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

‘Mind your own business.’

‘That bird from the community health centre—’

‘Shit.’ I locked my bike at the side and ran up the steps with him.

Rat-Tail was in with Marge, over at the bookshelf, with a red feather duster. Marge shrugged when I grimaced my sorry.

‘Hey JJ,’ Rat-Tail said. ‘Got this for Marge.’ He swung the feather duster.

‘It’ll make the difference, Rat-Tail.’

‘You’ve got real nice hair, today.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Done something to it? Looked all greasy yesterday.’

‘Just washed it, Rat-Tail. Works really well.’

‘Yeah. I’ll give that a go.’

I bent to kiss Marge in her armchair. Nodded. She nodded back. All tight and closed except for her eyes—big and shiny.

Philly’s floral pink bedspread, matching pillowcase and throw pillows were doing their job. Rocco pulled the grapes from the bag, looked around. ‘Shit,’ he said. I dashed out the door to my place. Grabbed one of Mum’s platters. Stopped, looked around the room, ran to the drawer, plucked out a scarf. Ran back.

Rocco pulled out apricots and plums from the other plastic bag and grouped them artfully together on Mum’s platter. I laid the scarf over Marge’s lamp. Switched it on.

‘Get that blasted thing off,’ Marge said.

I swivelled at the sharpness.

‘Fire hazard.’

Rocco stepped over to high-five Marge, who looked perplexed. ‘You got this in the bag, Marge. They’re not going to put away a safety chick like you.’

I balled up the scarf into the pocket of my shorts. Pulled it out again. Laid it over the bed head.

‘Better?’

‘Can live with it,’ said Marge.

She checked her watch again.

Rocco jammed the scraggy striped carnations into a glass vase and filled it at the sink. I wouldn’t have gone for them myself, and not just because they were ugly, but since I hadn’t been there, had forgotten, I wasn’t in any position to complain. Just hope the community worker didn’t pick up on their vibe of refusal. I pulled the potty from under the bed so that it could just be seen. I’d ended up paying more than seventy bucks for it. Vinnies didn’t have any so I’d had to go to the lower end of the antique world.

I switched on the kettle, which began to whistle right off. I flicked it off again. Turned to Marge, who nodded. The tea leaves were in the new teapot beside the four cups, four saucers and a banana cake.

Rat-Tail counted the cups, then counted around the room.

‘Best there aren’t too many of us, Rat-Tail,’ said Marge. ‘Makes the room seem smaller.’

‘I’ll wait at the door for her, then.’ He took off.

‘Is that a good idea?’ I asked.

Marge lifted a weary hand and let it drop, saying all it needed to say.

Rocco stuffed the plastic bag and the fallen leaves into the rubbish bin and pushed it under the table. Straightened the toaster, the kettle and the two-ring stove, all polished up and glistening. Rocco moved the chair he’d brought from his room an inch or two towards Marge’s and the one I’d donated. I was to be on the bed.

I took Marge’s hand. Rocco pulled at the velvet collar of his suit. Sat down and bent to tug at the end of his trouser legs. Being so tall he rarely found anything that fitted him at Vinnies. He gave up, crossed his ankles, and stretched out his hands to his knees, eyes on the floor.

The main door slammed shut and we heard Rat-Tail’s voice.

Rocco and I exchanged worried looks.

When they got closer, we notched up the worry in the look between us because then we could hear what was being said.

‘They’re real nice earrings.’

‘Had them a while,’ a woman’s voice replied.

‘Must be heavy, but, cause they’re dragging your earlobes real bad, down to your shoulders.’

Rocco and I shook our heads.

Marge stared straight ahead.

Rocco tapped her arm. She turned to him, started, then began the struggle to get out of the armchair. On her feet, she quickened to the door and into the corridor.

Marge showed the woman, with her serviceable bob and her clipboard, the building, the bathrooms, the garden, the everything there was to be seen. The woman came in to Marge’s room and introduced herself as Shamira, and we took up our positions. Marge sat forwards to pour the tea Rocco had made and handed it around. She cut the cake and passed that around, too. Shamira laid her clipboard on the bed beside me. I tried to read upside down.

We chatted about the weather, the tennis and then the neighbourhood. No, it wasn’t as rough as reputation had it. Shamira turned to stab another cross onto her clipboard. After the tea had been drunk and the cake eaten, Marge asked the question.

Shamira pushed her glasses up her nose before she spoke. ‘The bathroom being so far away is not ideal—’ She sent a disparaging glance at the elaborate potty poking out from under the bed.

‘Am I late?’

We all looked to the doorway.

I jumped up to hug Philly, relieved that she’d turned up after all when even I’d forgotten. She squeezed me back, both of us putting the flare-up at Peg’s place behind us.

‘You missed the cake, so depends what you had in mind by late,’ I said.

Rocco stood to bow. She was bowable, all dressed in a matching magenta dress and jacket with a double string of pearls, not a hair out of place. I introduced Philly to Shamira, whose face brightened at the sight of her grown-up togetherness. Philly said she came to visit Marge once a week—made sure Rocco had done the shopping, I’d done the washing and Marge had got to all her appointments. As she talked she took four Tupperware containers out of her wicker shopping basket and put two in the bar fridge and two in the freezer.

‘My job is to tick it all off,’ she finished.

Shamira looked from me to Rocco to Marge. The air in the room had lightened, and Shamira started winding things up. Rocco walked her to her car, a perfect, suited gentleman to the last.

Marge blew