‘No. But the bread’s good.’ He pats her shoulder. ‘Come on. Time to go home.’
Cynthia takes one more look at the sea and thinks about coming back for a swim later. Those LA beaches just weren’t the same as this glorious expanse. She wants to plunge into the salt water just so she can turn around and look at the shore, revel in the beauty of it, and try not to think about how many years she could have been enjoying it.
‘Yes, Papa,’ she says. ‘It is.’
CHAPTER TWO
Lorraineslams the Wettex down on the sink and exhales loudly. ‘Terry, I have told you amilliontimes that when you go to the shops you need to take Simon with you!’
‘I don’t want to,’ her eldest son replies.
‘I don’tcare. I don’t have time to watch him all day, every weekend – I need your help. Plus he loves going with you.’
‘Yeah. That’s the problem.’
Terry glowers at her. He’s fourteen and riding the messy wave of puberty, alternately loathing her and wanting her to tell him that life will turn out okay. Ha! She’d like someone to tell her that too.
‘Mike, say something,’ she mutters as her husband enters the kitchen.
‘Mate,’ he says, ruffling Terry’s hair.
‘Dad, stop it!’ Terry looks mortified then mildly pleased.
‘Why?’ Mike chuckles and winks at Lorraine. ‘It’s too much fun seeing your reaction. Darl, did you hear about Howard sacking Andrew Peacock? Can’t believe it – I thought that bloke had nine lives.’
‘Why – because he’s had an affair with Shirley MacLaine?’ she mutters.
Mike chortles. ‘Yeah, probably.’
‘Terry, where’s Simon now?’ Lorraine turns fully away from the sink and puts her hands on her hips.
Terry shrugs. ‘Dunno.’
‘Could youfind him?’
‘Why do I have to hang out with that little creep?’ Terry says just as his brother walks into the room.
Lorraine sees Simon just in time to also see his face crumple. ‘Darling.’ She yanks off her rubber gloves and throws them on the kitchen bench before going to her youngest and giving him a hug. ‘Terry didn’t mean it,’ she says softly, kissing the loose curls on the top of Simon’s head then glaring at her teenager.
‘Yeah, I did,’ Terry snickers. ‘He follows me around. It’s embarrassing. My friends think he’s a loser.’
Mike chuckles again.
‘Michael, it’s not funny,’ Lorraine says just as Simon starts to sniffle.
When she waited five years after Terry was born to have another child it was because she needed to get used to the idea of one kid before she added another. She didn’t stop to think that her eldest child would be a teenager while her youngest was still in single digits, which is like parenting two different species instead of one.
‘What is happening?’
Mike’s mother, Cora, has joined them, wafting through the doorway. Cora likes to waft. She once told Lorraine that she’d read in a magazine that a lady should look elegant when she walks; her interpretation is to waft all over the house, day and night, until she finally retires to her bedroom. Although she probably wafts in there too. Lorraine wouldn’t know. Cora keeps the door closed unless she wants the room vacuumed, when she leaves it open. Presumably as an invitation to Lorraine to do that vacuuming.
Cora’s all right, really. She just used to have a maid or a cleaner or something back when Mike was growing up in Toowoomba. Now that she’s living in Cooroy with grown-up Mike and his wife, she thinks Lorraine is that maid. And Lorraine, not wanting to rock the boat or her marriage, goes along with it. So she probablyonly has herself to blame. She shouldn’t have let Cora move in when Mike’s father died. That was the original mistake.
‘It’s fine, Cora,’ Lorraine says, stroking Simon’s head as he continues to sniffle.
But Cora has spied the tears on Simon’s cheeks and is now wafting in his direction. ‘My poor baby,’ she murmurs, kissing his cheek. Simon’s her favourite. Which Terry knows. It hasn’t helped with Terry’s attitude towards his brother.
‘Honestly, Cora, it’s fine.’ Lorraine looks pointedly at Mike, who is, inconveniently, looking in the fridge.
