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Tom: *smiley face emoji* Great, I’ll pick you up. I’m not drinking.
Because it’s a school night, I couldn’t help but think. He might be eighteen now—an adult—but Tom was still finishing high school, even if it was just a few more months of classes and then exams.
Four years’ difference had always felt like a gulf growing up and somehow, with one birthday dinner, those years didn’t seem important or relevant anymore. Or was I robbing the cradle? Ugh, what would people say if they found out?
Tom: and it’s a formal dinner. Like I said. That means like a proper dress
Me: a proper dress?
Tom: yeah. You know, like a fancy one. A formal dress
Me: I do know what a proper dress is, Tom
Tom: Oh right
Me: I’m teasing.
I sipped my coffee and added another reply.
Me: and you have your party on Saturday
Tom: yeah, and the boys want to go to the pub on Friday for a few cold ones. It’s a big week.
Me: it is. looking forward to the footy awards in my proper dress
Thing is, this didn’t feel wrong at all. It felt exciting, thrilling and right.
5
TOM—PRESENT DAY
Ballydoon Community Group:
Ryan Turner posted 3.45 p.m.:
Reminder for all Rural Fire Brigade members—training is on THIS afternoon in the Shed. We have a special guest from National Parks and Wildlife coming to speak to us. Thanks.
“Vombatus ursinus—the common wombat.”
A chorus of cries came from my fire brigade crew members as I handed each of them a leaflet. “Tombatus! Tombatus!” Someone gave me a light punch in the shoulder as they laughed.
The promise of a sausage sizzle at midday had drawn a good crowd after last night’s party. The fact that the group could manage loud noises was impressive. We were hungover. Everyone was nursing at least a second cup of coffee as Uncle Bruce stood at the front of the room with sunglasses on inside.
Maybe I should’ve worn sunnies too. Drinking whisky with Pete didn’t help me come up with a solution to my Rosie and Ainslee problems. Only a headache and a mouth that felt like sand.
“Yeah, yeah, real cute. Idiots.” Tombatus had been my footy nickname ever since I played rugby league for the Ballydoon Wombats in the U13 team, and it had stuck ever since.
“Settle down, thank you.” Uncle Bruce took off his sunglasses and glared around the Ballydoon Rural Fire Brigade shed, giving everyone his signature look that meant we had to shut up. “Keep giving out the leaflet, thanks, Tom.”
I resumed my position beside my uncle as he began the training for the fire crews. “Ursinus is Latin for bear, and well, vombatus is Latin for wombat.” Uncle Bruce coughed.
“Vombatus is Latin for wombat?” Benji asked.
“That’s not what the internet says,” someone else piped up.
Uncle Bruce hitched up his pants and grunted for silence. “It’s bear and wombat. Good. Now, wombats are cute, furry critters, right?”
“Wrong,” I groaned.
