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“For Mum too. She had a plan after Dad died,” said Gin. “I don’t remember him at all, except the house smelled of sick all the time.”
“That’s what I’m going to do, have a plan,” said Neev.
“I’m not. I want to fall in love,” said Gin.
“And get hurt and sad like Reece.”
“I’m not,” he protested, but it sounded weak to him, no way the twins were buying.
“You are. You even smell sad.”
He turned his head to look at Neev and she bit his ear.
He had to rumble her then. He stood, lifted her on his back and she shrieked, but she hung on for fear she’d fall. Gin scrambled out of their way and he took Neev down the steps and threw her onto the old trampoline, all the better that there was water from the sprinklers lying on its surface. Neev bellowed and Gin took off before he could come for her.
As different as they were, of all the family the twins had a head start on working out what love meant because they loved each other fiercely. They fought and bitched and Gin went quiet while Neev played the clown, but they knew each other’s thoughts and they had each other’s backs.
When the house was quiet and they were all in bed, Reece made up the sofa bed in the lounge room. He’d no sooner lay his aching body on it than Flip climbed in with him.
“Can we talk?”
He set his alarm. He had to be on the building site by 6am. “You should be asleep.”
“Not sleepy.”
“What do you want to talk about?” He reached over and turned the floor lamp off. Someone had left the bathroom light on down the hall. When their eyes adjusted they’d have enough light to see each other.
“When should I kiss a boy?”
“Oh.” He laughed, regretted it and tried to choke it back. “Um. Not yet.”
“When?”
“Why are you asking me this, Flipper?”
“You’re a boy.”
“This is true.”
“Der.”
“What does Etta say?”
“That I’ll be called a slut if I do it too soon. What’s the boy word for slut?”
“Ah.” It wasn’t obvious, and Flip shouldn’t have to know here was a difference. “Dog, I guess.”
“That’s not bad. Not as bad as slut.”
“Ah Flipper, can’t you just be ten and not worry about kissing?”
“I’m almost eleven but okay.”
“Okay, good. That was easy.”
“That was an excuse to get you talking. My real question is, are you sad?”
“Did Gin tell you I was?”
