An Endless Summer(5)

Sean had moved and was sitting at the bar now, talking to my dad about footy. I backed away and ran towards the stairs, up and into my room, the first smile in a long time lining my face.





Chapter Two



Summer of ’99, The City.



There was a creature in my house.

Dragging its feet along the kitchen lino, it expelled a yawned, bad-odoured breath, all the while scratching its butt crack and raiding the cupboard.

Yep, Dad’s home.

I had never lived with both of my parents for a long period of time; it just never happened, not in my world. Mum lived in the city; Dad lived in the country at the pub. They weren’t separated or divorced or anything, they were very much together. They spoke every day, they liked each other; heck, they even loved each other. It was just the way it was. When I was younger, I thought everyone’s parents lived like this. It wasn’t until I was older that I started to realise my little family was seriously screwed up. Seeing how I was the only child, guess who inherited all the crazy? Yep! Lucky me!



I peered over the back of the couch and caught my sneering reflection in the lounge room sliding-glass door. My headphones sat crookedly on my head, a deep frown etched across my brow. I slipped down and resumed my position: my long legs stretched out across the couch, my fluffy, purple dressing gown twisted around my PJs. I reaffixed my headphones and cranked up the volume on my Discman as an attempt to block out the rustling sounds from the kitchen. Noises I had been trying to ignore for months. The sounds, I guessed, that would transform into animated chatter as I sensed my mother, Claire Henderson, click-clacking down the hall.

She swung into the kitchen with her breezy, sing-songy voice. I peered over the couch again and, sure enough, there she was in her long, flowing, silk nightgown, her ash blonde hair gathered into a French twist. She was bright-eyed and glowing; always looking like a million bucks even first thing in the morning. Freaky ageless genetics? Perhaps. Wasn’t sure if I’d inherited them, though. A close personal relationship with Dr Baritone and his Botox needles was more likely. My mum leaned into my dad and gave him a passionate kiss on the lips. Gross!

Unfortunately, it was not uncommon behaviour for my mum. My dad, Eric, on the other hand, who stood there canoodling with her in the kitchen; this was not how I remembered my dad. He was big, burly, bearded Eric Henderson, a generational publican in Onslow, a country town a mere two hours away. He was funny, great with people, knew the business, and ran it well. But this man spooning out a grapefruit for breakfast was not my dad.

One night, I overheard Mum crying on the phone, offering my dad an ultimatum, and the next thing I knew, Dad was on our doorstep, moving in. My dad had decided to go on this dramatic health kick: he quit smoking, cut down his drinking, and joined Jenny Craig. He’d lost a stack of weight and even shaved off his beard. And, the incredible shrinking man was now dressing younger, too, and, God help me, had even started strutting around like a rooster in a hen house. And the worst thing? My mum loved it.

My mum’s attention turned from her loving husband and landed on me as I stared on in distaste. “Morning, honey!”

I sank back into the couch and thought if I didn’t move, maybe I’d be left alone.

No such luck. My headphones were peeled off from behind me.

Okay. Now I was pissed.

“What’s on for today, then?” Mum asked, innocently enough as she smiled down at me. There was a none-too-subtle probe to her question – with this question there always was. It was the question I was asked every day, and it was a trap.

“How about we get dressed today?” My dad leaned against the archway to the lounge room, taking an irritating sip of his soy, low fat/no fat, sugar-reduced, low GI drink.

I liked how he said ‘we’, as if his jab wasn’t solely directed at me. It wasn’t as if anything had changed, I did what I always did at home with Mum. The only difference was that Dad was here to point out the things he didn’t approve of.

When it came to me, it seemed like he approved of nothing. Especially since my decision to defer from uni for twelve months, the biggest mistake I could possibly have made, or so I was reminded every day. A familiar anger bubbled under my skin.

I pulled myself up into a sitting position. “And what is it you two lovebirds have on for today?” My voice dripped with sarcasm.

Mum straightened with interest. “Your father’s taking me on a date.”

Ugh. Another one? Seriously?

They gave me an over-enthusiastic rundown of how, after yet another day of living out their second honeymoon, they planned to come home and watch a double episode of Ally McBeal on Prime Time. I had to get out of here!