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leans, waiting to use something.
    Mavis is spooning up the last of her custard, and the scrape of that spoon is sort of tantalising. Lori’s tongue escapes, does a circle of her lips.
    â€˜You’re getting to be a cheeky little bugger lately, Lorraine. And who said you could go to McDonald’s with your friend, anyway? You’ve been told to get yourselfstraight home from school. I’ve told you. Your father has told you a thousand times. We were damn near ready to send a search party out after you. You could have been kidnapped for all we knew.’
    â€˜Who’d want her? She can’t even iron,’ Martin says, walking through one doorway and out the other. The loo is an outside one, down the back behind the old laundry, and as the back door is also the kitchendoor, there is a lot of coming and going through this room.
    Lori is thinking about McDonald’s, thinking that her lie about going there might be a good way to mention those tourist ladies and those boys, like maybe they were at McDonald’s too and that’s how she saw them. She’s trying to make another lie come out, but Mavis has lost interest. She’s watching Timmy, who is watching that new babysleep, and maybe considering stealing his dummy; Mavis stole his only a few months back.
    â€˜Timmy, come here,’ she says and her chin bump wobbles. ‘Come to Mummy and get some custard.’
    Timmy used to be a tub of lard but he sat up at five months, crawled at six and by twelve months he’d started leaving home. He’s doing everything fast, though he walks slow to Mavis. He doesn’t trust her since shegot that new baby, but he gets a spoonful of custard.
    Lori doesn’t, and it’s her birthday.
    Timmy gets to crawl up on the couch, gets his face kissed, gets a cuddle.
    Lori doesn’t.
    And Mavis has got the nerve to keep saying she wants another girl. What for? She doesn’t want the one she’s got. She doesn’t even know that Lori hasn’t got any friends to go to McDonald’s with, doesn’t care that she’shad the most rottenest, stinkiest, longest day of her entire life. She can’t even see those pink boils growing under Lori’s T-shirt that are probably going to explode into giant boobs tomorrow.
    The custard bowl now on the couch beside her, Timmy on her lap, Mavis flicks the remote, trying every television channel. It’s all commercials, except the ABC; she settles for that. There is nothing worthwatching until the movie starts, so she flicks down the volume and does her own show, like putting her own words into the mouths of the interviewer and the woman he’s interviewing.
    Lori giggles. You can’t help but giggle, though Mavis keeps checking that brown curtain, making sure Henry isn’t coming through; she’s not game to do her comedian act when he’s around. He never laughs at her, justlooks startled, due to she’s not too fussy about her language and being politically correct – actually, she prefers to be politically incorrect.
    Then someone starts knocking at the front door.
    Jamesy and Neil run to see who it is. Timmy wriggles down to the floor and goes after them while Lori looks at the back door, thinking maybe it’s nicking-off time.
    â€˜Henry. How lovely to see you. So pleased to find you in . Just thought I’d pop around on the off-chance .’
    â€˜You’re looking well, Eva,’ Henry says. ‘Come through.’
    And the wire door slams shut and Mavis’s jaw drops open. She thinks about standing, changes her mind, pushes the custard bowl beneath her couch, runs her fingers through her hair and pulls her tent dress down to cover her giant knees as that anorexic tourist lady comes steppingslow into the kitchen, stepping high, as if the whole house is full of used condoms. Henry is behind her wearing his old tartan dressing gown, which makes him look about eighty years old. He turns