put me on my guard, but I let it roll by.
'You did. Well that's great.'
'Well , I did, but you know in our family we don't read murder mysteries.'
'Oh, that's a shame.'
'Yes, and we don't like books about very rich people.'
'I see.'
'And, you know, not all doctors are rich.'
'Yes, I know.'
'Yes, well, why don't you write something you know something about then? Like your misspent youth or your terrible parents?'
'But I do know something about this doctor. He was my father's physician.'
I'd tried, but I knew from bitter experience that my aunt suffered from selective deafness when it suited her. So, as usual, ignoring my feeble retort, she ploughed on.
'I also laughed at your adjectives,' she said, cackling.
'Oh, that's interesting.'
'Well you should be very sparing with them. I particularly laughed at 'patrician nose'.' She cackled again, and I had serious concerns for her sanity.
'Well, yes, I can see how that would be madly amusing.'
'Well, anyway I didn't finish the book. Your characters were too boring, and I didn't like that policeman. Fancy being interested in another woman, and he's married.'
'Yes, well. Exactly how many pages did you read, Auntie?'
'I read 10 pages, and then I lost interest. You know your characters are not very appealing.'
'Well thanks very much for your input. I really appreciate it. But I must go now, goodbye.'
So you can see why my auntie Daphne looked like a sweetheart. If Auntie Anna was a tuba, playing sad, mournful notes, full of bitterness and sarcasm, my aunt Daphne was a violin, playing light, sweet trills, flashing in and out of my life.

The day they were due to arrive, I went out to the airport. Waiting nearby for their plane to land, the air felt hot and humid, sticky on my back, as my back burned in the sun's rays. I shifted slightly into the shade of a nearby gum tree. The mobile's ringing startled me, the shrill tones piercing my daydream. It was time for me to go meet them.
I approached their flight with some trepidation. Even though I loved my aunt, the prospect of spending three whole days with her and Ben (whom I didn't know at all) was daunting. I knew we would run out of conversation at about the twenty-minute mark, and there would still be two days and twenty three hours and forty minutes to go. Still, I plastered a smile on my face, and went to meet them.

I drove home via the scenic route along the beach, taking care to point out highlights on the way. It was a beautiful, sunny, warm Melbourne afternoon and by the time we got home, everyone was in a good mood. I'd been nervous about meeting my cousin Ben whom I didn't know very well, but right from the start we hit it off. I did notice that my aunt looked tired, but I put that down to an early flight from Sydney and perhaps too much excitement.

We sat in my garden drinking long, cool drinks and watching honeyeaters skydiving into the pond. The balmy December air was perfumed with Jasmine, as we exchanged pleasantries and tried to catch up on gossip.
'This place is wonderful,' said Ben. 'I adore your garden. It's so French provincial.'
'No, it's just a mess.' But I was secretly pleased. The garden with its two golden Robinyas shading the house, and a profusion of cottage plants spilling onto the lawn, was certainly pleasing. I loved my garden and I was glad that I had weeded it madly for the two weeks before they arrived. My hard work was rewarded.

Later that day we called in on my Aunt Nora, whose daughter was getting married the next day. After admiring her new place, and sharing several cups of tea and quick catch up on all the gossip, we left. As we strolled the short distance to my car, I noticed that my aunt had trouble walking uphill. We'd only covered a short distance, but she was out of breath. She mentioned rather casually that that had been happening frequently this past week. Somewhere in the back of my mind a small alarm bell went off. My father had died of heart failure and I was sensitive to warning signs.

The next morning was the day of the wedding. It was an unusually hot, sultry morning. We set off to St. Kilda. The clouds cleared and the sky was brilliantly blue as I headed for the gym and left my aunt and Ben to wander by the beach. Half an hour later I rejoined them. My aunt was puffed again.

'I'm going to take you to the doctor's, ' I told my aunt.
'But I don't want to go. The wedding is today.'
'Never mind. We'll go to the hairdresser's and then the doctor and then the wedding,' I said, still optimistic that my aunt would be well enough to go to the wedding.
The hairdresser's took longer than I expected and we nearly missed our doctor's appointment. By now my aunt's hair was extremely teased and boofed, and she was ready to party.

The doctor, a middle aged, pleasant woman, showed us into her office and listened attentively to my aunt's complaint. Putting a stethoscope to her chest, she asked my aunt to breathe in and out, casually asked a few questions, took her pulse and then turned to me. I was sure that she would tell me that I was wasting everyone's time and that I should stop being a nervous Nelly. I was ready to be chastised.
Instead, she looked at me levelly and said, 'Take her immediately to a private hospital and get a cardiogram done.'
'Can we go to the wedding first and do it after, ' I asked. 'After all what's a few hours?'
'No, go immediately.'
I must admit I went into shock, so much so that I could hardly remember how to drive to the Hospital. I drove on instinct.

When we were outside my aunt was still saying that she didn't want to go. 'I want to go to the wedding,' she persisted. She was a party girl.
'We'll go afterwards, ' I argued.
'But I came all the way for this wedding.'
'Yes, I know, auntie, but look we are here already. Lets just get the all clear and then we can party.'
'Ok, ' she said reluctantly.
We got into emergency and the head nurse asked me how we'd arrived. I told her I drove. She looked askance at me and said that the doctor should have got an ambulance. This woman needs to go into cardiac care.

