The story so far: a small neo-evangelical town prepares for the annual ‘lambing season’ – where of-age boys have command over their female peers for the night. However, one girl doesn’t fit the programme. Now, as the neighbours flee, the twins receive parental advice and Alex decides to run…
TWO: PARENTAL GUIDANCES
Pop was standing on their lawn, arms crossed, when Alex finally escaped the school lecturing and got home. She straightened herself as she approached and put on the smile.
“Yo Daddy-O,” she beamed, then realised his attention wasn’t on her. He was fixed, stern-mouthed, on the neighbour’s drive.
He turned, face a black mask, then put on his own front with a strained cheer. “What’s up Tiger Lily? Last day the best day, right?” The smile went as fast as it came as motioned his head to the left. “Looks like we have some escapees.”
She followed his point. Their neighbour, Jack Peters, was packing the family station wagon for a road trip. Suitcases for everyone. He was sweating, a film covered his arms and there were patches over his polo shirt. He didn’t look over at Pa, making a point of turning the other way.
Pop raised his voice. “Going somewhere Jack?” Accusation as question. Mr Peters sighed with his shoulders and faced his neighbour. “Like I said before Jack, Dorothy’s Ma is real sick and she needs us there right now.” There was an exasperated folksiness to his tone, patting a dog on the head to be polite.
“You really think you can be that much help for her?” said Pop. “You’re no doctor after all. And the kids probably don’t need to see a sick lady on a special time like now…” Alex grimaced. It was a cruel thing to say and she wasn’t used to her father being cruel.
Jack Peters stood straight and stared back at Pa. He paused before answering, bit tongue and clenched jaw. “No time is a good time Jack. And…”
He was interrupted by Mrs Peters marching out of the house. Her outstretched hands pulled both of her children with her. Maisie was only nine and was had her koala doll under the crook of her arm, while she sucked her thumb. But Bobby was sweet sixteen (same year as Alex) and was straining to pull away from his mother. “It’s not fair,” he yelled. “I’m going to miss everything, this was meant to be my night…”
Pop nodded at Bobby. “Y’know, your son’s got a point there Jack. He’s more than welcome to stay with us for a few days, until you’re back y’know. We can always help like good neighbours and take the pressure off. These ‘family problems’ don’t have to spoil everything…”
Bobby brightened up as he wriggled free from his mother’s grip. “Yeah Pa, I could stay with Mr and Mrs…” His words were broken by a whack round the head from Mrs Peters. Not just any whack, but a full-on, open-palmed, shoulder-weight, roundhouse bitch slap. It landed on his cheek, loud enough to echo up and down the street. “No-one’s staying anywhere,” she said, grit in buckets. “We’re your family.”
Bobby flushed and tears welled in his eyes as he got in the wagon, sheepish and broken. Alex could see the humiliation would last longer than the bruise. Guess he really wasn’t going to be a man just yet. Mrs Peters just glared at Pop and her husband nodded grimly. They drove off without another word and Pop kept his eyes on them all the way down the road before eventually heading indoors.
“Well good riddance, they were never really one of us,” he said and spat on the roses by the porch. Alex was shocked – she had never seen her father spit before and didn’t think she’d seen him so angry.
He muttered under his breath as he marched inside, fists clenched. “They won’t get far anyway.” Least it sounded like that, but Alex couldn’t tell if she misheard.
They did say lambing messed with the hormones.
Hove Press 