The Heaven I Swallowed Read Online Free

purse to find a penny.
    â€˜Here, Mary, go and make a wish in the fountain.’
    She held the penny in the palm of her hand and frowned.
    â€˜Make a wish, Auntie Grace?’
    â€˜Yes, you throw it into the water and make a wish.’
    â€˜Throw the money into the water, Auntie Grace?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜But why, Auntie Grace?’
    The sweetness of the moment was leaking away.
    â€˜Because I said you could.’
    â€˜Wish for what, Auntie Grace?’
    â€˜Anything you want.’
    â€˜Anything, Auntie Grace?’
    I repressed my sigh of exasperation, reminding myself that she would, of course, be ignorant of such matters.
    â€˜Give the penny back to me if you don’t want it.’
    Her palm closed and she walked toward the fountain. She stood at the lip of the six-sided pond with a statue of Apollo in its centre, turtles spurting water up to his face. Two young boys were throwing rocks, trying to hit the water arcs. Mary watched them for a moment. What would she wish for?
    The night before Fred left I wished on a shooting star. I should not have—such beliefs could be blasphemous—but I clung to every superstition after Fred and I were married, the year the war began. I insisted he throw salt over his shoulder and leave his boots outside the house.
    We had courted for two years and been married for four before he was posted overseas. It was not one of the fly-by-night marriages happening all around us, couples thrown together by their fear of death. We knew one another well, had found the crook in each other’s arms perfect for being held in bed. I’d got used to his coughing at night and the strong, masculine tobacco smell that clung to his skin; he smoked a packet of Country Life a day. He called me Gracie.
    On our last night together, he fell asleep in the living room after promising we would stay up and dance until dawn. I stood on the back step, the sky alive with stars, and saw a streak, a tiny line of light. ‘Please let him come home,’ I wished. I could make myself believe there was an element of God in that falling piece of fire and I had sealed a deal. Naïve, like a little girl.
    â€˜Mary! Come away from there now,’ I called.
    She still stood next to the fountain, in full sunlight and with no hat to protect her, rays bouncing off the water straight into her face; surely she had already gone a shade darker.
    She turned and walked towards me. Her head was tilted slightly to the left, her eyes averted. I followed her line of sight and saw, over on the grass, a group of drifters sitting cross-legged. Four of them, in grubby checked shirts and torn trousers, barefoot, grey blankets rolled into swags beside them. They were smoking, one with a pipe, and all were as black as the ace of spades.
    â€˜Hurry up, Mary,’ I said, although she was already next to me. I gave her the box with her old pair of shoes inside. She held it against her chest, both arms wrapped around it. Her hands were wet.
    â€˜What did you wish for?’
    The words were out of my mouth before I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t ask, that she wouldn’t know not to tell me.
    â€˜To stay with you, Auntie Grace,’ she replied.
    We walked down the path towards the ANZAC memorial. The Hill’s figs along the avenue were not tall enough to block out the harsh midday sun and I pulled my hat down lower to protect myself from the light. I strode without acknowledging Mary beside me. I knew her reply about the wish was a lie, her inflection as false as the schoolgirls’ whispers about ‘female problems’ in order to escape morning callisthenics. ‘You understand don’t you, Mrs Smith?’ they had said, as if I wanted to share their monthly secrets.
    We approached the granite cenotaph. I had come here often over the years, drawn to the memorial statue inside it. This bronze statue, depicting a fallen soldier lying on a shield held up by three