Free Magpie Hall by Rachael King Page A

saying anything. He was beginning to get drunk — two pink patches had appeared on his unshaven cheeks — and so was I. He no longer sat forward in his chair, shoulders tight, but leaned back and regarded me lazily, as if hewas waiting to see where the evening took him.
    ‘Look, I’m going to make some dinner.’ I stood up from the table. ‘Do you want some?’
    He nodded and I busied myself around the kitchen bench, making pasta with a simple jar of shop-bought sauce. Once again, I had forgotten to eat all day. The light had drained completely from the hills behind the house, but the sky was still a deep indigo. I was aware as I worked of Sam staring at me, but when I met his eye he looked out the window, or around the room, pretending to be interested in Gram’s old teapot collection gathering dust on the mantelpiece above the range.
    We both ate hungrily. The wine had gone to my head on an empty stomach. Sam held his fork solidly and twirled spaghetti as if stirring a cauldron. We barely spoke until the meal was finished.
    ‘Not bad for no meat.’ Sam tipped his chair back and put his hands behind his head. ‘Couldn’t do it every meal, though. I’d starve.’
    ‘Sure, you would,’ I said. I picked up the bowls and dropped them in the sink. ‘Hey, do want to see your rabbit? I’ve started bringing her back to life.’
    ‘A she, was it? I didn’t look.’
    ‘A beautiful she.’ I nodded my head in the direction of the hallway. He followed close behind. I wondered how much time he’d spent in the house, if he’d ever been upstairs, how well he knew Grandpa. Something stopped me from asking, though; I didn’t want him to think it was an invitation.
    He let out a long low whistle when I opened the door to the menagerie room.
    ‘So I take it you’ve never seen this collection?’
    ‘No. Man, I’d heard about it, but this is awesome.’ He stalked about the room, reaching out and touching things as he went. Then he stopped and looked at me. ‘Sorry, is it okay if I touch?’
    ‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘It’s not a museum. Yet.’
    ‘What do you mean, yet?’
    ‘Nothing, it doesn’t matter. Anyway, this is all mine now.’
    ‘True that? Well, I guess you’re the girl who likes to stuff animals.’
    ‘Mount — the correct term is mount. The girl who likes to mount animals.’
    He let out a great guffaw then, and I joined him. ‘Whatever turns you on, I suppose,’ he said.
    The room was dark and the looming shapes of the animals watched us as we talked. The rabbit skin lay drying out under the window where I had left it the night before. The salt looked like ice crystals. I turned a lamp on and Sam put his face up close and examined it. ‘Nice job,’ he said. He stroked the fur. ‘Soft. Isn’t it weird for you, stuffing — sorry, mounting it — when you won’t eat the meat?’
    ‘It’s hard to explain. I have my reasons, but it would take all night to tell you.’
    He smiled. ‘Maybe later, then.’
    As he looked around, riveted to the spot, I remembered the birds in the living room.
    ‘By the way, did you move the huia? Back up onto the shelf?’
    ‘Huia? Where?’ He turned a circle, scanning the room. ‘Aren’t they extinct? I’d like to see one of those.’
    ‘Not here — in the other room. I thought maybe you did it when you brought the rabbit inside.’
    ‘Nah. Why?’
    ‘Well, someone did. That freaks me out a bit. Someone’s been in the house.’
    He didn’t look particularly alarmed on my behalf. ‘Don’t worry about it. It was probably just Elsie or —’
    ‘Who’s Elsie?’
    ‘Josh’s missus. She’s hard case, that one. Bit of a nag. Josh is scared of her, I reckon. Or it could have been Josh. Someone probably just making things tidy for you. You’re not the only one who loves this house, you know.’
    What a strange thing to say, I thought, but I let it slide.
    ‘Okay, I’m probably just being paranoid. City girl, you know.’
    ‘Probably.’ He