‘No, you’re not,’ Mum says sharply. And I guess that Dad saying he’s getting all our stuff back really means that he’s going to keep gambling and lose more of it.
‘You two should try marriage counselling,’ I say.
‘What?’ Mum snaps.
‘Marriage counselling. To help sort out all this weird communication.’ I twirl my empty plastic glass on the table, thinking of the book I’d read on salvaging marriages and reigniting the flame. I hadn’t quite finished it when Mum noticed, said it wasn’t appropriate for someone my age and confiscated it. It had mostly been pretty waffly and useless, but some of the stuff had made sense. ‘You could both do with communicating more openly with each other and using lots of “I” statements.’
‘I statements?’ echoes Taylor blankly.
‘Like, I feel angry when you look at my engagement ring.’
‘Who said anything about being angry?’ Mum asks, her voice rising. ‘Who said anything about my engagement ring?’
‘Don’t yell at me,’ I say. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong!’
‘I thought you said you’d taken that book on marriages off her,’ Dad says, turning off the frypan and sitting down with his plate of food.
‘She’d already read through most of it,’ Mum says.
‘It was very helpful,’ I say. ‘You two should have read it, but I bet you just tossed it out. Typical.’
Mum blinks at me, like she’s not sure whether to tell me off or not.
‘Do you just sell it?’ Taylor asks Dad.
We all look at her.
‘Our stuff that you take,’ she says. ‘Do you just sell it?’
Dad’s mouth hardens into a line and he takes his plate of sausages and sauce and bread and goes out of the annex, zipping it up carefully behind him, right to the bottom, so the mosquitoes can’t get in and bite us.
‘Don’t,’ Mum warns.
‘What?’ Taylor is aggressive.
‘I know you’re mad about all this, but just don’t.’
‘Taylor’s just trying to talk. We need to talk more, Mum.’
‘That goes for you, too, Stella. Both of you. Just don’t.’
I push my sausages away. Taylor refills my drink, which she never does, and then we all sit in silence.
***
After dinner, Taylor and I sit on the creaking camp chairs and Mum hands us each a corkscrew. Taylor stares down at hers, running her finger along the tip.
‘What the hell, Mum?’
‘Just carry them around with you.’
‘Why?’ I ask.
‘For protection.’
‘What? We’re going to corkscrew all the bad, scary Fairyland people?’ Taylor snorts. ‘I don’t know why everyone panics about the people who live here. I mean, it’s a dump and I’d rather die than tell anyone we’ve moved here, but the people are fine.’
‘They’re not fine,’ I say. ‘They’re from Fairyland!’
‘Well, we’re from Fairyland now, too,’ snaps Taylor. ‘Stuff happens. I’m not carrying a bloody corkscrew around.’
‘Just keep it in your pocket,’ Mum says.
‘I’m not going around with a corkscrew in my pocket!’
‘Mum? What are we supposed to do with the corkscrews?’ Mum frowns. ‘What?’
‘What are they for, exactly?’
‘Self-defence, Stella.’
‘But, like, how?’
‘Go outside with your dad.’
‘No,’ says Taylor.
‘Taylor.’
‘No!’
I put the corkscrew in my pocket and cross my arms. ‘There’re mozzies out there.’
‘He’s feeling awful,’ Mum says.
‘So what?’ Taylor stays sitting in her camp chair.
‘Stell?’
Our eyes meet and Mum’s are watery and bloodshot.
I sigh. ‘Alright.’
Taylor groans and follows me. We slip on our shoes at the entrance of the annex and head into the sticky night. Dad’s sitting under the empty clothesline and smiles a little when he sees us.
‘Be a good place for a hammock. I think I’ve got one in the shed . . .’ he trails off. A cicada starts chirping in the long grass by the road.
‘It’s a stupid place for a hammock,’ Taylor says.
‘Oh,’ says Dad and frowns, rubbing between his eyebrows like he always does when he’s thinking.
‘We’re going for a walk,’ Taylor announces.
Dad stands up and we walk slowly out onto the cracked, gravel road. ‘The fairies are a nice touch,’ he says. ‘Did you two see the fairies painted everywhere?’
Taylor gives him a look and starts walking behind us.
‘Stell?’ he says, his voice almost pleading. ‘Did you see the fairies?’
‘Just the one at the gate,’ I say and wince as Taylor kicks the back of my leg.
‘The giant chipped one? It’s tacky as hell,’ Taylor mutters.
‘They’re everywhere,’ Dad says. ‘It’s kind of nice, don’t you reckon?’
‘What do you mean, everywhere?’
‘Well, look!’ He stops and points into someone’s narrow garden. There are angel statues propped in amongst the pot plants, and fairies cut from soft-drink cans hanging from their tiny porch.
Taylor sniffs. ‘Tacky.’
‘And there’s a big fairy statue by the tennis court, and fairy stickers on some of the houses.’
‘Caravans,’ Taylor snaps.
‘What?’
‘They’re caravans.’
Taylor stomps ahead and Dad and I walk more slowly. The stars are starting to come out.
‘Someone’s smoking a lot of cigarettes,’ I say as we walk past a place with music throbbing through the broken flywire.
‘That’s not cigarette smoke,’ Dad says.
‘Oh.’ I walk a bit closer to him.
‘You both used to love fairies and stuff,’ Dad says very softly.
‘That was just me. Taylor, not so much.’
‘It was both of you!’
‘No. It wasn’t.’ My voice comes out harder than I mean it to.
Dad clears his throat and points at something that I don’t bother looking up at. ‘The fairies. They’re everywhere.’
***
When we looked around our new home, there was a little bedroom with a double bed and a little bedroom with a bunk bed. It had seemed pretty obvious that Mum and Dad would take the double and Taylor and I would be in the bunks. But we hadn’t properly considered the fact that they hadn’t shared a room in weeks and that the little cane two-seater in the living room was never going to be big enough for Dad to sleep on.
‘I am never forgiving them for this,’ Taylor informs me for the five-hundredth time.
‘You’ll have to eventually. It takes too much energy to hold a grudge forever. Anyway, they’re your parents.’
‘Our parents.’
‘Yeah,’ I say, getting into one side of the double bed. ‘That’s what I said.’
Taylor puts her earphones in and closes her eyes. She sleeps with her Discman under her pillow. It’s been rescued from Dad’s black bag four times. I wonder if he realises how much Taylor would flip out if he successfully pawned it or sold it or whatever. That Discman is the first thing she’d rescue if the house was on fire. Including us.