Free House of Sticks by Peggy Frew Page A

came up, the guys, when they said “You took our beer” and everything … There was this moment, only a couple of seconds, before they started hitting him, and Doug, he did this thing, made this face, kind of’ — Pete lifted his chin with a sudden, aggressive movement — ‘kind of like “Fuck you” and he took a big swig out of the beer. And then he looked at me. He gave me this look, like, I don’t know, like he was saying, “You owe me.”’ Pete shook his head. ‘I don’t know — I don’t know how to explain it. It was weird.’
    Silence. She touched her fingers to the base of her own glass.
    â€˜But you know what? What’s really weird?’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜He never said anything. I mean, we were living together — and he just came home from the hospital and he never said anything.’
    She turned her glass on the tabletop. ‘But didn’t you?’
    He shrugged. ‘No.’
    â€˜But why not?’ Her voice came out too loud, and she glanced at the children and lowered it. ‘I mean — wouldn’t you apologise straight away?’
    â€˜I know it sounds crazy but no — I didn’t. Well, maybe I did try to say sorry and he wouldn’t listen. It was a long time ago now, and I can’t remember all that well … But mostly, the way I do remember it, it was … he came back and there was just this vibe, like — I don’t know, it was like when he gave me that look he’d already said something, communicated something to me, and we both knew it, and we didn’t need to talk about it.’
    Bonnie got up. She went over to close the curtains. They were worn and limp, with irregular patterns. Sewn from old tablecloths maybe. Before she drew them she put her face right up to the glass but she couldn’t see anything. It was too dark.
    Pete left after breakfast. ‘You’ll be right, won’t you?’ he said, pulling on his jacket and opening the door. The morning glittered — you could almost see the warm air rolling out into it. He stepped onto the veranda, peered out and up. ‘Looks like it should be a fine day. You could go for a walk.’ He came back to the door, leaned in. ‘Or do you want to come? Should we all go?’
    â€˜No.’ Bonnie lay back on the low couch with Jess propped against her knees. ‘We’ll stay. It’ll be nice. We’ll see you later.’
    â€˜Okay then. I’ve got my phone.’
    She wrapped Jess in a blanket and sat with her on the veranda, watching the twins playing.
    â€˜No,’ said Edie, standing on a stump. ‘I’m the princess and this is my house. Your house is over there. And when it’s morning time the rooster will go cock-a-doodle-doo and then you can get up.’
    Obediently, Louie went to his own stump and draped himself over it, pillowing his head with his arms.
    She tipped her head back and looked up into the crowns of the trees, the bunches of foliage so high up, the skinny branches like pointing arms. Somewhere down on the road a truck went past, its brakes a thin, far-off sound. She thought of Pete in the car. That thing happened, where she tried not to but couldn’t help her mind snaking into the wrong places. She saw Pete take a corner, a truck coming the other way. Metal hitting, smashing, their car hurled off the side of the road, crushed and broken. Rolling, bouncing back off a tree. Panicked birds shooting upwards. Gravel dust in a cloud. All the noises — the screeching, the bang, the thudding tumble — happening in such a tight succession and then over. And then the moments when things settled. Upturned wheels spinning, slowing, stopping. A wrenched side-mirror swinging into stillness. Some last bits of glass tinkling, detaching, pattering into the dirt. Silence. Until the door of the truck opened and the driver climbed down and went