mud off her Blundstone boots which didn’t look like they’d seen actual daylight through the muck that had been all over them for weeks. I think she was trying to build bridges, do some bonding. That sort of thing. “It might be fun.”
I shook my head from my pillow where I was having yet another lie-down. “Not for me thank you.” For once I wasn’t actually trying to be rude but Mum took offence.
“I was just asking. You don’t have to take that tone, you know.” So much for the bonding. “Fine. Stay home,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”
I gave her a half roll. “Later, then,” and flopped back onto my bed. Neighbours , I thought . Ha. I’ll bet they’re all farmers over 85 who haven’t been out of Budgong in 40 years. Mum’s going to be bored as.
Once again, I had to eat my words.
Mum came back, more sparkly and full of life than I’ve ever seen her.
“You won’t believe how great these people are,” she raved to Dad. “Beautiful people. And so welcoming. And we’re invited to visit Ness who lives on the property over that way.” She gestured out past the creek.
“Is she on her own?” asked Dad.
“I think so,” said Mum. “I’m not quite sure, but from a couple of things she said I think she lost her husband young, and then she was with a guy who ended up being violent. He’s gone now. But he wasn’t the father of her kids.”
“Kids?” said Charlie. Her eyes looked bright. “How old?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “From the sounds of it they’re a bit younger than you guys. A boy and a girl. But we’ll have to see when we get there. It’s dinner, tomorrow.”
I was unimpressed. Dinner out with little kids? How fun could it be? On the upside though, we might get a decent meal. I had to say I wasn’t thrilled with what was coming out of the camp kitchen in our shed every night. Mum kept saying that things would be different once the house was built, that it was tricky to cook imaginatively with no facilities and hardly any fridge or bench space but to me it was just another sign that our family’s standards were slipping. Actually, our standards were falling, tumbling, plummeting and cart wheeling off the edge of a cliff. Our family had no standards left. They’d all given up, packed their bags and moved away.
But I wasn’t about to say anything. The week before, when I criticised the re-heated stroganoff served with slightly stale bread, Mum yelled at me for about 20 minutes including telling me to stop being so ungrateful, to lose the attitude and to try cooking myself. Then she made me wash up. The yelling didn’t have much effect but the cold, chunky, greasy water made me more careful about what I said at meals.
Dinner date night arrived and Dad had to pull himself away from his precious building work to come. I wasn’t quite sure what he was doing out there all day with bits of string and pegs and a bunch of tools that measured stuff. Apparently it was something to do with foundations and a slab. So Josh told me, anyway.
“It’s the most important part of the house,” he said.
“You think?” I said. “For me, it’s the colour of the paint on my bedroom walls. But, whatever.”
I went out to take a look because I figured I should show a little bit of interest. I wasn’t going to help build the thing but I could be magnanimous and make an appearance here and there. Unfortunately I tripped over a peg and got into trouble with Dad.
“Coco, no,” he said. “Be careful. Muck it up and the house could fall down. Maybe you just need to go somewhere else right now.”
Fine, I thought. I’ll go. I still wasn’t actually talking to Dad so I didn’t answer him. But I did make a point of touching the peg with my toe before I ran away to get ready.
As it turned out, there was a benefit to going out, even to a nothing-special house in Budgong-in-the-middle-of-nowhere with no-one but tiny children to entertain me all evening. This was
I shook my head from my pillow where I was having yet another lie-down. “Not for me thank you.” For once I wasn’t actually trying to be rude but Mum took offence.
“I was just asking. You don’t have to take that tone, you know.” So much for the bonding. “Fine. Stay home,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”
I gave her a half roll. “Later, then,” and flopped back onto my bed. Neighbours , I thought . Ha. I’ll bet they’re all farmers over 85 who haven’t been out of Budgong in 40 years. Mum’s going to be bored as.
Once again, I had to eat my words.
Mum came back, more sparkly and full of life than I’ve ever seen her.
“You won’t believe how great these people are,” she raved to Dad. “Beautiful people. And so welcoming. And we’re invited to visit Ness who lives on the property over that way.” She gestured out past the creek.
“Is she on her own?” asked Dad.
“I think so,” said Mum. “I’m not quite sure, but from a couple of things she said I think she lost her husband young, and then she was with a guy who ended up being violent. He’s gone now. But he wasn’t the father of her kids.”
“Kids?” said Charlie. Her eyes looked bright. “How old?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “From the sounds of it they’re a bit younger than you guys. A boy and a girl. But we’ll have to see when we get there. It’s dinner, tomorrow.”
I was unimpressed. Dinner out with little kids? How fun could it be? On the upside though, we might get a decent meal. I had to say I wasn’t thrilled with what was coming out of the camp kitchen in our shed every night. Mum kept saying that things would be different once the house was built, that it was tricky to cook imaginatively with no facilities and hardly any fridge or bench space but to me it was just another sign that our family’s standards were slipping. Actually, our standards were falling, tumbling, plummeting and cart wheeling off the edge of a cliff. Our family had no standards left. They’d all given up, packed their bags and moved away.
But I wasn’t about to say anything. The week before, when I criticised the re-heated stroganoff served with slightly stale bread, Mum yelled at me for about 20 minutes including telling me to stop being so ungrateful, to lose the attitude and to try cooking myself. Then she made me wash up. The yelling didn’t have much effect but the cold, chunky, greasy water made me more careful about what I said at meals.
Dinner date night arrived and Dad had to pull himself away from his precious building work to come. I wasn’t quite sure what he was doing out there all day with bits of string and pegs and a bunch of tools that measured stuff. Apparently it was something to do with foundations and a slab. So Josh told me, anyway.
“It’s the most important part of the house,” he said.
“You think?” I said. “For me, it’s the colour of the paint on my bedroom walls. But, whatever.”
I went out to take a look because I figured I should show a little bit of interest. I wasn’t going to help build the thing but I could be magnanimous and make an appearance here and there. Unfortunately I tripped over a peg and got into trouble with Dad.
“Coco, no,” he said. “Be careful. Muck it up and the house could fall down. Maybe you just need to go somewhere else right now.”
Fine, I thought. I’ll go. I still wasn’t actually talking to Dad so I didn’t answer him. But I did make a point of touching the peg with my toe before I ran away to get ready.
As it turned out, there was a benefit to going out, even to a nothing-special house in Budgong-in-the-middle-of-nowhere with no-one but tiny children to entertain me all evening. This was
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