Free Paper Alice by Charlotte Calder

baroque ensemble concert at someone’s house, or a poetry recital in a church . . .
    Then I thought about the crowd at the pub that night, of which that boy had seemed pretty typical. He hardly seemed like the classical music type, or a member of a church youth group – though you couldn’t always tell.
    Your masterpiece . . .
    It was obviously something arty, anyway. Something fairly switched on.
    I thought about the poster’s other location in thathouse in Surry Hills, and its occupants. Wondered again about the sketches they’d mentioned writing for a revue. Surely it would be for one of the uni revues – they certainly seemed like students. Perhaps even for the drama society.
    I wondered if Andy was going, on Thursday evening.
    â€˜How’s lover boy these days? Haven’t heard or seen much of him lately.’
    I glanced across the table at Dad, rolling his pasta slowly around his fork. I shrugged.
    â€˜He’s OK.’
    It was the kind of question that normally he would have asked in a teasing, let’s-get-a-rise-out-of-Alice kind of way. Now, in his new glum mood, I knew it was just an attempt to fill in the fog of silence that had descended on tonight’s meal.
    Mum frowned down at her food. ‘He was here on Saturday night, Pete.’
    â€˜Oh . . .’ Dad gave a short laugh. ‘That’s right – I just didn’t see him.’
    You were otherwise occupied, I thought. In the old days he would always have a chat with Dunc. They got on pretty well, and there was usually a current sporting event or three to discuss.
    There was another pause, about the twentieth that night. We chewed on.
    Suddenly there was a great lump in my throat; I thought I was going to cry. Either that or lean over, shake my father and scream: for god’s sake , Dad, just cheer up !
    â€˜Still enjoying his course?’ asked Mum, after a moment.
    I shrugged once more. ‘Seems to be. He’s doing OK, I think.’
    Like many of his friends, Dunc was studying Commerce. He was in second year and got by on just enough work to maintain a credit average, with the odd distinction thrown in. He never seemed to get too stressed about work, or about anything else, for that matter. Like me, he was thinking about spending a semester on exchange somewhere overseas, but we never really discussed what he wanted to do at the end of his degree. If ever there was a here-and-now type person it was Dunc.
    As for me, I didn’t have much of a clue either. Just navigating first year was enough to keep me occupied.
    Mum lifted one eyebrow.
    â€˜You could certainly never accuse our Duncan of being a worrywart.’
    I turned my head.
    â€˜What’s that supposed to mean?’
    She shrugged, poking at her food. ‘Just what I said,’ she said lightly. ‘He’s not one to . . . take the weight of the world on his shoulders, that’s all.’
    I stared at her, my pulse beginning to quicken. ‘What?’ I said at last. ‘You mean he doesn’t spend every minute of every day bemoaning the fate of the world’s starving millions?’
    Sometimes it really annoys me just how easily she can get to me.
    Dad sighed, very wearily. ‘Come, you two . . .’
    Another tiny shrug from Mum.
    â€˜Well, he’s not one to lose much sleep over the big issues.’
    â€˜How would you know?’ I leant towards her, suddenly boiling with rage. It was one thing for me to think such thoughts, quite another thing for her to come out and say them.
    â€˜How would you know, Mum, what Dunc thinks? He – he’s actually quite . . .’
    I trailed off, unable to think of any examples of altruistic impulses on my boyfriend’s part towards the less fortunate. Their cricket team had coached some underprivileged kids a few years back, but that had been at the school’s instigation, not the boys’. Dunc had enjoyed