Mud Girl by Alison Acheson Page A

raise her voice, it’s to taunt poor Stu Stevenson. That rule about “ignore the bully – they’ll go away…” Well, Stu Stevenson has had lots of practice at “ignore” and Fiona still doesn’t go away. Abi’s surprised he hasn’t given up on bleaching his hair to that scruffy yellow. He just goes about his business, whatever it might be.
Doggedly
would be the word for how he does that.
    â€œCome on out, girl!” says her grandpa. “It’s all part of our deal! Move your bum!”
    Colm heads back into the house through the open door, and his granddaughter stares after him. Abi wonders what he’s done for that look. What is their “deal” about?
    When the girl finally climbs out of the car, she slams the door shut.
    Abi stands back as the girl makes her way over the wooden walkway, and she can’t stop the grin that rises to her face.
I’m thinking the word “flounce”…does anyone even use that word anymore? Flouncing Fiona.
    â€œWhat’re
you
grinning like an idiot about?” Fiona leans over Abi. She’s a tall girl, the nasty granddaughter.
    â€œOh, Fiona – don’t start,” says Colm. And he just fits those words into the rest of his sentence, which is something about “this being Will, and this being Aba.” There’s a lilt to his voice that Abi likes. Something comforting to it.
    â€œYeah, I know. You told me all about them in the car,” she says. “I know Aba Jones from school.”
    Abi would like to set her straight: just because Fiona has seen her at school doesn’t mean she
knows
her. But there are a few things about Fiona that defy Abi to speak to her. Her tone, for one – low and angry; the sneer of her full lips; the bump in her nose that makes her look like an ancient statue that will withstand absolutely anything a plebeian like Abi might say.
    Fiona is standing in the middle of the kitchen, and Abi realizes that she seems to be trying to hold her very long arms close to her body. Her elbows are tucked into her ribs, her hands hold each other, and there’s a stiffness to her legs.
    She doesn’t want to touch anything in my house.
Abi feels a glow of shame and turns away. Colm is right in front of her, and she blinks to hold back the swimming in her eyes.
    â€œIt’s nice to meet you finally after coming here every week. Your Da has told me about you.”
    Da? Oh yeah, the guy who was going to take me to Disneyland.
    â€œI’d forgotten he talks,” she says.
    â€œAye!” Colm laughs. “He does forget he has a voice now and then, doesn’t he?” He goes back out the door and reappears shortly. “One more box will do!”
    Fiona looks at him; his cheerful tone must annoy her. “Are we done here?” she asks.
    â€œYou have something else to do on your holiday?” he asks with a grin. He should know better.
    Her face says as much. She leads the way out the door. Colm rests his hand on Dad’s arm. “Next week, Will, we’ll have a game of checkers, we will.” He turns once again to Abi. “You got something soothing for that burn?”
    She nods.
    â€œGood then,” he says.
    Dad follows them to the door and he and Colm share a quick, comradely hug that surprises Abi.
    â€œNext week.”
    â€œNext week.”
    After the screen door closes, Dad lifts the boxes onto the counter and begins to unpack them.
    â€œHow long have you been getting groceries this way?” Abi asks.
    Dad stops and thinks. “Before Christmas, I guess it was. Someone phoned about it. I went down to some church to pick it up a couple of times and met Colm. He said that because I don’t have a car, he’d bring it over after he was done his shift. He said we could play checkers.” Dad pauses for a long moment before a half-smile flickers over his face. “Last week he said he’s going to