Page 110 of Special Delivery
Poppy couldn’t explain it but there was a deadline. She’d made the decision to build it today and now she needed to execute the plan. If she didn’t, she feared that would imply something significant. She wanted to be a woman—a mother—who kicked goals and got shit done. As her dad had said, she was setting the tone for the year. For some reason, this sandpit had become emblematic of so much more than a box of imported sand.
‘Mum, it’s totally fine. After being pregnant last summer, I can hardly feel the heat this time around, and this is the first New Year’s Day in about fifteen years that I haven’t been hungover … or pregnant. I need to capitalise on my good health.’
‘Bon santé, then,’ said her mother. ‘And before I forget, I just found outBetter Homes and Gardensis filming me two weeks from Friday. I got a last-minute hair appointment on the Thursday, which is outrageously lucky. I’m going to hit the sales tomorrow to find an outfit, if you want to join? Rockmans has some lovely colours at the mo—’
‘Wait, what? Why are you going to be onBetter Homes and Gardens?’
‘Didn’t I tell you, darling? Martha’s garden has been selected for one of those whizz-bang garden features! The ones where Johanna Griggs and that Graham fellow walk around and tell jokes while they look at the flowerbeds. Their angle is “the neighbourhood garden”, so I’m being interviewed as one of the friendly neighbours! Imagine that! Your mum on prime-time TV! I’m going to get your dad to film me on the iPad tonight so I can work out my best angles. It’s all so thrilling!’
‘I thought you weren’t speaking to Martha?’
‘Oh no, darling, don’t be ridiculous. We’ve both just been a bit busy, that’s all, and then there was that little miscommunication over the magnolia. And actually, the jasmine has grown on me. There are apparently lots of jasmine notes in the Dior perfumes—the ones with Charlize Theron in the ads. Anyhow, you be careful at Bunnings and remember to get a nice shop person to help you carry the timber. You don’t want to hurt yourself in this heat. I’ve got to pop over to Martha’s. We’re going to do a little run-through of the garden and practise some good comments. I was thinking we should make a point of mentioning the birdhouse because then I can make some funny jokes about us being a pair ofold birds too. I think Johanna would really have a giggle at that one. Better go, darling, bye!’
Poppy stared at the road and blinked three times to check it wasn’t a dream. The backflips her mother could perform were incredible.
Maeve was still grumbling in the back when she arrived at the Bunnings car park. Poppy glanced at her phone and suddenly Dani’s name appeared on the screen before she’d even heard it ring. Funny how often that happened. She scooped it up and pressed the green button.
‘DARNEE!’
‘PARPEE! Happy New Year, my dear. How are you?’
‘It’s too hot. I feel like a gelatinous lobster. My hairline is so sweaty I look like I’m trying for that wet-look style that J.Lo used to do—though in my case it stinks of BO.’
‘Wow, there’s a lot to unpack there.’
‘Yeah, and Maeve has the shits too,’ Poppy said, getting out of the car to open Maeve’s door. ‘Not gastro. Just the figurative shits. It’s too hot.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Just arrived at Bunnings, why?’
‘Why are you at Bunnings?’
Poppy explained her plans for the sandpit while Dani made unimpressed grunting sounds to convey her distaste for hardware stores. That was a luxury she could afford, living in an already-renovated terrace.
‘I’ll leave you to it then, my dear,’ said Dani. ‘Enjoy yourself and then go have a shower. I can smell you from here.’
‘Did you call just to annoy me?’
‘Just to hear your voice, my lovely.’
Poppy walked into the store and smiled. ‘Love you too, dickhead.’
She slid the phone into the pocket of her denim shorts and grabbed a trolley, funnelling Maeve’s legs into the front seat.
‘Can I help you?’ asked a teenage boy wearing a Bunnings polo. He had a magnificent mullet that cascaded onto his shoulders. He must have been growing it since his tweens.
‘I’m looking for sand,’ said Poppy. ‘And tarps. And timber. I’m making a sandpit.’
‘You’re doing it yourself?’ he asked.
‘Yep.’
‘Cool,’ he said, impressed, and Poppy felt herself swell with pride.
‘The sand is in the outdoor section and the timber is at the opposite end, down there.’ He pointed to his left. ‘Tarps are in aisle twenty-three. Good luck.’
‘Thanks,’ replied Poppy. She set off towards aisle twenty-three, coming to an abrupt stop when she reached it. Wow, there were lots of tarps. And Jesus, so many specifications she’d not considered: fabric type, grams per square metre, hem quality, denier density. She needed help.
