Flying the Coop (33 page)

And was hit by a realisation that made things clear.
This
was what Lauren had been talking about when she spoke of Zoe's great weapon. The ability to describe events, to tap into emotions, to influence understanding – in other words, the power of the pen. If Lauren had been standing next to her now, Chris would have enveloped her with a huge hug. Because the girl had somehow seen through Zoe's prickly exterior and discovered her gift, and had used that to try and give her a sense of purpose. She had probably done more for Zoe in one day than Chris herself had been able to accomplish in years.

And what's more, Lauren had been right. Zoe
could
accomplish a lot with this gift. Maybe not quite world domination, but the girl had talent and with such a talent came the potential to achieve great things. Chris wanted to take the stories, to stick them up around the house, to send them to publishers, to wave them at all the friends and relatives who had looked at her large, awkward, sullen daughter and wondered what she would ever amount to. But she knew she couldn't. In fact, Zoe must never know that she had even seen these. No, until the girl was ready to show her mother these, Chris herself could never say a word. And that was going to be one of the hardest things she ever had to do.

‘So how do I correct mistakes again, love?' called Dot from the office, where she was perched peering at the computer screen through her glasses.

‘Just press “backspace”,' replied Chris. ‘It's on the right somewhere.'

‘Let me see . . . found it!'

This was the third time since sending her first email that Dot had requested to use the computer and Chris was beginning to suspect it would become a regular occurrence. Dot had been so delighted by her son's reply to her original email, and that she could actually see his message before her on the screen, that she was fast becoming addicted to this newly discovered method of communication. Chris peeled and then chopped a couple of carrots lethargically and then popped them into the casserole she was preparing.

‘Okay, here we go.' Dot, concentrating fiercely, hit send and then sat back with a huge grin. ‘I did it! This is amazing! Why hasn't anyone ever told me how
easy
this is?'

‘I don't know,' replied Chris, although she had a fair idea.

‘Oh, look.' Dot peered at the screen. ‘You've got an email, love. Do you want me to read it t'you?'

‘No!' said Chris quickly, just in case it was from Neil. There was no way she wanted his mother to know they were corresponding regularly. She didn't really know
why
she didn't want Dot to know – just that instinct was telling her to keep it quiet.

‘Okay then. I'll only tell you the title . . . Well, this
is
interesting.'

‘Bugger,' muttered Chris.

‘It's from someone called [email protected] and he seems to be enquiring whether you're interested in a three-some.' Dot paused for a moment as she digested this. ‘Isn't that a bit personal, love?'

‘It's spam, Dot.' Chris came up behind her and hit the delete key. ‘These idiots send out all sorts of stuff. You just have to get rid of them when they come in.'

‘Spam, hey? In my day that was something you had on toast. My Neil used t'eat it straight out of the tin when he was little. Once he sliced his tongue open on the jagged edge. Blood everywhere.'

‘Really?' Chris briefly considered asking if that had resulted in a permanent disability, but decided to leave it alone.

‘Yes. Poor little bugger couldn't talk for days.' Dot looked at the computer musingly. ‘So that email you got the other day asking if you were happy with the size of your penis, was that spam too?'

‘Definitely.'

‘Well, that's a relief,' said Dot. ‘It had me a bit confused, I can tell you.'

Chris grinned. ‘I'm sure it did.'

‘And I'm finished!' Dot took her glasses off and slid them into their case. ‘Better go home. My chooks'll be after their constitutional.'

‘Their constitutional?'

‘Yep. I take them out t'the front yard most afternoons for a bit. Gives them a change of scenery. They appreciate it.'

‘I'm sure.' Chris wondered exactly how a chook showed its appreciation. Then she looked at Dot pensively. ‘Listen, Dot, is it true Mac feeds your poultry for you?'

‘Are you worried about the feed, love?' Dot looked guilty. ‘Because if you are, I'll get him to stop. It
is
your feed, after all.'

‘Not at all!' said Chris quickly. ‘Really! I was just curious.'

