Flying the Coop (11 page)

‘Well? How would
you
like it?'

Chris focused on her daughter again. ‘Sorry. Um, I wouldn't. But, Grace, this goes back to what I was saying in the car. You know, when we first went down to see the farm. About how sometimes moving doesn't really help, because you just take your problems
with
you.'

‘Mum, you don't get it,' Grace sighed. ‘You think I want to change schools to make new friends and all that sort of shit, yeah?'

‘Don't say shit,' said Chris automatically. ‘But don't you?'

‘No,
course
not. I knew enough kids there to hang out with when I wanted to. It's just I don't often want to.'

‘Then what was it?'

‘It's the school
itself
. They go on about it being steeped in tradition and all that, but I reckon it's just steeped in . . . anyway, and there's the uniform. I hated it. It
stifled
me.'

‘It
what
?'

‘Stifled me. So many rules and shit. And so many girls! I think you need boys, to sort of balance things out.'

Chris started to see the light. ‘Do you like boys?'

‘
God
no.'

‘Oh.' The light flickered once and went out.

‘Not in
that
way. I'd just rather have them there. They're
interesting
.'

‘They are that.' Chris nodded slowly.

‘Like, I know I'm going to miss stuff from around here, but this is an
adventure
. Don't you feel that? I mean, I've lived my
entire
life in this house. I
need
new experiences!'

‘They're overrated,' commented Chris.

‘Then I need to find that out for myself! I need new material!'

‘Material?' repeated Chris curiously. ‘What for?'

‘Never mind.' Grace visibly closed down, the rather confiding manner she had been unexpectedly displaying disappearing in an instant. ‘Are we done now?'

‘I suppose so.' Chris stood up and then impulsively leant forward and kissed Grace on the forehead before she could draw back.

‘What was
that
for?'

‘Just for being you.' Chris smiled at her. ‘And now bed, young lady, we've got a big day tomorrow. Goodnight.'

‘Goodnight.'

Chris shut the door behind her and then walked through the house, turning off lights as she went. She finished in her bedroom, where she tiredly slipped her jeans and windcheater off and pulled on an oversized Carlton t-shirt that Garth had forgotten when he left. Then she pulled back the doona and crawled into bed, wishing fervently that she could skip an entire day and fast-forward to the day after tomorrow, when all the moving would be done and her new life could begin. Or, even better, fast-forward an entire year to when she'd probably have run the whole business into the ground and was moving back again.

‘Be
careful
!' Chris hovered in the background, watching anxiously as the two removal men, who didn't look anywhere near competent enough, negotiated her semi-circular walnut
crystal cabinet through the front door. Sam, who seemed to be the boss, was a balding, shiny-faced man with a huge beer belly that was amply on show thanks to several missing buttons on his khaki overalls. Bruce, his offsider, was much younger, with small, deep-set eyes and thin features that made him look extremely rodent-like.

‘S'all right, lady.' Sam grinned patronisingly. ‘We know what we're doin'.'

‘
Sam
!' yelled Bruce as the corner of the cabinet dipped.

‘Shoot!'

Chris closed her eyes until she heard them put the cabinet down safely on the porch. Then she took a deep breath and walked over to the doorway, hoping that her expression said all that needed to be said about her confidence in their competence.

‘You're
still
worried, aren't you?' Sam laughed at her merrily. ‘Look, rest assured we've bin doin' this for more years than you've had hot donuts.'

‘My mum doesn't
eat
hot donuts,' commented Michael, who was sitting cross-legged on the porch, having been sent there half an hour ago to keep him out of the way.

‘She gets the point, though.'

Chris, who actually
didn't
get the point as his analogy made no sense, took another deep breath and then left them to it. She went back inside to resume her check of the house. This consisted of entering each room, as soon as the furniture and boxes were removed, with a long-handled duster. With the help of this implement, she did a sweep of the wardrobes, built-in cupboards, bookshelves, pantry, linen closet and other assorted hidey-holes. So far she had uncovered her wedding bouquet, three tennis balls, a half-finished tapestry of Mona Lisa, enough fluff to fill a king-size doona, and a small box containing fossilised dinosaur poo that a relative had once given Michael. And which she had promptly confiscated
because, if memory served her right, he had plonked it into his sister's cereal.

