![\"Rashida](\"https:\/\/aussiesummer.sharonrundle.com.au\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/10\/rashidaphotoweb-300x300.png\")
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\u2018You can put your dead things on the table there \u2013\u2019 our hostess pointed to the fold-out table under the Japanese maple. \u2018I don\u2019t allow dead things in the house. I\u2019m vegetarian, remember?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Um, this is actually a potato and chickpea salad. I didn\u2019t bring any meat for the barbeque, if that\u2019s what you mean. It\u2019s too hot.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018What an extraordinary idea\u2019 said our hostess, dragging deep on her cigarette before throwing it, still smouldering, on the brown grass under our feet. \u2018You people don\u2019t eat dead things when it\u2019s hot? But you eat curry, right?\u2019 Her voice was 1920s flapper-girl, smoky music-hall, all rumbles of laughter and rolling vowels and she waved her arms about and patted the pockets of her smock for another cigarette. I put my foot out and squished the earlier one.<\/p>\n
\u2018Kathy,\u2019 I said, pointing at the dead stub. \u2018How long have you been in Australia again? Long enough to know only pyromaniacs smoke on a 42-degree day. And your hubby a firefighter \u2013 poor thing.\u2019<\/p>\n
Kathy grinned and lit another cigarette before pushing the potbellied Weber towards a paperbark. I helped trundle the barbeque over to a spot under the tree and waved away the smoke she blew. She linked arms with me and planted a smoky kiss on my cheek. \u2018Look at this place, would it be such a loss if it accidentally burned down? Ric,\u2019 she called out before collapsing in a fit of coughing. She tried again \u2013 \u2018Ric, our Perth friends are here.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Hi Ric,\u2019 I waved to the man on the verandah, and he crinkled his eyes before lifting a hand in an answering wave. We\u2019d met at the day-care centre, six years ago. He had held the door open for me while I struggled with backpack, laptop, handbag and a squirming four-year-old. He followed me inside, holding a wriggly child of his own, a boy, who went still when our eyes met.<\/p>\n
Ric owned a lawn mowing business and turned up every month to mow my undulating quarter acre block when he found me pushing a borrowed mower up the slope one afternoon when he arrived to cut next door\u2019s grass. \u2018Don\u2019t you have a husband?\u2019 he grinned, before insisting on finishing the job.<\/p>\n
\u2018Sort of,\u2019 I replied. \u2018He grew up in a tiny flat in a big Indian city and finds the mysteries of lawn mowing a bit hard to grasp.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018But you don\u2019t?\u2019 he asked, nodding towards the window where we could both see the outline of my soon-to-be-ex-husband wreathed in cigarette smoke.<\/p>\n
When he and Kathy moved to the country, I promised I\u2019d visit. So here I was, newly single, shared-custody daughter in tow, in the middle of a West Australian heat wave in March, with flies and crackling grass, a pyromaniac hostess and a solemn Greek god.<\/p>\n
\u2018Mum, when are we going home?\u2019 Ten-year-old Anita tugged my hand and squinted up. Her hair stuck to her scalp in wet ringlets and dribbles of sweat snaked their way down the sides of her face. I bent down and she whispered, \u2018I don\u2019t like Jonathon. He\u2019s weird.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018What\u2019s he done now? You must be patient with him. He\u2019s younger than you.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018He wants to hide. There\u2019s nowhere to hide here \u2013\u2019 Anita waved her arm at the flat block with its straggly trees and squat homestead. \u2018And he won\u2019t let me into his room.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Ric,\u2019 shouted Kathy again. \u2018Your son is being a pain. Do something. He\u2019s freaking out the little girl.\u2019 She dragged on her cigarette and threw it down. I squashed it and shook my head at her. I moved the Weber away from the trees and back on the verandah, to the shady side.<\/p>\n
Tom and Jan and their two kids, also from Perth, emerged from their air-conditioned Nissan and gasped, calling out, \u2018Is it always this hot here?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Yep,\u2019 Kathy said. \u2018Dead things for the barbeque over that way. Rabbit food, here, on this table.\u2019<\/p>\n
I reached into the melting Esky, pulled out a bottle of water and offered it to my daughter.<\/p>\n
\u2018Have a drink,\u2019 I said. \u2018You\u2019ll feel better. We just got here. We\u2019re having a barbeque.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Great.\u2019 Her fierce glare indicated that she would Make Me Pay. She threw down the hat she held in her right hand and stamped on it.<\/p>\n
\u2018Come here, darling,\u2019 Kathy said from behind us, holding an arm out towards Anita. \u2018Geez, you\u2019re so pretty. And isn\u2019t it horrible here? All this heat. I can\u2019t stand it. Come on, let\u2019s go inside and find you a ribbon, eh?\u2019<\/p>\n
Jonathon hurtled towards his mother in a cloud of brown dust. \u2018Eat,\u2019 he said. \u2018Eat.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Shoo,\u2019 Kathy said. \u2018Go to your father,\u2019 and taking my daughter by the hand, led her towards the house.<\/p>\n
