House of Sticks Read Online Free PDF Page B

stretch marks, with the trench-like hollow that showed if she went to sit up, where the muscles hadn’t fully joined together again. She put her head back and stared up at the ceiling.
    Doug was Pete’s friend. An old friend. What did she want to be: one of those women who gradually took over, made their partner cut ties with everyone from the life they had prior to the relationship? A ball-breaker? Or was she a brat? A princess, who couldn’t stand having her territory invaded, who wanted everything her way?
    She sat up and pulled out the plug. Got out and dried herself, put on her pyjamas and went into the kitchen. Took down the bottle of gin from the top of the fridge and poured a slug into one of the kids’ plastic cups that was sitting in the draining rack. Knocked it back in two gulps, like medicine. Rinsed the cup and returned it to the rack. Switched off the light.
    By the time she’d checked on the kids and made her way down the hall to the bedroom the alcohol had started to warm her, bring her partway unclenched. She fell into bed without even putting on the light. She almost wished she’d said goodnight to Pete, apologised. She thought about getting up again, going out to him. Thought about him coming back into bed with her, them both saying sorry, their bodies pulling close in the darkness. She fell asleep thinking about it.
    Next morning she was up early again. She did try to return to bed after feeding Jess, but it was no good. She lay alongside Pete, eyes scratchy, that faint pain in her throat that always came with tiredness, but every time she dipped towards actual sleep she’d start awake again, checking the clock. Five-thirty. Five forty-five. Six a.m. At six-fifteen she got up. Crept down to the bathroom. Shut the door carefully. Ran the shower. At least she’d be up and dressed when Doug arrived, and not caught in her pyjamas again.
    He came at seven-thirty. Everyone was in the kitchen. Edie and Louie eating porridge at the table, Jess kicking in her baby chair, Pete filling the coffee maker at the bench. Doug’s face appeared in the glass pane of the back door, and Bonnie was the only one to see at first. He fixed her with that grin of his; down his head went, and up, like a cockatoo’s.
    â€˜There’s Doug,’ she said, and hated herself for the sinking in her stomach, the forced awful smile that seemed to be all she could give him. Just be nice . It’s not that hard. He doesn’t mean any harm.
    â€˜G’day Douggie,’ said Pete, opening the door.
    â€˜Mornin’, Boss.’ Doug strode in. ‘Mornin’, Missus Bonnie. Mornin’, kids.’ He settled himself in a chair and stuck his face out towards the children. ‘Porridge!’ he said. ‘What a treat! You kids don’t know how lucky you are.’
    Louie and Edie giggled into their bowls.
    â€˜There’s some left,’ said Pete. ‘Do you want it, Douggie?’
    â€˜Oh-ho-ho,’ went Doug, flapping his elbows. ‘I feel like all me Christmases have come at once. I haven’t had porridge for years.’ He stretched his features in a look of delirious joy and leaned back in his chair.
    Pete took a bowl over to him. ‘Sugar?’
    â€˜Yes, please, Boss.’
    She stood by the sink and watched as Pete got the jar of brown sugar down from the high cupboard and took it over to the table. She saw the craning of the twins’ necks. She steeled herself for what was coming.
    â€˜Can I have sugar on my porridge?’
    â€˜Can I have sugar on my porridge too?’
    â€˜Please?’
    â€˜Please?’
    â€˜What?’ said Doug, heaping spoonfuls from the jar. ‘Haven’t you got some already?’
    She opened her mouth, moved forward, but Pete was there.
    â€˜Just a tiny bit,’ he said. ‘Special treat.’ And he took Louie’s spoon and dug out some sugar with it.
    â€˜Pete.’ Bonnie’s