Free Slights by Kaaron Warren Page B

eyes were squinting because her hair was pulled into such a tight bun. "The show now playing. You won't be able to see it."
      She seemed pleased by this; as if I had offended her and she wanted me to be punished.
      It was astonishing how much she hated me.
      Peter had been quieter than usual, and I'm not the type to fill in the gaps, so neither of us spoke. We went and had a beer, then Peter said, "So what happened at the supermarket?"
      I rolled my eyes and punched him. "Is that what's been bothering you? My job? It was crap, I hated it, they sacked me. That's what happened."
      He pinched my cheek. "I'm not having a go, Steve. It's just that I've got this new idea, and I'm wondering if you could help me set it up."
      Turns out he wanted to use his skills at telling people what to do and start running self-motivational courses. Though how they can be called 'self' motivational, when you're paying someone else to motivate you, is beyond me. I would be helping with the boring stuff – mail outs, listing names, all the stuff Maria couldn't be arsed to do. She used her pregnancy as an excuse, as she'd use motherhood as an excuse once the baby arrived.
      It sounded okay, and better than working in an office.
      "It sounds okay," I said.

    I found a curtain ring and a bead I recognised from Grampa Searle's well-used abacus.
      My Grampa Searle was always a quiet one. He never lost his love for figures and sat like an addict adding up anything.
      "Did you know that if you bought every sale item on this page you'd be up for $4,281.85?" he said. There was no response; there rarely was to his announcements. He tried to make me and Peter add and subtract.
      "Start with 400. Add 80. Subtract this. Multiply by that."
      We stared at him, and my Dad said, "Leave them alone, Dad. They're not interested. Steve's not even at school yet." Grampa Searle always went quiet when his son spoke. My mum was impressed by it at first, thinking it showed respect. She thought the dad looked up to the son. I always liked Grampa Searle when he wasn't testing me with maths. He gave me private winks, like we shared a secret which didn't need to be discussed. He was the most gentle man I ever knew. For my fifth birthday he gave me an abacus of my own.
      My fifth birthday was the greatest. The Grannies were there, with presents, and Peter swore at Dad in the morning – he said damn, but he said it rudely, tried to make Dad look silly. He got in so much trouble. Then he was quiet for the rest of the day. I laughed at him. He said, "You'll get a belting one day, then see how you like it," but Dad didn't give beltings.
      He didn't tan your hide.
      I wore my favourite trousers. Mum had presented me with my first dress, a cornflower blue thing with yellow lace. I hid it in my pillowcase and they couldn't find it, so I got to wear my trousers. And a jumper one of the Grannies knitted for Peter; he hated it. The pattern on the front was supposed to be a teddy bear asleep in bed; Peter screamed, said, "He's dead, he's dead." He knew more about death than me. He had been at the funeral in the backyard of our little cat, Muffy, who had gone to live in a cave, I was told. I knew she was gone; I couldn't understand where to. I watched from my bedroom as Dad dug the hole and then put the cat in. Peter said some words. After Peter stopped talking they all came inside and we had ice cream with chocolate sprinkles. The whole Muffy episode made death mysterious, fascinating, some magical thing. I always expected little Muffy the cat to appear once she'd dug her way out of the dirt. We never got another cat, or animal of any kind. Once I lived alone I thought about going to a pet shop and bringing a new cat home, but was concerned the creature wouldn't like me.
      I forgot about Muffy until I saw a white cat on Play School. It must have been a few months later. Around my birthday.
      "When's Muffy coming out of the cave?" I said to