New Australian Stories 2 by Aviva Tuffield Read Free Book Online Page A

shook with helpless laughter. She waited for her sister to join in.
    Oh, for Christ’s sake, Glenda, look at you. You’re the size of a house. Do you think you could leave some party food for the children this year? Or is that just too much to ask?
    Her sister swivelled on a heel and left the kitchen.
    Honest to god …
    The catering aunt popped another sausage roll in her mouth. These days they gave her terrible indigestion. But so did life, for the most part. She found it utterly indigestible. Yet she kept on living, didn’t she? So, she reasoned, there was little point trying to avoid the sausage rolls. They were required to be eaten, as life was required to be lived, and one must simply go on, knowing there would be consequences.
    She replaced the rack and turned the heat up to high on the oven, then did the same at the stove. The gas jet flared under the glistening saveloys. They bobbed and bumped against each other in their pale pink soup.
    She popped a honey joy in each cheek, picked up her handbag, and sashayed to her car.

Exotic Animal Medicine
    FIONA M C FARLANE
    The wife was driving on the night they hit Mr Ronald.
    â€˜My first drive since getting married,’ she said.
    â€˜First this, first that,’ said her husband. He looked at her, sitting high in the seat: her hair was flimsy and blonde in the late sun. It was ten-thirty and still light. These were the days for marrying — the long days, and the summer. It hadn’t rained.
    â€˜You’ve got to be thankful for the weather,’ the registrar had said to the husband. The husband was thankful for the weather and for everything else. He carried his shoulders inside a narrow suit and his wife wore a blue dress. They came out of the registry office into the pale summer, and St Mary’s rang the hour.
    â€˜Listen!’ said the wife. ‘Just like we’ve been married in a church.’
    It was midday, and because they were in Cambridge, the college bells rang.
    Their witnesses — two friends — took photographs. The four of them went to a pub on the river to celebrate among the tourists and the students who’d just finished exams. The tourists pressed around them, clumsy at the bar; the students slipped in and were served first. The bride and groom were rocked from side to side in the crush of people. They cooperated with the crowd, and liquid spilled over their glasses.
    They began to drink.
    Their friend Peter swayed above their table. He motioned over their heads with his benevolent arms.
    â€˜I suppose I’m best man,’ he said. ‘By default. So, a toast: to David and Sarah. To Sarah and David. I’ll make a statement about love. I’ll say a few words.’
    â€˜You’ve already said more than enough,’ said the other witness, Clare.
    â€˜Not nearly enough,’ said Peter, and sat down. By now it was four in the afternoon, and the June town was keeping quiet. The scent of the roses in the college gardens increased, and the black East Anglian bees responded, hanging lazily above the scent. The lawns maintained their perfect green. The river was laid out straight like a track for trains. David and Sarah and Clare and Peter walked along it to find another pub.
    The swans idled on the brown river, the ducks chased punts for food, the geese slid against the wet banks. Tinfoil barbecues were lit on Jesus Green, one by one, and the smoke hung in morose columns above each group, never thick enough to form a cloud. The husband and wife and their friends picked their way among the barbecues. They encountered dogs, friendly and wayward.
    â€˜Stay well today, canines,’ said David. ‘Stay happy and healthy.’
    Sarah was on call that night.
    â€˜I’m not worried about them,’ said Sarah. ‘It’s the Queen of Sheba I’m worried about. But he’ll be good.’
    (At the surgery, the Queen of Sheba lifted his haunches and lowered his head to