Give Me Four Reasons by Lizzie Wilcock Page B

own plate of spaghetti bolognaise for a long time. I remember what Dad’s face looks like when he greedily slurps up strands of pasta and licks red sauce off his chin.
    I reach for the telephone and dial Dad’s mobile number. ‘I have two uneaten plates of spag bol here,’ I want to tell him.
    But I hang up before he answers. I can’t entice my father back home with food. And when Mum returns her untouched tray to the kitchen a little while later, I’m glad I didn’t try. It’s lumpy and tasteless and boring. Nobody wants something like that.
    On the third day after Dad leaves I wake up and I want to scream. The house is too quiet. Felicity is not blasting her music. Mum hasn’t had any clients. And my father is not mowing lawns or tinkering around the house, making sure everything is in order. I’m usually the quiet one, but this is too much, even for me. I have to do something.
    I make Mum’s breakfast tray and take it into her bedroom. ‘We need to go shopping,’ I tell her.
    Mum sips her herbal tea. It is the first time I have seen her eat or drink anything in three days. ‘I’m not really in the mood for Christmas shopping,’ she says.
    I knew she would say that. ‘It’s not Christmas shopping, Mum. We need to get my new uniform for high school.’
    ‘There’s plenty of time for that,’ Mum says with a wave of her hand.
    ‘No, there’s not,’ I insist. ‘We don’t want to leave it until the last minute. All the clothes in my size might be gone.’
    Mum sighs and gazes out the window. The sky is cobalt blue and the temperature is set to soar. It’s a perfect day for enjoying the beach or the pool. Mum blows on her tea and takes another sip. Her hands are shaky as she sets it down. ‘I suppose you’re right.’
    It’s only four blocks to Farram’s Uniforms in the main street, but after Mum has showered and dressed she reaches for her car keys.
    ‘Let’s walk,’I suggest. I grab our hats off the hooks in the laundry and almost push my mother out the front door. She puts on her sunglasses and keeps her head down as we walk past the neighbours’ houses. Purple and white agapanthus flowers are in bloom in their front yards. Mum loves agapanthuses but this morning she does not stop to admire them. She is walking so fast that I have difficulty keeping up.
    ‘Come on, Paige,’ she calls from the corner of our street. ‘I don’t have all day.’
    Yes, you do , I want to tell her. I can’t bear for her to return to the spare room and ohm all day. I’ve got to keep her busy.
    ‘Remember how we used to come to this park?’ I say as I catch up to her. I look across the road to the playground nestled under gum trees in the spacious reserve. A father is pushing his two young daughters on the swings. The girls squeal in delight. ‘You used to love playing on the swings more than I did. Let’s have a turn.’
    ‘Let’s just get your uniform, Paige,’ Mum snaps.
    We walk the rest of the way to the shops in silence. The main street is almost deserted, even though it’s a weekday. Most people now shop over at the huge mall near the edge of town.
    Mrs Farram greets us with a tape measure slung over her shoulder and pins sticking out of the corner of her mouth. ‘Hello. What can I do for you?’ she mumbles.
    ‘Paige is starting at Juniper Bay High next year,’ Mum says.
    Mrs Farram wraps the tape measure around my chest, my waist and then my hips. ‘Well, haven’t you grown, Paige?’ she says, looking at the numbers. She struts off to the rack labelled ‘Juniper Bay High’. She returns with a blue and mauve checked skirt and a white blouse.
    ‘These should fit, but I may need to take up the hem on the skirt,’ Mrs Farram says.
    I take the clothes and walk over to the changing room. Mum follows. She stands outside the heavy blue curtain while I strip off. I try on the blouse then step into the skirt and zip it up. The skirt is quite long, but at least it fits. I pull the curtain