you down and see you safe.’
What did they think was going to happen to her in a rented holiday flat, for heaven’s sake? She’d been living on her own in England ever since Bill died, and managing very well, if she said so herself.
But Jan, dear fussy Jan, was treating her like a third child, one who needed watching and guiding every moment. The trouble was, Australia was a long way to come from England for only a short stay. But a week was long enough for any guest to stay, and she should have known better, should have planned a visit to Sydney for a week or two in the middle, perhaps.
The drive to the small holiday town passed in a tense silence. But the flat was lovely, with a balcony overlooking the water.
When Jan had stopped fussing and left, Sarah sat in the living area of the flat, relishing the silence. She loved her grandsons, but they were a noisy pair.
Now to make herself more comfortable and get into a holiday mood. She’d seen a liquor store at the end of the road and decided to buy herself some wine.
She chuckled as she left the flat, feeling like a rebellious teenager. Not looking where she was going, she bumped into someone and ricocheted back against the wall. ‘Oh, sorry. My fault. I was miles away.’
The man smiled at her. ‘I was too. You look happy. I hope you enjoy your holiday.’
‘I intend to make the most of every blessed minute.’ She continued down the stairs, humming an old Abba song that had been running through her head for two days, ever since she’d heard it on the wireless. She didn’t care if she was old-fashioned, she’d always loved that song.
After a short walk, she found the liquor store, bought two bottles of Chardonnay and a bar of chocolate, and carried them home in triumph.
When she opened the fridge to chill the wine, she saw the casserole Jan had insisted on making for her. ‘It’ll last two days, Mum, save you money.’
It wasn’t going to last even one day. Jan’s cooking hadn’t improved over the years and because the children were small, she made everything very bland. Not feeling even slightly guilty, Sarah scraped it into the rubbish bin.
She went out again for a walk along the foreshore, looking for somewhere to eat. This was such a lovely little town, built along the sides of an estuary.
She found a Chinese restaurant and had a delicious meal, then, since it was getting dark, strolled back to the flat. Sitting on the balcony she sipped her wine, now nicely chilled, and watched the town’s lights reflected in the water. She didn’t even switch on the TV.
The following day she went for a ride round the canals in a large tourist boat, looking at the houses of rich people – to her anyone who owned a large house right on the water was rich. She envied them the beautiful views, but it was no use longing for what was out of reach, so she’d just borrow their scenery while she was here then go home to her small English terraced house.
When the boat returned, edging slowly into place alongside a jetty right in the town centre, she wondered what to do with herself next. She saw some people sitting by the water, eating chicken and chips out of boxes, and suddenly she was hungry. OK, it was junk food, but there was no harm in having it occasionally. She joined the queue.
She took her box further along the foreshore and sat down to eat, opening it and sniffing in appreciation.
Suddenly something large and soft landed on the grass next to her. She let out a squeak of shock, then realized it was a pelican. It didn’t seem at all aggressive, just stood watching her. She forgot her food, entranced by being so close to an exotic bird. When she was sitting down, it was the same height as her.
It edged slowly forward and she sat still, not wanting to frighten it away. Then suddenly it lunged at her and before she could move, it snatched her box of food.
Fleeing in a clumsy run, it jumped off the walkway and lifted up into the air, crossing the water,
What did they think was going to happen to her in a rented holiday flat, for heaven’s sake? She’d been living on her own in England ever since Bill died, and managing very well, if she said so herself.
But Jan, dear fussy Jan, was treating her like a third child, one who needed watching and guiding every moment. The trouble was, Australia was a long way to come from England for only a short stay. But a week was long enough for any guest to stay, and she should have known better, should have planned a visit to Sydney for a week or two in the middle, perhaps.
The drive to the small holiday town passed in a tense silence. But the flat was lovely, with a balcony overlooking the water.
When Jan had stopped fussing and left, Sarah sat in the living area of the flat, relishing the silence. She loved her grandsons, but they were a noisy pair.
Now to make herself more comfortable and get into a holiday mood. She’d seen a liquor store at the end of the road and decided to buy herself some wine.
She chuckled as she left the flat, feeling like a rebellious teenager. Not looking where she was going, she bumped into someone and ricocheted back against the wall. ‘Oh, sorry. My fault. I was miles away.’
The man smiled at her. ‘I was too. You look happy. I hope you enjoy your holiday.’
‘I intend to make the most of every blessed minute.’ She continued down the stairs, humming an old Abba song that had been running through her head for two days, ever since she’d heard it on the wireless. She didn’t care if she was old-fashioned, she’d always loved that song.
After a short walk, she found the liquor store, bought two bottles of Chardonnay and a bar of chocolate, and carried them home in triumph.
When she opened the fridge to chill the wine, she saw the casserole Jan had insisted on making for her. ‘It’ll last two days, Mum, save you money.’
It wasn’t going to last even one day. Jan’s cooking hadn’t improved over the years and because the children were small, she made everything very bland. Not feeling even slightly guilty, Sarah scraped it into the rubbish bin.
She went out again for a walk along the foreshore, looking for somewhere to eat. This was such a lovely little town, built along the sides of an estuary.
She found a Chinese restaurant and had a delicious meal, then, since it was getting dark, strolled back to the flat. Sitting on the balcony she sipped her wine, now nicely chilled, and watched the town’s lights reflected in the water. She didn’t even switch on the TV.
The following day she went for a ride round the canals in a large tourist boat, looking at the houses of rich people – to her anyone who owned a large house right on the water was rich. She envied them the beautiful views, but it was no use longing for what was out of reach, so she’d just borrow their scenery while she was here then go home to her small English terraced house.
When the boat returned, edging slowly into place alongside a jetty right in the town centre, she wondered what to do with herself next. She saw some people sitting by the water, eating chicken and chips out of boxes, and suddenly she was hungry. OK, it was junk food, but there was no harm in having it occasionally. She joined the queue.
She took her box further along the foreshore and sat down to eat, opening it and sniffing in appreciation.
Suddenly something large and soft landed on the grass next to her. She let out a squeak of shock, then realized it was a pelican. It didn’t seem at all aggressive, just stood watching her. She forgot her food, entranced by being so close to an exotic bird. When she was sitting down, it was the same height as her.
It edged slowly forward and she sat still, not wanting to frighten it away. Then suddenly it lunged at her and before she could move, it snatched her box of food.
Fleeing in a clumsy run, it jumped off the walkway and lifted up into the air, crossing the water,
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