Flying the Coop (26 page)

‘You, you,
you
!'

‘Me, me,
me
,' replied Chris obligingly.

‘You used up all the hot water!' Jenny pointed a shaky finger at her. ‘I had a
freezing
cold shower.'

‘Did I? Sorry, Jen.'

‘Are you feeling better, Mum?' asked Lauren, turning from the sink to face her mother.

‘No. Now I'm cold
and
sick.'

‘You know what you need?' Dot chimed in, looking Jenny up and down.

‘Clothing?' suggested Chris.

‘No – well, yes.' Dot opened the oven and, using one of her mitts, pulled out the spare plate of bacon and eggs. ‘But first you need breakfast.'

‘Oh god.' Jenny went a peculiar green colour as she looked at the plate with its two yellow eyes goggling up at her. ‘No. No thanks.'

‘Dear me. No takers on this one.' Dot slid the plate back into the oven and then straightened. ‘I know! How about some coffee?'

‘Oh,
yes
,' breathed Jenny. ‘I'd
kill
for coffee.'

‘That won't be necessary. Sit yourself down and I'll get you a mug.'

‘Thanks, Dot.' Holding her towel securely, Jenny manoeuvred herself into a chair and looked narrowly across the table at Chris. Chris raised her eyebrows and wiggled them, an action she immediately regretted as it reawakened her headache.

‘Okay.' Zoe came back down the stairs holding out a sheet
of paper. ‘Here's the prototype for the flyer. Do you want to make any changes before I print it off?'

‘Um . . .'

‘Good.' Zoe, who had briefly waved the paper in front of her mother's face, took it with her into the study where she sat down in front of the computer and started typing. Dot brought a mug of coffee over and placed it by Jenny, who smiled gratefully.

‘So what else are you planning for today?' asked Dot, fetching herself a coffee and sitting down at the table. ‘I'm afraid I won't be much help at flyer delivery. But maybe something else?'

‘That won't be necessary, Dot,' said Chris sincerely. ‘I really appreciate you doing breakfast, it let me have a sleep-in, but I can't ask you to do anything else as well.'

‘Stuff and nonsense!'

‘Besides, the only other big job is the fence.' Chris grimaced at the thought. ‘We're going to paint the side fence and put “Beggs Eggs” on it.'

‘And don't forget the front garden,' called Zoe from the study. ‘We need to tidy it up, otherwise people'll think we're pigs. And then we need to stick the new stickers on a pile of egg cartons. And we need to make the sign up for the front door. And –'

‘Thanks, Zoe.'

‘Well, that's settled,' said Dot firmly. ‘I'll do the gardening. I've been wanting t'get my hands on that front yard ever since I left.'

‘Left where?' asked Lauren, using the tea-towel to wipe the benches down.

‘Why
here
, of course.' Dot waved a hand in the direction of the lounge-room. ‘Before I went over there. From here.'

‘I'll explain later, Lauren,' said Jenny, massaging her temples slowly.

‘How many copies, Mum?' called Zoe. ‘I'm thinking about two thousand?'

‘I'm thinking
no
,' replied Chris, turning around in her seat to stare at her daughter in amazement. ‘That's a
home
printer, not some heavy duty thing. The cartridge won't take that sort of volume. So print off about a hundred or so and you can deliver them to the estate across the road. Then we'll put some up in local businesses next week.'

‘Mum!
Mum
!' yelled Michael from up the stairs. ‘Where's my runners?'

‘Just ignore him,' said Chris to no-one in particular. ‘If he really wants me, he can come down here.'

‘You sure about the number of flyers?' Zoe looked unconvinced.

‘Yes. Besides, who's going to deliver that many?'

‘Not me,' mumbled Jenny.

‘No,
you're
going to help me paint the fence.' Chris put up a hand as Jenny opened her mouth. ‘We can moan to each other. And you can do the “Beggs Eggs”. You're the only one of us with any artistic ability.'

‘Christ.'

‘And I'll help Zoe deliver the flyers around the estate,' offered Lauren.

‘Goody,' mumbled Zoe darkly.

‘Okay then, we're all organised.' Dot took the tea-towel from Lauren and hung it neatly over the oven handle. ‘I'm off t'get my gardening tools.'

