“Clean out the clutter,” she says. “All your treasures and knick-knacks. Cami’s room too. Box them up and put them in the garage, or better still, put them in our garage. You want a clean and streamlined look when people come through. Maybe paint Cami’s room a more neutral colour. Not everyone likes baby blue.”
Danika nods. Her mother is a force and a half, but she knows her stuff. Danika follows her around, making notes. Empty out the cupboards to make them look bigger. Get rid of all the kitchen junk she never uses. Fresh paint on the front door, and her dad will give the garden a tidy up and trim the hedges.
Thirty minutes later, Shirley says, “Well, it’s not bad at all, Dani. If you get onto it, we’ll be listing it in two weeks. Now, we haven’t discussed where you’re going to move.”
The million-dollar question, and Danika has absolutely no idea.
“Do you want to stay around here?” her mum presses. “Or maybe you’re thinking of a move closer to Melbourne proper?” She tilts her head. “Closer to St Kilda, maybe?”
“We’re not at that stage yet. Maybe we never will be.”
Her mum makes a rude noise. “I think you’re closer than you’re letting on. From the numbers you’ve given me about what you need to pay into the trust, and what I expect you to get for this house, I think you’ll be able to afford a two-bedroom house, or a small three-bedroom on a busier street if you want to stay around here. Bigger, if you don’t mind a bit of a mortgage.”
“I really don’t know,” Danika says. “It has to have a yard of course. Even if we don’t get Hugo, there’ll be another dog. And I’d prefer a quiet street.”
Shirley nods. “Buy the worst house on the best street. Still good advice. If you’re considering other areas, I can make enquiries. I know agents in most places. I can ask them what’s off-list, or coming up for sale.”
“Thank you.” Danika puts the kettle on and pulls mugs from the cupboard.
“If the house sells quickly, you and Cami can always move in with us until you find somewhere,” her mum says. “So don’t stress about that. We’ll be your built-in-babysitters while you jaunt off for overnights in St Kilda.”
Danika stares down at the counter. She’s closer to forty than thirty. Well and truly grown, but she’s still uncomfortable talking about her sex life with her parents.
“I’ll get painting quotes,” she says instead. “And start packing away the clutter.”
“Have a garage sale,” her mum says. “Cami will love it, especially if you tell her the money will go toward dog food.”
On Tuesday afternoon, Kim calls. “Have you heard yet? Bella’s on tenterhooks. She thinks of Hugo as her doggo as well as Cami’s. She’s asking every five minutes if I’ve heard, so I said I’d call you.”
“That makes two of them,” Danika says. To Cami, she says, “It’s Kim.” She walks a few paces away and sits on the couch. “Nothing yet,” she says to Kim. “The shelter closed ten minutes ago.”
“They’re probably doing all the end-of-day stuff,” Kim says. “Just because it’s closed to the public, doesn’t mean it’sclosedclosed.”
Danika looks over to where Cami has stuck a sign on the wall.Hugos bed hereit says in ungrammatical printing. A space in the pantry has another sign about his food storage, and a pile of old blankets—and a couple of not-so-old ones—are earmarked for him as well.
Danika hates to think of Cami’s misery if they don’t get Hugo.
“Next Monday is a public holiday,” Kim says. “What do you think about a camping trip to Johanna Beach, before it gets impossibly cold?”
“I’d love that.” Danika glances at Cami, who’s staring at Disney Channel pretending not to listen. “But if we have Hugo, we’ll need to let him settle in here.”
“Good point,” Kim says. “If so, Bella and I could come around.”
“Of course. We’ll look forward to that.” She lowers her voice. “That will be the highlight of my week.”
“More than Hugo?” Kim teases.
“Maybe.”
Her phone beeps with an incoming call. The shelter. “Have to go,” she says to Kim. “It’s them. I’ll call you back.” She hangs up and answers the call. “Hi, this is Danika.”
Cami bounds across and leaps onto the couch, pressing close.
Danika lifts an arm and Cami snuggles underneath.
“Danika, this is Tess from the RSPCA in Oakleigh.”
“Hi, Tess. Do you have news for us?” She peeps at Cami. She has her eyes scrunched shut, and her wiry body is wound as tight as a spring.
