SCHOOL bus dropped Cara back at the entrance of Dream Ranches every day at five. On the afternoons that Lea took her car to the mall, she drove by the school and collected her daughter. The low white building that housed the classrooms sat in a perfect oblong of brilliant green lawn, surrounded by acres of beige rock and dust.
Cara stood waiting beneath a flat-topped acacia tree, whispering conspiratorially into her phone. Her pale skin had darkened to a permanent soft brown tan, her hair lightening to dirty blond, and regular immersion in seawater had thickened it. Ever since she had been small, she’d rubbed the knuckle of her thumb against her chin when she was stressed. Out here she had suddenly dropped the habit. Her new physicality had become readily apparent, and—shock of shocks—she had started using the school gym most mornings. Perhaps this was what she had needed all along.
‘You have to get a haircut,’ Lea said, pushing open the car door. ‘You’re starting to look like a surfer-chick.’
Cara got in. ‘I’m not going to catch a wave around here. The sea’s like glass.’
‘There’s surf at the Hilton Beach.’
‘It’s mechanical, it’s not the same. Can we take Norah with us?’ She pointed to a girl hanging back by the bushes. ‘She just needs to get to the Arabia Mall.’
‘Hi,’ said Lea, checking her rear-view mirror, ‘I’m Cara’s mother, Lea.’
Norah shot back a salute, two middle fingers from her eyebrow ring, but remained silent. She wore a black woollen cap and heavy black jeans, despite the heat, and went back to checking her emails.
‘Norah lives next door to us,’ said Cara. ‘She’s been away with her folks in America.’
‘I’m looking forward to meeting your family, Norah,’ said Lea.
‘Yeah.’ Norah continued texting, and didn’t look up again until they reached the underground car park at the mall. The girls climbed out.
‘Well,’ said Lea, ‘it was nice meeting you.’ But Norah had already gone, loping toward the elevator bank with Cara in her wake. ‘Bye, then,’ she said to herself. So Norah’s the cool new pal she can’t tear herself away from , she thought. I guess they find more to talk about when I’m not there.
The next morning at 11:00am on the dot, Lea opened her front door to a tall, burnished blonde in her mid-forties, too studiedly thin, with a turned-up nose and a smile that revealed a palisade of artificially whitened teeth.
‘I hear you met my oldest daughter yesterday,’ she said, stepping inside without waiting to be invited, ‘We’re the Next Doors. I’m Colette Larvin. I thought I should drop by and apologise for her. Not that I suppose she said anything.’
‘She was probably shy,’ Lea suggested, as Lastri once more scurried off to begin the mid-morning ritual of setting out coffee and cake.
Colette recognized the remark as politeness and waved it aside. ‘You couldn’t shut her up when she was small. Then she hit her teen years and turned into a deaf-mute. Occasionally I manage to starve her into conversation. Stopping her privileges works too. Sometimes I hide her laptop charger.’
‘Mine’s the same.’
‘Seems like they’re already great friends. What are you doing here?’
‘Oh, I’m—what do they call it?—trailing…’
‘Trailing spouse. Me too. Ben is one of the DWG planners. He specialises in electronics, how to fit them into buildings. I think he’s going to be working with your husband. Something about marble—ring any bells?’
‘Believe me, I’ve heard all about it.’
Colette flopped down onto the couch. ‘We’re so sorry we missed your arrival. I’d have been here with the welcome wagon. We were visiting my family in Columbus. But don’t worry, you’ll hear us now we’re back. Rachel’s a little deaf and tends to shout. Don’t mention it, though, because she’s convinced nobody notices.’
‘Rachel’s your other daughter?’
‘No, That’s Abbi. Rachel is my
Cara stood waiting beneath a flat-topped acacia tree, whispering conspiratorially into her phone. Her pale skin had darkened to a permanent soft brown tan, her hair lightening to dirty blond, and regular immersion in seawater had thickened it. Ever since she had been small, she’d rubbed the knuckle of her thumb against her chin when she was stressed. Out here she had suddenly dropped the habit. Her new physicality had become readily apparent, and—shock of shocks—she had started using the school gym most mornings. Perhaps this was what she had needed all along.
‘You have to get a haircut,’ Lea said, pushing open the car door. ‘You’re starting to look like a surfer-chick.’
Cara got in. ‘I’m not going to catch a wave around here. The sea’s like glass.’
‘There’s surf at the Hilton Beach.’
‘It’s mechanical, it’s not the same. Can we take Norah with us?’ She pointed to a girl hanging back by the bushes. ‘She just needs to get to the Arabia Mall.’
‘Hi,’ said Lea, checking her rear-view mirror, ‘I’m Cara’s mother, Lea.’
Norah shot back a salute, two middle fingers from her eyebrow ring, but remained silent. She wore a black woollen cap and heavy black jeans, despite the heat, and went back to checking her emails.
‘Norah lives next door to us,’ said Cara. ‘She’s been away with her folks in America.’
‘I’m looking forward to meeting your family, Norah,’ said Lea.
‘Yeah.’ Norah continued texting, and didn’t look up again until they reached the underground car park at the mall. The girls climbed out.
‘Well,’ said Lea, ‘it was nice meeting you.’ But Norah had already gone, loping toward the elevator bank with Cara in her wake. ‘Bye, then,’ she said to herself. So Norah’s the cool new pal she can’t tear herself away from , she thought. I guess they find more to talk about when I’m not there.
The next morning at 11:00am on the dot, Lea opened her front door to a tall, burnished blonde in her mid-forties, too studiedly thin, with a turned-up nose and a smile that revealed a palisade of artificially whitened teeth.
‘I hear you met my oldest daughter yesterday,’ she said, stepping inside without waiting to be invited, ‘We’re the Next Doors. I’m Colette Larvin. I thought I should drop by and apologise for her. Not that I suppose she said anything.’
‘She was probably shy,’ Lea suggested, as Lastri once more scurried off to begin the mid-morning ritual of setting out coffee and cake.
Colette recognized the remark as politeness and waved it aside. ‘You couldn’t shut her up when she was small. Then she hit her teen years and turned into a deaf-mute. Occasionally I manage to starve her into conversation. Stopping her privileges works too. Sometimes I hide her laptop charger.’
‘Mine’s the same.’
‘Seems like they’re already great friends. What are you doing here?’
‘Oh, I’m—what do they call it?—trailing…’
‘Trailing spouse. Me too. Ben is one of the DWG planners. He specialises in electronics, how to fit them into buildings. I think he’s going to be working with your husband. Something about marble—ring any bells?’
‘Believe me, I’ve heard all about it.’
Colette flopped down onto the couch. ‘We’re so sorry we missed your arrival. I’d have been here with the welcome wagon. We were visiting my family in Columbus. But don’t worry, you’ll hear us now we’re back. Rachel’s a little deaf and tends to shout. Don’t mention it, though, because she’s convinced nobody notices.’
‘Rachel’s your other daughter?’
‘No, That’s Abbi. Rachel is my
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