All I Ever Wanted Read Free

kneel down. ‘Hello. Hello, baby. Who are you?’
    He plucks at the face on my T-shirt with his monkey fingers. His ears are small and crumpled, same as Matt’s. I like this one.
    â€˜Oh, Tahnee rang. Said you weren’t answering her texts. She’ll be here about eight,’ Mum says, hitting the speed dial.
    I take the baby to my room and let him play with my disco ball. He watches his face split into silvery slices and gives me a gummy grin. I blow a raspberry on his cheek and waggle my ears with my fingers. He does one of those contagious baby belly laughs and dribbles on the floor. I lie on my stomach with my chin in my hands and look at him for a while. Babies will let you do that. He has Matt’s eyes—my eyes, too—wide and grey-green with dark flecks and wet-looking eyelashes. Dodd eyes. Ocean eyes, except with the baby’s I can see clear to the bottom. I feel a tug of connection but I shake it off because there’s no point. He’ll be gone soon, like the others.
    He smacks the disco ball with a fat hand.
    â€˜Yeah, baaall,’ I say and reach for my phone on my bed. Tahnee. Tahnee again. A cryptic text from Tahnee. She never bothers correcting predictive text and her messages read like a poor translation.
    Then I notice my box of Lonely Planet books is gone. I’d taken them down from my bookcase and boxed them up because their weight made the shelves sag. I run a quick inventory, but only the box is missing.
    Of unkind cuts, this one’s made with a blunt knife, then salted.
    I know better than to tackle Mum when she’s glued to the shopping channel, so I change the baby. The nappy is soaked and reeks of ammonia. I pick it up with some tongs, wrap it in newspaper and leave it on the kitchen table like a prank pass-the-parcel. I stack the baby on my hip. We hover in the kitchen doorway, pretending to be interested in creepy Victorian dolls dressed in doilies, until the segment moves on to power tools.
    Mum says, ‘Put the kettle on, Mim.’
    â€˜Where are my Lonely Planet books? The ones in the box next to my bed?’
    â€˜Oh, Mrs Tkautz has them. I gave them to her for her garage sale next Sunday.’
    â€˜You what ?’ I shout. The baby jumps and starts to cry.
    She warns me with a look. ‘Calm down. They were in a box. I thought you were finished with them. Anyway, what’s the point in reading something you’ve already read? You read them over and over until you’re cross-eyed. Stupid books about other people’s adventures.’
    As always, I’m torn between love and loathing. ‘I want my books .’
    â€˜Well, they’re gone. Get over it.’
    â€˜You don’t get it, I need them.’
    Those books are my maps. They show me that there is something else out there; they give me hope. They keep me from going crazy in this place.
    â€˜You’ll need more than a pile of books to get away, Mim.’
    Sometimes she just knows what’s in my head. I’m angry with her, but mostly with myself. I feel so helpless. Like I’m swinging on a pendulum and it’s too high and too fast to jump off. I jiggle the crying baby and he burps sour sick onto my shoulder.
    â€˜Oh thanks, that’s great. Who is this?’ I hold him away from me by the armpits and he dangles mid-air.
    â€˜Your nephew.’
    â€˜Another one? By the way, that’s the last time I do your dirty work.’
    She props herself on one elbow. ‘What are you on about?’
    â€˜Pick up your own package next time.’
    â€˜Oh. Oh, excuse me, princess. Give me the baby.’ She flaps her hands at me. ‘Give me the bloody baby.’
    I put the baby on her chest where he sinks into the quicksand of her.
    â€˜One thing, I ask you to do one thing for me, and you can’t even do that without complaining.’ She hisses, ‘Go on, piss off. Ingrate.’ She’s blanking me. Pretending to watch