Desert Fish Read Free Page B

job. And outside of the rhythm of school, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had been waiting for my life to begin but had no idea how this might happen.
    If I’d been a different sort of girl I’d have smirked at what my dad had said, but I just put the tea on the table, the milk too, and my dad picked up the jug.
    â€˜Look at this,’ he said. ‘Milk in a bag. Never seen anything like it.’ He examined it, and mused, ‘I prefer the bottles,’ pausing and adding, with some authority, ‘These bags, they leak. Drop ’em and they’ll burst easier than a bottle will break.’
    I put my hand to my neck and felt the perspiration there. I wondered if there was dirt printed onto it. The air felt viscous and dust seemed to hang, suspended in it.
    Dad put the jug down. ‘How long you planning to stay, then?’ he asked Pete.
    â€˜At least until winter. Longer if there’s work about.’ Pete leaned back into his chair and crossed his legs at the ankles. ‘You hear of anything?’
    â€˜I couldn’t help you with that,’ Dad said. ‘I haven’t exactly been on the lookout.’ He jabbed his thumb in my direction. ‘She’s the one lookin’ for work. Although probably not the sort of thing you’ll be wanting to do.’
    Dad sounded testy now, and I could tell he was bored. He’d be ready to make Pete out to be a chancer or a waster so he could get shot of him.
    â€˜What d’you reckon, Gilly?’ he asked. ‘Is he good enough for your mother?’ His tone was mocking.
    Pete pressed his lips together and breathed out through his nose, then took a swig of his tea.
    I put my hands in my pocket and pressed at the key there. I knew I wasn’t supposed to answer my dad, but I did.
    â€˜Go on then,’ I said, and my voice came out clear and strong. Dad put his hands on the table and beganto drum his fingers there. ‘But can he pay the rent?’ I teased, enjoying this inclusion and the awkwardness I had created.
    â€˜Got plenty of cash to tide me over,’ Pete said, looking right at my dad, ‘from the last job.’ He reached into his top pocket and retrieved a pouch of tobacco. There was a moment of silence and I could feel the strain of my dad’s questions in it while Pete thumbed inside the pouch for a packet of papers and began to roll a cigarette.
    â€˜Oh yeah?’ Dad said. ‘So where were you working?’ He pulled his own tobacco out of his pocket and leaned forward a little as he tamped and rolled, moistened the gummed edge of the paper.
    â€˜Up north,’ Pete said. ‘Managed a caravan park for a few months. Just a temporary position.’ Pete rubbed his thumb against his fingers. ‘Worth it for the money.’
    Dad lit up and blew smoke across the table. Nodded respectfully. Money could change things that quickly for him.
    Pete continued. ‘Did some farm work, fruit picking, you know, on the way down the coast. Thought there’d be more of the same in a place like this.’ He was leaning back in his chair and you could tell he didn’t care what my dad thought. He was someone who could find money when he needed to and he could probably find somewhere to live just as easily. He didn’t need our room and my dad seemed to realise this.
    â€˜Look,’ Dad said, sitting up in his chair and tapping his fag on the ashtray. ‘I’ll be straight. It’s the Missus wantsto do the let, I wasn’t all that keen. But you seem alright to me. The room’s there if you want it. You can move your things in today.’ I suppose he was thinking that if anyone was going to live in our house, it might as well be Pete, with his money and his easy way. And it might as well be my dad who made the decision, since my mother had pushed him into letting the room.
    Something had shifted in our house. Everything between my mother and my father was