I turned to Jonathon. \u2018What would you like to eat? Can I make you a burger?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Drink,\u2019 he said. \u2018Drink.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018I\u2019ll get you a burger and a drink, okay?\u2019 He wrapped his hands around my waist, his face in my belly for a few seconds before he pushed at me and ran away.<\/p>\n
\u2018Well, that\u2019s a first,\u2019 Ric strolled over and flopped down into the camp chair beside the table where all the salads except mine were wilting rapidly. \u2018He doesn\u2019t like touching people. It\u2019s hard for Kathy and I feel responsible \u2013 because \u2013 you know \u2013 there\u2019s a few …\u2019 he tapped his head, \u2018in my family. On Kathy\u2019s side there\u2019s rocket scientists and other brainiacs.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Oh. I\u2019m sorry …\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018It\u2019s easier here, you know, small town, less people to worry about and country folk are supposed to be strange anyway. And he gets much more attention at school. They have an assistant just for him. He\u2019s improving every day. But what am I telling you all this for? You must come across kids like him all the time, being a teacher and all? My theory is we waited too long \u2013 we were in our forties when we had Jonny, not like you young things. By the time you get to my age your little one will be having little ones of her own, hey?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018I don\u2019t suppose you get a sea breeze here, do you? How can you stand it? You lived by the ocean in Perth,\u2019 I said.<\/p>\n
\u2018Oh, it\u2019s not bad. You\u2019re much more part of the community here. You can\u2019t live on the fringes. You have to be involved. I\u2019m on call 24\/7 and Kath volunteers in the old folks\u2019 home. She used to be a nurse in England.\u2019 He plunged his hand into the same Esky I had fished around in for bottled water earlier and held up a dripping bottle of wine. \u2018Western Australia\u2019s finest,\u2019 he said. \u2018Shall we?\u2019 He uncorked a Goundrey\u2019s and handed me a plastic Champagne flute, steadying my hand as he poured.<\/p>\n
Kathy emerged from the house, cigarette in her left hand, right hand holding my daughter\u2019s, face bent down towards her, music-hall laughter issuing from her throat.<\/p>\n
\u2018Mrs Clark says I can have a sleep-over anytime. She says I can bring a girlfriend too. Jonathon has his own cave at the back of the house. It\u2019s so cool.\u2019 Anita\u2019s face was animated again, her hair in a ponytail down her back, a variety of ribbons and clips cascading down, a drink in her hands and the glint back in her eyes.<\/p>\n
Kathy threw her cigarette down and Ric stood up and squished it, urging her into the chair he vacated, handing her a plastic flute filled to the brim with wine. My daughter sat on my lap and I felt the heat of her body through the tank top she wore. I took off my hat and fanned us both. Ric murmured something about giving the lads a hand with the Weber and walked away.<\/p>\n
\u2018Don\u2019t you dare put your dead things on my good china plates,\u2019 Kathy shouted after him. \u2018Your son just destroyed my kitchen because I wouldn\u2019t give him an ice-cream. There\u2019s crap everywhere. You can clean up and clean your son while you\u2019re at it.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018What\u2019s wrong with Jonathon?\u2019 asked Anita and I went still. I opened my mouth and Kathy shook her head and sipped her wine before smoothing my daughter\u2019s hair off her face.<\/p>\n
\u2018Your mum knows all the labels they use for children like him. But you know what, he\u2019s just a right pain in the butt, like you \u2013 oh don\u2019t look at me with your innocent eyes, miss \u2013 save it for the boys in high school when you get there. I know you give your mum a hard time. She loves you anyway. Jonny\u2019s having a bad life at the moment, but it\u2019ll get better. He knows I like to yell. I don\u2019t mean anything by it. Now what have I done with those ciggies?\u2019<\/p>\n
The smell of charred meat drifted towards us from the verandah and the men cracked open cans of beer. \u2018Oh, that smells nice,\u2019 my daughter said. \u2018I think I\u2019ll go eat some dead things.\u2019<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
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Rashida Murphy<\/strong> lives in Boorloo\/Perth and is the author of the novel, The Historian\u2019s Daughter<\/em>. Her short stories, essays and poetry are available in several Australian and international anthologies. When not distracted by her cat she is trying to finish writing a new novel and a collection of short stories. More information can be found on her website rashidawritenow.com.<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" by Rashida Murphy<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[13],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-134","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-rashida-murphy"],"aioseo_notices":[],"aioseo_head":"\n\t\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t