The Fence Read Online Free

for?’
    â€˜I’m terracing the backyard. It’s the best way of dealing with the slope. Your fill will save me having to buy it in.’
    Babs glanced at the piles of dirt. ‘It doesn’t look like much would grow in it.’
    â€˜You’d be amazed at the difference once you mix through some organic matter.’
    â€˜Indeed?’ Babs dragged on her thin black cigarette. ‘Well, I don’t see why not, do you, Rohan? I mean, we’re neighbours now, aren’t we?’
    Gwen’s enthusiasm escaped her. ‘And I’m more than happy to help out with your garden once you’re settled.’
    â€˜You might regret that offer.’ Rohan laughed.
    â€˜Oh no,’ Gwen said, ‘I’d love it. I’d really love it.’
    *
    After the ceremony, Michael touches her arm. ‘We’re coming over to the house on Thursday, Auntie Gwen. It would be nice to chat properly then.’
    He has his mother’s eyes, soft creases exuding kindness. ‘That would be lovely, Michael. I’ll look forward to it,’ she says, but reflecting on this on the trip home, she realises she’s not sure what to expect.
    Eric pulls into the driveway and cuts the ignition. Gwen listens to the tick of the cooling engine, contemplating their red brick house with its bowling green front lawn and soft shrubbery. Next door is Rohan and Babs’ house, content in its garden of tranquil, clipped greens and white gravel paths. The two gardens are separated not only by taste but by Gwen’s pride and joy. Where a fence might have been is a row of crab apples. Over the years she has pruned their canopies into round shapes atop slender straight trunks. Lollipopping they call it. Surrounding each tree is a box hedge within which she grows leggy alliums. Their round purple heads peek over the low hedges, mirroring the shape of the trees above. They are a remarkable feature, even if Gwen does say so herself. Like a row of sentries, Babs always said, guarding the walkway. An informal boundary, easily crossed.
    Eric opens the passenger door. ‘C’mon, Gwennie,’ he urges.
    Gwen takes a moment more, trying to imagine anyone but Babs living next door. ‘Do you think Michael will return home now?’ she asks, ignoring Eric’s proffered hand.
    â€˜Now, Gwennie, Michael’s a grown man, you can’t expect him to keep his parents’ house just so you can maintain the garden.’
    â€˜But Singapore is no place to raise a family.’ She swings her legs out of the car and grabs the door handle for support.
    â€˜I don’t know. Domestic help is cheap. I’m sure his wife has her own career.’
    â€˜Huh.’ Gwen strides down to the letterbox and retrieves a roll of catalogues. ‘Two incomes, an inheritance, they can afford to hire a nanny here. Besides, I practically raised Michael, I could always lend a hand.’
    Gwen sorts the catalogues into those she wishes to scan and those to trash, which she pops into the recycling bin.
    Eric opens the garage door.
    Gwen purses her lips. ‘You’re not coming up then?’
    Shaking his head, Eric switches on the overhead light, the fluorescent tube flickering and humming as it comes to life.
    Gwen wants to continue this conversation over a cup of tea. The desire keeps her here, one foot on the step, but Eric turns on the lathe and its loud hum prevents further discussion.
    She spends Thursday morning cleaning the house. Thursdays aren’t her normal cleaning day but with Michael and his wife coming over, she wants the house to reflect her welcome. Gwen puts a loin of pork in the oven to roast along with extra crackling and makes golden syrup dumplings and custard. Michael always loved her dumplings. When the kids were small, the three of them would clatter up the internal stairs from the garage after Sunday school and crowd around the dining nook, scraping their bowls clean. She can