House of Sticks by Peggy Frew Page A

another horse instead, with some macho name like Rock Hard or something, but we said …’ Their voices faded and the back door slammed.
    They arrived at the childcare centre at the same time as Mel and Freddie. The kids brushed away their mothers’ goodbye kisses and ran out to the sandpit. She and Mel took turns at the sign-in sheet, checked for notices, skimmed the lost-property box.
    Outside they stood in the cold street, Bonnie with Jess on one hip, Mel with her heels and clean, unladdered stockings, the black oblong of her handbag tucked under one arm.
    She glanced down at her worn jeans, a stain over one knee. ‘I’ve been offered some work,’ she said.
    â€˜That’s great,’ said Mel. ‘Live shows, or …?’
    â€˜No, recording.’ She moved Jess to the other hip. ‘Probably only a half-day. But’ — she gave a sheepish grin — ‘it still feels like a big deal to me.’
    â€˜Well, it is a big deal. You’ve got three kids, Bonnie. One only a tiny baby, really.’ Mel reached to touch Jess’s hair. ‘I can’t believe the amount of music you’ve done while your kids’ve been small. Remember you’d go off for those weekends when the twins were babies?’
    â€˜Yeah. But … I don’t know. It doesn’t seem as easy this time.’
    â€˜Really?’
    â€˜No. It doesn’t. It seems really hard actually.’ Tears slid into her eyes. She swallowed. ‘I guess it’s just — well, Pete’s got a whole lot more work on these days, and …’ She wiped dribble from Jess’s chin. ‘I mean, I can’t complain really — I’ve got these two days with the twins in childcare, and Jess, you know, it’s easy to take a little baby along …’ She could feel Mel watching her. She stared at the ground. ‘I should be doing more really — I could, if …’
    â€˜Bonnie.’ Mel took her arm. ‘What do you mean, doing more? You’re doing an amazing job just — well, getting through the days. If I had three kids I’d be rocking in a corner, seriously.’
    Bonnie tried to laugh then shook her head. ‘Sorry, I don’t know where all this self-pity’s coming from.’
    â€˜And do you know what else? There’s no way I could manage work and Freddie without my mum. And Josh’s parents too. No way. And your mum’s … your family …’ Mel released her grip. Her voice had softened, gone tentative. ‘Well, you don’t seem to be getting the same kind of …’
    â€˜My mum’s crap.’ Bonnie did laugh this time. ‘When it comes to helping me with the kids she’s just … crap.’
    Mel laughed too; her lipstick shone. There was a pause. Mel took her car keys from her bag. ‘What is it, do you think, that’s stopping her? Is it just her work?’
    â€˜No, no — it’s not work. She didn’t have to keep working.’ Jess started whining, and Bonnie jigged her up and down. ‘After Dad died — I mean, she could’ve just lived on the money from the life insurance. But.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know — she wanted to work. Which is fair enough. She enjoys it. She likes being busy. And with the kids — I think she just felt like she’d done her time, with me and Luke, and …’ She sighed. ‘It’s complicated.’
    A woman came out of the centre behind them, struggling with the security gate and a pusher in which a toddler cried, red-faced, snot streaming. Mel stepped over and held the gate. The three women exchanged smiles of removed, polite commiseration.
    â€˜Thanks,’ the woman said, and walked away. The child’s wailing receded.
    Bonnie watched her go. ‘My mum …’ she began. ‘I don’t think she enjoyed having young kids herself. She’s always just talked