The Bit In Between by Claire Varley Page A

and Alison skipped off to the shower to wash away the grime and heat of the day.

CHAPTER THREE
    SMOOTH SAILING (IS FICTION)

    Geraldine placed her hands on the table in front of her and looked gently across at Mary.
    â€˜Now, Mary, let’s get to this learning English caper. It’s a marvellous language – kind and generous on the mouth with the most wondrous pronunciations. Such as ‘artisan’. Can you say ‘artisan’, Mary?’
    Mary looked shyly at her hands.
    â€˜Artisan,’ she repeated and looked pleased with herself before frowning gently.
    â€˜Please, Missus,’ she asked gently. ‘What is artisan?’
    Geraldine gave her a gentle smile. ‘Why, an artisan, Mary, is
    Oliver paused. He thought for a moment. He hovered his mouse over the word artisan, then clicked on Thesaurus. Nothing. He drummed his fingers on the keypad, then scrawled in his notebook: Google artisan . He turned back to the computer.

    Geraldine picked up a fountain pen and wrote the word ‘artisan’ on her notepad.
    â€˜Artisan,’ Mary said again. ‘Oh, I see.’
    Just then the door burst open and Colonel Drakeford strode in.
    â€˜Ah, Mary, practising the Queen’s English, I see!’
    Mary looked down at her hands and answered gently, ‘It’s not the Queen’s English, Sir, it’s mine.’
    Geraldine’s hand flew to her mouth as she laughed gently.
    Oliver read back over what he had just written and frowned. He had a very adept internal critic and right now this internal critic was weeping openly. Why were his characters talking like Jane Austen characters? And why was everything being done ‘gently’? Oliver groaned and slumped over his desk. His forehead pressed against the keys and made a long

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    across the page. It was the most productive thing he had done all day. But if Oliver was being fair to himself, which he seldom was, things were, for the most part, coming along relatively well. The introduction of Mary and the English classes had been a bit of a turning point for him and had made the last couple of weeks less painful. He’d greeted their two-month Solomon milestone feeling far less despondent than he had at the end of their first month. He still had no idea where the novel was going, but he wasn’t quite so convinced it was going to be an absolute train wreck. It now read less like something people lined their pets’ kitty litter trays with and more like something you’d find in a bargain bin for a dollar at a place with a name like Crazy Charlie’s Book Warehouse Extravaganza Pty Ltd that made its own advertisements which aired on local TV stations at three in the morning featuring the owner and his wife dressed as clowns. Worryingly, Oliver found this comforting.

    Alison placed her hands on the table in front of her and looked gently across at Sera.
    â€˜Now, Sera, let’s get back to this learning English business. It’s an annoying language full of inconsistent rules and words we stole from other languages. Such as “artisan”. You’ll never need to know this word unless either Subway or hipsters make it to the Solomons, so I’m not going to teach it to you. What you will need to know, if you’re going to have successful conversations with white people, is the word “random”. As in “That’s so random.” Your turn.’
    Sera smiled. ‘That’s so random.’
    â€˜Perfect. You can use that for a range of situations, like when something is unexpected or unbelievable or unplanned. Or just at any time, really. Whenever. At random.’
    The waitress arrived with their coffees.
    â€˜Sorry, but no more low-fat