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“How’s uni going?”
“Two more exams coming up, then the semester break.”
He then looked me up and down, just like Ryan had. “You look different.”
“Second-hand clothes, okay? I didn’t over-spend my budget.”
Geez, was every member of my family going to ask about my clothes?
He met my eyes and grinned. “Looking real good, Stace.”
Tom knew how to read women. He was a notorious flirt (AKA a man-whore) on campus. Surely Tom didn’t have some special power where he could perceive recent sexual activity.
I mumbled a quick thanks and headed into the dining room, Tom on my heels.For the love of sheep and shearers!Two orgasms and I’ve gone mad. No one could tell I’d banged a guy in his car less than twenty-four hours ago.
I placed the wine on the dining table as the fire crackled and hissed in the fireplace, and then noticed the label.
“Ryan told me to get the good stuff for tonight,” Tom said. “Shiraz will go with the lamb.”
“The Zanetti fifteen-year-old vintage is the really good stuff.” I said, pulling out napkins and placemats from the sideboard.
“Just following orders,” he said, putting down the second bottle and then scurrying out for wine glasses.
Ryan appeared at the door. “Mum, where are—? Oh, there you are. Here’s the cutlery.”
Mum slipped past him, taking the knives and forks. She looked great in a floral faux wrap dress with her hair pinned up.
“Stacey! I didn’t hear you come in. I missed you.” She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and then blinked. “Wow, you scrubbed up alright tonight.”
“You did, too. You look lovely.”
Mum swayed her hips from side to side. “Borrowed the dress from Aunty Sally. I was given orders to dress up for this phone call.”
“You should totally buy some dresses like that for yourself.”
She smoothed the floral fabric with reverence, and then shrugged. “Oh, I don’t go out anywhere, except the shops. I can always borrow something from Sally. The sheep don’t care what you wear on the farm.”
In that moment, I glimpsed Mum as a woman with sexuality—not a widow or mother, nor a wool classer, quilter or jam maker.
“But you can do it for you, if you want to.”
Sam’s words came back to me of why women ordered boudoir photo shoots:because you want to feel nice, sexy and beautiful.
I’d find the money for Mum somehow.
Ryan strode past the doorway towards the bathroom. “Where is Charlotte? I swear—Mum, we need the table set, pronto.”
“Yes, sir,” Mum yelled after him. She followed me around the table as I positioned placemats and napkins.
“Well, I hope this room is good enough for Amanda,” Mum sighed. Forty-year-old wallpaper peeled at the cornices and curtains moth-eaten in parts and was yellowed from the sun. I’d been meaning to find time to sew new curtains and strip the wallpaper in here. But again, time and money. At least the warm glow of the fire diminished how scruffy it was.
“But she’s in London. We’re talking to her on a phone. Why does it matter what room we’re in?”
“She’s in Scotland, actually, and FaceTime, that’s why,” Mum said. “Amanda was quite specific that we had to eat in the good room - not the kitchen - for the phone call as she wants us to create a good impression in front of her boyfriend’s parents.”
“Her boyfriend’s parents are also on the call?”
Mum nodded, placing the last of the silverware on the table. “I think this call is a bit of a big deal.”
