Bailey sat on the floor of his apartment, surrounded by boxes, but this time it was different. Instead of the usual cardboard boxes being full of second-hand books ready to take out to the van, these boxes were either empty or half-full of Bailey's things.
The half a dozen boxes on the lounge room floor contained Bailey's limited possessions—the personal paperbacks that he would never get rid of, an old shoebox containing photos, and some memorabilia from high school. He had no idea why he held on to the old paper certificates testifying to his classroom achievements or the golden plastic trophy from junior soccer. It wasn’t as if he had ever been a champion at anything. Safely tucked at the bottom of one of the boxes was a smaller box Bailey didn't have the heart to open. It contained a few treasured items that had belonged to his brother, Stuart. Although it brought back too many memories to open the box and actually touch the bits and pieces within, it gave Bailey comfort to know they were there, that part of his brother was still with him. He didn't need to look at the items anyway. He knew exactly what was in the box, all of his brother’s possessions committed to memory—an old cricket ball, Stuart’s prized comic books, his favourite footy jersey, a well-worn deck of cards.God, I was hopeless at poker.Bailey smiled at the memory of Stuart’s teasing at Bailey’s inability to hold a poker face, but his determination for Bailey to master the game.
Bailey tucked a Bluetooth speaker into the top of one of the boxes and closed the flaps. As he used masking tape to seal the box, he was grateful for modern technology and the fact that he didn't have to pack CDs and DVDs.
With a groan he lifted himself from the floor and made his way to the kitchen. The room was in the same state of disarray as the living room, boxes on the benchtop and on the floor, each box filled to the brim with the contents of all the drawers and cupboards—mismatched crockery and cutlery, pots and pans, and all sorts of kitchen paraphernalia. Stacked neatly on the end of the counter were a few items Bailey had left out—things he needed to use between now and D-Day.
Oh God, D-Day.
He only had one week until he had to be out of this place, and still no idea where he was going to go.
With a sigh, he filled the kettle and set it to boil. He leaned on the cupboard while he waited, using the opportunity to make his regular Thursday call.
“Hello?”
“Hi Mum. It’s me.”
“Hi Bailey. Is it that time already? I can’t believe it’s already been a week since we spoke.”
Bailey chuckled. “I can always hang up and call back in another week if you don’t want to talk to me.”
“Ha ha. Always the funny one. Don’t you dare hang up. Hold on a sec while I turn off the sauce.”
He could hear the sounds of his mother moving around and could picture her in front of the stove. The wave of nostalgia was strong as he visualised her in the kitchen of the family home in her leggings and a jumper teamed with her Ugg boots, something she wouldn’t be seen dead in outside the house but was her comfy “uniform” while at home. He wondered what she was cooking and glanced around his own kitchen. There’d be no warm and comforting home-cooked meal for him tonight. He was too exhausted to even pretend to cook, not that were was much food in the fridge anyway—he’d be lucky if he had the ingredients for grilled cheese. There was the sound of something hitting metal, a cupboard opening, the water running briefly, and then she was back.
“Sorry, honey. I’m making bolognese and didn’t want the sauce to stick while we chatted, and I was desperate for a glass of water. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting so long. You do have time to talk for a while, right?”
“I’ve got some time.” The kettle reached boiling point so Bailey started making a mug of tea. “I’m not going out until later tonight.”
“I assume you mean with the library. I wish you wouldn’t go out so late. You know I don’t like the thought of you out on those streets.”
If only she knew just how close I am toreallybeing out onthosestreets.
“I know, Mum, but I’ve had a lot to do today and it’s taken longer than I thought.” He looked ruefully at the boxes.
“You could give it a miss tonight.” He could hear the hopefulness in her voice and for a moment allowed himself to think how bone tired he was. There was no doubt he was tempted.
He sighed. “You know I can’t do that, Mum. I don’t want to let the kids down.”
“I know, honey. Your heart is too big. I just worry about you.”
“And I’m lucky to have you care so much.” Bailey took his tea and wandered back to the lounge room. He shoved aside a box and settled on the couch. This was the same conversation they had every week and he rattled off the same spiel in an effort to reassure her he was safe until she eventually allowed the topic to be changed.
“Sarah hasn’t stopped talking about you all week. She loved the gift from her super-awesome brother. Her words, not mine.” His mum laughed.
“She’s the awesome one. She did so well.”
“I wish you’d been able to come to the carnival and see her run. But the books were a wonderful surprise.”
Bailey cringed inwardly—a gift of books didn’t make up for not seeing Sarah in person, but there was no way he could afford the return trip to Brisbane.
“And what about you, honey. What’s news?” Bailey’s stomach dropped at the question. He didn’t want to lie but he didn’t want to break the news to her about the dire straits he was facing. “How are things going with that girl you were helping?”
He let out a breath in relief. That was a question he could handle and it did give him pleasure to talk about Emma’s achievements. “She’s doing great. I’m amazed at how much effort she’s putting in.”
“She obviously wants to make something of herself. Sometimes people just need the opportunity to really shine. She must be a smart girl, taking you up on your offer of help.”
“I enjoy helping Emma too. I like spending time with her and seeing the changes, seeing how much more confident she is. She reminds me of Sarah a little bit, getting more and more outgoing as she becomes more sure of herself.”
