Infinite Sky by Cj Flood Page A

to the door. He laughed out of his nose. ‘Sheep fall in. Rot, you know . . . But it’s your call,’ he said, shaking his head at her.
    ‘Thank you
very
kindly!’ Nan said, and she wasn’t exactly polite, but as she walked off, I thought she looked dignified, with her back ironing board straight, and her
baby wrapped in a blanket.
    Dad filled the kettle noisily. He was trying to avoid me.
    I watched from the living room window. Nan took the road round our yard to get to the paddock.
    ‘Oh, she respects that’s mine at least!’ Dad called from the doorway. ‘Bloody woman.’
    I went into the kitchen.
    ‘Don’t start,’ Dad said, before I’d even opened my mouth. ‘Who goes off in the morning, and leaves four kids without water?’
    ‘Maybe he didn’t realise.’
    ‘
Iris
.’
    His beard was so bushy now, it was all wispy at the edges, and it made him look old. I wished he’d shave it off.
    ‘I mean it, don’t start. Not my fault if her husband
is
a careless pillock. And I don’t trust a word she says anyway.’
    ‘Why would she lie?’
    There was amazement in Dad’s eyes as he looked at me. My cheeks prickled.
    ‘You really do believe everything everyone tells you, don’t you?’
    ‘I don’t,’ I said, too quickly, and the little stags were there, charging at the backs of my eyes. I blinked them away.
    ‘You’re too soft, Iris. You need to toughen up. Before you get taken for a ride, good and proper. If they’ve run out of water, then I’m . . .’ He trailed off,
searching the kitchen for inspiration.
    Fiasco lifted her nose from her ball and grinned at us, her pink tongue flopping from the side of her mouth, frothy with slobber.
    ‘Then I’m Fiasco’s mother,’ he said.
    I didn’t laugh.
    ‘You’re just saying that so you don’t look bad.’
    ‘What? I’m not Fiasco’s mother?’
    I opened my mouth to say something else, and he lost his temper.
    ‘You’re wrong, Iris. And I don’t want to fall out with you again, so let’s just leave it at that, shall we?’
    The question sounded aggressive, probably because I wasn’t really being asked anything, and I stared at him fiercely, but I didn’t say any more.
    Later that afternoon, Dad and Austin had to get some wood chippings and cement and because they needed the space in the pick-up, Dad said I could stay home. As soon as
he’d gone, I ran upstairs to watch the travellers. Trick’s dad’s van wasn’t in the paddock. The men worked all day in the week. His mum was in the caravan, and three of the
little girls were doing cartwheels and handstands outside. Patsy must have been in bed. I thought of Mum, on her own, needing water somewhere.
    My arms ached as I headed down the bottom field with a bucket full to the brim. It got heavier by the second, and I had to stop halfway for a rest. I tripped on a rock crossing
the lane, and sent some of the water flying, but I kept going. I hadn’t been in the paddock since the travellers arrived.
    Dad hadn’t mown the grass since Mum left. It was soft and springy under my feet. Daisies and dandelions and dock leaves crowded cow parsley and hogweed. I had to be careful not to get my
foot caught in the tangles or slop water over the sides.
    When I looked up, two of the little ones were sitting on the steps. A line of white washing flapped above their heads. It smelled like Trick. They stared at me, then, clutching at each other,
ran up the caravan steps, calling for their mammy.
    I was right by the campfire when Nan appeared.
    Her face was blank as she looked at me, and I worried what she’d think about me disobeying my dad like this, but then she smiled, and her brown eyes were more lovely than ever. The breeze
caught her long red hair as she walked, lifting it behind her, the sunlight turning it fiery.
    Her nails were painted turquoise, and I could see the way her hair curled on the back of her neck, just like Mum’s did, and I knew exactly how it would feel if I touched it: warm