Tigers on the Beach Read Free Page A

passed.
    â€˜No,’ I say.
    â€˜They have dark-red coats and white muzzles. They are stunning creatures. But Marika . . . what can I say? She’s ten times as beautiful as a Mongolian horse. She’s more beautiful even than a jaguar. Or a snow leopard.’
    â€˜Nathan, why don’t you tell Marika how you feel about her? Only don’t say anything about horses or big cats.’
    Nathan looks downcast. ‘She wouldn’t love me back. I’d be devastated.’
    â€˜You’d get over it.’
    â€˜Never. I’d move to Mongolia to be with the horses.’ Nathan has difficulty scraping some of the pellets from the driveway. It seems as if the possums have been eating epoxy resin.
    â€˜I have three university degrees,’ Nathan says. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this. I should find a better job somewhere.’
    â€˜Mum and Dad rely on you.’
    â€˜Then they should pay me more.’ Nathan frowns as he chisels away.
    â€˜Do you believe in auras?’ I ask.
    â€˜I don’t even know what they are,’ says Nathan.
    â€˜My grandpa reckons that some living things give off a glow. He’s a naturalist, sort of like you.’
    â€˜Well, he’s right. Some animals do glow. It’s called bioluminescence. There are fish, insects, toadstools –’
    â€˜What about people?’
    â€˜You’re asking me if people glow? In daylight?’
    â€˜Grandpa says they do.’
    â€˜With respect, Adam, he must be gaga.’
    â€˜Is that like doolally?’
    â€˜Gaga is more scientific.’
    I groan as I see Stanley Krongold walking up the driveway. He is the local real-estate agent and he keeps hassling my parents to sell The Ponderosa. He has grey hair dyed black. He also wears fake tan, so his head is orange. His eyes are small and shifty, his moustache pencil-thin. I pick up something and hide it in my hand. As Stanley approaches, I jump up and give him a smile.
    â€˜Hello, Mr Krongold,’ I say. ‘You’re looking very orange today.’
    â€˜Good morning, Adam,’ he says.
    I hold out my hand and Stanley, looking surprised, shakes it. Then he frowns and looks at his hand.
    â€˜Sorry, I’ve been cleaning up after the possums,’ I say.
    Stanley Krongold forces himself to be cheerful again. ‘No harm done,’ he says. ‘Those possums can be devils, can’t they?’
    â€˜Do you have them at your place too, Mr Krongold?’
    â€˜I’m always cleaning up their droppings. Only I don’t use my bare hands.’
    Mum spies Mr Krongold and wanders over from the office.
    â€˜Good morning, Mr Krongold,’ Mum says.
    â€˜Hello, Georgia,’ says Stanley, brightly. ‘I thought you might be interested. The local fire brigade is having a cake stall to raise money this Saturday.’
    â€˜That
is
interesting,’ says Mum.
    â€˜They do a lot of good, the firefighters.’
    In order to impress Mum, Stanley Krongold is putting on a fake posh accent. He makes ‘firefighters’ sound like ‘far-farters’.
    â€˜They do,’ says Mum, ‘particularly when it comes to farting far.’
    I love my mum.
    Stanley looks surprised to be so crudely mimicked. He adjusts his tie. ‘They had to go to Joyce Kelly’s place last week. She was making a cake for the stall and she set fire to her kitchen. Strange how things work out.’
    â€˜It is strange.’
    Stanley looks around, tapping his foot. ‘I wonder if you’ve given further thought to what we discussed?’
    â€˜The cake stall? I’d be useless. I make bloody awful cakes.’
    â€˜I meant selling your property.’
    â€˜We don’t want to sell our property,’ says Mum.
    â€˜I can understand that. It’s a beautiful property. But my customer in Singapore wants it very badly and he’ll pay twice what it’s worth. Do you want to know how much