Kids out driving Saturday afternoon just pass me by
And I’m just savouring familiar sights
We share some history, this town and I
And I can’t stop that long forgotten feeling of her
Try to book a room and stay tonight
Number one is to find some friends to say ‘you’re doing well’
After all this time, you boys look just the same
Number two is the happy hour at one of two hotels
Settle in to play ‘do you remember so and so?’
Number three is never say her name
Oh the flame trees will blind the weary driver
And there’s nothing else could set fire to this town
There’s no change, there’s no pace
Everything within its place
Just makes it harder to believe that she won’t be around
Once the song finished, I did mutter under my breath, “Well, some of those lyrics take on a whole new bloody meaning.”
Amy took my hand, giving it a squeeze. “You’ll be fine, Mark. Once we settle down here with Mum, it’ll be better.”
Mum had bought the old Australian traditional house on a quarter acre block not far from the centre of town. Pulling into the driveway led to her opening the door and striding towards us, hugging her daughter tightly first before she met my eyes. I managed a crooked smile as I hugged her tightly.
“I’m sorry, Mark,” she whispered.
I could only sigh. “Well, now I know what it’s like to go through a divorce, at least.”
“True, but your father and I… well, I think we split on good terms. And I’m happy he’s found someone else.”
Hearing that from my mother wasn’t a surprise. I wasn’t surprised that the pair still communicated from time to time. His fiancée knew and understood, even if she might have found it a little weird, but the distance allowed at least some form of friendship to remain, and there was always the two of us kids too.
Mum’s name was Cassandra, though she preferred Sandra. She was 46 years old, as she’d started our family while young, not wanting to wait too late to start having children. Once my sister and I were at school, she started on her chosen career. Writing and illustrating children’s books. She was semi-successful, making more than enough to buy the house outright, and she was still publishing a new book at least once a year.
She was a mature version of my sister. Her hair was still a dark brunette, though she had long ago admitted to a little colouring to keep away the grey. Blue eyes that my father often said reminded him on the sky. She had dimples whenever she smiled. She kept herself fit and was probably slimmer than my sister. I knew she was single, admitting she kept herself occupied with work and reuniting with plenty of old friends who had remained in the city. Whether she had any male interest, she didn’t say and I don’t think either of us asked. It was private and we left it at that.
I carried all our stuff into the house as Mum brewed us some coffee. It was obvious she’d readied the house for our arrival as both spare rooms already had beds made, and it was easy to figure out who would be sleeping where. My sister’s room had a desk, which made sense, as she might work in there, or might choose to work elsewhere. After I dumped our things, I grabbed a coffee and joined the others out on the back veranda.
wpDiscuz