The End of the World Read Online Free Page B

I’ve written a letter to our local member about the closure of the school.’ I pause for the inevitable joke about members which, to my amazement, doesn’t come. ‘We need everyone who has kids in the school to sign.’
    ‘It’ll never work,’ Brenda says.
    ‘Does anyone know how to drain the oil from a sump?’ Kyleen pipes up.
    Only another half an hour, I think, and then I can pick up the kids from Brianna’s, drop them at the orphanage and drive straight down to Melbourne. With the experience I’ve got, I’ll land a good job in a centre for adults with attention deficit disorder.
    When I pull up in the Holden at Brianna’s the kids run to the front door, looking pleased to see me. They’re way too quiet in the back seat. They must have done something horrible.
    ‘So did you have a good time?’ I ask. I speed up to catch the amber light and the car roars like a drunken trucker. I can’t make out exactly what Melissa says, but I might have heard the word fight. I think back. Were they limping when they got into the car? Was there blood? I can’t remember anything like that so I turn on the radio and keep driving on the dark highway, listening to the soothing sound of a voice calling Race Seven of the trots, something I’ve learned to love since the radio got stuck on this station.
    ‘Mum?’ Melissa says as we pull into the unsurprisingly Harley-free driveway.
    ‘Yes, sweetie?’
    ‘I don’t ever want to leave this house.’
    ‘I thought you wanted to live in a hundred-room mansion with ten servants and a personal homework attendant?’
    ‘Nup.’
    ‘I know what it is–you love what I’ve done with the place.’
    ‘Mum, shut up. I’m serious. If Dad sends a letter and we’ve moved we won’t get it.’
    I want to believe he’ll send a letter–to his children, at least.
    ‘Well, that’s settled. We’re staying,’ I say.
    When we get inside the kids brush their teeth without a single protest and climb into bed.
    ‘You OK, Jakie?’ I ask as I lean down to kiss him goodnight.
    ‘Brianna and her boyfriend had a big fight,’ he whispers. ‘I think he hit her.’
    I kiss him twice, then again.
    ‘I’m sure she’s all right,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll call her tomorrow. You go to sleep now.’
    ‘I don’t want bananas in my lunch.’
    ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. Bananas stink,’ I say, and turn out the light.
    Next morning as I’m packing bananas into their lunchboxes I realise I forgot to thank Norm for the lemons.
    I drop into the yard on the way back from the shops. He’s down the back of the block with three other blokes, all of them standing in a line with their arms folded staring at the body of an old tractor. This would be the matching statue. Bloke standing, feet apart, arms folded, staring at a piece of broken machinery. No idea how to fix it. We could put Him and Her statues either side of the highway coming into Gunapan.
    After they’ve stared at the tractor body in silence for ten minutes, Norm sees me and ambles up.
    ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to sell something?’ I say.
    ‘Not bloody likely. Every month these three are here with some new scheme for making money.’
    ‘None of them happen to ride a Harley?’
    He doesn’t even bother answering, just nods his head at their ute on the road. We step inside his shed for a cuppa. The radio’s on the racing station.
    ‘Harlequin Dancer made a good run from fourth in Race Seven last night,’ I say.
    ‘You need a new car,’ Norm answers, handing me a cup, covered in grease, and a paper towel to wipe it with. ‘Sorry I didn’t get to the meeting, luv.’
    ‘The school’s not your problem,’ I say.
    ‘Course it’s my problem. It’s everybody’s bloody problem.’
    We drink our tea. The three blokes wave as they pass the shed. There’s a protest at Randwick in Race Two.
    ‘I’ve got money on that horse,’ Norm says. He turns up the volume.
    ‘Which one?’
    ‘The one that’ll buy you a bottle of