Page 109 of Special Delivery
‘None,’ replied Poppy. ‘Though you’re going to pop over, aren’t you, Mum? And I’m going to try to build Maeve a sandpit, so I’ll have to go to Bunnings, and then depending on how I go with the sandpit, April and her son might come around for a play.’
She’d been targeted on Instagram endlessly by a new flat-pack sandpit company, and it had got her thinking it would probably be good for Maeve to have a few more outdoor activities. It would be great for entertaining, too, which was one of her New Year’s resolutions: to make the most of her new friends by inviting them over. She didn’t fancy spending five hundred dollars on the Instagram version of a sandpit, but she reckoned with a few timber sleepers from Bunnings, a tarp and some bags of sand, she could rig up a passable version.
‘Maeve will enjoy that,’ said her mum. ‘I remember you loved the sandpit—mainly to eat the sand. You never got sick so I let you get on with it. Kids know what’s good for them.’
As if in agreement, Maeve plucked a leaf from the vase of flowers on the coffee table, inspected it thoughtfully then shoved it into her mouth.
‘See?’ said Chrissie. ‘She eats her greens like a good girl.’
Poppy smiled and tugged the leaf from her daughter’s lips. ‘It’ll be my first DIY project of the year.’
‘Setting the tone for another year of self-sufficiency,’ said her dad.
‘Exactly,’ agreed Poppy, an image of James in a tool belt flashing through her mind. She was waiting for time to fade her memories of him but it was as though her brain had carefully bottled and preserved every detail of him; his eyes,his smile, his warmth, how his hands felt on her skin. The distance and the silence were conspiring to make her miss him even more, but she knew this would pass. She just had to wait it out, focus on what was in front of her, keep making plans, keep ploughing ahead, and slowly, inexorably, James would fade to a hazy broad-shouldered silhouette on a horizon she’d long since left behind.
Poppy passed a slice of apple to Maeve, who was now licking the leg of the coffee table.
‘Do you want me to give you a hand?’ asked her dad.
‘Nah,’ replied Poppy. ‘It shouldn’t be too hard, according to the videos.’
‘Are you sure?’ pressed her mother. ‘If you break your arm carrying the timber around you won’t be able to start the new job, and that would be such a shame when I’ve just downloaded that app for Maeve’s day care on my phone. I’m already getting notifications.’
Poppy caught her dad’s eye. ‘Mum, I’ll be fine.’
‘Oh, I know, darling, but you young girls race around like busyness is a competitive sport, so just be careful. I’ve always said channelling the tortoise, not the hare, is the surest path to victory.’
Poppy smiled. ‘And what’s victory?’
Poppy’s parents glanced at each other and Poppy had the sense this was a conversation they’d had many times before. ‘Peace,’ her dad said simply.
‘That’s all we want, isn’t it?’ added her mum.
Peace. Her parents were right. That was all she wanted. She wasn’t a complicated girl. She just needed reassurance, loveand a pat on the back occasionally. It was simple really. Her love language was cups of tea and punny jokes. She might never find someone to share those knowing looks with, but that was fine. There were other ways she could fill her cup. Family time was one of them.
She turned back to her parents and smiled. ‘How did you two get so wise?’
Her mum opened her mouth but her dad cut in before she could speak. ‘Maeve and I have been watching a lot ofJudge Judy,’ he said.
CHAPTER 46
Poppy swatted uselessly at a blowfly that was buzzing angrily at her windscreen. The windows were all open in an attempt to suction it out, but the bastard was too dumb to notice. The buzzing sound was becoming exponentially more frustrating with every second. Maeve was crying in the car seat as the hot air outside pummelled her face but the stupid fly was determinedly not flying out. Groaning, Poppy lunged at it as she slowed for the roundabout. The fly, as if in response, lazily swerved left and landed on her dash.
Maeve wailed again, increasing her volume this time, so Poppy reluctantly pressed the windows-up button. The fly had won this round, but the joke was on it; she’d trapped it now, so it better think twice if it thought it was getting out alive.
Maeve’s cry declined to an irritating grumble. It was a shudderingly hot day, and the fabric of the seatbelt was sticky against her skin. The streets were empty, the black tar reflecting the heatback onto the few cars that were bothering to go anywhere on the scorching public holiday.
Her mother, who’d called her this morning to wish her a Happy New Year, had no idea why she was so determined to build this sandpit.
‘It’s going to reach thirty-eight degrees, darling. Karl Stefanovic said it was the hottest start to the year in a thousand years. Or maybe it was a hundred? Actually, it could have been a million. It was something like that. If you ask me, I think you’d be better off putting on the sprinkler.’
‘Mum, there are water restrictions. I can’t.’
‘I know, darling, I wasn’t suggesting you break the law, but I thought if you just did it quickly—just for Maeve—no-one would really mind.’
‘It’s fine, Mum. I need a project.’
‘I know, darling, but do you need to do it today? It’s not as though there’s any deadline.’
