The Fine Color of Rust by Paddy O'Reilly Read Free Book Online Page A

of the stallion cannot shake them.
    â€œMum,” Jake interrupts as I’m about to drift into my other world.
    â€œMmm?”
    â€œMelissa’s crying.”
    â€œDon’t touch the saucepan,” I say, turning off the gas. “And butter four more pieces of bread for your lunches tomorrow.”
    She doesn’t want to open the door when I knock, but I can hear the phlegm in her voice, so I push the door open anyway. Melissa’s sitting on the carpet beside her bed. I go and sit beside her, my bones creaking as I lower myself to the floor. It’s a little cooler down here, but I’m still sweating. Melissa’s face is all splotchy and snot is coming out her nose. I pull one of my endless supply of tissues out of my pocket and wipe her face. She tries to push my hand away.
    â€œI’m not a baby,” she sniffles.
    â€œI know.”
    We sit quietly for a few minutes and eventually I slip my arm around her shoulders and kiss her forehead. She leans into me and sighs a big shuddering sigh.
    â€œWhat’s up, kiddo?”
    â€œNothing.”
    We sit for a while longer. Her breathing gets easier and slower. She’s not going to tell me anything, that’s obvious, so I decide to finish making tea. When I get to the kitchen, Jake’s so hungry he’s ripped open the packet of frankfurters and is gnawing on a cold one.
    â€œDid you do girl talk?”
    â€œWhere did you hear that line?” I’m trying not to laugh.
    â€œNorm told me that’s what girls say they do, but really they’re gossiping about how to get boys.”
    â€œWell, Norm’s wrong. And I’ll be letting him know that next time I see him.”
    â€œWhy don’t you marry Norm?”
    â€œBecause he’s a hundred years old and smells of tractor. Why don’t you marry Kimberley? You play with her at school every day.”
    â€œYuk!”
    â€œYeah!”
    At least that’s sorted.
    When she finally emerges from her room, Melissa eats two frankfurters in bread, dripping with butter and tomato sauce, and a few forks of salad. After we’ve washed up she drifts back to her room to do her homework. I’ve pulled all the flywire screens shut and I make the kids hold their breath while I go around the house spraying the mozzies. In Melissa’s room I glance over her shoulder. She’s on the internet, looking at a page about the United Nations.
    â€œMum, were you around when the United Nations started?”
    â€œPossibly, if I’m as old as I feel. But no, I don’t think so. Are you doing a project?”
    She nods. She switches screens to show me her essay and I see that at the top of the page she has made a typing mistake and it says The Untied Nations. I like that title. It makes me think of Gunapan, a town lost in the scrubby bush, untied from the big cities and the important people and the TV stations and the government. Gunapan keeps struggling on the way it always has and no one takes any notice at all except to cut a few more services. There are probably thousands of towns like us around the country. The untied nations.
    â€œWhy don’t you look up the collective noun for bush pigs?” I must learn to use the computer better myself.
    â€œI did—it’s a sounder,” Melissa says.
    â€œWhat a great word! Sounder. Sounder.”
    â€œIt’s not that good, Mum.”
    â€œSounder, sounder, sounder. A sounder of bush pigs.”
    â€œMum, I have to do my homework.” She heaves an exasperated sigh that would do a shop assistant in a toffy dress emporium proud. “Please, I need some peace and quiet.”

6
    A GOOD MOTHER would be culturing organic yogurt or studying nutritional tables at this time of night, when the kids are asleep and the evening stretches out ahead, empty and lonely. I’ve checked every channel on the TV and tried to read a magazine, but it’s all rubbish. I’m too hot to