‘Oh, good. As for him feeding them, well, when I moved he just popped some chooks over the fence without saying anything. See, he knows I like having some poultry around. Then he started feeding them as well. So who am I to say no?'

‘Why not? He owes you big-time.'

‘Very big-time.' Dot nodded in agreement. ‘So what've you got on this afternoon then?'

‘Do you know –' Chris looked around the kitchen, which was relatively clean with the dishes all done and tea already prepared – ‘I think I might go for a drive into town. Have a wander. Pick up some groceries. And some more manilla envelopes.'

‘Good-o.' Dot manoeuvred herself out of the chair and stretched. ‘Then I'll be off. See you later, love.'

‘Bye, Dot.'

The screen door banged shut behind Dot and Chris went into the study to check her messages, something she kept forgetting to do now that the answering machine was not in the hall as it had been in Canterbury. She pressed the button and the tape whirred backwards, clicked and then started scrolling forward slowly.

‘Hello, Christin? That
is
you, isn't it? I mean, I hope I've got the right number. This is your mother speaking. I'm only calling because we haven't heard from you in a couple of weeks and I was getting concerned. Your father doesn't seem too worried but then he's never been known for his sensitivity. If you could give me a call, dear, it would be much appreciated. If your father answers, ask for me.'

Chris made a mental note to call her parents,
both
of them, this evening. She had been a bit slack not having rung before now but there had been so much to do. And they seemed so removed from the farm, even more than they had seemed in Canterbury. The machine beeped once and then Jenny's voice rang out.

‘Hey, Chris. Just letting you know we're at the airport. Listen, I can't thank you enough for letting us stay and giving me a chance to think. Don't know that I've come to any conclusions though! I bet you're a bit annoyed about me never having told you about Brian but it was really
nothing. Just a stupid fling and a huge mistake that I think I've paid for in full now. Don't know what's going to happen with Stuart and me – we're walking around each other on eggshells. He's promised me he hasn't seen
her
since I left. But every time I look at him I see
them
. I don't know. Someone's coming so I'll have to go . . . I'll call again soon. Oh, and you still owe me twenty dollars.'

Chris smiled at this last comment as the machine beeped twice, signifying the end of the messages. She rewound the tape and then, just as she left the office, the front doorbell rang so she headed down the passage, crossing her fingers that it was more egg sales. And it was. Two women, obviously mother and daughter, who purchased three dozen eggs between them and kept Chris at the front door for fifteen minutes while they told her that she really should change the hen picture on her flyer because, in their opinion, it looked psychopathic.

When Chris finally closed the front door, she realised that she couldn't go for a drive anyway as there was nobody at home to take any sales. And the mother and daughter were the fourth and fifth customers so far that day – a record. Maybe making a fool of herself yesterday had done some good after all. Chris shoved the change into her overalls pocket, walked into the lounge-room and paused at the window, watching the pair reverse their Volvo out of the driveway. There was a lovely view from this window, their front yard stretching down to the dirt road, and then the gum-tree strewn countryside beyond, with the rear of the estate just visible in the distance.

As she watched, Chris registered movement and realised that a person was walking across the empty stretch of land towards the farm, their figure shimmering slightly in the sun. At times it merged with a gum tree, and then broke free, becoming gradually larger as it neared. No doubt another sale. But definitely not the hairy estate man, because even at a
distance this figure was far thinner. Chris smiled happily, and leant against the back of the couch to wait.

As the walker exited the gums, he or she solidified into shades of grey and something like a rat appeared, running alongside on a lead. As it came closer, she realised that it wasn't a rat, but a particularly ugly chihuahua. Grey and predominantly hairless except for some bristly tufts sprouting from the head area. Chris grimaced involuntarily and looked back towards her new customer. It was Elsie De Bries.

Chris leapt off the back of the couch and stared at the window. Why
today
? If the bloody woman had chosen any other day in the past week for this confrontation, Chris would have had Jenny here as back-up. But today there was nobody. No assistance, no witnesses. Increasingly tense, she watched Elsie pause at the edge of the dirt road and pick up the chihuahua before looking both ways and crossing. She was dressed in her habitual grey and had a grim expression on her face.

