dirty slut! I want that word FAT put on the record!”.’
Daddy laughs himself limp; the blonde lady giggles hysterically until she has mascara tears running in black streaks down her face. Ernie takes off Daddy’s sunnies and his beanie-wig. ‘The bastard told me I was in contempt,’ Ernie grumbles. ‘Fined me eighty bucks.’
I put on my clothes and walk downstairs. Mrs Rowles is in the kitchen, scrubbing the frying pan clean with a piece of steel wool. The dishes have already been washed and put onto the drying rack. ‘Good morning, Len,’ Mrs Rowles says, looking over her shoulder as I come in.
‘Good morning, Mrs Rowles.’ I’m always polite and formal with Mrs Rowles. We both prefer it that way. I speak to Mrs Rowles the same way I would speak to Clarissa Hobbs, if I ever met her.
‘I’m taking Shane and Karen to the zoo in about an hour. Would you like to come with us?’
The zoo. I would like to go to the zoo, but not if Shane and Karen are coming along.
‘Actually, I have other plans for the day. But thank you for inviting me.’
Mrs Rowles could make me go along if she wanted to. But she knows I’m not going to get into any trouble on my own. Cinnamon, on the other hand, could get into plenty of trouble. But I guess that as long as Cinnamon is back inside by curfew, Mrs Rowles’ arse is covered.
Mrs Rowles smiles a little. ‘Not interested in the zoo? Well, I won’t force you to go. But you know the rules. Back here before six-thirty.’ She says this pleasantly, but firmly.
‘I know,’ I assure her. No sense in antagonising someone who’s basically on my side.
Mrs Rowles takes off the rubber gloves she’s been using to wash the dishes, then hangs them carefully from two pegs on the wall over the sink. ‘I’m making chicken casserole for dinner. Will you be having some?’
I would like some of Mrs Rowles’ casserole. She puts cooked chicken and broccoli in a big pan, then covers it with a mushroom sauce and cheddar cheese. She usually makes roasted potatoes and salad to go with it. So why is my first instinct to say no, thank you, I’ll make myself a vegetarian stir-fry?
‘Yes. Yes, I will, please,’ I manage to say.
Mrs Rowles tries not to smile. ‘Good. Dinner’s on the table at seven. I’ll expect you to help with the dishes afterward.’
Fair enough.
It takes Mrs Rowles about an hour to get those two morons Shane and Karen out the door to go the zoo. Shane took forever deciding which T-shirt to wear, then Mrs Rowles made him change because it was the one with a picture of a pro wrestler giving the middle finger, then Karen cried because Mrs Rowles told her she had to wear proper shoes, not her pink flip-flops. Then she cried some more because she couldn’t find bobbles for her hair that matched her outfit. ‘Both of you go to the front door and stand next to it while I go to the ladies!’ Mrs Rowles yells, muttering under her breath as she passes by the lounge room on her way to the toilet. I’m channel surfing. Nothing much interesting is on.
In a few minutes, Mrs Rowles comes back calm, powdered and lipsticked. ‘We’re going in my car,’ she announces. Karen makes a whining noise. ‘NOW!’ Mrs Rowles barks. The door closes firmly, and Karen whimpers about something. ‘I told you, your medicine is in my handbag!’ Mrs Rowles says, exasperated. How she’s going to put up with Karen all afternoon is beyond me. I hear Mrs Rowles start up the car and drive off. I breathe a sigh of relief.
My relief quickly turns to boredom.
Everything on TV is crap, so I switch it off. I notice the picture hanging on the wall, some awful piece of donated ‘art’, is crooked, but I can’t be bothered straightening it. I look at the painting on the other wall. This one was obviously done by some kid who used to live here. It’s just a bunch of words painted in black on a red canvas.
A SHELTER is someplace
you can feel SAFE.
A SHELTER is someplace
where you are
Daddy laughs himself limp; the blonde lady giggles hysterically until she has mascara tears running in black streaks down her face. Ernie takes off Daddy’s sunnies and his beanie-wig. ‘The bastard told me I was in contempt,’ Ernie grumbles. ‘Fined me eighty bucks.’
I put on my clothes and walk downstairs. Mrs Rowles is in the kitchen, scrubbing the frying pan clean with a piece of steel wool. The dishes have already been washed and put onto the drying rack. ‘Good morning, Len,’ Mrs Rowles says, looking over her shoulder as I come in.
‘Good morning, Mrs Rowles.’ I’m always polite and formal with Mrs Rowles. We both prefer it that way. I speak to Mrs Rowles the same way I would speak to Clarissa Hobbs, if I ever met her.
‘I’m taking Shane and Karen to the zoo in about an hour. Would you like to come with us?’
The zoo. I would like to go to the zoo, but not if Shane and Karen are coming along.
‘Actually, I have other plans for the day. But thank you for inviting me.’
Mrs Rowles could make me go along if she wanted to. But she knows I’m not going to get into any trouble on my own. Cinnamon, on the other hand, could get into plenty of trouble. But I guess that as long as Cinnamon is back inside by curfew, Mrs Rowles’ arse is covered.
Mrs Rowles smiles a little. ‘Not interested in the zoo? Well, I won’t force you to go. But you know the rules. Back here before six-thirty.’ She says this pleasantly, but firmly.
‘I know,’ I assure her. No sense in antagonising someone who’s basically on my side.
Mrs Rowles takes off the rubber gloves she’s been using to wash the dishes, then hangs them carefully from two pegs on the wall over the sink. ‘I’m making chicken casserole for dinner. Will you be having some?’
I would like some of Mrs Rowles’ casserole. She puts cooked chicken and broccoli in a big pan, then covers it with a mushroom sauce and cheddar cheese. She usually makes roasted potatoes and salad to go with it. So why is my first instinct to say no, thank you, I’ll make myself a vegetarian stir-fry?
‘Yes. Yes, I will, please,’ I manage to say.
Mrs Rowles tries not to smile. ‘Good. Dinner’s on the table at seven. I’ll expect you to help with the dishes afterward.’
Fair enough.
It takes Mrs Rowles about an hour to get those two morons Shane and Karen out the door to go the zoo. Shane took forever deciding which T-shirt to wear, then Mrs Rowles made him change because it was the one with a picture of a pro wrestler giving the middle finger, then Karen cried because Mrs Rowles told her she had to wear proper shoes, not her pink flip-flops. Then she cried some more because she couldn’t find bobbles for her hair that matched her outfit. ‘Both of you go to the front door and stand next to it while I go to the ladies!’ Mrs Rowles yells, muttering under her breath as she passes by the lounge room on her way to the toilet. I’m channel surfing. Nothing much interesting is on.
In a few minutes, Mrs Rowles comes back calm, powdered and lipsticked. ‘We’re going in my car,’ she announces. Karen makes a whining noise. ‘NOW!’ Mrs Rowles barks. The door closes firmly, and Karen whimpers about something. ‘I told you, your medicine is in my handbag!’ Mrs Rowles says, exasperated. How she’s going to put up with Karen all afternoon is beyond me. I hear Mrs Rowles start up the car and drive off. I breathe a sigh of relief.
My relief quickly turns to boredom.
Everything on TV is crap, so I switch it off. I notice the picture hanging on the wall, some awful piece of donated ‘art’, is crooked, but I can’t be bothered straightening it. I look at the painting on the other wall. This one was obviously done by some kid who used to live here. It’s just a bunch of words painted in black on a red canvas.
A SHELTER is someplace
you can feel SAFE.
A SHELTER is someplace
where you are
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