In Sheets Of Rain - Nicola Claire Page 0,10

did that. Why he didn’t pay more attention to what Mum was doing.

I said nothing about it, though, when I greeted him at the front door.

“She’s out back,” he said.

“I can see that,” I offered.

“Best you go to her before she realises you’re here and no one’s told her.”

I nodded, patted Dad on the arm, and walked out onto the back deck.

Mum was muttering to herself, hands flying, trowel flinging dirt all over the dahlias.

“Hey, Mum,” I called out.

She bounded to her feet and came rushing over. A gazelle springing through the long grass. Wrapping me up in a tight hug, she pulled back and stared me in the eyes.

“You need feeding up,” she declared. “I’ll cook a roast. Chicken or Pork?”

“You don’t have to do that,” I said.

“Nonsense. It’s done.”

She swept past me over the deck and through the French doors. I looked at her abandoned trowel and the half-turned over garden bed and then followed her into the house.

Cups of half-drunk, now cold tea were dotted around the lounge and I slowly went around finding their hiding spots and bringing them to the kitchen. Pots and pans banged as Mum yelled out superfluous orders to Dad, the smell of something already cooking reaching my nose.

I walked into the kitchen and watched as my mother poured a perfectly good pot of soup down the waste disposal.

“Did it burn?” I asked while Dad frantically shook his head at me to say nothing.

“No. Just need the space for the roast,” my mother told me and started throwing pans on the stove and a chicken into a roasting dish, and vegetables onto the bench top in no apparent order.

“Can I help?” I asked and Dad nodded and backed out of the kitchen on silent feet.

“Oh,” my mother said. “It’s so good to have you home.”

Dinner was a lively affair, but that was because my mother couldn’t stop talking. Dad said nothing much, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. And Sharon’s husband just murmured the odd word or two, while Sharon and I tried to settle Mum. The kids, thankfully, were oblivious to everything but Spongebob on the TV in the family room.

“So, tell us about work,” Mum said in a rare moment of broken conversation.

“Um,” I said.

“I told everyone at church that you’re working in the busiest ambulance station in New Zealand. That’s right, isn’t it? It’s the busiest station in all of New Zealand?”

“Yes,” I said and snapped my mouth shut when she kept talking.

“No one knows how you can do it, Kylee. Such a responsibility. Such horrific things you must see.”

“It’s not all bad,” I told her.

“Tell us about it,” she insisted.

“Well,” I said, racking my brain for something innocuous. “There was this one guy who got high sniffing blue paint and the cops were holding him at Central Police. I had to go in and pick him up from the cells and take him to Auckland Hospital for assessment, all the while this blue snot poured down the guy’s t-shirt like rain water through a down pipe and covered him and the poor cop who was restraining him completely. They both looked like miserable Smurfs by the time we got to the ambulance.”

Everyone blinked stunned eyes at me while I laughed awkwardly.

“I guess you had to be there,” I said softly.

“Well,” Mum said. “We all know how much you dislike snot.”

The room filled with genuine laughter then and I could suddenly breathe easier.

“Still,” my mother said, heaping more roasted potatoes onto Sharon’s husband’s plate without being asked. “I might not share that one at church on Sunday.”

I smiled, but shook my head.

“I’m not sure I’ve got any other stories you could share at church, either,” I admitted, waving off the second helping of spuds.

“I’ll just tell them that you save lives,” she declared.

I said nothing. It was easier than explaining the truth. Lifeline alarms when someone was feeling lonely and cheese sandwiches made for recovering diabetics was hardly good fodder for the gossips.

“We’re so proud of you, sweetheart,” Mum said.

My smile dimmed, but no one noticed. Mum had started talking again about Sharon and the kids. She had a lot to say about Sharon and the kids. I let the words roll over me as I tried to decide why I felt pressured.

Why my mother’s sense of pride in what I did felt stifling all of a sudden.

“You’re taking your meds, aren’t you, Mum?” I whispered in her ear as she hugged me goodbye the next day.

“Of course, honey.