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“Mum! Please, be careful.”
“I know how to hold a shell, Jethro,” she said dryly, picking up the card before I could reach it. “Oh. Who’s Ari? Stan, Jethro got a present from a girl. And she signed the card with a love heart.”
I snatched the card and shell and returned them to the mantle, my face hot. “That was private.”
Mum beamed. “Have you got a girlfriend?”
“No,” I said quickly. “Just a friend.”A lady friend.“Ari’s just a good friend.”
“Will we see her on this visit?” Mum asked hopefully.
“No. No, she’s … away.”
Mum gave Dad a bemused look and then looked under the wooden mantle. “Still here,” she chuckled. “Have you discovered your mother’s and aunt’s vandalism when we were twelve?”
“What? No.” I bent down and looked up, and sure enough, Mum’s and Aunty Jenny’s initials were carved into the wood.
“You rebels.” I straightened with Mum. “Why didn’t Aunty Jenny want to inherit this place or for her kids?”
Mum waved me off. “Dad left her some money and shares. She reassured me she didn’t want the burden of trying to sell this place after years of Dad pottering about with no maintenance.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “But it all looks very nice.”
I snorted in a way not unlike Ari. “It does need maintenance. Fencing is first, and then I’ll work on the house. The kitchen cabinets are held together with paint.”
Dad huffed a laugh. “Don’t miss having a place to constantly upkeep. The van is doing well despite the storm.” Mum coughed into her hand and pointedly looked at Dad again. “But yeah, the place looks good.”
“Look, I get it. You’re nomads. You like being on the road.”
Dad shrugged. “Very true. But what about you, son? You were happy on your bike and working on sheep stations all over the country. What’s it like being stuck here?”
Part of me suddenly wished the curtains didn’t have holes or the laminate on the kitchen benches wasn’t cracked and chipped. Or that the paint wasn’t peeling in one corner of the kitchen.
But I didn’t feel stuck at all and told them so. “I feel like I’m making it better, slowly but surely. Learning heaps about animal care. And being a caretaker. It’s a learning curve.”
“You never liked being on the road growing up. Not like your brother. He happily settled into any new school or distance education, but you hated leaving.”
“I hated leaving my friends every six months and routine.” My tone was harsher than I’d intended.
Mum looked crestfallen while Dad looked like I’d sprouted an extra head.
“I don’t hold it against you. Sorry I said that.”
“Don’t be,” Mum said softly. “I’m glad you said it. And I’m glad you decided to give this place a chance. Why don’t you show us your weaners?”
Dad chuckled, and I shook my head, smiling as I led them to the back door. “Never say it like that again, Mum.”
Christmas was a low-key affair.My brother arrived just before lunch, driving five hours after he finished his shift at the mine. Any fears I had that my brother may have regretted being bought out of his inheritance were dispelled. Tully proudly showed us photo after photo of his new boat bought with the proceeds of buying him out, listing off stats and features.
I baked a ham in the BBQ, and didn’t ruin it, following Ash’s instructions to include pineapple and cloves and a glaze made with bourbon and marmalade, and it was a hit with the family.
The potato salad was also damn good, and there was none left for leftovers at dinnertime.
Tully and I took up our spots in Grandad’s old wooden chairs while Mum and Dad staked a place around the bonfire site with their specialist camping chairs, and we enjoyed drinks watching the sunset.
Ari texted after nine when Mum and Dad had retired to their van. They couldn’t even be tempted to sleep in the spare bedroom for a few nights. They were #vanlyf to the core, even if they had never heard of hashtags. Tully wanted to camp in his swag in the backyard, too.
Ari: Merry Christmas Jet
Ari: how are your parents?
