Swimming on Dry Land Read Online Free Page B

to be choosy.’ Uncle Eddie winked at Mum in the rear-view mirror.
    Georgie told me later that Uncle Eddie was BLAST. I said I thought he was OK. When Uncle Eddie was around, everyone behaved differently; it was a bit like being on holiday. He came down to Wogan’s with me later that day. We found a book on Australian wildlife, a big hardback, and Uncle Eddie bought it for me. While Mrs Wogan was wrapping up the book, Uncle Eddie told her she had the smile of a movie star. She drew a sort of squiggle with her body and smiled even more. The next day, when I went in to spend Uncle Eddie’s fiver, she said: ‘Your Uncle’s very handsome.’ I told her that he wasn’t half as handsome as the lead singer of Showaddywaddy.
    Oh, and Mum went back to the restaurant to find her wedding ring, the one Georgie had been messing around with. She didn’t find it though.
    On the last night, Uncle Eddie went with Mum to the country club to watch her sing and came back drunk, shouting out her songs at the top of his voice, waking us all up. In the morning he told Mum she was going to be a big hit, said he’d sort her out with a record deal as soon as he got back to Australia. Mum told him to stop talking nonsense, but she wasn’t cross. She reminded him of what Grandpa had told her (that was Mum’s dad): singers are either drug addicts or drunks. They both laughed. When Uncle Eddie asked her to sing his favourite song, she did, right there in the kitchen, in her quilted dressing gown.
    The next day Uncle Eddie drove Mum to Whitley Bay in the limousine. Mum thought it was best if I stayed and helped Dad with Georgie, so I wrote a letter to Granny and Grandpa instead. I could have gone, if it hadn’t been for Georgie.
    After Uncle Eddie flew back to Australia, Mum went on so much about Akarula and the sun and all the rest of it that Dad said we were going nowhere and if he heard another word he’d … he’d … he’d do something – he hadn’t worked out exactly what. That put an end to the talking. For at least a week Mum didn’t speak to Dad. And then the letter came. We were at the breakfast table. Georgie had a rash on her face and Mum was dabbing cream on with a cotton bud. Dad was reading the newspaper. He got up to answer the door: a special delivery that had to be signed for, a large brown envelope addressed to The Harvey Family. Dad stood by the sink with his mouth hanging open as he read through the papers inside. Somewhere between throwing them at Mum and sinking down into his chair, he let out a kind of wet dog-cry, and then with what was left of his voice said: ‘What the hell is this?’ holding up a cheque he’d obviously found in the envelope, waving it in front of Mum’s face like a pair of dirty knickers. Mum put down the cotton bud and took a few deep shaky breaths before she spoke.
    â€˜I gave Eddie a call. If we don’t like it, we’ll just come back.’
    â€˜Just come back?’
    Mum snatched the cheque from Dad’s hand and told him not to get worked up. His face and neck had patches of purple on and he was juddering as he said: ‘We’ll get the house, if that’s what you want. I’ll borrow some money until we get sorted.’ He pushed his hands against the table to steady himself. I thought he might need some pills so I got a box from the dresser in the hall and put them down in front of him while Mum carried on.
    â€˜I don’t want to live in a house we can’t afford.’ (She’d seen this house for sale in Johnstown, a yellow one with huge windows and a balcony, about twice the size of our house.) She was getting all huffy and her hands had bunched up into fists. ‘We’re the ones who have to live with it; it’s not just you. If we stay here, nothing will change.’
    She yanked the cotton bud out of Georgie’s mouth as Dad took his hands off the table and let