The Near Miss by Fran Cusworth Read Free Book Online Page A

made a point of never asking. Nowadays he seemed to own real estate around the country, and to make unexplained business trips.
    â€˜You cut your hair,’ she said.
    â€˜Too hot for dreads.’
    â€˜No. Dreads are cooling. Like insulation.’
    â€˜Does everyone stare at you here?’
    â€˜I don’t know. A bit. Hey, are you doing anything Saturday night?’
    He shrugged. There were things he didn’t tell her. But she knew he would drop everything to help her.
    â€˜It’s just this woman, the mum of the kid that I —’ she raised her eyebrows and mimed dramatically ‘— saved , she’s asked me for dinner. And said I could bring a friend.’
    â€˜Oooh.’ He fluttered his eyelashes and squeezed up his shoulders in a camp way. She laughed.
    â€˜ Melbourne people.’
    He agreed. ‘They love to do dinner parties.’
    â€˜And they plan things so far ahead. Skipper’s new kinder have arranged a playdate for all the children in three weeks ’ time.’
    â€˜I hope you’ve logged it into his iPhone.’
    â€˜Of course.’ She laughed, but felt uncomfortable. She was desperate for Skipper to make friends. Bad karma to be badmouthing the mothers.
    â€˜So you got him into a kindy. Montessori?’
    â€˜State government. Just around the corner. It’s sweet. So, anyway, will you come?’
    â€˜To the free dinner?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Sure. Why not?’
    She smiled and stirred her tea. What was the rhyme the children had chanted each morning back in Tuntable, under the painted sun and stars of their ceiling, cross-legged on mats woven withwool from the kindy’s own goats?
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Here is the earth,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Here is the sky,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Here are my friends,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  And here am I.

    Grace toasted the almond flakes, banging the pan on the stove as the nuts browned. The strangers were due in fifteen minutes and she wished she’d never asked them. The last thing she felt like now was facing people she barely knew, and making conversation for a whole night. What had she been thinking? What was wrong with her? Couldn’t she have just sent a thank-you card? This was beyond gratitude; she must have been punishing herself for the accident, and her own negligence. Maybe she could ring and cancel. That was it, she would say that Lotte was sick, a very contagious child thing, chicken pox maybe. No doubt the hippy didn’t vaccinate. She froze, immobilised with hope and fear. Was there time? She stared into the almond flakes, now turning from brown to black. Should she invest the remaining fifteen minutes in finishing the stir fry, putting on the rice, checking that the broken toilet seat was at least clean, or should she throw her bets on finding the kindy contact list in the hope that Melody had been included, despite Skipper’s late enrolment. Although there was a look about Melody as if she might not even have a phone. She might live in a cave. Grace stepped towards her little desk, overloaded with a laptop and electrical cords and unpaid bills and lists, and then she stepped back and looked at her black almonds and her stir fry. But the guy, Eddie, she certainly didn’t have his number.

    A knock rapped through the house, signaling an end to the decision. Was it them? Were they early?Curse them to Hell and back. Not even ready. Grace cast one despairing look around her and strode up the hall, with what she hoped sounded welcoming, Gosh-I-can’t-wait-to-get-to-that-door-and-see-you footsteps. Grace had already decoded the initially faltering knock, now being repeated aggressively, as that of a child. She swung back the door and crouched to be on the same eye-level as Skipper, who wore a little checked shirt and some cargo pants. He carried flowers, which