Read The Party Line for Free Online Page B

would have already gone nuts and made me wash it off before Dad ever saw it.’
    Gabrielle said nothing and Nickie felt bad. It felt as though she’d been rubbing it in that her mother was dead.
    ‘Um … sorry, I didn’t mean to remind you …’
    ‘Doesn’t matter.’
    It was hard to tell whether Gabrielle cared or not.
    They sat and looked in the mirror together for a bit longer.
    ‘Shame about the hair,’ Gabrielle said. ‘It destroys the look.’
    ‘Sort of,’ Nickie said, and they both giggled. ‘A glamorous toilet brush.’
    ‘I know,’ said Gabrielle. She jumped off the seat again and went to her wardrobe. She dragged a cardboard box out of the bottom of the cupboard. ‘It’s in here somewhere …’
    She pulled out a handful of shimmery fabric, the deepest red Nickie’d ever seen. Gabrielle shook it out and laid it on her bed.
    The beauty of it made Nickie swallow. ‘Can I touch it?’
    Gabrielle nodded. ‘Just watch the sequins.’
    The material was silk and, although Nickie’d thought it entirely red, there were other colours hidden in the weave. The sequins were all shades of blue and green and formed the tail of a peacock. The peacock itself was painted in the centre.
    ‘Mum’s,’ said Gabrielle. ‘Dad bought it for her last birthday before she died. She used to wear it like this—’ Gabrielle flung the peacock across Nickie’s shoulders, letting the sparkle drape down her back —‘until right at the end, when Mum’s hair came out from the cancer medicine. Then she wore it like this.’
    Gabrielle lifted the fabric and gently draped it over Nickie’s head. She knotted it to one side and let the sequins tumble like a waterfall over Nickie’s shoulder. ‘There,’ she said. ‘That sorts out the hair problem.’
    They looked at themselves in the mirror. Nickie fingered the scarf. The silk was so light, so fine, it was almost impossible to feel it at all.
    ‘Is your father alright about it just being stuffed in a box, in your wardrobe?’
    ‘He doesn’t know I’ve got it,’ Gabrielle said. ‘He put most of Mum’s stuff in the rubbish after she died. Or else he gave it to the Sallies. This was in the Sallies’ box, I took it out when he wasn’t watching.’
    ‘Neat.’
    ‘Yeah … so that’s why I have to keep it hidden in the box. It’ll be fine if you want to take it away for a while.’
    Nickie looked at herself again. With the neat scarf, and the perfect make-up, and the dangerous perfume, she looked beautiful. The hand of this beautiful person went over her mouth.
    ‘I can’t believe it, Gabrielle. I think I’m going to cry. Do you really mean it, that I can borrow it?’ Nickie shook her head and watched the fluttering turquoise tail feathers swinging against her shoulders.
    ‘As long as you like. You’ll take better care of it than me.’

Ian Baxter
    He was terrified of sleeping. Between memory and reality was a membrane and Bridie pressed against it all the time. At night, she pressed with her voice, a murmur that ebbed and flowed. Her little hands, those gentle fingers, had found a weak spot in the flimsy veil — she had clawed and prodded and made a tear that could rip wide open at any time.
    He sat up late at night, by the lounge window. The cool night breeze blew in, flicking the curtain against his face. He switched the television off and listened to the nocturnal noises. Beasts, massive and tiny, moving through grass. A hedgehog snuffling somewhere close. Miles away, on the highway, trucks rumbled their way north. It was impossible to hear them during the day but late at night even the gear changes were clear.
    The moonlight made a monochrome photo of the endless paddocks, the silhouettes of cows sleeping and standing at the same time. Ian stared out across them for a long time. He fell asleep upright, too, in the chair, and woke as dawn filtered the darkness to grey. It was usually too close to milking time to go back to sleep.
    One night, the