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Rosemarie thought, and his face was just entrancing, relaxed as always and poised to smile. Already so handsome: the crisp dark hair, the blue eyes raised as he sang, the rosy perfect skin. The good fairy kissed you on the forehead. You’ll have a charmed life and I’ll never need to worry about you.
Robert, on the other hand, had his eyes fixed anxiously on her, the muscles in his skinny neck standing out. He was so tense she could hardly bear to look at him She felt ashamed and made herself smile, then was stricken anew at the way his face lit up. What a good kid you are. You’re all good kids, really. You try so hard to make me happy, you poor things. He sang a little louder and Deborah shot him a look, plainly longing to tell him to pipe down. Amazing that she’d let him be in charge for even a moment.
They finished. Robert bowed and the others all raggedly followed. Rosemarie clapped hard, and while she was still clapping a car pulled into the driveway. The motor stopped and the headlights were turned off, but no one got out. The kids hurtled over to kneel on the couch and gaze out the window.
‘Who’s that?’
‘Is it Uncle Bob?’
‘No, silly! His car’s not like that!’
‘I’ll go and see,’ said Rosemarie.
They watched their mother at the driver’s window, ducking her head to talk to someone they couldn’t see. Suddenly she turned and walked quickly back into the house. They heard her go into her bedroom and close the door. They sat together on the couch, facing the tree now, waiting. A few minutes later Rosemarie reappeared in the doorway of the living room. She had changed from her pretty cotton frock into slacks and a smart top. She was holding her big yellow handbag.
‘I’m just going to get some lights for the Christmas tree,’ she said. Her eyes, bright and hectic, swept across them, then she turned and was gone. The four children turned, too, as one, kneeling on the couch again to watch their mother hurry to the stranger’s car. She was carrying the tan suitcase with the dark brown stripe, the one that usually sat on top of the big wardrobe. She heaved the case into the back seat and climbed in after it. The car’s headlights came on again, it reversed down the driveway and drove off up the street. The children were still kneeling there after the sound of the motor had well and truly faded away.
Their father came into the room, and slowly they slid down and turned to face him.
‘Where’s your mother?’ Alex asked.
PART ONE
CHAPTER 1
Alex woke up troubled about the roses. It was already spring but he still hadn’t pruned the rosebushes, and now it was too late. Or was it? Well, first thing after breakfast he’d have a look at them. He would write himself a note, that’s what he’d do. Oh, these notebooks were a jolly good idea! The perfect solution to the little tricks his memory seemed to be playing lately. Now he kept notebooks in the car and the garden shed and every room of the house. He bought them in bundles of ten from the $2 shop – couldn’t beat that for a bargain! Sometimes he would come across several of them huddled together like children playing hide-and-seek. Yet despite having so many, all too often he couldn’t lay his hands on one when he needed it. Or it would be a different notebook, not the one he needed. But never mind, they were still a marvellous idea, because if he wrote things down then he couldn’t forget them, could he? Simple as that!
As he leaned across for the little notebook sitting there on the bedside table he caught his own inner swell of triumph, like one of those bumptious sports stars these days , he chided himself wryly. Whendid athletes start carrying on like that? The upthrust arm and victory snarl. John Landy certainly didn’t. Betty Cuthbert: can you imagine? He picked up the notebook and the pen and wrote Check roses for pruning on a fresh page. There!
With his feet on the floor now and the little notebook still in his
Robert, on the other hand, had his eyes fixed anxiously on her, the muscles in his skinny neck standing out. He was so tense she could hardly bear to look at him She felt ashamed and made herself smile, then was stricken anew at the way his face lit up. What a good kid you are. You’re all good kids, really. You try so hard to make me happy, you poor things. He sang a little louder and Deborah shot him a look, plainly longing to tell him to pipe down. Amazing that she’d let him be in charge for even a moment.
They finished. Robert bowed and the others all raggedly followed. Rosemarie clapped hard, and while she was still clapping a car pulled into the driveway. The motor stopped and the headlights were turned off, but no one got out. The kids hurtled over to kneel on the couch and gaze out the window.
‘Who’s that?’
‘Is it Uncle Bob?’
‘No, silly! His car’s not like that!’
‘I’ll go and see,’ said Rosemarie.
They watched their mother at the driver’s window, ducking her head to talk to someone they couldn’t see. Suddenly she turned and walked quickly back into the house. They heard her go into her bedroom and close the door. They sat together on the couch, facing the tree now, waiting. A few minutes later Rosemarie reappeared in the doorway of the living room. She had changed from her pretty cotton frock into slacks and a smart top. She was holding her big yellow handbag.
‘I’m just going to get some lights for the Christmas tree,’ she said. Her eyes, bright and hectic, swept across them, then she turned and was gone. The four children turned, too, as one, kneeling on the couch again to watch their mother hurry to the stranger’s car. She was carrying the tan suitcase with the dark brown stripe, the one that usually sat on top of the big wardrobe. She heaved the case into the back seat and climbed in after it. The car’s headlights came on again, it reversed down the driveway and drove off up the street. The children were still kneeling there after the sound of the motor had well and truly faded away.
Their father came into the room, and slowly they slid down and turned to face him.
‘Where’s your mother?’ Alex asked.
PART ONE
CHAPTER 1
Alex woke up troubled about the roses. It was already spring but he still hadn’t pruned the rosebushes, and now it was too late. Or was it? Well, first thing after breakfast he’d have a look at them. He would write himself a note, that’s what he’d do. Oh, these notebooks were a jolly good idea! The perfect solution to the little tricks his memory seemed to be playing lately. Now he kept notebooks in the car and the garden shed and every room of the house. He bought them in bundles of ten from the $2 shop – couldn’t beat that for a bargain! Sometimes he would come across several of them huddled together like children playing hide-and-seek. Yet despite having so many, all too often he couldn’t lay his hands on one when he needed it. Or it would be a different notebook, not the one he needed. But never mind, they were still a marvellous idea, because if he wrote things down then he couldn’t forget them, could he? Simple as that!
As he leaned across for the little notebook sitting there on the bedside table he caught his own inner swell of triumph, like one of those bumptious sports stars these days , he chided himself wryly. Whendid athletes start carrying on like that? The upthrust arm and victory snarl. John Landy certainly didn’t. Betty Cuthbert: can you imagine? He picked up the notebook and the pen and wrote Check roses for pruning on a fresh page. There!
With his feet on the floor now and the little notebook still in his
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