They came up into the front garden and headed towards the front door but, just as Chris was taking a deep breath and mentally preparing herself, Elsie stopped midway across the lawn. The woman put the dog down and then glanced up at the house briefly, her eyes narrowed, and Chris involuntarily took a step backwards. It became obvious that Elsie was actually talking to the dog, which now sat obediently at her feet, concentrating, its head slightly cocked.

Chris approached the window again, increasingly puzzled, just as the chihuahua stood once more and then lowered its scrawny haunches into a half-squatting position. And everything became clear – eminently clear, and in a neatly coiled pile on her lawn. Chris stared, her mouth dropping open as the dog finished its business and Elsie bent slightly to pat it. Then the pair turned and started walking back towards the dirt road. And Chris saw red.

She belted for the front door, threw it open and ran out to the top of the veranda steps, ‘Hey,
you
!'

Elsie, who had reached the other side of the dirt road, paused and looked back wordlessly.

‘Get back here and clean up your mess!' shrieked Chris furiously.

‘I don't think so.' Elsie smiled, a slow tight smile that went nowhere near her eyes.

‘Well,
I
do!' Chris pointed a shaking finger at the other woman. ‘How
dare
you bring that rat over here to shit on my grass! How
dare
you!'

‘It's a free country.' Elsie glanced at the lawn and then back to Chris, beaming triumphantly. Then she smiled once more and turned her back, walking steadily up from the road into the vacant section and off towards the estate.

With her fists clenched by her sides, Chris hopped up and down in impotent fury – and then suddenly sped back into the house and up to the kitchen where she pulled two plastic bags from a drawer. Next she grabbed her car keys, thrust them into a pocket and raced back down the passage and out the door, slamming it shut behind her. Covering one of her hands with a bag as she went, Chris jumped down the steps and ran across the lawn to the now gently steaming pile. There she bent, scooped it up and deposited it efficiently into the other plastic bag. Too furious to be bothered by the yuck factor, Chris stared around the lawn and identified three other piles of evidence that Elsie De Bries was a total bitch. Up each one came and into the plastic bag. Lastly, Chris pushed the bag that she had used to cover her hand into the other one and tied off the top. Then she ran to her Honda.

Chris gunned the engine and reversed out rapidly, spraying gravel sideways as she went. She spun the car backwards into Zoello Road, shoved it into first gear and took off. Two right
turns took her to the brick archway of the estate and she sped underneath, only then slowing in case anyone was about. Next it was simply a matter of driving, relatively slowly, towards the back of the estate, hoping to spot Elsie approaching from the gum trees. The houses within the estate were all fairly new and looked like full-size Lego buildings, each one fairly similar to the next. None had big, established gardens, just a few half-grown shrubs studding immaculate flowerbeds. There were a few people about, some gardening, one mowing a lawn, and several strolling. And quite a lot of young children playing in front yards and, in the middle of one court, setting up a game of cricket.

But Chris wasn't in the mood for sightseeing. With the plastic bag beside her on the seat and starting to give off a noxious odour, she drove up one road and down the next until finally, walking away down a footpath ahead, she saw the unmistakably grey figure of Elsie. Chris slowed even more and followed at a distance as Elsie stalked down the road, her chihuahua trotting rapidly to keep up. After about five minutes, she turned into a road rather inappropriately named Sunshine Avenue and then, a few minutes later, into the driveway of number three, a small brick house. As she walked up to the front door, Elsie reached into a pocket and removed her key. Chris coasted to a stop by the kerb and then leapt out, the plastic bag in hand.

‘Hey, Elsie! Yoo hoo!'

Elsie turned around with a frown and then her eyes widened as she watched Chris cross the lawn and pause halfway. As the dog looked from one to another with its bony tail wagging, they stared at each other narrowly. Then Chris grinned and held up the bag.

‘Brought you a present.'