"You're the man of the house now, William." Deep creases appeared around her eyes as the widow clutched onto the low, vine-covered side fence. Looking down the leafy drive the boy could see his brother and sisters dashing up the steps onto the back verandah and inside the house. People would be arriving soon and he had to check on his mother. Apologising to his neighbour, he ran in after them.
"Mum. You have to get ready." The boy tried to hide the mounting panic in his voice: the funeral people would be here in less than two hours. She stared blankly at the make-up he had arranged in front of her on the dressing table and the black dress laid out on the bed, as if she couldn't grasp what they were. The breakfast he had brought her earlier lay untouched on the tray, just like the day before.
After the frantic activity of the first two days – the stream of visitors, the endless arrangements and phone calls and the dark frenzy with which she had scrubbed and disinfected the front room where they had read to his father every day for the last three months – she had just stopped. For two days now she had sat like this, staring vacantly in front of her – not talking, barely moving.
"Mum!"
She frowned for a while as though struggling to grasp what he was saying, then seemed to give up.
He turned to leave. He would have to get the younger children ready.
"Will?" she said as he paused in the doorway. "Has Cassie come back yet?"
"No Mum, she hasn't."
He repeated to himself what the elderly woman had said to him earlier as he supervised the twins dressing and brushing their hair. He could not make out what they were whispering to each other as they paraded around the room in their new black dresses, but guessed they were talking about Cassie again. They had been childishly engrossed in their search for the dog all the previous day, and would probably be planning where to search next. Danny, the youngest, sat at the table still eating the toast Will had prepared for him.
He could hear the girls' shrill voices out in the yard - engrossed in their search again, as he crouched in the stuffy, green bathroom, washing Danny's face.
"Can I go and look too?" Danny squirmed as Will combed his wet hair away from his face.
"Not until you're dressed."
After he had tied Danny's laces and sent him outside to help the twins, he passed by his mother's room and saw, with a jolt of panic, that she was still sitting at the dressing table staring blankly into space.
"Mum, please." He needed to find somewhere to think about what to do.
The front room was empty now, curiously peaceful in the hot yellow glow from the drawn blinds, after having been the centre of their lives for so many months. The scrubbed lino smelt of disinfectant and the stained mattress was still leaning against the wall under the window. He sat on the edge of the metal bed-frame, gazing at the carpet of orange and yellow that covered the cracked moss-covered pavers outside. A fly blundered lazily against the pane as he took out the half empty cigarette pack that he had taken from his father's bedside table and placed one of the cigarettes between his lips, letting it dangle rakishly like he had seen so many times before. He didn't light it, but just sat, breathing the familiar, reassuring smell of his father, as he puzzled over what to do about his mother.
Outside there was a sudden change in the shrill childish calls of the twins. It was some minutes before he realised they were calling his name.
They were huddled conspiratorially in the corner of the yard where the jasmine formed an untidy hedge between the fence and the back of the house. The girls, their heads close together, whispered knowingly to each other. Danny came and took his hand as he strode over, eyes wide.
"Emma says there's something behind the house but we don't want to look. She says it smells." The girls pointed self-importantly towards the untidy hedge, as Will let go of the younger boy's hand.
He walked around the side of the house alone. The only sound was a distant breeze in the towering gums that stood like green-grey lace against the blue sky. He recognised the smell first, earthy and heavy, then the dark scurrying movement of ants on the lifeless shape huddled in the corner.
He stood there, thinking of his mother still sitting blankly in her room, the funeral people who were about to arrive, all the days that were ahead. All he yearned for was the familiar voice of his father, telling him that everything would be okay – a voice that was now as distant as the wind whispering in the trees above him. He tried to catch his breath as he turned back into the light, but his shoulders were shaking.
Suddenly the glaring sunlight was splintering and flashing in the hot tears filling his eyes.
