Free Portraits of Celina by Sue Whiting Page A

Gran walk arm in arm up to the front steps. “Look at this place, will you?” Gran says and waves her free arm around. “It’s been a while, I tell you. But that lake – it never stops being special, does it?”
    “Gran!” Seth bursts out the front door, his cape flying, and launches himself at his grandmother.
    “Hey, careful,” warns Mum. “You’ll knock poor Gran over.”
    “He’s fine, Kath,” says Gran. She grabs Seth and carries him under her arm like a roll of carpet. “I’m not as frail as you make out. Besides, this scrawny runt is lighter than old Tinky.” She tickles Seth’s feet. “Hey, don’t they feed you round here?”
    “Only their scraps,” Seth yells, giggling and kicking his legs about wildly. “And birdseed.”
    “How long are you staying?” I ask.
    “Not sure. Till you lot drive me crazy, I suspect.”
    “Really?” I say. I am highly suspicious. Not because Gran isn’t a big part of our family, but because she is so devoted to the Soup Van and her “regular suspects”, as she likes to call them, that she can rarely get away for more than a couple of hours at a time. “What about Arnold and Missy Moo and the others you look after? How are they are going to cope?”
    Gran doesn’t answer, she just winks and continues lugging Seth under her arm. “You’ve got quite a mob working here, Kath. The place is scrubbing up well.”
    “Hi, Gran.” Amelia stands meekly on the verandah. I am astounded that she is up and dressed already – and not appearing even remotely hung-over.
    “Hi, love,” says Gran, her voice soft. She puts the squealing Seth down and pecks Amelia on the cheek. “This country air must be agreeing with you, sweetheart. You’re prettier than ever.”
    I wait for the usual thorny reply, but when all I hear is a soft, “Thanks, Gran,” followed by an over-excited Seth dragging Gran inside, I feel relieved and grateful that the Soup Van can do without her for a while. Gran is exactly what we need.
    I take a running step to follow the others inside. But there is a hand on my shoulder and a voice right behind me saying, “Ah … Bayley …”
    Whirling around, I discover Oliver standing right behind me.
    “Whoa, sorry,” says Oliver. “I didn’t mean to scare you again. I called out, hey, but with the saws and Batman squealing and …”
    I gulp and steady myself, straining not to think about my stupid behaviour yesterday, and I caution myself to steer clear of making eye contact with those greeny-blue pools.
    “My gran’s here,” I explain.
    “Oh, I, er … is your mum around?”
    “Oh, yeah. Um, come inside.” I rush up the steps and inside, as if fleeing from a grizzly bear. I am a lunatic.
    Oliver follows.
    “Oliver!” Seth jumps off Gran’s knee to circle round and round him. “This is my gran.”
    “Hey.”
    “Call me, Maree, love,” says Gran.
    Mum is filling the kettle. “Hi there, Oliver. Would you like a cuppa?”
    “Have one,” says Seth. “Pleeeease.”
    Oliver seems uncertain; his eyes flit around the room until they rest on Amelia.
    “Hi, Oliver,” says Amelia, smoothly. She reaches into the cupboard and pulls out some cups.
    “Hey,” says Oliver. “How’s it going, Amelia?”
    My face burns. When have these two met?
    Mum appears similarly puzzled. “Oh, I didn’t know you two knew each other.”
    Oliver holds his hair back off his face with both hands – it is clear he is uncomfortable. “Yeah … er … we met–”
    “In town,” Amelia finishes for him.
    In town? When? The other day when Amelia went missing for hours? Something is going on here. I cast my mind back to last night – to the white car and the group huddled outside. Amelia said it was her friends from Cronulla on the way to a festival, but why would they come this way? It didn’t sound convincing last night and it seems even less so now. Was Oliver in that car? With me in my underwear on the road, acting like a moron? The thought makes my heart