The Serpent's Skin by Erina Reddan (top 5 books to read .txt) 📕

me to finish. Then he took a long sip of the forty-year-old whisky he was so proud of, swirled the rest of the amber liquid in the glass, the ice clinking into the silence. Finally, his face broke wide in that open-hearted smile few saw. ‘You don’t get it yet,’ he said. ‘Good lawyers have good brains, are forensic. They hunt down the facts mercilessly. We have a lot of good lawyers here. Very good lawyers use their gut instinct to make those facts sing; we have a few of those.’ He sat forwards. ‘But great lawyers have fire.’ He pointed his glass at me. ‘You’ve got a lot to learn, JJ, but you could be a great lawyer, and that’s why you’re Smith and Blake’s nomination for this award.’

I shrugged because nobody argued with Maurice unless they really had to and the nomination would come to nothing anyway. Only I’d picked up the gong. The first time Smith and Blake had won the prize in ten years so Maurice was inviting selected clients to a fancy restaurant, turning it into something. I winced. He was stoked. I got it. But still there was a line and ringing my dad without telling me was not just over the line but in another country.

Back at the boarding house, I made it past Rat-Tail’s room without him coming out to investigate what I was up to and got to Marge’s door. I rapped a quick knock and poked my head in, waving a paper bag in the air like a password. She grinned as she lowered the volume on the telly and made an effort to get out of her armchair, but I waved her back and tossed the files on her bed. I flicked the switch of her kettle as she wound up her knitting, skewering it into the bag on the floor by her side. The purple hibiscus on the knitting bag was a lift of colour beside threadbare carpet and rickety pinewood furniture. I wasn’t normally a hibiscus fan, it was too postcard and shower cap for me, but in this case it was doing a good job. Besides, a little peace never went astray. I poured her tea into the rosebud cup I’d found in the op shop the week before, liberated the vanilla slice from the bag and put them all on her dinner tray.

‘You?’ she asked.

‘I ate already.’ I placed the tray over her lap.

‘Not from the look of you.’

‘I eat plenty.’

The springs of the bed squeaked as I sat, crossing my legs and leaning forwards to counteract the dip in the mattress.

She clawed at her slice to pull it in half. I knew enough not to try to help her.

‘Arthritis bad?’

She shrugged. ‘Turn that fan down, will you, love? It’ll blow the cake right out of my mouth.’

I squeaked off the bed and notched the fan down and angled it away from her face. Her white hair settled back into its usual helmet as she got down to business. I gave her a turn around Peg’s funeral, using a lot more shorthand than I had with Tye because it was a world she understood having been a known offender of the Country Women’s Association variety herself back in the day.

‘Least you got there,’ she concluded.

I got up to switch the kettle back on, smiled. I had to admit, now that it was over, she’d been right all along. I was glad I’d been there for Peg. For Mum. I patted myself down. I was still in one piece.

‘Some things have to be gone through in life, and death is one of them. Can’t avoid it. It comes running at you anyway. And if you’re not careful it will have a knife in its hands.’ She dabbed at a crumb with the pad of her thumb. ‘Not that I need to tell you that,’ she said, licking her thumb.

I scanned the ceiling, running my eyes over the cracks. I didn’t know whether she was thinking about my dead mother or her murdered children.

‘Peg would have liked that you made the effort.’

‘You didn’t even know her.’

‘I know her. All us old women know each other. All the lines and wrinkles—they tell the same story. Life has carved itself right into us.’

‘Cheery.’ I laughed. ‘And she was a good sight younger than you.’

‘Matter of perspective.’ Marge laughed, taking a bite and speaking anyway. ‘Suppose someone will have to spend hours convincing you to put in an appearance at my funeral, too.’

‘Depends on the quality of the booze at the wake.’

The kettle set up a whistle again. I scooted from the bed before it could get to shrieking.

‘What about you?’ I asked. ‘News?’

Her mouth twisted to the side. ‘Any day now.’

I grunted back. We were all skitty with waiting for the community centre to send her an appointment time to discuss the shit-hole she lived in, we all lived in, only she actually wanted to live here because the alternative was some old folks’ home out in Woop Woop. And she definitely did not want to live there.

A door slammed at the other end of the corridor and a few seconds later Rocco’s head with his wild mess of curls appeared around Marge’s door. ‘I’m out for a couple of hours.’ His white teeth gleamed. He winked at us. ‘Stay away from my Scotch, Marge.’

‘Leave your door unlocked at least and give me a fighting chance,’ she said. We heard his laugh all the way to the front door. The rest of us couldn’t work out why he was even in the boarding house, although he made an effort to fit in by only buying his clothes from Vinnies, but he had too much of the whiff of possibilities about him, all smooth tanned skin and effortless cheer. Even though I had the fancy job, there was never any confusion over me fitting in. I screwed up my face. ‘Scotch—is that what he’s calling that nasty stuff