then,” Maggie opened the oven drawer and pulled out a roasting pan . She held it out and Willow dropped the meat inside with a thud then walked to the sink to wash her hands.
“It’s a big one alright,” Maggie commented. “It’ll be delicious slow roasted with some rosemary and garlic.”
Willow finished washing her hands and then walked to the fridge to get juice. She stood there with the door open, perusing the contents.
Maggie frowned, watching her. Willow didn’t seem too enthused by the roast, and as much as she was loath to admit it, maybe her parents were right? Her little white lie all those years ago had snowballed and now she had absolutely no idea how she was supposed to come clean, although she knew she would have to eventually. One day Willow was going to start asking more questions.
Dot came banging through the back door with an empty washing basket in her hands.
“Those towels will be dry in about ten minutes I reckon,” she said. “That’s some breeze kicking up out there. It’s lovely though, I can smell summer lurking just around the corner.”
“Oh yeah?” said Willow, sitting down at the table with her juice. “And what does Summer smell like exactly?”
“You don’t know? And you call yourself a writer? My girl, use your imagination.” Dot stood behind Willow and placed her hands on her shoulders. “Close your eyes,” she told her. “Right I’ll start. Summer to me smells like cut grass, and hot tar seal. It smells like the pollen of freesias, jasmine and lilacs, honeysuckle and sweet peas, mixed with the stench of cow manure from the farms of course,” she laughed when Willow screwed her face up. “Now you think, what does summer smell like to you?”
Willow thought of hot summer days. “Coconut scented sun tan lotion,” she finally said, “and chlorine in my hair from the pool at school.”
“Good,” her grandmother nodded. “Very good.”
Ray lent back in his seat. “For me, summer smell s of sausages, steaks and corn cobs grilling and sizzling on the BBQ.”
“A freshly sliced watermelon,” Maggie joined in as she finished scrambling some eggs and slid them on to a plate which she put down in front of her daughter.
“Clean and crisp sheets that have been hanging in the sun all day,” said Dot.
They all started adding new ones as they thought of them.
“That sulphuric smell in the air just before a thunderstorm, and the clean smell of the concrete after summer rain.”
“ The smell a tomato plant makes when you brush up against it.”
“Citronella candles to scare the mossies away on hot nights.”
“Fresh mint ice tea.”
“Strawberries warm from the sun.”
“The smell of water when it comes out of a hose that has been lying on the lawn all day in the sun.”
“Sweat from thirty kids cooped up in a classroom.”
“That’s disgusting Willow.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I remember the hot sweet smell of my mother canning fruit,” Dot said wistfully.
“My dad’s cigarette smoke as he tinkered with something out in the garage, doing his darnedest to stay out of my mother’s way,” said Ray.
“Algae from when the lake overflows and then drains away, leaving pockets of water behind that turn stagnant,” Willow said.
Her family stared at her.
“What?” she asked defensively.
“That was a lovely description,” her mother said, kissing her on the top of her head. “You are going to be a wonderful writer one day.”
“Well thankfully we don’t have long to wait before we can smell all that again,” Dot said as she picked the basket up from the table where she had rested it while she reminisced. “What’s for dinner?” she asked, as she headed past them towards the laundry.
“Lamb.”
“Delicious.”
Willow finished off her eggs and pushed back her chair.
“Lift it, don’t scrape it.”
“Mum, can I go meet Nick now?”
“Ok. You two got something planned?”
“Fishing .”
“In the
“It’s a big one alright,” Maggie commented. “It’ll be delicious slow roasted with some rosemary and garlic.”
Willow finished washing her hands and then walked to the fridge to get juice. She stood there with the door open, perusing the contents.
Maggie frowned, watching her. Willow didn’t seem too enthused by the roast, and as much as she was loath to admit it, maybe her parents were right? Her little white lie all those years ago had snowballed and now she had absolutely no idea how she was supposed to come clean, although she knew she would have to eventually. One day Willow was going to start asking more questions.
Dot came banging through the back door with an empty washing basket in her hands.
“Those towels will be dry in about ten minutes I reckon,” she said. “That’s some breeze kicking up out there. It’s lovely though, I can smell summer lurking just around the corner.”
“Oh yeah?” said Willow, sitting down at the table with her juice. “And what does Summer smell like exactly?”
“You don’t know? And you call yourself a writer? My girl, use your imagination.” Dot stood behind Willow and placed her hands on her shoulders. “Close your eyes,” she told her. “Right I’ll start. Summer to me smells like cut grass, and hot tar seal. It smells like the pollen of freesias, jasmine and lilacs, honeysuckle and sweet peas, mixed with the stench of cow manure from the farms of course,” she laughed when Willow screwed her face up. “Now you think, what does summer smell like to you?”
Willow thought of hot summer days. “Coconut scented sun tan lotion,” she finally said, “and chlorine in my hair from the pool at school.”
“Good,” her grandmother nodded. “Very good.”
Ray lent back in his seat. “For me, summer smell s of sausages, steaks and corn cobs grilling and sizzling on the BBQ.”
“A freshly sliced watermelon,” Maggie joined in as she finished scrambling some eggs and slid them on to a plate which she put down in front of her daughter.
“Clean and crisp sheets that have been hanging in the sun all day,” said Dot.
They all started adding new ones as they thought of them.
“That sulphuric smell in the air just before a thunderstorm, and the clean smell of the concrete after summer rain.”
“ The smell a tomato plant makes when you brush up against it.”
“Citronella candles to scare the mossies away on hot nights.”
“Fresh mint ice tea.”
“Strawberries warm from the sun.”
“The smell of water when it comes out of a hose that has been lying on the lawn all day in the sun.”
“Sweat from thirty kids cooped up in a classroom.”
“That’s disgusting Willow.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I remember the hot sweet smell of my mother canning fruit,” Dot said wistfully.
“My dad’s cigarette smoke as he tinkered with something out in the garage, doing his darnedest to stay out of my mother’s way,” said Ray.
“Algae from when the lake overflows and then drains away, leaving pockets of water behind that turn stagnant,” Willow said.
Her family stared at her.
“What?” she asked defensively.
“That was a lovely description,” her mother said, kissing her on the top of her head. “You are going to be a wonderful writer one day.”
“Well thankfully we don’t have long to wait before we can smell all that again,” Dot said as she picked the basket up from the table where she had rested it while she reminisced. “What’s for dinner?” she asked, as she headed past them towards the laundry.
“Lamb.”
“Delicious.”
Willow finished off her eggs and pushed back her chair.
“Lift it, don’t scrape it.”
“Mum, can I go meet Nick now?”
“Ok. You two got something planned?”
“Fishing .”
“In the
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