A couple of hours later, Ben and I left her there and came home and rang her daughter, Jeannie, in Sydney. Jeannie, married to an old rock and roller, both of them caught up in some sort of time warp. Jeannie, who rumour had it, had only a passing acquaintance with reality. I was about to find out the truth of this. I put the phone on speakerphone so Ben could hear and dialed.
'Hi, Jeannie. Your mother is unwell. I've had to take her to hospital.'
'Hospital?'
'Yes, I took her to the doctor's this afternoon and the doctor said to take her immediately to hospital for a cardiogram. It's her heart.'
'Oh, piffle. There's nothing wrong with her heart. She's just stressed.' Ben and I exchanged a glance. He shrugged his shoulders in the Gaelic manner.
'Well, yes, I daresay she's stressed, but she's also having trouble breathing on exertion. And her pulse rate is 35 beats per minute. That's very low. Anyway I'll call you later after the doctor's been. Meanwhile Ben and I will go to the wedding.'
'But my mother will be heartbroken. She so much wanted to go. And she came all the way from Sydney.'
'I know, Jeannie, but the hospital won't release her. They say she has to stay here.'


I went to the wedding with Ben, and watched the lovely bride and her very rich bridegroom tie the knot, the ceremony performed over the still waters of Albert park lake as nightfall came, and then I began an earnest search for food. It was disappointing. Jewish weddings were not supposed to be like this. The best part was always the food. I looked at the bridegroom again. Yes, definitely Jewish. They must have got the wrong caterers. There would be hell to pay and people would talk about this for a very long time. Reputations could be made and broken on this.
After an hour or so, it became too hot and I wandered outside in search of some fresh, cool air. The mobile rang. Jeannie.
'Hello.'
'Hello, Sophia. Where's Ben?'
'I don't know. There's three hundred people at this reception.'
'Well, anyway, I've talked to the doctor and there is nothing wrong with my mother. She should never have gone to hospital. Get her out immediately. She wants to go the party.' Clang. I had to quickly move the ear piece away from my ear or be in danger of losing my hearing entirely.
Oh, I thought. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the hospital was wrong? Maybe the nurses and doctors were wrong? I must have been mistaken. Such things do happen. I rang the hospital.
'Is Mrs. Stravinsky all right? Can she go to the wedding party tonight? I asked tentatively.
'No, she needs a pacemaker.Clang.' I winced again.
Maybe Jeannie hadn't got it right. I found Ben.
'Ben, I think Jeannie is not all there. I think she's come from another planet one that's yet to be discovered.'
Ben, ever the diplomat, looked directly at me, lifted one eyebrow and said rather tactfully, 'Well she does have a morbid fear of doctors and hospital, so she's probably a bit reactive.'
'I see.' I too could play diplomat.

'What will we do,' I asked again and again.
'Just wait,' said Ben and turned on the television, trying to drown out both our anxieties.
The next day we marched into the ward. My aunt told us that she had agreed to have a pacemaker. The phone rang. Jeannie again for the millionth time. After five minutes my aunt put the phone down and with a strange little smile on her face, said, 'Jeannie says you can't fly once you have a pacemaker inserted. That means I'll be stuck in Melbourne forever and won't be able to fly home.'
I didn't think that was right but thought I'd better double-check. I approached the nurses station, and asked the head nurse, 'Is it true that you are not allowed to fly with a pace maker?'
'No,' she looked at the other nurses unbelievingly and then looked back at me, 'Of course you can fly with a pacemaker. But Mrs. Stravinsky won't be allowed to fly without one.'

Two days later Michael arrived. 'I'd like to go to the hospital to see my mother.'
I drove him there.
'l'll see you later. I'll ring you when I'm done,' he said as I left. I had to stop myself from boxing his ears. There was no, 'Is that alright with you?' but I put it down to anxiety, rather than bad manners. A couple of hours later, the phone rang.
'I'm ready. I've seen my mother and I'd like to go home.'
No, 'Is that convenient now or are you in the middle of something?'
'Fine.'
I washed the car, finished weeding the tricky patch in the back of the garden and two hours later drove to the hospital. I did feel a tad mean, but hey, who had chosen to arrive at their convenience?
Michael did not look so happy to see me, but was civil enough.
'So what made you and that dim witted sister of yours finally decide to allow your mother to have a pacemaker?' I asked amiably over dinner.
'Well we had to have all the facts. No good rushing into these things.'
'You do realize, Gary, that not rushing into these things meant that your mother nearly suffered heart failure?'
'Well, but you can't be too careful.'
'Well I guess you know what heart failure is?'
'No.'
'No. Well it's not pretty, and if you ever see someone in heart failure you know you would not wish it on your worst enemy.'
Michael blanched a little and turned an unusual shade of putty-grey. He pushed his plate away but I noticed by then he had just about wiped it clean anyway. The next course arrived, and we ate our dinner in silence after that. But I was fuming. These two idiots had nearly killed their mother and what was worse they were oblivious.