As Dot, still wearing her floral apron, left via the office, the printer could be heard firing up. Shortly afterwards the mechanical whirring of the paper feeder settled into a steady rhythm, accompanied by the
pfft pfft
of the completed flyers as they exited the printer and fell into the tray below. Chris got up from the table and went over to the
medicine cupboard, where she removed the headache tablet packet.

‘You?' She waved the packet at Jenny.

‘Yes, please.'

Chris extracted four tablets and placed them on the bench. Then she took down two glasses, filled each with water and placed them by the little row of tablets. Next, reaching into the medicine cabinet once more, she swapped the tablet packet for the Eno bottle.

‘Come on then.' Chris took two teaspoons from the drying rack and placed them by the bottle. By now Jenny had joined her at the bench and, in perfect Olympic-style synchronisation, they each took two tablets and, after popping them into their mouths, swallowed some of the water. Then, still without uttering a word, each took a teaspoon and, one after the other, filled it from the Eno bottle and stirred it into the remaining water. As fizzy froth rapidly rose within the two glasses, Chris and Jenny raised one each, clinked it against the other, and then simultaneously drained the entire concoction.

‘That's sick,' commented Zoe from the office doorway.

‘I agree,' said Lauren, looking at her mother askance. ‘And I'm guessing it's not the first time you've both done it either.'

‘You'd be right.' Jenny smacked her lips together. ‘Though not for a while.'

‘Well,
that's
better.' Chris looked across at her friend. ‘Um, you're losing your towel.'

‘So I am.' Jenny secured the towel again. ‘I think I might go get dressed.'

‘I'll grab the paint and meet you out the front.' Chris watched Jenny head up the stairs and had a sudden thought. ‘And if you dare get back into bed, I
swear
I'll throw some water over you. Cold water.'

‘Bugger.'

‘Okay, you two.' Chris turned to Zoe and Lauren. ‘Finish off the printing and then do the delivery. That'll take you quite a while. And if Michael comes down here before you, send him out to me. Good luck.'

‘Thanks, Aun – Chris.' Lauren smiled cheerfully. ‘It'll be fun, I know it!'

‘Yeah.' Zoe looked at her mother expressionlessly. ‘A barrel of laughs.'

Chris stripped off her nightie in her bedroom and pulled on an old sleeveless white shirt and some loose red shorts. Then, with thongs on her feet and a floppy denim hat on her head, she got to work. It took several trips to transport the paint tins and accessories out to a shady spot underneath the willow tree, where she set up camp for the afternoon. Although it was still not quite noon, the sun was already giving off a fierce hint of what was in store. Chris sighed and levered the first paint tin open before giving it a stir. Then, taking the tin over to the sheet-metal fence, she began to slowly convert it from shades of rust to a nice, even Brunswick green.

From this position, Chris could see all the comings and goings on the front veranda. First Jenny, in a pair of tracksuit pants and a red cotton vest, came out, stood at the top of the steps for several contemplative seconds, and then went back in again. Next came Dot, who bumped a little plastic wheelie trolley behind her all the way down. Then, pulling the trolley behind, she headed towards their shared fence. Halfway across she stopped, examined a patch of lawn thoughtfully and then removed a plastic bag from the trolley. She used this to pick up something that, judging by the distasteful expression on her face, Chris guessed to be dog poo. Holding the bag fastidiously, Dot took it over to the wheelie bin and then returned to the house, presumably to wash her hands.

Michael was the next to emerge, wearing his school shoes
and staggering under the awkwardness of a garden kneeling pad with long metal handles. This he deposited by the abandoned trolley before racing back inside. And out came Dot again, this time taking her trolley over to the garden border without incident. After returning for the kneeling pad, she settled herself down for the duration and began weeding.

Next person out was Jenny again, having exchanged the tracksuit pants for a pair of denim shorts and now also wearing a large, floppy rattan sun hat that featured a red polka-dot bandanna. With one hand on her hat, Jenny descended the veranda steps slowly. At the bottom, she paused again, looked up at the sky overhead and visibly flinched. Then, looking a bit like Dracula caught by a rising sun –
the light, the light
– she hunched, shaded her eyes and fled back indoors.

