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Annie
I’m trying to exit the school, but Donna has bailed me up at the gate. Now I’m forced to stand here enduring one of her well-meaning speeches that feels a lot like a lecture.
‘Hunter’s the epitome of worldly, and 1 Corinthians 15:33 tells us that bad associations spoil useful habits.’
She’s quoting the Bible at me as if I’m not familiar with every scripture in it. ‘Is this because I didn’t eat lunch with you today? I was typing up study notes, not smoking in the bushes.’
‘I went past the computer room, and it didn’t look like much studying was happening.’
So that’s what this is about. Anger curls inside me. ‘You were checking up on me?’
‘It’s not like that.’ She touches my arm. ‘I’m looking out for my spiritual sister. These people will be gone from your life once exams are over. You have me for life.’
If that’s meant to make me feel better, it doesn’t. And I don’t have her for life. I have her until I don’t. Her sisterly love is conditional. She’ll be there for me 100 percent, unless I turn my back on God. Then she’ll shun me alongside the rest of the congregation.
‘I have to get to work,’ I say, stepping past her.
‘Will I see you at lunch tomorrow?’
I wave in place of an answer, keep walking, and don’t look back.
The walk from school to the main street is only ten minutes. Maggie’s Shoes is opposite the milk bar and next to the bank in what some might describe as a great location. Maggie’s on the phone when I walk in. I wave, and she pauses mid-fluff of her perm and waves back.
It takes me two hours to sort the delivery that arrived that afternoon and restock the shelves above the displays. When the sign is turned to ‘Closed’, I help her with the books.
‘I can’t wait to have you here four days,’ she says, sitting on the stool to rest her tired feet. ‘I might finally be able to eat dinner with my husband again.’
I want to say that I can’t wait either, but the lie sticks in my throat. She’s been so good to me over the years, hiring someone else to help on Saturday mornings because she knows I can’t ever work them.
‘All done,’ I tell her. ‘Everything balances.’
She squeezes my arm, then notices my bracelet. ‘Oh. This one’s new. I like the blue thread through it.’
I look down at the band I finished last night when I couldn’t sleep. ‘Thanks. I’ve been experimenting with colour.’
‘It’s gorgeous. I’d sell those right here in this shop.’
I smile as I dip below the counter to collect my school bag. ‘I’ll see you Friday after school.’
She stands and winces. Her knees aren’t what they used to be. ‘Yes, go. I’ve kept you late again. Exams start next week. You’ve got studying to do.’
And beer to drink with Hunter.
She locks the door behind me, and I start the long walk home.
Mum’s unusually chatty at dinner. She’s telling me about a new client, an older gentleman who failed to notice he had maggots in his house.
‘He was suitably embarrassed,’ she says. ‘Turns out there was a dead rat in the wall. They were just crawling out from beneath the skirting boards.’
My chest grows heavy as I listen. She deserves more than dead rats and maggots.
After we finish eating, I wash the dishes, and Mum settles herself in the lounge room with a Cary Grant movie. She’ll fall asleep in ten minutes, and she won’t wake up until I tap her on the shoulder later and tell her to go to bed. So I loiter in the kitchen, rearranging tins in the cupboards and wiping the sticky circles left by the sauce bottles. It’s nearing eight when I pop my head into the lounge room and find her asleep. I quietly tug on gumboots, then slip out the back door. It’s still light thanks to daylight saving.
‘Stay,’ I tell Banjo.
The dog pauses, waits until I’m a few metres ahead, then resumes following me.
When I arrive at the swing, I find Hunter seated on the grass on his side of the creek, beer in hand. He’s wearing a long-sleeve Rip Curl T-shirt, khaki pants, and muddied boots.