Chris was already feeling very tired, mainly because she'd had a dreadful sleep the night before, tossing and turning while lists of things she needed to do flitted through her head. She finally fell into a deep sleep just after 2 am, only to be woken three and a half hours later by a very excited Michael, bearing microwave-cooked crumpets and a cup of pink Quik. At least, thanks to this unexpectedly early start, she had finished all the bed-stripping and last-minute packing before the removalists had even arrived at 8.30 am. And now it was almost time to go. The crystal cabinet was the last of the furniture to be moved, and was even now being hoisted into the back of the van.

Chris paused at a window and rather apprehensively watched the procedure. Bruce, who now had the cabinet on a multi-wheeled trolley, was attempting to get enough momentum up to be able to roll it up the wide plank leading into the back of the truck. His efforts were accompanied by Sam's noisy encouragement.

‘C'mon, mate, you can do it! Give it one more go. Faster now! God, mate, you're as weak as wine!'

Grace joined her mother by the window. ‘He's an idiot.'

‘I think you're right.' Chris turned away as it was far easier on her nerves.

‘What now?' asked Grace, being surprisingly helpful.

‘Well, you can take this duster out to the car and put it in the boot.'

‘Won't fit. You've put too much junk in there.'

‘Actually the car's for all the precious stuff. Like you two.' Chris smiled at her daughter but just received a blank look in return. ‘Okay, whatever. Just squeeze it in somewhere. I don't care where.'

After Grace left, Chris went back into the lounge-room,
where the last of the boxes were stacked near the door. As she entered the room via the passage, Sam and Co came in through the front door.

‘
Told
you it'd be fine, didn't I? Safe as mansions.'

‘Good,' said Chris weakly.

‘Now for these boxes and then we'll be out o' your hair. Bruce, you grab that one. And that one.' Sam sat his considerable posterior down on the edge of one of the boxes and then turned back to Chris as his offsider lugged the chosen ones over the front threshold and loaded them onto the trolley. ‘So, where you off to then?'

‘You don't know?' Chris looked at him, rather astounded.

‘
Course
I know! I'm speakin' metaphorically. You know, just makin' chitchat.'

‘Oh, I see.'

‘We're off to a farm!' Michael had sidled back into the house. ‘In the country! With hens and chickens and things like that.'

‘A farm, hey?' Sam looked impressed. ‘I'll bet your daddy'll have his hands full then, won't he?'

‘I don't think so. Why?'

‘Because of all the hens and things, mate! All the work!'

Michael's face cleared as enlightenment dawned. ‘No, my dad isn't coming too. He lives with Cynthia now.'

‘Really?' Sam glanced from Michael to Chris. ‘Well, well, well. Didn't
I
get the wrong end of the paddle!'

‘Michael, go and do one more check of the backyard, please.' Chris gestured towards the back door. ‘Make sure you haven't left any toys out there.'

‘So . . . you'll be managin' a whole farm just on your lonesome then, hey?' Sam was still looking at Chris with interest as Bruce came panting back into the house. ‘Oh, well done, mate. Now this box here, and that one, thanks.'

‘Are you
sure
you've got the address of where you're going?' asked Chris doubtfully.

‘Not a problem! Bonnie Doon, right?'

‘No! It's –'

‘Ha, ha, got you there, didn't I?' Sam clutched his midriff with delight. ‘Just joshing, darlin'! It's Healesville, I
know
it's Healesville!'

‘Oh. Good one,' said Chris feebly.

‘But seriously –' Sam paused as he pulled a large grimy handkerchief out of his overall pocket, examined it carefully, and then proceeded to mop his shiny brow. After finishing, he shovelled the handkerchief away again and looked back at her earnestly. ‘You'll be needin' a good bloke to help you run a farm, you know. Someone who's not afraid of a little hard yacker. Someone who's capable of pullin' up their strides and gettin' –'

‘Lucky she's got my dad then, isn't it?' Grace came into the lounge-room and looked at Sam narrowly. ‘And my brother's dad, and my other brother's dad. Oh, and the twins' dad as well. And then there's all our uncles. They take it in turns, you know. My dad'll be there on a Monday, then Uncle John'll be there on –'

‘Thanks, Grace,' said Chris dryly. ‘I think he gets the picture.'

