Page 22 of The Winning Ticket

She’s asked me to come around and help clear the gutters on the house, but what she really meant is, ‘Can you please come and spend hours fixing things around the house because my husband is useless with his hands’?

I love my stepdad, but he is definitely best suited to sitting behind a desk making the big bucks. The one time he tried to do the gutters ended in a near tragedy, with him toppling off the ladder and breaking his arm when I was fifteen. It became my job after that - that and all other yard work when I’m around. Between the gutters and ripping out an overgrown hedge, I’m hot, itchy and in severe need of a shower.

“It’s fine, Mum. I don’t mind,” I say, trying to sound like I mean it.

Dave is loaded. He can more than afford to pay someone to do this stuff for him, but it either has never occurred to him, or he thinks I like looking after the house, which I really don’t, especially now that I have my own places to take care of.

“Can I make you some lunch before you mow the lawn?” Mum asks while I put the ladder away in the shed.

I step out the door and shake leaves out of my hair for the thousandth time in the last hour.

“That would be great. What are you making me?” I will never turn down food from Mum.

She smiles at me, knowing that the way to make me feel better will always involve food. “I have a lasagna in the oven just about ready to come out and some salad.”

My stomach growls in answer, and I grin back at her.

Mum’s lasagne should have songs written about it. Or epic love poems. She learnt from my Nonna, and it’s some secret family recipe passed down through the female line. I begged so many times for the recipe, and she finally caved after Nonna passed away a few years ago, admitting it was a sexist rule. Also, none of my three younger half-sisters have shown any interest in learning how to make it yet, so she really just wants to make sure the information is passed down to someone who will do it justice.

I’m still working on the recipe and am close to perfecting it, but I will not turn down a chance to eat one that my mum made.

Mum heads into the kitchen while I go into the bathroom to get as cleaned up as possible before eating.

When I return, I find two of my sisters setting the table on the back deck.

“Hey, strangers. Where did you pop up from?” I ask, ruffling eleven-year-old Shannon’s hair when I pass by before taking the jug of water from Cordelia to pour myself a glass.

“We had ballet,” Cordelia says, her tone making it clear that I was supposed to know that.

She’s recently turned thirteen, and her attitude since has been just delightful, to say the least.

With my older brother gone, sometimes I feel guilty for not being around for my sisters as much as I’d like… And other times, like right now, I’m just grateful not to have to deal with teenage hormones on a regular basis.

“Right. So where’s Tamara?” My youngest sister decided she wasn’t into ballet, so I know that can’t be the answer to that one.

“She’s on a playdate with Lilly,” Mum answers, appearing at the door with the lasagne.

Dave’s at the office, so it’s just the four of us for lunch. We sit down and chat about how the girls are going with school and the bookstore Mum owns with a friend.

“And what about you? How’s the apartment?” Mum asks while we’re finishing up.

“Good. I mean, Dad doesn’t love that I keep coming back, but other than that, good.”

Mum hesitates, her lips pursed. They’ve been divorced for years, but there is still a lot of tension between them. I know a large part of that is because of the pressure Dad started to put on me when I was a teenager to go and work for him and the circumstances leading up to it. After my brother passed, it had just been assumed that I would work with Dad, and Mum has never forgiven him for not really giving me a choice.

Mum doesn’t bite at the mention of Dad, though. “Have you decided what you’re going to do with it?”

“I was chatting to Chris about it last night. I think I’m going to try to get a housemate there. I was thinking of asking Brianna.”

“Brianna? Brianna Watkins?” Mum’s eyebrows shoot up. “Isn’t she in Sydney?”

“I guess you haven’t caught up with her mum recently?” I ask, reaching for my glass of water while Mum shakes her head.

“No, she missed book club last weekend, and we haven’t had a chance to chat since. What’s happened, why’s Bri back? Did she break up with that horrid little man?” Mum claps her hands together with a smile.

I raise an eyebrow. “She did, actually. Have you met him? You seem very excited about this.”

“I had the displeasure of meeting him the last time Bri came home, and I could tell straight away what a controlling little asshole he was. He contradicted everything Bri said, commenting on her clothes and what she should eat… Clara was distraught but didn’t want to say anything that might cause Bri to pull away even further. What happened?”

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