The Minnow by Diana Sweeney Page B

say back.

    Home is Jonah’s house. He said he regretted saying that stuff about me having nowhere to go. He said I can think of his house as my home for as long as I want. We’ve made plans to visit the tree house, although I’m not allowed to do anything strenuous for the rest of the pregnancy.
    â€˜Moderate exercise only,’ Dr Patek had said, removing her glasses and giving me her serious face. ‘How far is the letterbox?’
    I looked at Jonah. ‘About half a kilometre,’ he answered. ‘But it’s a flat gravel road.’
    â€˜We’ll see,’ said Dr Patek. ‘I’ll check with Dr Frank each week and when he thinks you’re strong enough, you can walk to the letterbox. In the interim, stay close to the house. And get the phone on. I’ve spoken to Social Services. They’ve been apprised of your situation. They can start with the phone. Call my office and speak to Pamela if you have any problems.’
    I want to see Nana. The moderate exercise rule means that I can’t walk to the Mavis Ornstein Home for the Elderly, so Jonathan Whiting collects me in his car. It seems everyone has been apprised of my situation. See the way I used ‘apprised’ just then? It’s a James Wo initiative. Whenever I hear someone use an unfamiliar word, I should, first, write it down, second, look it up in the dictionary, third, familiarise myself with the word by writing it into at least three sentences and, fourth, practise using it in a conversation.
    â€˜Should I look it up in the thesaurus?’
    â€˜If you like, but only after you’ve completed all four steps. That way you’ll have a more rounded comprehension of the word prior to seeking alternatives.’
    I’m beginning to understand Jonah’s crush.
    Jonathan Whiting’s car is an old Bentley, with cream duco and cream leather seats. Papa says it’s a tribute to creaminess. Jonathan Whiting’s favourite part of the car is the steering wheel. He tells me he had it custom made by the same people who make guitar plectrums. He said he asked for a shimmering mix of pearl, soft white and buttercup, and he is very pleased with the result. He runs his hands around the wheel while he tells me this, proudly admiring every facet. I hope he’s watching the road.
    â€˜So, Tom, how long have you and Jonah been together?’
    â€˜Oh, we’re not together ,’ I answer. ‘Jonah’s just letting me stay.’
    â€˜Well, he’s obviously taking his responsibilities seriously, which is the main thing.’
    â€˜The Minnow isn’t half Jonah’s, if that’s what you mean.’
    Dad would’ve called that a conversation stopper. I prefer looking out the window, so I’m happy that Jonathan Whiting is lost for words. My hand is resting on my tummy and I can feel the Minnow’s tail-fin.
    Nana has missed me.
    â€˜Let me look at you, darling,’ she says, squashing my face between her hands. I’ve missed her too. Lucky I had Papa with me, but I don’t tell her that. ‘What did the doctor say?’ she asks. ‘Does he think you ought to rest more?’
    â€˜Dr Patek is a she ,’ I reply.
    â€˜Patek? What kind of name is that, dear?’
    â€˜Indian, I think. She’s nice,’ I say, ‘and she’s organised stuff for me at home.’ But Nana is distracted.
    â€˜Jonathan,’ she says, ‘what kind of doctor is a patek?’ Jonathan looks at me and smiles. I know that smile. It says welcome back. I feel so happy I could bust a gut. That’s a Nana saying, but you probably guessed.
    Nana has been knitting booties for the Minnow. She sent Jonathan to the wool shop, but (as it never gets very cold at The Crossing) he bought only one ball of wool in pale blue and eleven balls of cotton. Nana is knitting one bootie in each colour because she thinks matching pairs are boring. There is a line-up of