Huia Short Stories 10 by Tihema Baker Read Free Book Online Page A

there, she thought. Number 30, a white house with blue window-sills, set behind a wooden fence. She had helped her father paint those sills and what a pain that had been. He was such a perfectionist. ‘Rub them down properly, Heremia,’ he said, giving her a little block of wood wrapped around with sandpaper. He never called her Mia like everyone else. It was always Heremia. From him she had learned there was only one way to do things. The Right Way.
    He’d died six years ago of a heart attack, and she missed him every day. She often heard his voice in her head, especially now, when her aunts, her mother’s sisters, were involved. He had called them ‘the short, the tall and the bloody ugly,’ although never in front of his wife. Aunty Em was the small, quiet one who would slip Mia some money when she had a little to spare and it was Em who knitted a beautiful layette for the baby that must have taken months.
    Moe, her sister, was tall, bossy and had been married three times. ‘Poor bastards. Bet they were glad to kick the bucket,’ Dad would mutter. He had never forgotten the day he had called round to take Moe’s last husband, Pete, fishing. He was met at the door by his sister-in-law in her dressing gown and curlers and told that Pete couldn’t go because he had to mow the lawns, clean out the garage and complete a list of other jobs as long as your arm. Mia remembered her father coming home and giving Ma a hug. ‘I got the best of the bunch,’ he’d said.
    Finally, there was Fran, the oldest. ‘A real piece of work,’ Dad would say. ‘Tongue like a whip and never a good word to say about anybody.’ Mia agreed with her father and, today in particular, dreaded a meeting with her aunt.
    â€˜Anyone home?’ she called, opening the front door and stepping inside. The house was warm as Ma felt the cold these days, even with summer at its hottest. It had a smell to it as well – lavender air-freshener and something else not so pleasant.
    â€˜In the bedroom,’ a voice said. Mia, squaring her shoulders and straightening her back, walked into the lions’ den.
    Her aunties were all there but it was Fran who immediately questioned the sunglasses. ‘Why are you wearing sunnies inside? Walked into a door again?’
    Mia could hear her father’s voice, ‘Told you she was a nasty piece of work, didn’t I? Give her time – she’s just warming up.’
    Mia went to where Ma lay in bed, covered with a thick quilt, and bending down, she kissed her forehead. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked. Her mother smiled and held her hand. ‘Better for seeing you and baby,’ she whispered. It shocked Mia the difference a week had made even, though she knew how relentless cancer could be once it had a grip, and Ma had been fighting the disease for three years now. Her skin was grey and the weight loss was significant, even in seven days. Dark shadows outlined her eyes, and the once plump hand with soft skin was skeletal, dry and cracked. ‘Oh God, let me have her for a little longer,’ Mia thought, and her heart broke. Lowering her head, she kissed her mother’s hand and blessed the dark glasses that hid her tears.
    â€˜I’d like a cup of tea and a biscuit,’ said Ma. There was silence for a second, and then all three sisters made for the door, jockeying for position to be useful. From the kitchen came the sound of cupboards opening and shutting and crockery being set out. Mia’s mother smiled. ‘I may be dying, but I’m still the most cunning of all my sisters. Now show me my grandson while they’re out of the room so we can have some peace and quiet together.’
    Mia unwound the baby and held him out to her mother who, although weak, managed to hold him with the skill of someone used to caring for infants. The baby frowned, stretching his arms and legs free from the confines of the