Living Voice. Karen West

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СКАЧАТЬ she had her way, I would have been born in the sea.

      I opened the front gate to find Mum kneeling in the garden pulling weeds. ‘Hey,’ I called, closing the gate behind me. ‘It’s too hot to garden.’

      Mum placed her hands behind her back and stretched. ‘Here,’ she said, holding out her hand, ‘help an old woman up. I made fresh lemonade if you’re interested?’

      ‘Yum,’ I said, pulling her up, and followed her up the back steps to the kitchen.

      Mum wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, placed her hat on the kitchen bench and opened the fridge. ‘I’m missing Palm Beach. Let’s make a trip out to Palmy tomorrow?’ she suggested. ‘We can go snorkelling. You have time to arrange someone to do your shift. What do you think?’ I also worked at the zoo, but only on weekends, public and school holidays.

      ‘Sounds great.’

      ‘You can invite Libby if you like.’ Libby was a full-on party animal – it took a day for her to recover from the night before, and she never surfaced before noon.

      Dad walked in and placed a matchbox on the kitchen bench. I picked it up and slid it open to find a pygmy possum on a bed of cotton wool. ‘How did it die?’ I asked, stroking its soft fur with the tip of my index finger.

      ‘Not sure,’ he replied. ‘We’ve had two die this month. You can bury it in the garden.’ Dad always brought the tiniest creatures home to bury. I think he thought that our backyard was the zoo’s official cemetery for anything smaller than his little finger.

      ‘We were discussing heading out to Palmy tomorrow,’ Mum told him. ‘I thought it might be fun to get in a day of snorkelling.’

      Dad’s eyes went from smiling to concerned. ‘Are you sure you’re up to snorkelling? Your asthma hasn’t been under control.’

      Mum’s asthma attacks made each breath a struggle. I moved in closer and smelt apple blossom shampoo, but couldn’t hear a wheeze.

      ‘Swimming’s excellent for asthma – everyone knows that,’ she told him in her laughing voice. We can leave early and make a full day of it. I haven’t had quality time with Cass for ages.’ Cass was my mum’s older sister. She had moved into my grandparents’ beach house after they died. Aunt Cass was also an artist. She’d told me that paint, not blood, ran through our veins like rivers of blue spaghetti.

      ‘I’ll ask Jo if she doesn’t mind doing a double shift,’ said Dad, surrendering.

      ‘Jo will so do the shift,’ I whispered to Mum, ‘She lives to buy shoes.’

      I slipped the matchbox into the side pocket of my uniform.

      There was a tap on the bedroom door. ‘I’m in the bathroom,’ I called and walked out in my bra and undies to find Mum holding my sketch beside the window, comparing it to the view outside. ‘You’ve captured it perfectly.’

      ‘Thanks, but it was like my zillionth attempt.’

      Our eyes met, and I waited for her to tell me that my makeup was too heavy. I swept my dress off the bed, tucked it under my arms and swayed as if the music had started. ‘Is that what you’re wearing tonight?’

      ‘Yep, do you like it? Can I borrow your clutch?’

      ‘Sure,’ she said, placing the sketch at the end of my bed. ‘I’ll get it.’ Her cheeks were flushed. Maybe Dad was right – she wasn’t well.

      I switched off the music in my head and picked up on a faint wheeze. ‘Hey, you’re not well, are you?’

      Mum let out a sigh. ‘Steph, you’re worse than your father. It’s humid today. The humidity makes my chest tight.’

      ‘We’re just concerned.’

      ‘I know you are,’ she said, raising her brow, ‘but I’m fine. If Libby’s dad is picking you up, you’d better get a move on.’

      ‘I have tons of time,’ I said, tossing the dress over the back of the chair. I picked up the sketchbook and made for the bed. ‘I had the best art class today.’

      Mum took a piece of charcoal off my desk and threw it in my direction. ‘You’re impossible,’ she sighed. ‘Keep your eye on the time?’

      I put my hand over my heart. ‘Promise, I won’t be late,’ I told her, sitting against the bedhead, and I started sketching.

      ‘God,’ squealed Libby, standing at the bedroom door.

      The pitch of her voice made my ears ache. ‘Don’t squeal like that,’ I scolded, dropping my work, scurrying off the bed. ‘You could perforate an eardrum.’

      ‘Steph,’ she sighed. ‘Your hands are black. Why aren’t you ready? I threw the piece of charcoal onto my desk.

      ‘It washes off.’ I headed for the safety of the bathroom and closed the door. ‘It’ll take a minute to dress,’ I assured her and flushed the toilet to block out the sound of her nagging voice. Then I casually strolled out of the bathroom and started dressing.

      Libby scooped my heels up and handed them to me. ‘You’re so frustrating,’ she said. Her nose twitched. ‘Is that turps?’

      ‘I had paint in my hair.’

      Libby rolled her eyes. ‘You washed your hair with turps, didn’t you?’

      ‘Hey, blame the shampoo, not me. I shampooed three times, and the paint wouldn’t budge.’

      ‘No wonder you don’t have a boyfriend, Steph,’ she said, taking a tube of roll-on perfume from her handbag and handing it to me.

      ‘Excuse me, we don’t have boyfriends,’ I reminded her, sweeping her perfume across my neck, and handed it back.

      ‘At least I’m working on it.’

      ‘And I’m not?’

      Libby gazed back at me with a sorrowful look. ‘Don’t get your hopes up.’

      ‘Excuse me?’

      ‘Every girl at the party will be looking at Grant.’

      ‘So?’

      ‘I just don’t want you to be disappointed.’

      A horn blasted, and Libby’s stiletto heels clipped across the wooden floorboards to the window. ‘I promised my dad that we wouldn’t hold him up,’ she told me, gripping the sill, leaning out. ‘You don’t try to be on time,’ she whined, releasing her hold on the sill. ‘I’ll meet you downstairs. Can you at least try to hurry?’

      Dad stood at the bottom of the staircase. He gazed up and did a double take. ‘Are you sure you want to wear that?’ he asked. ‘Might be a bit, um, СКАЧАТЬ