Free Mallawindy by Joy Dettman

him run. Packed his bag and made him run.
    Dear Johnny. He didn’t want to go. ‘ I can’t leave her, Mum. Don’t make me leave her, Mum. ’
    The silence grew long. With her index fingers, she dried two tears before they could escape, then she reached for her daughter’s plait, giving it a playful tug. ‘It’s made of strong stuff, like you are, love. You’ve got a bit of me in you somewhere. I think we might both bend before we break.’
    Ann smiled, and her eyes that never wept, glistened beneath the light. Ellie’s own eyes grew moist again. Was a word, the touch of her hand so important to this girl? Guilt washed over her. She near drowned in guilt. Of course it was, but she’d never been able to get close to Annie. Never put her to the breast. Everything had happened too quickly after the fire. Jack disappeared for five months that time. She thought he’d gone for good, and she’d moved back home to her father’s house.
    How she loved that little mud-brick house on the highway.
    Her eyes looked off into the distance and a smile crept across her features, erasing the outlines of Mallawindy summers. For an instant, she was her father’s golden girl again. Her childhood in that house hadn’t equipped her for life with Jack.
    His handsome face, his smile – he was only twenty when he’d stopped to lean his bike against the split-rail fence that first day. ‘Could you spare a mug of milk for a thirsty stranger, Miss?’ he’d said.
    She had been milking the house cow, and she’d looked up to see this handsome prince standing there. He’d sounded like a prince too. ‘How old are you, Miss?’ he’d asked.
    She wasn’t quite sixteen. Her age frightened him. He’d drunk his milk, then reached for his bike and straddled it. ‘Are you going to tell me your name?’
    Her blushing face turned to the old cow, she’d remembered late her father’s warning. ‘I’m not allowed to talk to strangers,’ she’d said.
    â€˜I’m no stranger. I’m Prince Charming and by God, you’reSleeping Beauty. I’ll be back this way after your birthday, and I’ll wake you with a kiss. Remember me, Beauty,’ he’d called over his shoulder as he pushed off through the dust. ‘I’m drunk on milk and dreams, so you’d better remember me.’
    He’d returned to Mallawindy six months later. All the girls in town thought he looked like a movie star, but Jack only had eyes for her. She’d been in love with him since that first moment. His family was rich, and he was educated. He’d spent six months at university, and twelve months with a theatre company, and he was in love with her.
    She could still remember his first kiss, remember drowning in his arms. He’d been so gentle, but so impatient. Ellie felt the blood creeping to her brow at the memory. She glanced quickly at her children. Their hands danced beneath the bright white electric light, their eyes on each other, only the rhythmic tap-tapping of finger against finger, the occasional slapping of a hand, broke the silence. She was safe to dream a while, remember the good times.
    The upstairs bedroom of her father’s farmhouse had always been her room. Bessy slept downstairs. When Jack discovered she slept alone up there, he’d climbed the oak tree and like a high-wire act, walked across the high-pitched roof to her window. She wouldn’t let him in, though. He’d perched there, quoting Shakespeare for hours, his shoes tied by their laces, dangling over his shoulders, and he vowed he’d sit on her roof until he turned to stone.
    For five nights he’d made that climb. It had seemed so romantic to a sixteen-year-old. She was Juliet courted by her own handsome Romeo – until the night Jack climbed through her window and romance went out the door.
    Her father had built them a house on the