I Heart Beat Read Free

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    Hobbies: church, sewing, gardening, reading (historical romances), classical music, walking
    Marital status: recently widowed with one useless daughter and one granddaughter
    Dietary requirements: a balanced diet, everything in moderation, absolutely no alcohol
    Media preferences: television (the news, weather and some soaps), radio (the news, weather and classical music)
    Sleep patterns: early to bed; early to rise (at least eight hours’ sleep)
    That’s it. Let’s face it: I don’t have a lot to work with here.
    I fiddle with Grummer’s cellphone. It’s one of those that came in when cellphones were first invented, like a hundred years ago. I listen to the voice message. It goes like this: “Hello, this is Derek Wellbeloved. Mavis and I aren’t able to come to the telephone right now, but please leave a message and one of us will return your telephone call as soon as we are able … how do you stop this thing? Mavis, which button must I press?” And then there’s lots of shuffling and the message ends.
    Well, that’s no good now, is it? We can’t have a prospective squeeze for Grummer calling her and getting this message. He’ll think she’s already got someone.
    â€œGrummer,” I say. “Grummer, you’ve got a very old message on your cellphone. Why don’t you change it?”
    â€œI don’t know how to,” she says. Grummer’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel.
    â€œNo problem, I’ll just quickly do it for you.” I start to push a couple of buttons.
    â€œNo, don’t. Leave my telephone alone. It’s not a toy.” Grummer sounds all shrill. She gets the pink circles on her cheeks. Then she says in a calmer voice, “I like to telephone myself sometimes and listen to that message … when I want to hear your grandfather’s voice.”
    Ka-ching! I hear the sound of The Jackpot. I quickly text my two and only friends back home, go online and upload Grummer’s comment to our corny comment blog. Within minutes they text me their response. It’s rated a big ten. Top score. They’re going to struggle to beat it. Yee-ha!
    I say nothing to Grummer. One doesn’t want to encourage too much sharing. But I take stock of Project: Pulling for Grummer. She’s not great material to start with, and now I hear that she’s still got a thing for the dead guy. Things aren’t looking up. I’ll have to charge double my normal rate. Ha-ha!
    We finally come to the turn-off for the village and it’s pretty dark. We’ve been on the road for four hours. Not too bad for a two-hour journey. Way to go, Grummer! I make a quick mental note: do not enter Grummer as a contestant in
The Amazing Race.
She would be the one still dithering about at the starting line while all the other participants had already made it home.
    Our dream holiday home for the next four weeks (twenty-seven days and three hours) is set far back on a piece of jungle. We make it up the driveway, and Grummer manages to park without completely taking out a guava tree.
    We find the front door using my cellphone as a torch. As I unlock the door I hear the sound of the ocean. Now isn’t that nice, hey? We’re twenty kilometres from the beach and still it’s like the sea is on our doorstep.
    As I turn off the alarm I feel water soak into my takkies. My feet are soon wet through.
    Grummer finds the light switch and we look around us; we’re standing in a pond. There are a million cockroaches floating tummy-side up as well as a couple of bloated cats. Correction: they’re rats. Well, that makes me feel so much better (not).
    I follow the sound of the waterfall to the bathroom. It’s the geyser, gushing water all over the place. It’s been doing this for a long time ’cos the house is swamped.
    Typical! Well done, Georgia Wellbeloved, you’ve done it again. Trust Mom to buy a house and