The Serpent's Skin Erina Reddan (affordable ebook reader .TXT) 📖

the open plains. I had to make Dad admit about him and Peg. And see if the shock of me knowing took us to some other place, back to why he and mum argued the night before. I shut the thought of Tessa and my promise to her out of my mind.

But suddenly, with him right there, the puff had gone. I watched him some more as I put on the long, stiff gloves that went over my elbows. It was like I’d been watching the same thing all my life. Dad in an epic war against one thing or another. Getting his whole body twisted, shoulder to the wheel and pushing like he wouldn’t take no for an answer. We were in the bottom paddock with the wild apple tree nestled into the elbow of Jean’s Corner. No sign of Mum’s scarf from around the baby cross left. I looked away from all that gone. Looked to where the sky was a clear blue and the creek was shined up with sun. ‘Never known you to attack the prickly pear before.’

Dad grunted with the effort of digging out a large root. ‘Things can get away from you.’

The sun went behind a cloud. ‘Feeling guilty about something?’

He looked up quick, full of snake. ‘What?’

I gave him a long look and left it at that. Dad’s mission in life was to leave things alone long enough so they worked themselves out. I remembered back to another day when the sun was also hard and mean eyed. One of the workers had been in the kitchen filling up on lemon cordial before getting back out under the scorch. The kitchen was dark like a cave because of the winter-thick blankets Mum had got up and over the curtain rods to keep the burn of the sun out. Philly, Tessa and I were on the lino. Mum had wet washers for our foreheads and put a bowl of fridge water between us so we could dunk our washers in when they’d warmed up. Tim was on his bed with his own bowl of water and washer, and a Donald Duck comic. The worker had just got his licence, and he had his dad’s ute for the week, so he was all fired up and needling everybody. Dad started slapping at his thigh like he did when he was getting fed up.

Tessa told me to stop moaning and get back to my book. I kicked her to shut her up, but I went back to reading anyway. Out of nowhere the worker pretended to trip over me.

‘Hey,’ I yelled, sitting up, fists ready.

‘What?’ he said, all innocent, but the grin on him was like he’d won a prize.

‘You did it on purpose.’

He did this boxing thing, dancing about, punching the air. ‘If you keep those eyes in a book, life’s going to come at you with a few unpleasant surprises.’

The roar started in my tummy. When it exploded out, I saw Mum throw her tea towel into the sink like she was about to explode, too.

‘Be blowed,’ said Dad, getting up from his chair, his legs apart like an old bull. He gave Mum a wink, then swung around to the worker. ‘First one to the gate.’ He bolted out of the house with the worker on his tail. Tessa, Philly and I jumped up with the excitement. We charged outside, passing Mum, who’d picked up the tea towel and was shaking her head. Dad skidded into the ute and had it kicking over before the car door was closed behind him. He whammed the stick into gear. The worker had made up time and he was in his dad’s ute, slamming into his gears. Dad’s ute shot off down the track towards the gate. The young bloke shot off at the same time. Only he didn’t get far. He’d rammed his gearstick into reverse and taken off in a mighty blast backwards—right through the wall of Tim’s bedroom. I could still see the shock on Tim’s face above his Donald Duck comic as the tail-lights came to a stop inches away from the end of his bed.

The worker’s eyes were just as shocked above the steering wheel. Mum came flying out of the kitchen. The worker ground his gears again and took off. He got to that gate and that was the last we saw of him.

Dad spent a lot of time in front of the hole in the wall, tsking and shaking his head, muttering and measuring, getting his hands to his hips. I was right by his side as I always was in those days, squinting at the hole and holding the other side of the tape measure. After a couple of days, he got Tim to give him a hand to move the wardrobe in front of the hole. ‘A bit of air-conditioning, mate, while we source the boards.’

Mum shook her head again.

For days after, Philly and I just had to look at each other to burst out laughing. ‘What are yous two always giggling about?’ Dad asked over the tea table.

‘Nothing.’

Then he dropped his eyes back to his plate, and Philly would smash one fist into her palm and I would do wide, shocked, goggle eyes and we were off again. Even Mum smiled.

She was right, though: Dad never got around to fixing that hole. At uni, I didn’t mind the all-nighters because I had left it to the last minute; I minded that it meant I was like him.

‘Get in there behind, will you, love?’ said Dad, pointing to the prickly pear bush he was working at. I got in there and pulled out branches for him to buzz-saw. We went at a good clip, getting into the rhythm of it. We had a good patch done when he put the saw down.

‘DDT in the back, love. Grab it for us.’

He had two DDT packs in the back.

‘Expecting me?’

‘Just big hopes. Reckoned I’d get through one can pretty