Free The Best Australian Stories 2014 by Amanda Lohrey Page A

old guy is singing carols about snow, but it’s hard to hear the words over the screeching of fruit bats in the mangroves. The grown-ups’ table is set all fancy with matching knives and forks, the best dishes and even serviettes. You can hardly see the decorated cloth there’s so much food: cold chook, prawns, a big ugly ham and lots of tomato and lettuce. Gran did it all. Mum hasn’t been doing much today, apart from sitting in her chair staring at nothing. Sometimes it’s like she stares right through me, like she has X-ray vision, or I’m invisible. Like she’s thinking about something – and it’s not me. Maybe she’s thinking about that ticket.
    Aunty Julie and Uncle Dave and their lot are here as well. Their kids are little, like my baby sister Louise, so the kiddy table is already covered in mush and dribble. I squint into the glare, down the backyard to the creek. I can’t wait to go fishing. Max, my big brother, got a new fishing rod from Santa. I got a guitar, an almost real one. Louise was the most excited though; she couldn’t stop squealing when she found the Sunshine Family dolls in the sack at the end of her bed – a set of three, a mum and a dad and a baby too. They’re from some sad movie about a mother who dies, stupid really. But Louise loves them so much she’s even playing with them while we’re eating.
    Everyone on the verandah gobbles and laughs, talking louder and louder over each other and the music and the noise of the bats. Except Mum, whose mouth is clamped tight. She doesn’t look happy like you should at Christmas. She’s staring at her plate like she’s trying to figure out exactly what a prawn is.
    Gran forces a chicken leg onto my plate even though I’ve told her a million times I hate chicken. She’s got a bit of everything on hers and is pecking at the food with her knife and fork like a magpie fussing with a bug, false teeth clacking with every bite. Because Mum is working now, Gran’s been coming over every day, not only on Sundays like before. Mum gets home really late, and lots of nights she doesn’t get back from the office till after we’ve gone to bed. It used to be more fun when she was here all the time, but maybe she has to work late to buy more tickets. Still, I wish she wouldn’t work so much. When she’s away, Dad lets Louise get away with murder just because she’s the baby.
    Like now, playing with her dolls at the table when I’m not allowed to have my guitar. She’s not even playing with them right. Instead of Mr Sunshine cuddling up to Mrs Sunshine, she’s got my GI Joe. My GI Joe. I never said she could.
    â€˜Hey! Who said you could play with Joe?’
    She ignores me and turns so I can’t see what she’s doing. I give her a poke.
    â€˜Daddy! Mikey’s hitting me!’
    â€˜She’s got my man and she doesn’t even need him. She’s got a man doll of her own now.’ I reach around and grab GI Joe. ‘She’ll break him.’
    â€˜Michael!’ roars Dad. ‘Stop that rot this instant or you won’t see your guitar for a week.’
    â€˜She’s the one who took him!’
    But Louise has started her fake-crying act, and Dad always takes her side so I have to give Joe back even though he’s mine.
    â€˜Why don’t you play with Mr Sunshine, you sook?’ I scowl at Lou.
    â€˜Mr Sunshine is boring. I like GI Joe better, he’s got a scratchy beard,’ she says with a sulk in her voice.
    Mum starts laughing, a strange sort of cartoon laugh, like that crazy dog, Muttley, in the Whacky Races, and it’s so freaky that Louise stops her moaning and stares at Mum. We all do. It doesn’t sound like her normal laugh at all. She goes on and on like she’s about to bust a gut. Maybe she’s saved up every laugh she’s missed out on lately. She tries to say something like ‘Oh,