Gift of the Gab Read Online Free PDF

to her. The writing wasn’t great because I’d done it while I was running into town, but she could still read it.
    â€˜It’s not fair,’ it said. ‘Dad had an unhappy childhood. Now he’s a top dad. Don’t make fun of him.’
    Paige Parker gave a big sigh.
    On the TV next to her a video was playing. On the screen white mice were running around in cages. They were pretty weird mice. Some had no tails. Others didn’t have enough legs. She was probably planning to make fun of them next.
    â€˜Rowena,’ said Paige Parker, ‘there’s something I have to tell you.’
    She sat on the settee and patted the cushion next to her.
    I stayed standing.
    â€˜This isn’t going to be easy for you to hear,’ said Paige Parker softly, ‘but I sense you’re a person who would rather know the truth.’
    Suddenly the sound of her fake-friendly voice and the smell of her perfume was making me feel a bit queasy.
    What was she going to tell me?
    That Dad once got into a fight with Mr Cosgrove at a community service night and pushed his face into a bowl of avocado dip?
    That Dad once jumped up on stage at a Carla Tamworth concert and sang a song to me even though the whole crowd was chucking stuff at him?
    I knew that.
    I knew everything she could tell me about Dad.
    That’s what I thought.
    Boy, was I wrong.
    â€˜Rowena,’ said Paige Parker in a soft voice, the sort of voice people use to speak to very little kids. ‘I’m not doing a story about eccentric dads. I’m doing a story about the chemical sprays that farmers use on their crops.’
    Suddenly I felt better. Dad’s an expert on sprays. He uses heaps. He’s always giving other farmers advice about them. He’d be perfect for a segment on sprays as long as he didn’t try and talk with his scarf over his mouth.
    That’s what I thought.
    â€˜To be more exact,’ continued Paige Parker, ‘I’m doing a story on farmers who use sprays in a harmful way.’
    She pointed to the TV screen. The poor mice with bits missing were still scampering around.
    â€˜These mice,’ said Paige Parker, ‘were all born with physical problems. All for the same reason. Before they were born their mothers were exposed to large amounts of chemical farm spray.’
    I stared at the TV, my head spinning. It was the most outrageous accusation I’d ever heard.
    â€˜My dad’s never hurt mice,’ I said angrily. ‘We haven’t even got mice on our farm.’
    I could tell she didn’t understand me, but that didn’t stop her. She picked up a fat wad of photocopied pages and looked straight at me.
    â€˜University tests,’ she said, ‘have shown that sprays can hurt people as well. If their mothers were exposed to lots of spraying, people can be born with physical problems too.’
    Suddenly I was feeling very queasy.
    â€˜Your dad,’ she said, ‘does a lot of spraying.’
    Suddenly I couldn’t breathe.
    Then I realised what’s happened.
    This is Mrs Figgis’s revenge for what I did to Dermot’s car. She’s told the TV people a whole lot of made-up lies about Dad and sprays. She’s forged university documents. She’s found a video of mice who’ve been in car accidents. She’s made it look like it was Dad’s fault I was born with bits missing from my throat.
    I tried to explain all this to Paige Parker. I tried to explain that the doctors have always said that my throat was probably a genetic problem I got from Mum or Dad. I tried to explain that me and Dad had our yearly medical check-up only two months ago and the doctors said we were as fit as fleas.
    My hands were shaking so much with rage and indignation I could hardly write.
    Paige Parker made me sit down.
    She told me she’s got some other evidence. ‘Gold-plated’ was how she described it.
    I’m letting her show it to