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When I get home from school, I find Mum leaning on the kitchen bench, flicking through the local paper. She slides the container of biscuits towards me when I walk in.
‘Your favourites,’ she says without looking up.
I stare down at the jam biscuits. ‘Actually, these are Bridget’s favourites.’
That makes her look up. ‘What do you mean? You love these.’
I pull the container closer and take two. ‘I like them. They’re just not my favourite.’
She watches me eat them. ‘Which ones are your favourite, then?’
‘The lemon biscuits with the icing.’
A pained expression passes over her face. ‘Oh. Well, Sister Joy dropped some lemons over yesterday. I’ll make those next.’ She returns her attention to the newspaper.
My gaze falls to the embroidered logo on her uniform. Cleaning’s the only paid job she’s ever had. She never complains about it, never talks about wanting to do something else, wanting something more. She’s too humble.
‘What would you do for work if you weren’t a cleaner?’
She looks up again and tilts her head. ‘You mean if the work dried up?’
‘Or maybe your back goes? Or your knee? Or you lose your driver’s licence?’
She appears utterly confused by the direction of the conversation. ‘Why would I lose my driver’s licence?’
‘Or perhaps you simply get sick of it and want to do something else.’
‘We all get sick of working sometimes, but we all need to make a living.’
I roll my eyes. ‘If you had to pick something else.’
She thinks a moment. ‘Maybe ironing. Or mending. People with too much on their plate are outsourcing those things nowadays.’
I hate her answer. I hate that she limits herself to Cinderella duties. I guess that makes me an enormous hypocrite.
‘Where’s all this coming from?’ she asks.
I can see the topic has made her nervous, which wasn’t my intention. ‘Just making conversation.’ I grab one more of Bridget’s favourite biscuits before stepping back from the bench. ‘I’m going to get some studying done before the meeting.’
She nods, then straightens suddenly. ‘Oh. I noticed there’s a swing hanging over the creek. Did you put that up?’
I blink. ‘A swing?’
‘You didn’t put it up?’
I shake my head, thinking back to my conversation with Hunter yesterday. Surely he wouldn’t do something so… human.
‘Kevin probably did it while intoxicated,’ Mum says. ‘He’s lucky he didn’t drown in the process.’
I head for the back door. ‘I’m going to take a look.’
‘It’s just a piece of rope hanging from a tree. Don’t you have to study?’
I glance over my shoulder as I open the door. ‘I’ll only be a minute.’
With Banjo at my heel, I head down to the creek, stopping when I see a thick piece of rope with a foot loop at the bottom swinging gently over the water. It’s hanging from the exact branch I pointed out to Hunter yesterday, confirming my suspicions.
I make my way down to the creek and can do nothing to stop the smile that’s taken over my face. Hunter Reed made me a rope swing. But when? He must have come back after dinner.
