Free After by Sue Lawson Page A

and pulling out a china teapot.
    ‘No.’
    Above Emma’s head, engraved in the branch, was the word Maeve and a lopsided daisy.
    ‘This was your mother’s,’ said Jack, watching me.
    ‘I know.’
    ‘Not any more,’ said Emma. ‘This is my tree house now.’
    Jack snorted. ‘Exactly. Don’t you get too comfortable here, Greenie.’
    ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
    ‘You don’t belong here. At Marrook. We do.’
    I leant against the branch, feet crossed at the ankles. ‘What are you? Jack Frewen—King of Winter Creek and Marrook?’
    Emma giggled. Even in the shade of the cypress tree I could see Jack go red. ‘Winning over a dog and moving sheep doesn’t mean anything,’ sneered Jack. ‘They want me here. They like having me around.’
    ‘The sheep or the dogs?’ I pushed off the branch and jumped from the tree house to the ground. As much as I wanted to thump him, I wasn’t going to in front of his sister.
    ‘Chicken shit.’ Jack spat but he missed me.
    I strolled towards the house, whistling, knowing my cool would drive Jack nuts, just like it used to drive Nic and Michael nuts. Before.
    But it was an act. How come Jack Frewen knew so much about Grandpa and Marrook? And about Mum? By the time I reached the back door, I decided I didn’t care what he knew or why he knew it, because he didn’t matter. Neither did this place.
    Voices echoed through the kitchen from the dining room. ‘You two are amazing to take him in, after everything with Maeve,’ said Deborah.
    ‘He certainly is Maeve’s son,’ said Nan. ‘He’s rude, arrogant, selfish—’
    ‘He’s our grandson, Pat,’ said Grandpa.
    Nan scoffed. ‘You were too soft then and you’re too soft now.’
    ‘What time do we have to pick up Beth, Deborah?’ asked Paul.
    I sneaked to my bedroom and sat on the floor, back against the bed, staring at the closed door. My grandmother hated Mum and me, Mum hated me and I hated them. Great little family cycle we had going.
    I knew why Mum hated me—but what had she done to make her mum hate her? It couldn’t be as bad as what I had done. Somewhere in the back of my brain, I heard Nan calling me to say goodbye to the Frewens. No way did I want to see the Frewens or Nan. The phone rang at the other end of the house. Footsteps thundered down the hall.
    Nan flung open the door. ‘Why didn’t you come and say goodbye to the Frewens?’
    ‘I was on the toilet,’ I said, not looking at her face.
    ‘I see,’ she said, making it clear she didn’t believe me. ‘Your mother’s on the phone.’
    Great! I climbed to my feet.
    ‘Hurry.’
    What was it to her? It wasn’t like she was paying for the call. Mum was. I pulled a face at the back of Nan’s grey head and slipped past her to the kitchen. She’d left the cordless phone lying on the bench. Why hadn’t she just brought it with her?
    ‘Hello?’
    ‘CJ. Where have I dragged you from?’
    ‘The bedroom.’
    ‘What were you doing?’
    ‘Mucking around.’
    ‘How are things, you know, with ... them?’
    ‘Who? Your parents?’
    ‘Who else?’
    She sounded tense.
    ‘Well, you could have meant Floss or Zebedee.’
    ‘They can’t still be alive.’ The clock ticked three times before she spoke again. ‘Floss was 14 when I ... How do you know about them?’
    ‘I saw your mural.’
    She cleared her throat. ‘I thought it would have worn off by now.’
    ‘Apparently not. It gives the chooks something to look at, I guess.’
    ‘The chooks?’
    ‘Yeah. Have you forgotten? Your mural is next to the chook yard.’
    ‘Oh. The chook yard used to be over near the stables, opposite the woolshed.’
    ‘What near the tree house?’
    ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
    ‘Guess a few things have changed since you were here.’
    Mum took a slow breath. ‘So, how are you doing, Ceej?’
    ‘I’m showering, changing my jocks every day, brushing my teeth and eating my vegetables.’
    ‘I meant, how are you feeling, about what happened.