Page 27 of When Lemons Give You Life

I do a double take, hearing the words I’d longed for Griff to say my whole childhood.

16

Lisa (age 6)

September 1979

“Go play with your dolls,” meanie-pants Griff says, nudging me away from the kitchen.

I throw my backpack on the floor. I don’t want to play with dolls, I want to play with my big brother. “Please, Griff! I wanna make dinner with you! Mummy said you are making roast pork and crackling tonight! Pleaaaase.”

“No. You know how it ended last time.”

“It’s not my fault salt and sugar look the same!”

“You’ll only be in the way. Cooking is my thing.”

He shuts the kitchen door, but I open it again and tug at his shirt. “You always say that. Why can’t it be my thing too?”

He sighs. “Because you never follow instructions, and you’re messy.”

“But I cleaned today! I can be tidy too, come see.” I’ll show him, the ratbag! I drag him by the hand into my bedroom.

“Good job,” he says. “You didn’t use a garbage bag this time, did you?”

I see my cheeks color in the mirror.

“Lisa, you have to do it properly. You stay here. I need to keep going on dinner.” He heads for the door.

What a doofus he is. I just want him to be proud of me and not see me like a little kid.

Shooting him my worst stink-eye, I yank open my cupboard and push the garbage bag to one side, pulling out the birthday present I begged Mum and Dad for: a white chef’s apron, just like Griff’s. I tie it around my waist and check the mirror. Something’s missing: a hat. All proper chefs wear hats.

I raid the craft box for butcher’s paper, the big scissors and a bottle of Clag, and get to work. Next, I grab a big sheet of paper and scrawl a giant name label in purple crayon: SUE. Play School says all the helper chefs are called Sue. For a moment, I think about keeping the fun to myself. But it wouldn’t be the same without Griff, so I make him a hat and a label too. His says Griff the Great in my best big letters.

Proudly wearing my creations, I head back into the kitchen, hands on hips, ready for our shift. “Look, Griff! See? I’m a proper cook too. I’ve got a uniform and everything!”

He looks down at me and the mad leaves his face, but before I have a chance to show him his name tag, the back door bangs open. I run down the hall to see who it is.

“Hey there, princess!” Daddy calls as he steps inside, grinning. He scoops me up without warning and spins me in a circle.

I squeal, giggling as he pulls a strawberry lollipop from his pocket and gives it to me.

“Yum! Thanks, Daddy!”

“Anything for my princess! Did you make that hat all by yourself?”

I nod. “And a name tag! I’m Sue Chef! See?”

“Well, Sue Chef,” he says, tapping my nose a bit too hard, “you’re in charge of dinner tonight. Go and kick that other princess out of the kitchen.” His smile disappears. “Where’s your mother?” he mutters, heading up the stairs.

Griff appears in the hallway a second later, drying his hands on a tea towel.

“Daddy, wait for me!” I call after him. “I want to show Mummy my hat!”

“Lisa, no,” Griff says in a loud whisper. “You can’t go up there. Your dad’s sick.”

“No, he’s not! I just saw him. And he’s your father now too, you know.”