Ron’s mum waited on the other side, thumbs in belt. Matilda-Jane had given Ron her remarkable height, broad shoulders, narrow hips and long legs, but in everything else Ron must have been the clone of her unknown bio dad the way Mattie was Reg’s clone. Neither of the Madonna kids looked like this woman.
With a frown, Matilda-Jane gave Nev a bored once-over, sizing her up, granting Nev permission to do the same. Pale blue eyes—Scandinavian, scary—long straight yellow hair, wide-brimmed leather hat, tanned, freckles, big tits, built like an Olympic rower if they were also a builder, an army commando and a bikini model.
“Who are you?” asked Outback Barbie.
“You know who I am.”
“I’m here to see my daughter.”
“Not a good time, love.”
Matilda-Jane sneered. “Says who?”
“Says I, and Common Sense.”
“I drove five hours to see her. You’re a rando; they let you in.”
Nev swallowed. Across from this paragon of posture it was painfully obvious that she slouched. She had inherited that unflattering habit from her parents as a trick to pass gently through the world. Strangers called her “sir” when she slouched,and treated her like she didn’t need help, which she usually didn’t.
This irrational urge to pull her shoulders back and puff out her chest, but then what? What was the end-game of swagger? Nev knew she couldn’t maintain it. Courage had always been available to her in short flashes under pressure, like a combustion engine. “I’m not a random person.”
Ron and Mattie’s mother finally glanced down and noticed the dried blood on Nev’s jeans. Her glare softened.
Pissing contest over, it felt appropriate to hug. They pulled each other into a rib-crunching embrace, not one of those loose back-patting deals Reg was guilty of forcing on strangers during rugby season. Matilda-Jane smelled like patchouli, cigarettes and dogs.
“How is she?”
Nev didn’t say, because she didn’t know.
“My mate at the station reckoned it was bad.” Matilda-Jane rubbed Nev’s arms. “How’d you know to go over there?”
“Lucky guess.”
“An energetic thing?” Matilda-Jane nodded approvingly. “I’m intuitive, too. Thank god you went over there when you did. You saved her life. Did they say if she had organ failure? How’s her brain? Did she have seizures? A stroke?”
Nev shook her head. “Not as I know. Seems she’ll pull through.”
“I had a mate who bled out. Late-stage shock. Lack of oxygen killed him. It’s like drowning.”
Nev winced. “I’m aware.”
“Crushed under his own ute. Another mate bled out after a fall. Ruptured spleen. Fell asleep, never woke up.”
Matilda Jane began to push open the door to Ron’s room. Nev stopped the door with her boot.
“Sit down, poppet,” Matilda-Jane said. “Don’t mess with mama bear.”
Nev frowned, crossed her arms. Matilda-Jane tried again to open the door. The door hit Nev’s boot again. Matilda-Jane laughed and reached out with both hands.
“If you touch me, you will regret it.”
“I’m only moving you off to the side, poppet.”
“No, you’re not.” Nev regretted her empty stomach. She was too old and dignified to fight this voluptuous Viking like a school kid at recess. Surely. “If you manhandle me, I’ll scream, and you’ll be kicked out.”
“Oh, I don’t have to manhandle you,” Matilda-Jane said cheerfully. “I only have to ask nicely.”
“You’re not listening.”
