Free The Best Australian Stories 2014 by Amanda Lohrey Page B

those kids,’ but it doesn’t come out right because she’s spluttering chewed-up chicken and salad onto the table.
    â€˜Fiona,’ says Dad, like she’s one of us kids about to get into trouble. He’s going redder. I suppose he’s embarrassed. It is embarrassing. Grandma and Uncle Dave and Aunty Julie have stopped chewing and are looking at Mum like she’s some kind of loony.
    Mum covers her mouth with her hand and chuckles into it, like something really funny has happened. Maybe there was some grown-up joke I didn’t get. None of the other grown-ups are smiling though.
    â€˜Stop it, Mum,’ I say. ‘Your head will fall off.’
    Then everyone starts laughing too, normal laughs. Mum stops with a sigh and wipes her eyes with a serviette.
    â€˜Must be time for pudding, hey Gran?’ she says, as if nothing weird has happened.
    â€˜What was so funny? We’d all like to be in on the joke,’ asks Dad. He crosses his arms hard across his chest and rocks back on his chair, glaring at Mum as if he’s about to yell at her like he does sometimes when there aren’t other grown-ups around.
    Mum looks the other way, as if she didn’t even hear what he said. I hate it when she does that. Sometimes she can make you feel as if you’re not even a person, like you’re a prawn maybe.
    *
    Mostly Mum’s really nice. I love it when she lies down in my bed at night and puts her arm under my neck. We talk for ages, about music and the stars on TV, like whether the Six Million Dollar man could really run faster than our car, about Disneyland, and how far the moon is, and how great it would be to go there, about everything really.
    Lately, she’s been coming in to say goodnight when she gets home from work but she smells different, a bit like Dad’s aftershave but more like pepper; it makes me sneeze. Sometimes she falls asleep next to me. The other night I woke in the dark and she was still there. My neck was getting a crick in it, but before I could wriggle out from her arms I heard a noise. Like she was crying. But mums don’t cry. I stayed still and listened so hard I thought my ears would pop. Quiet sort of snuffling, but definitely crying. I thought maybe she was thinking about something really sad, like when our dog died.
    I coughed, so she knew I was awake, and said, ‘Don’t cry, Mum. Blacky’s in heaven now. Don’t be sad.’
    She sniffed so strongly I heard snot going down her throat. ‘Go back to sleep, Mikey. You’re right, Blacky’s in heaven. Mummy’s tired, that’s all. I won’t cry anymore.’
    I did go back to sleep, but not for a long time. Not till after I heard her whisper to herself, ‘After Christmas. Just give the kids their Christmas.’
    It didn’t make any sense.
    She cries other times too, not only when she fights with Dad. Most mornings her eyes look red and sore, though if I ask her what’s wrong, she gets grouchy. Dad says he’s sorry and tries to make her happy. He bought her a great Christmas present, a box full of perfume and soap with a picture of a dancing Spanish lady on the lid. She opened it this morning, but put it to one side with half the wrapping still on, and didn’t even give him a thank-you kiss like you’re supposed to.
    *
    Gran brings out the Christmas pudding. I hate all the sultanas and orange peel, but I take a big piece anyway because she always hides money in it. I cover the pudding with ice-cream and mush it all together so it looks as if I’m eating some while I search. Everyone’s quiet after Mum’s freaky laughing attack. The only sound is the stupid singing on the telly and spoons scratching up the last bits of soggy stuff from the bottom of bowls.
    Mum says, ‘Good pudding this year. I’m full as a goog,’ and pats her tummy. She gets up from the table and half-smiles. ‘Now, if you don’t mind,