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returned to Warriewood. I didn’t trust anyone with that information.

CHAPTER FIVE
    A week passed. I settled into a kind of routine. I had enough furniture in the homestead to be comfortable. Ralph dragged out odd pieces from sheds and storerooms around the place. It was junk; I doubted if any of it was from the original stuff, but it would do for the time being. I hadn’t asked again about my parents’ furniture. I was waiting to see if anyone would offer an explanation. It looked like being a long wait.
    I spent a lot of money, and just sent the bills to Mr Carruthers. I got a TV and a video, and organised with Austar to install a satellite dish. I had the telephone reconnected, and rang my friends back in Canberra, spending hours updating them on my new life, catching up on theirs.
    Mr McGill, the architect, arrived on Thursday afternoon. He was nice. We walked around the building, inside and out, then he disappeared underneath it for half an hour. He reappeared all muddy and hot, and covered in spiders’ webs. Then he got a ladder and went up into the ceiling for another fifteen minutes, coming down all dusty and hot, and with a fresh coat of spiders’ webs.
    â€˜It’s not too bad,’ he said. ‘But it hasn’t been looked after the way it deserves. It’s a fine old home, Indian-bungalow style, best example in the district. I don’t know why it’s been let go like this.’
    He went through his notes with me, then gave me a list. ‘Roof, mostly sound, but some new sheeting needed. New guttering and downpipes all round. Heating, probably gas-ducted’d be best, but we’ll get quotes. I imagine you’ll want a security system too. I recommend that you get one anyway. Painting of course, inside and out. That’ll be twenty thousand dollars right there, minimum. Now the floor, I suggest you take up all this old carpet and chuck it. Have a look over here.’
    He led me to a corner of the dining room where the carpet had lifted, and peeled it back. ‘Look what’s under this. Very nice Baltic pine. What I’m thinking is, if we get this polished, and you invest in some rugs, it’ll give the place a wonderful atmosphere. What do you think?’
    â€˜OK, I guess.’
    â€˜What exactly are your plans? I mean, you can hardly live here on your own. Not at your age.’
    I needed to talk to someone, and I liked him. So I admitted, ‘I don’t really know yet. I just wanted to come back. Homesickness maybe. There’s only one definite thing I want to do. As for the rest, I’m making it up as I go along. Like, when I got here and saw the state of the homestead, I just thought I should fix it up.’
    â€˜It was a wonderful home when your parents were here. Your mother had a great eye. She was famous for her sense of design. I don’t know who painted the place white. Phyllis would have had a fit. She understood colours like no-one I’ve ever met.’
    â€˜That’s weird,’ I said. ‘That’s pretty much what my art teacher said about me last term.’
    â€˜So are you going back to school?’
    â€˜I suppose. Sometime. Lately I feel like I’ve outgrown school.’
    â€˜There’s a good high school at Exley.’
    â€˜I’d like to go to a government school. I’ve been at private schools since grade one. I got claustrophobic.’
    We were walking towards his car and I knew if I didn’t ask him now he’d be gone before I got another chance. So keeping my voice nice and steady I said: ‘What were my parents like?’
    â€˜Do you remember much about them?’
    â€˜Nuh.’
    â€˜Hmm. Difficult to know where to start. Look, why don’t you come over for dinner Saturday night? We can talk then. My daughter’ll be there too. She’ll be a bit of company for you. Jess is eighteen. If you want, I can pick you up about six