‘Oh.' Sam looked crushed.

‘You're
on
the last box, mate!' Bruce leant in the doorway, trying to get his breath back.

‘So I am.' Sam levered himself off the carton which, when his posterior was removed, displayed quite clearly the words: FRAGILE – CROCKERY INSIDE!

‘
Mum
!' yelled Michael from the backyard. ‘
Mum
! Come here!'

‘If you want me,
you
come here,' Chris called back. Then she turned to the removalists. ‘So that's that, hey? We'll see you down there. Any problems and you've got my mobile phone number. Um, you
do
still have my mobile phone number, don't you?'

‘Yeah, yeah. All under control,' replied a slightly less exuberant Sam as his companion lifted up the last box and, with a grunt, staggered outside with it.

‘All righty then!'

‘Drive safely,' muttered Sam as he followed his workmate outside. A second later his head popped back around the doorframe. ‘Don't suppose you've got
any
days free, then?'

‘No.' Chris shook her head frenetically. ‘Sorry. Totally booked.'

‘Oh.'

Grace watched Sam's head disappear once more and then turned to her mother. ‘I recommend getting a new mobile phone number, Mum.'

‘I think you're right.' Chris nodded reflectively. ‘Mind you, you didn't need to make it sound like I run a damn bordello.'

‘What's a bor-dello?' asked Michael, coming back through the kitchen with a handful of matchbox cars.

‘A type of soft drink,' replied his sister quickly. ‘Sort of like portello, but sweeter.'

‘Yum.'

‘Don't listen to her, Michael,' snapped Chris irritably. ‘Now what did you want me for anyway?'

‘I wanted to show you my favourite car!' Michael held out a dirt-encrusted miniature convertible. ‘Look! I thought it was lost but it was in the backyard all this time!'

‘There's a surprise. Okay then!' Chris clapped her hands authoritatively. ‘We need to get going. Michael, go to the toilet and then get in the car. Grace –'

‘I'll just wait in the car.'

‘Fine.' Chris watched both children exit the room and then
walked through the kitchen to the back door, which she locked with the deadbolt. She leant with her back against the door for a last lingering look at her beautiful kitchen.

‘Goodbye, kitchen,' Chris's voice echoed in the empty room. She pushed herself off the door and walked through the kitchen and up the passage, checking each room for open windows. Once that was done, she went back into the lounge-room and stood in the centre of the room, gazing around her. It all looked so different, and yet so familiar.

The toilet flushed and a few seconds later, Michael, still clutching his cars, came running down the passage and through the front door.

‘Did you wash your hands?' Chris called after him.

‘Yeah!'

Chris went back to staring around the lounge-room. She knew she had to get moving, especially as she needed to visit Fielders Real Estate and pick up the keys before going out to the farm. And if she wasn't there by the time Sam and Bruce turned up, she wouldn't put it past them to start unloading all her furniture next door. One thing she
didn't
have to worry about was the chooks, as Frank had rung yesterday to inform her that Mac had asked him to let the ‘lady' know that he'd take care of them for a couple of days to let her settle in. And that he'd see her bright and early Monday morning to begin the handover. This had been an enormous relief to Chris, who had been feeling increasingly daunted by the thought of having to introduce herself to the poultry – and Mac – in between scattering grain and unpacking boxes.

Chris knew she had to get a move on, but the few steps necessary to actually leave the house and start the journey were proving considerably more difficult than anticipated. Chris flexed her right foot in preparation and moved it toward the doorway. Then she followed it with her left.

‘Mum! Grace says you said I have to sit with this stupid duster on my lap!' Michael raced inside and thrust the duster towards her face indignantly. ‘You didn't say that, did you?'