“I’m not prepared for visitors,” he mumbled, looking down at his grey hunting socks slouching off his feet. I understood immediately. There was something behind that door he didn’t want us to see.
“It’s okay, Dad,” I said, trying to sound gentle. “We’ve just come to visit. We don’t care what it looks like. Honestly.”
June caught on and leaned against the door. “Remember the things we used to find in Riley’s room? Apple cores, week-old breakfast plates… and that time she’d brought in roadkill and tried to mummify it? Can’t be worse than that.”
Dad chuckled as he remembered. “Whatever happened to that rat?”
“You made me throw it in the bushes down the back gulley,” I scowled, my arms crossed. It’s not like June never did disgusting things. I remember her being enthusiastic about sniffing Tommy, the neighbour kid’s bum, and him sniffing hers.
“After she wrapped it in bandages and drew all those symbols on it,” June added.
We were doing Egyptian studies at school. I wascurious.I’d like to see any other student so committed to a subject. Pulling its brain out through its nose was where I drew the line, though.
“It can’t be worse than that,” June said again, trying to reassure Dad. He nodded and shuffled back from the door. As soon as I stepped in, I was overwhelmed by the smell of decaying produce. I tried to arrange my face to make sure it wasn’t scrunched, and that I looked as normal as possible. Dad walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, picking up bits and pieces as he went before plonking them in an overflowing pile next tothe breakfast bar. I imagined he did that a lot. The sink was overflowing with dirty dishes, and there wasn’t an empty space to do anything on the bench. Debris of leaves and fur from the cat had been tracked through the carpet that hadn’t been vacuumed in months.
“It’s such a sunny day,” I said, clearing my throat.
“Huh? Oh, yes. Very warm,” Dad replied, standing awkwardly with his hands in the pockets of his track pants. I wasn’t used to Dad not having a commanding presence. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself.
“Remember when we’d sunbathe for hours out on the back patio during the holidays?” June said, throwing me a look. “I’d kill for that sun on my skin now. I’m seriously lacking vitamin D.”
“I’d kill to have that patio now,” I added, picking up on her hint.
“Well, you know you could own a house like this, Riley, if you applied yourself and stuck to a full-time job. Work your way up,” Dad said.
Not exactly where I was going, but I was relieved to see a glint of the father I knew.
“Riley has some house-related stuff to ask you, actually,” June said. “Shall I make us some tea so we can sit out back?”
Dad visibly relaxed. Anything to avoid our sitting on the laundry-covered sofas.
“Tea, yes. I’ll make it though. You two go get that D,” he said, waving us down the hallway.
I almost laughed, and June elbowed me. “Hey, Dad told us to,” I grinned.
Jokes aside, I didn’t need telling twice. I’d never seen the house like this. Growing up, Dad had been a fastidious cleaner, and his inspections when we cleaned were brutal. Water spotson the shower? Not good enough. Dust on the skirting boards? Start again.
I glanced into his bedroom as I passed. The duvet was crumpled on a bare mattress, with laundry and papers strewn across the floor. I was surprised he had clean clothes at all. My heart sank as I realised he probably didn’t—and was dressing out of the pile.
“I don’t know if it’s the right time to ask him,” I whispered to June as we both stretched out on the wicker seats on the patio. They were laced with spider webs who had taken advantage of the lack of human contact. The patio looked out onto a long yard with a stand-alone garage to the left and a vast gully down the back. We’d spent many weekends and holidays building forts and pretend camping back there, and in later years meeting our boyfriends to practise necking.
“What harm can it do to ask? I don’t think he can get much worse,” she whispered, leaning forward. “By the way, isn’t it weird that the lawns are perfectly mown?”
I hadn’t noticed until she pointed it out. But she was right. Even the edges were neat.
Dad thumped through the door with a pot of tea and a tray of gingernuts. Classic.
“Lawns are looking great, Dad. What are you using?” June asked as she pulled the cane table forward.
“Oh. Not sure actually,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Charlie’s been doing them.”
June and I exchanged looks. Charlie was dad’s nemesis neighbour of thirty years. They were continuously trying to outdo each other in boat size and tool quality, and one of them always had something to moan about the other.His hedge always falls over the fence when he’s trimming. Who mows their lawns that early on a Sunday morning?That sort of thing.
“Charlie from next door?” June asked.
Dad cleared his throat and began pouring the tea from where he sat on a small wooden bench he’d built for us many years ago.
“He started coming over and doing them a few months ago. They were probably annoying him. He does his and then he does mine,” he shrugged. “Still a little early on a Sunday morning in my opinion.”
