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

the one who had the butcher’s job done. Reckon that’s what’s behind that address.’

I hated to admit it. He could be right.

But it didn’t feel right. I was done relying on just the facts. I had a gut and I was going to use it.

‘Bloody Peg,’ he said. ‘She was—she wasn’t a holy woman. That’s why I had to get rid of her, out of the house, out of the way of all you buggers.’

‘You mean because she was just like you—had sex out of wedlock with you.’

He winced. ‘Because she had sex—with anybody. And if she had that abortion, she’ll be in hell right now where she belongs.’

Hell wasn’t a metaphorical concept to Dad. His hell was a blood-and-bone affair.

‘Jesus Christ, Dad.’

‘Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,’ he said, on autopilot.

‘But it’s okay to be pretty happy about somebody ending up in the eternal burning flames of hell in perpetual agony.’

‘No one forced her to murder her own baby.’

‘What about the father? Is he in hell, too?’

He scrubbed one side of his face again. Up and down. I started to think Maureen would be flying in. ‘Nothing to do with him,’ Dad said. The machine beside him beeped and he just about jumped out of his skin at the sudden loud of it. ‘Unless he asked for the thing. But the mother could go away, start a new life, pretend her husband died. There’s even adoption.’

‘Really thought it through there.’

‘It’s the Christian thing.’

‘Good to see you Catholics see the odd opportunity for charity. I suppose letting her have her kid where she knows people and them supporting her was a charity bridge too far.’

‘You’re a Catholic, too.’

‘Not any more.’

‘Your mother and I baptised you—we took you to church every Sunday—even when the creek was up over the bridge in the big flood.’ He made a signal like that was all good parenting required.

The machine beside him beeped into life again, sending out rapid fire. Maureen hurtled into the room, with two others hard on her heels. I backed away, making space. Backed right out of the room.

‘Marge.’ I knocked on her door. There was no answer, so I went on to my room. I’d brought a caramel slice. With all this artery clogging I was facilitating, she wouldn’t need to worry about lasting long enough to make it to the oldies’ home. I put the slice in the bar fridge in my room.

I looked at my unmade bed. That bloody ugly vomit brown. Even Rat-Tail had a happier one. I straightened the bed so there’d be no getting back into it for me today. My mind buzzing. I pulled out the Map of Mum and the Timeline from the bin. Laid them along the floor. I squatted in front. My eyes darted over them, back and forth. I needed to see connections.

Nothing.

I leaned back against the bed. That’s when I saw it.

Hell. I’d written that word in miscellaneous grey and circled it from our conversation the night Max gored Dad. My eyes narrowed. He’d said it was his fault Mum was in hell. That word on the Map of Mum sat right beside the phrase: Mother was a saint.

‘Saints don’t go to hell, Dad,’ I said out aloud.

I stood up, trampling the Map and Timeline underfoot.

It was about time.

I needed to shed my skin.

Become somebody new.

Get a whole lot smarter.

I shook the doona out of its cover, balled up all the ugliness and shoved it into the rubbish bin. I looked at it a moment, sitting there, overflowing and still in my room. I stooped and picked it out of the bin, snatched up my wallet and marched straight out to the garbage bins at the back of the boarding house.

On the way back I stopped by the telephone to ring Tye. ‘I’m going shopping,’ I said before he even said hello. ‘Meet me at lunchtime?’

He let out a whoop. ‘Room stuff?’

‘Yep. Doona cover, rug, television. It could get wild.’

‘Who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?’

Tessa was already at the hospital when I got there two days later, plans worked over and thought through, buoyed by the whole lot of new spring-green and sun-yellow stuff in my room that Tye and I had gone mad buying, including armfuls of sunshine gerberas. All of that hopeful joy working its way into me.

Tessa was opening and closing the drawers, packing up Dad’s things into a suitcase, ready to take him home.

‘You’ll need that suitcase yourself,’ Dad said, his voice high pitched and shocked.

‘I’m not going anywhere, Dad.’ She was at the bottom drawer, pulling out greying singlets and baggy white underwear. ‘And you are.’

‘I’m only getting home. Don’t need that fancy thing.’

‘I’ve got a garbage bag in my backpack if you prefer, Dad,’ I said.

He shook his head, blasting annoyance about him. Tim turned into the room.

‘Didn’t you get the message?’ Tessa said, looking up.

‘What?’

‘Bringing Dad home today. Told you to visit him there.’

‘Well, I’m here now,’ he said. ‘Back on your feet?’ he said to Dad.

‘So they tell me.’

Tim looked up as Philly came into the room with an Esky. ‘What’s this? Bush week?’

‘Meals,’ she said. ‘Give Tessa a break from all the cooking as well.’

‘Dad won’t like your fancy stir-fries full of half-cooked vegetables,’ Tim said.

Philly raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s a sausage casserole, et cetera.’

We all swivelled to Philly. ‘You cooked sausages?’ Tim laughed.

‘I have friends with skills in the ancient art of cooking.’

‘Another one for around your little finger, then?’ asked Tim.

‘It’s a talent,’ she said.

I rubbed my palm, watching. Tim noticed me. He tipped his head. ‘And that’s how it’s done.’

‘What?’

‘As if you don’t know,’ he said. He leaned from the bed over to cuff me. I jerked out of range. ‘Phils is a champion at not letting herself be wound up.’ He brought his other hand up and managed to cuff me anyway.

‘Grow up,’ I said.

‘Took the words right out of my mouth,’ he said back.

‘Bit of