Page 10 of Summer, in Between
‘What?’
‘Sounding like a mother.What subjects are you doing?’
I tell him, and he whistles.
‘My highest level of achievement was veggie maths,’ he says.‘Do they still call it that?’
‘Not at my school,’ I say, ‘we’re a little more evolved.’
‘What?’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ I say.‘But you can’t talk.Aren’t you about to work the entire summer?Where’s your work life balance?’
‘I need a new car,’ he shrugs.‘I have a good excuse.’
‘You don’t think smashing Year Twelve is a good excuse?’
‘I didn’t say it wasn’t.’
I take a piece of ciabatta.At least if my mouth is full, I can’t speak.
‘What were you saying when I got here?Global warming or kids who can’t swim?’
I swallow.‘Asylum seekers.Kids and their families drowning for the chance of a better life.It’s for English,’ I shrug.‘It’s a yearlong assessment, following an issue of our choice.I’m thinking that or global warming, the melting of the polar caps and all that.’
‘Why don’t you do plastic in the ocean?’he asks.‘Something that means something.’
‘People fleeing persecution doesn’t mean anything to you?’
‘That’s not what I meant.’He runs his hand across his hair, cut short against his scalp.‘You really like making me look like a deadshit, don’t you?I’m just trying to chat with you.’
‘I’m not making you do anything.’My face is hot, mind racing.Have I lost the ability to have a conversation without being snarky?The gum leaves shimmer, their silver undersides flashing.The silence stretches.I take a slug of water, more to occupy my hands than to quench any thirst.
‘Stop!It’s mine!’The sound of squabbling kids reaches the balcony.Grateful for the distraction, I peer down to the street.Through the gap in the trees, I see children playing in the street in front of a holiday house.Mum and Dad are at the foot of our driveway, talking to some temporary neighbours.Dad looks up and sees me, or sees us, more specifically.He nudges Mum who stares, eyes wide.She waves distractedly at the neighbours and yanks Dad by the hand up the stairs behind her.
Paul takes off his glasses and stands as my parents approach.He introduces himself, shaking both of their hands.Mum’s eyes dart between me and the walking surfer god on our balcony.Wow, Mum.Smooth.
‘Another coffee, Paul?’Mum says, composing herself into the ever-accommodating Italian host.
‘We’ve just had one,’ I say.
‘Is your name Paul?’Dad says to me, his head tilted.‘Paul, would you like a coffee?Some water?’
‘I’m actually okay, but thank you,’ says Paul.
‘I need one desperately,’ says Mum.‘Lovely to meet you, Paul.We’ve got a lot to talk about.Cat, would you make us a coffee and get some water too, please, darling.Mick?Grab the plans.’She shoots herdo not challenge meface in my direction.I leave the door open so I can listen.
‘So, the two of you are going to spend your holidays from working as builders to work as builders,’ says Mum, taking a seat.She gestures for Paul to sit down.‘Are you sure you’re happy to start this soon, Paul?You don’t want another week or so?’
‘No, it’s all good, Mrs Kelty.’He sits and shifts forward in his seat.‘I’m actually stoked.I’ve always wanted to work on a place like this.’
‘It’s Angela,’ she says.‘We’re really happy to have you on board.It’s a big job and Mick can’t do it on his own.’
‘Man, I love this house, so I hope I do you proud!So, what are we looking at?’Paul nods at the plans Dad’s spread across the table.I wouldn’t mind a look too, so I hand Mum her coffee and put a water glass in front of Paul.He thanks me, smiling, before returning his gaze to the plans.
‘It’s the subterranean level.We always knew that we’d use this space down the track, and so these plans, this reno, is what Angela intended all along,’ says Dad.
It’s the first I’ve heard of it, this plan to renovate our house.
