Little Bird Read Online Free PDF Page B

Colette. Colette had an air of mystery about her, and it wasn’t at all diminished by the daggy kitchen, with its orange lino and plasticky brown faux wood everywhere. The chrome sink shone clean, but there was a stale, greasy smell in the air, like old fried rice.
    â€˜Tea and coffee are in here. There’re Tim Tams in the cupboard, and Iced Vovos, rice crackers and wasabi peas.’ She grinned, sheepishly. ‘I wasn’t sure what you’d like.’
    Colette and Shandra had been friends all through high school, but I didn’t know her very well. Shandra always shooed me away (on pain of death) when Colette came to our place. Even so, I’d seen enough of Colette to assume her self-esteem was made out of concrete where mine was fine, crumbling sand. So this shy, eager-to-please Colette was new to me.
    â€˜There’s a list of numbers on the fridge. My mobile. The hospital. My mum’s home number and her mobile – only for extreme emergencies. But I’m sure everything will be fine.’ She gave me a reassuring smile. ‘I’ll show you how to make up a bottle for Maisy. She’ll probably wake up soon and want something to eat.’ Colette opened the freezer to reveal a neat assortment of ice trays, and each contained coloured frozen cubes. ‘There’s pumpkin, apple, carrot, pear and broccoli. She has about three cubes heated in the microwave and mixed with a little milk. She’s not fussy, so pick any of them, they all go together fine.’
    â€˜Carrot and pear?’
    â€˜Yeah, it’s nice, believe it or not. Have you eaten?’
    â€˜Oh, I um . . .’ Was Colette offering me baby food?
    â€˜There’s leftover spag bol in the fridge. Help yourself. Have anything you want.’
    â€˜Thanks.’
    Colette led me up a narrow hall. Again I was struck by how normal everything seemed, how clean and ordinary. I’d expected something glamorous like Colette, I suppose, like the big lofts people lived in on American sitcoms. Or something shabbier, more gritty and urban, less little-old-ladyish.
    â€˜Bathroom,’ Colette was saying, pointing at a peach tiled room with a comforting Pine-O-Cleen clean smell. ‘My bedroom. And this is Maisy’s room.’
    Colette pushed the door open. I hovered, worried about disturbing Maisy, but Colette stepped into the dim room.
    â€˜Change table. Nappies,’ said Colette, continuing the tour. A paper bird mobile hung from the ceiling, wings outspread. Colette blew a little puff of air at it and it bobbed and fluttered. She gestured at some neat plastic tubs lining the walls. ‘Clothes. Toys. Books. She likes stories. She likes everything really. If she cries take off all her clothes and her nappy and let her kick on a blanket on the floor. Or hold her and sing. She doesn’t cry much,’ Colette added hastily, like a salesperson trying to seal the deal.
    Maisy let out a loud moaning sigh and shifted in the cot. I tensed. What if she woke up? Would Colette leave if Maisy was awake and crying? But Maisy stayed asleep. I followed Colette back up the hall to the lounge room where Shandra was perched on one of the low seats, flicking through a Vogue magazine.
    â€˜Can we go?’ Shandra asked, putting the magazine aside.
    Colette bit her lip, lingering, as if she wasn’t ready to leave yet. ‘Oh! Let me show you the bottle.’
    Colette explained how to sterilise the bottle and mix the formula and test the temperature, and I tried to listen, despite a dizzying, panicked feeling. I was sure the instructions would leave my head the moment Colette closed the front door, that I’d end up burning Maisy’s poor baby mouth or that I’d give her some kind of bacterial infection and she’d wind up in hospital. Shandra huffed and puffed impatiently in the lounge room.
    Then there was a flurry of movement as Colette added some last-minute touches to her make-up, found