Monkey Business Read Online Free PDF Page B

times – I have a brother).
    I got out of the car.
    â€˜Hi, Dad,’ I said as I walked in.
    He peered at me over the top of his glasses. Grunted. Turned back to the telly.
    I found Mum in the kitchen, got a glass of cordial from the fridge and asked if I could help. She shooed me away because, according to her, I’m useless in every kind of domestic activity. She’s probably right. I sat at the breakfast bar on an orange vinyl stool that swivelled of its own accord, and watched Mum doing what
all
women should be able to do and do well: cook for a man.
    â€˜Has my order come in yet?’ she asked.
    â€˜What order?’
    â€˜Didn’t you go to a Tupperware party?’
    â€˜Lucy’s? That’s next week.’
    â€˜It won’t be the same as the good old Tupperware, you know, but I do need some things,’ she said. ‘Don’t forget to tell them I need a new lid for my flour container. It’s got a crack!’ She pulled it from the cupboard and showed me again. ‘Make sure they know it’s the self-raising one.’
    â€˜It’s pretty old, Mum.’
    â€˜But they have a lifetime warranty. If it’s the same girl who sold it to me, she might remember.’
    â€˜I’ve got your order. I’ll make sure they replace it.’ The
girl
who sold it to her was probably in a nursing home by now or six feet under.
    â€˜How was work?’ Mum asked, bustling about. ‘Did you type any letters today?’
    I sighed and swivelled to the right, hanging on to the laminated bench. ‘I’m media relations, Mum, not a secretary. Besides, everyone does their own typing these days.’ (Except Rosalind.)
    Mum was a secretary before she had her annoying, disappointing babies. She can’t imagine a woman doing anything in an office other than typing on a clackety old typewriter or making coffee for a man.
    â€˜Surely not men.’
    â€˜Yes, even men.’
    Mum was bending low, rifling around in her Tupperware cupboard and things were tumbling out, all over the floor.
    â€˜What are you looking for?’ I said.
    â€˜The beetroot one. Your father opened a new can and just left it there in the fridge with no lid, for all the world to see.’ She was pulling out the containers that she never uses to reach the useful ones at the back.
    I said, ‘Why don’t you keep those ones at the front?’
    â€˜They fit better this way.’
    â€˜You really need a new kitchen with more storage space, Mum. Or you need to declutter. I’ll help if you want.’ And I could get her Tupperware hand-me-downs.
    â€˜No, dear. I like it as it is.’ She put a box on the bench and I pulled it close, opening the lid. Inside was a lettuce crisper.
    â€˜Have you got two of these?’ I said, lifting it out. I was sure I’d seen one in the fridge.
    â€˜Yes,’ she said, taking the crisper, returning it to its box. ‘I keep a spare, just in case. And it seems I might need it, too, if things keep going the way they are.’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜Haven’t you heard?’
    â€˜Heard what?’
    She banged the beetroot container down on the bench and glared at the back door. ‘There’s a thief in the neighbourhood stealing Tupperware!’
    This was rich, even for my mother. But still I didn’t laugh because she looked so serious.
    â€˜Why would someone steal Tupperware?’
    â€˜Because they just don’t make it like they used to! You can’t get these things any more.’ She waved her hand at the ancient collection, scattered across the floor and benchtops. She narrowed her eyes at me. ‘Someone’s stolen the spike out of my regular lettuce crisper.’
    â€˜It wasn’t me!’
    â€˜Well.’ She returned to her bustling, pretending to believe I hadn’t stolen the spike. ‘Mary and Janice have both had some things stolen. And