Page 47 of Special Delivery
A bevy of teenage girls—cousins, she presumed—drifted over, delighted to find a baby in their midst. ‘Can we babysit?’ asked one, a curly-haired girl who couldn’t have been more than fifteen.
‘Oh, that’s very generous …’ Poppy began. She’d only ever left Maeve for an hour or two with her mum, and even on those rare occasions it had been heart-wrenching.
‘I babysit all the time,’ said the girl, waving at the crowd as if to indicate she’d raised this lot.
‘Harperisgreat with babies,’ said Kate as she walked past with a cheese platter. ‘She basically parented the twins by herself, but don’t hold that against her.’
‘Oh, um …’ Poppy glanced around uncertainly.
Kate called over her shoulder, ‘You can trust her.’
The girls were already sitting on the blanket and pulling toys from the nappy bag. ‘Um, er, okay,’ Poppy heard herself say. She stood up and took a tentative step to the left. The teenage girls had already forgotten she was there. So had Maeve apparently; she was transfixed by the gum leaves overhead. Poppy swallowed and assessed the situation. There were adults everywhere and it was a relatively small place. If Maeve screamed she would hear it immediately. She was going to be cool about this. She would not make a scene.
‘Dying of hunger!’ Kate laughed.
Poppy’s head spun around. ‘Who? Maeve?!’
‘No, the boys,’ said Kate, gliding back with a massacred cheese plate. ‘Cooper tried to take the whole wheel of cheese for himself. Reckons he’s bulking and needs the protein. He’stwelve!’
Poppy giggled. Under the tree, her daughter’s eyes were closing, as though hypnotised by the dappled light.
‘I think I’ll put her to sleep in the pram,’ announced Harper.
‘Oh.’ Poppy had been about to suggest the same thing. ‘Sounds good, thanks.’
‘The kid’s maternal instincts are strong,’ said Kate approvingly, turning back to the cabin.
Poppy smiled cautiously. ‘Let me help you,’ she said, falling into step with her. ‘I need a job.’
As they entered the kitchen, Kate raised her voice. ‘Everyone, this is Poppy. She’s the one staying in Mary’s cabin.’
The room was heaving with people, and they all turned around, curious. Some of them waved, most of them smiled, and a few aunts bundled her up in a flurry of bosom-y hugs. Plates and glasses covered every surface and the air was humid from the roasting oven and the mass of bodies. Poppy surreptitiously lifted her arms to minimise underarm sweat.
‘Are you sure we’re ready to put the salads out?’ cried one of the aunts, as Kate picked up a giant bowl. ‘We’ve barely finished the appetisers.’
‘Norma, unless we start filling those boys up with something vaguely healthy, they’re going to gorge themselves on chocolate and be more hyperactive than usual. I’ll let you deal with that, if you want?’ Kate didn’t wait for a response; she just strode out with the couscous salad, as poised as ever.
Poppy was handed a wide bowl of cauliflower and pomegranate salad which was surprisingly heavy and awkward to hold. She turned and began walking to the verandah, dodging the kids who were racing around her feet. She tried to shift the weight of the bowl more evenly across her arms. The bowl was bigger than her torso and seemed to be made from a surprisingly dense form of ceramic. She could feel her sweaty hands slipping slightly.Oh god, she thought,please don’t let me drop this. Please, please, please.
It was too late. The bowl was definitely slipping. Irrationally, she rushed towards the screen door, hoping to sandwich the bowl between her body and the flyscreen to keep it from falling.Fuck, the salad looked delicious too. This was going to be a travesty.
‘Hey,’ said James, suddenly appearing in the doorframe, easily steadying the bowl with one hand. (Arrogant.) ‘What’s going on here?’
‘I’m taking the salad outside,’ Poppy huffed. ‘Obviously.’
‘Were you trying to hammer throw it out there?’
‘No, I just … my hands … it was quite sweaty.’ She suddenly remembered the threat of armpit sweat and raised her arms away from her body. She was now holding the bowl like someone would hold motorbike handles—totally cool.
‘What are you doing?’ asked James, his gaze locked on hers.
‘Nothing.’
‘You’re being a bit weird.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘True—you’re often like this.’