Passing her on the veranda and paying no attention were Zoe and Lauren, each wearing a backpack. They walked down the steps and across the garden side by side and without saying a single word to each other. Chris stopped painting for a moment to turn and watch them cross Zoello Road and set off over the expanse of land between it and the back of the estate. There was no way those two would ever be friends. This was going to be the easiest twenty dollars she'd ever earned.

Chris dipped her paintbrush into the thick green and used it to paint a slither of metal that was sticking out of the fence. Flakes of rust and fence peeled themselves off as she went but she ignored them, simply brushing over the same spot until it was totally covered. An imitation truck noise announced Michael, as he leapt the veranda steps and took off towards Dot clutching his t-shirt, which was turned up and bunched full of matchbox cars. A few minutes later came Jenny again, now sporting a large pair of dark sunglasses underneath her hat. She looked like an eccentric member of the mafia. After negotiating the veranda steps, her almost elderly progress in
stark contrast to Michael's flying leap, she walked around to the fence where Chris was painting.

‘About time,' said Chris mildly.

‘You're lucky I'm here at all,' grumbled Jenny as she picked up a spare paintbrush from underneath the willow and regarded it dolefully. ‘You sure you need me?'

‘It'll keep your mind off things.'

Jenny dipped the brush into the paint and watched as viscous green goblets disengaged and plopped back into the paint tin. ‘Chris, when I arrived here yesterday I was just depressed.
Now
I'm suicidal. The only reason my mind isn't on things is that it's too damn sick to care.'

‘A-ha! My plan works.'

‘Hmm . . .' Jenny took up a position next to Chris and started painting lethargically.

‘So – has he rung?'

Jenny sighed. ‘No. You would've thought one phone call, wouldn't you? Or maybe even flowers. I mean, your wife finds out you're having an affair and goes interstate with your daughter. Wouldn't you at least ring?'

‘Actually, yes.' Chris squatted down to paint the bottom part of her section. ‘But don't read too much into it. Maybe he's been busy.'

‘Yeah.
Real
busy.'

‘Do you know what you want to do yet?'

‘No idea.' Jenny sighed again. ‘But I think I need to accept that my marriage is over.'

‘I'm so sorry, Jen.'

‘Do you know –' Jenny paused and looked across at Chris through her dark sunglasses – ‘I don't know whether I am or not. Like I feel totally miserable at the moment – but is that the champagne, or is that Stuart?'

‘Can't it be both?'

‘I suppose. Well, I've decided to give myself a week to work it all out. Apart from anything else, I can't take too much time off work and Lauren can't really afford to miss school. So is it all right if I hang around for a week?'

‘You
know
it is.' Chris dragged the paintbrush along the bottom edge of the fence, liberally painting weeds, grass and fence alike. ‘For even longer if you like. As long as we don't repeat last night's effort. I don't think my constitution can handle it.'

‘Tell me about it. That pizza keeps fighting for parole.'

They painted in silence for a while, the area behind the willow tree gradually being transformed from a patchwork of corroded brown and greys to an uninterrupted visage of deep Brunswick green. However, as they moved steadily towards the large gate and out from behind the shade of the willow, the job became considerably more strenuous. The sun beat down relentlessly, its heat magnified as it reflected off the metal fencing, which grew ever hotter to touch. Chris refused to look at the expanse still to be painted, instead concentrating on methodically moving the brush up and down, up and down. A thin dribble of sweat trickled down the side of her face and she wiped it with irritation, leaving a smear of dark green in its place.

‘Christ.' Jenny waved at a few flies that were circling her face. ‘I feel sick.'

‘Yeah.' Chris spotted her bedroom window through a hole in the metal sheeting and was reminded of her yet-to-be identified nocturnal visitor. ‘Listen, what goes tut, tut?'

‘I don't know. What goes tut, tut?'

‘It's not a joke. I'm
really
asking.'

‘Oh. In that case – I
still
don't know.'

Before Chris could elaborate on her imitation, a car could be heard scrunching its way down the gravel of Zoello Road. As it approached, both she and Jenny turned, shading their eyes to watch the approach of a bright red ute. With its glossy
paintwork, faultless black trim and mirror-like chrome grill, the car was obviously close to brand new. It drove slowly past the farm, braked, and then reversed neatly back and up the driveway, coming to a halt only metres from where Chris and Jenny were painting. Some old furniture filled the tray.