the
contents spilled onto the carpet.
'SPIDERMAN! Spiderman, Spiderman, Spiderman!' he
chanted his hero's name in delight. Just when Sera thought
it couldn't get any worse, Joan brought out more parcels.
'Now, I know how much your Mum likes everything
to match . . .' Was that a sarcastic twinkle Sera could see in
the old bat's eye? '. . . so here's the rest of the linen.'
The kids cheered at their sudden boon. Sera felt lightheaded.
Matching Dora and Spidey fitted and flat sheets
and – dear God, no, please don't let it be possible – yes, the
icing on the cake: matching valances.
In all her days of being excruciatingly aware of aesthetics,
avoiding colour clashes, subtly rearranging cushions in
friends' houses and choosing to sit on waiting-room chairs
with fabric that complemented her day's outfit, Sera had
never seen anything in worse taste. And she was stuck.
This stuff was going into her house, into her own children's
bedrooms. Her precious children would surely be influenced
by this crime against interior design. She tuned back
in to the conversation. 'Remember that win at Bingo last
week?' Joan was telling her grandchildren. 'Well, I thought
who else would I rather spend my winnings on? You can't
take it with you, you know.'
That was it. Sera had to intervene. 'Kids, Joan,' she said
sweetly. 'I am so sorry but I've already paid a deposit on a
gorgeous bedroom suite ensemble in one hundred per cent
cotton.'
The children and Joan all looked up at her as if she were
speaking a foreign language.
'It's a beautiful colourway, in hues of pumpkin, tangerine
and lime.'
'Good lord, sounds like a salad,' Joan said unhelpfully.
'I no like pumpkin,' said Harry, his bottom lip firmly
stuck out and the Spiderman doona clasped firmly to his
little chest.
Sera wasn't giving up. 'I have the swatches here to show
you. It's a very pretty story, to suit both boys and girls.'
'Story? I like a story.' Harry's ears pricked up.
Sera ran into the kitchen to get the colour swatches,
then dashed back to explain to her little boy. 'No, darling,
not that kind of story. Silly mummy! A "story" is what the
interior designer calls the range of different fabrics that are
the same kind. See?'
She fanned out the colour swatches for the children's
approval.
'I want story. That's not story, that's sewing. I want
story,' Harry whined.
In desperation, Sera turned to Maddy. Surely her stylish
daughter could be relied upon to make the right decision.
'Maddy? What do you think? Daisies, look.' Sera held out
the swatch to her little girl.
Maddy, more diplomatic than the average five-year-old,
said, 'I really like your material, Mummy, but I love Dora
more than anything in the whole world. More than even
fairy bread.'
Sera caved in. She couldn't take away their doonas, she
wasn't that bad a mother. Sure, she forbade them from
playing outside before guests were due so they didn't wreck
their designer outfits, and yes, she had been known to pop
the odd fair streak in her little girl's hair – it was just so
dark – and okay, she'd considered cosmetic surgery for her
little boy's sticky-outy ears, but she wasn't about to destroy
their happiness over interior design. Yet.
'Sorry about raining on your linen parade,' Joan
apologised as Sera slumped in defeat. 'A case of miscommunication.
I guess.'
'Never mind,' said Sera, heading for the kitchen to toss
the swatches into the bin. She fished around the bottom of
the crystal bowl, took the letter from Sleepy Hollow and
rested it on top of the pile.
~ 8 ~
The lift doors parted like theatre curtains on opening night.
Bella was the principal actor on centre stage and the LA
sunshine streaming through the floor-to-ceiling French
windows was her spotlight. She was on. She pasted a smile
onto her immaculately made-up face and began the day's
performance. As she passed the ornate gilt mirror she snuck
a quick peek at herself. Perfect. Her coral shirt was tucked
neatly into her taupe pants. Her ponytail
contents spilled onto the carpet.
'SPIDERMAN! Spiderman, Spiderman, Spiderman!' he
chanted his hero's name in delight. Just when Sera thought
it couldn't get any worse, Joan brought out more parcels.
'Now, I know how much your Mum likes everything
to match . . .' Was that a sarcastic twinkle Sera could see in
the old bat's eye? '. . . so here's the rest of the linen.'
The kids cheered at their sudden boon. Sera felt lightheaded.
Matching Dora and Spidey fitted and flat sheets
and – dear God, no, please don't let it be possible – yes, the
icing on the cake: matching valances.
In all her days of being excruciatingly aware of aesthetics,
avoiding colour clashes, subtly rearranging cushions in
friends' houses and choosing to sit on waiting-room chairs
with fabric that complemented her day's outfit, Sera had
never seen anything in worse taste. And she was stuck.
This stuff was going into her house, into her own children's
bedrooms. Her precious children would surely be influenced
by this crime against interior design. She tuned back
in to the conversation. 'Remember that win at Bingo last
week?' Joan was telling her grandchildren. 'Well, I thought
who else would I rather spend my winnings on? You can't
take it with you, you know.'
That was it. Sera had to intervene. 'Kids, Joan,' she said
sweetly. 'I am so sorry but I've already paid a deposit on a
gorgeous bedroom suite ensemble in one hundred per cent
cotton.'
The children and Joan all looked up at her as if she were
speaking a foreign language.
'It's a beautiful colourway, in hues of pumpkin, tangerine
and lime.'
'Good lord, sounds like a salad,' Joan said unhelpfully.
'I no like pumpkin,' said Harry, his bottom lip firmly
stuck out and the Spiderman doona clasped firmly to his
little chest.
Sera wasn't giving up. 'I have the swatches here to show
you. It's a very pretty story, to suit both boys and girls.'
'Story? I like a story.' Harry's ears pricked up.
Sera ran into the kitchen to get the colour swatches,
then dashed back to explain to her little boy. 'No, darling,
not that kind of story. Silly mummy! A "story" is what the
interior designer calls the range of different fabrics that are
the same kind. See?'
She fanned out the colour swatches for the children's
approval.
'I want story. That's not story, that's sewing. I want
story,' Harry whined.
In desperation, Sera turned to Maddy. Surely her stylish
daughter could be relied upon to make the right decision.
'Maddy? What do you think? Daisies, look.' Sera held out
the swatch to her little girl.
Maddy, more diplomatic than the average five-year-old,
said, 'I really like your material, Mummy, but I love Dora
more than anything in the whole world. More than even
fairy bread.'
Sera caved in. She couldn't take away their doonas, she
wasn't that bad a mother. Sure, she forbade them from
playing outside before guests were due so they didn't wreck
their designer outfits, and yes, she had been known to pop
the odd fair streak in her little girl's hair – it was just so
dark – and okay, she'd considered cosmetic surgery for her
little boy's sticky-outy ears, but she wasn't about to destroy
their happiness over interior design. Yet.
'Sorry about raining on your linen parade,' Joan
apologised as Sera slumped in defeat. 'A case of miscommunication.
I guess.'
'Never mind,' said Sera, heading for the kitchen to toss
the swatches into the bin. She fished around the bottom of
the crystal bowl, took the letter from Sleepy Hollow and
rested it on top of the pile.
~ 8 ~
The lift doors parted like theatre curtains on opening night.
Bella was the principal actor on centre stage and the LA
sunshine streaming through the floor-to-ceiling French
windows was her spotlight. She was on. She pasted a smile
onto her immaculately made-up face and began the day's
performance. As she passed the ornate gilt mirror she snuck
a quick peek at herself. Perfect. Her coral shirt was tucked
neatly into her taupe pants. Her ponytail
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