Flying the Coop by Ilsa Evans Read Free Book Online

dominated two sides of the large entrance. The second was the faint but distinctive smell of cigarette smoke, a pungent mustiness that seemed to makethe house feel even older. And the third thing was the carpet – a hideous expanse of brown and cream swirls that covered every floor surface within sight, including the stairs.
    Wrinkling her nose in response to both the smell and the carpet, Chris took stock and realised that there was a choice of directions from the entry. Apart from the staircase, there were doorways both to the right and to the left, and a passage that went straight ahead underneath the curve of the stairs. Feeling a bit like a game-show contestant, Chris chose the doorway on the left and walked through into what was obviously the lounge-room. This was a large L-shaped room, made even more spacious by the lack of any furnishings except some heavy brown and orange striped curtains that clashed badly with the carpet. There was a large double window by the doorway, through which Chris could see the front veranda, and, in the middle of the adjacent window-less wall, a brick fireplace that was topped by a beautiful mahogany mantel-piece. At the top end of the room, which was probably used as a dining-room, was another window and a plastered archway to the right that led directly into the kitchen. There, Chris was pleased to finally see a room that was not graced with the god-awful carpet. However, her pleasure only lasted as long as it took for her gaze to travel up from the white linoleum floor. The room was revolting – unutterably, inexorably revolting. Yet amazing at the same time. From its yellowy-orange pots and pans wallpaper, to its yellow kitchen cabinets with matching push-button handles, and even the white formica bench-tops with little silver flecks, the room was a time capsule from the 1970s. Chris opened a cupboard in wonderment and stared at the yellow daisy-patterned lining within.
    â€˜Well maintained, hey?’ Frank came down a set of plain, wooden, non-yellow stairs set in the far corner of the kitchen. ‘You don’t often get kitchens as neat as this one.’
    â€˜True,’ agreed Chris, closing the cupboard and staring at the old upright stove with its faded yellow metal hotplate covers. ‘Very true.’
    â€˜Hey, retro!’ Grace came leaping down after Frank and gazed around the kitchen with admiration. ‘Very cool!’
    â€˜It’s foul,’ said Chris flatly, suddenly remembering that she was supposed to be expressing an aversion for the house. ‘It’s like being stuck inside an egg yolk.’
    â€˜Retro’s in , Mum,’ said Grace disparagingly. ‘Anyway, you should see upstairs! There’s two huge bedrooms at the front with those sort of set-in windows with seats, and I’m going to decorate mine like a padded cell. You know, like in an asylum. Oh, and there’s another smaller room on the other side that we could maybe turn into a bathroom?’
    â€˜It’s a boxroom,’ explained Frank, as proud as if he had put it there himself. ‘And look, have you noticed the passageway to the front door?’
    Frank flung open a dark walnut door set next to the kitchen stairs and both Chris and Grace dutifully peered through, seeing a narrow strip of the same brown and cream carpet ending in the front entry. Chris was beginning to realise that what she had originally thought was a simple design was really made more complex by the sheer number of entries and exits. The kitchen alone had a staircase and three other entries – the archway she had come through, the passage door that Frank had just opened, and a sliding one set in the far wall.
    â€˜The bathroom’s off to the left down there.’ Frank waved his arm down the passage. ‘We’ll look at that later. You’ll love it though, it’s huge, and all done in a nice green colour. Avocado, I think they call it. Then there’s the