This story was published in 'Stuffed' - a collection of short stories published by WWQ
The writing technique of 'stuffing' was the the requirement; each story 'stuffed' between the first and last sentence of a well-known book. In this case Where the crawdads sing by Delia Owens.
“The morning burned so August-hot, the marsh's moist breath hung the oaks and pines with fog.”
Words ran through Kate’s head as she walked home. She let herself into the house and headed for the kitchen to make an after-school snack. It was still a special feeling, having the key to the house. The tight school day plait was hurting, she undid it and shook her hair loose. She dumped her backpack on the bench and took out the set book for next semester. The title was intriguing, so Kate had opened it in the library and read the first line. Now she read it again, out loud. It painted a vivid picture, but one Kate found almost impossible to imagine.
The sash windows framed trees bent almost double, branches thrashing. The wedge of paper that stopped the worst of the rattles had come loose; Kate tucked it back in securely. Old Queenslander houses were attractive, but full of gaps that let in the chill westerly winds that usually arrived in August, in time for the Ekka. The timber boards moved and twisted with changes in the weather. The westerlies were early this year.
Mum wasn’t home from work yet and Kate had the place to herself. It felt strange and exciting; she’d only been allowed to come home to an empty house since her fourteenth birthday last week. What could she do to celebrate this precious solitude? She’d light the fire. That would be a good thing. Then the house would be warmer by the time the rest of the family arrived home. Mum had caught the bus today so would be later than usual and probably cold, tired and irritable. Dad had said he'd pick up something for tea on the way home, so that was a good thing too. She’d get the fire going, set the table and start on her homework.
Kate thought her older brother Jamie would be home soon. He’d taken the car today so he could give his mates a lift home after football practice. Ever since he got his drivers licence last year, he’d negotiated with Mum to take her car to school as often as possible. It had been sunny and almost warm this morning so Mum had relented and handed him the keys, she’d be sorry now. It was almost the end of football season. Soon the days would be longer and it would be tennis and cricket. Jamie lived for sport.
Kate didn’t really do sports, although she didn’t mind a hit of tennis. Most sports periods at school she did the minimum possible, hanging about on the edge of the netball court or vigoro pitch and slowly sloping off to the library. Occasionally a teacher would complain and call her back but mostly they let her go. Books and the magic of words were her special place. Words were her thing.
Those words in the opening line of the book were magic. She could see fog hanging over a waterhole, mist rising through branches. In the countryside she was familiar with, the trees would be gums and bottlebrush. And it wouldn’t be hot in August. One day she’d travel to the other side of the world where the seasons were back to front – white Christmases, spring blossoms at Easter, holidays at the beach in August. For now, Kate read everything she could get her hands on and escaped to other realms. She especially loved the Russian classics with their bleak landscapes and impossible names.
The book would have to wait until after homework and tea. Kate tore up last Saturday’s newspaper, pausing briefly to skim a review of the book she was about to start reading. The reviewer was enthusiastic, which was promising. She piled up the torn paper and added kindling, with a couple of firestarters for luck. Then she sat back on her heels and watched the fire flare up, adding small pieces of wood until it was well alight. Her brother arrived home just as she was adding heavier fuel and closing the damper. Jamie was shivering; his face and hands purple and blotched from the biting wind.
‘That won’t catch, you know.’ Jamie loomed over her; he was always critical of her fire-lighting skills.
‘It already has, it’s fine. Leave it alone, it’ll go out if you mess around with it.’ Kate gave her brother a friendly shove away from the fireplace. ‘Go and have a hot shower, you look frozen.’
‘Just going to. It was freezing at training, would have left early but I promised Joe and Tim I’d run them home.’
Jamie headed for the bathroom, stopping on the way to look at the book Kate had left on the bench. ‘Weird name for a book. Any good?’
‘Haven’t really started it yet. I love the first line, listen to this.’
‘Later. After that shower. With a bit of luck the fire won’t go out and the house will be slightly warmer then.’
Kate settled down in the comfy old armchair nearest the fireplace. She should really do her maths homework but the book was calling. She was deep in the wilds of North Carolina when the back door slammed.
‘That you, Mum?’ Kate called out, although it wouldn’t be anyone else. She hoped.
‘Hello darling,’ Mum came into the lounge room, struggling out of her coat and scarf. ‘Had a good day?’
‘Pretty good. Miss Gibson gave us an English test and I did okay. And she gave us the reading list for the rest of the year so we could get started over the holidays.’
Mum picked up the book and turned to the back cover. ‘Someone at work was reading this for their book club. I thought it sounded interesting.’
‘Why don’t we both read it? Then we can discuss it, it’d help with my literary criticism.’ Kate loved talking about books and her mother was an astute critic. Her work as editor of a small publishing company meant she knew a lot about writing.
‘Good idea, I’ll get myself a copy.’ Mum was warming her hands at the fireplace; she turned around to give Kate a hug. ‘Thanks for getting the fire going, I was dreaming about getting warm. I swear those buses get colder every day. And the office air-conditioner barely made it above lukewarm. Have you done your homework?’
‘No, I’ll do it after tea. It’s only maths, easy peasy. No other teachers set homework – what’s the point when it’s the end of term.’ Kate liked maths. She knew she was a nerd, enjoying Shakespeare, poetry, maths and writing essays. The teachers called her a dreamer, always with her head stuck in a book. But Kate didn’t care, she felt sorry for her classmates who moaned about having to actually read and write.
Dad’s car was pulling into the driveway. Kate ran to open the door for him, he’d have his hands full of take-aways. She hoped it was Chinese or Indian.
‘Give me a hand here, somebody,’ he was already calling as he dashed up the front steps. Jamie beat her to the door.
‘Good one, fish and chips.’ He took the paper-wrapped parcels into the kitchen and began decanting the contents onto plates.
‘Hang on, there’s more.’ Dad made another trip to car and came back with his briefcase and a carry bag. ‘Didn’t forget my best girl’s favourite – special fried rice and chicken with plum sauce. And a giant packet of prawn crackers. That’s right, isn’t it Kate?’
‘Perfect. You’re my best father too.’ Kate gave her father a kiss. ‘Come inside and shut the door, you’re letting the cold air in.’
‘You all start without me, eat up while the food’s hot. I need a shower.’ Dad dumped the bag of food on the kitchen bench.
Kate looked around the table as she tucked into her fried rice. She pinched a chip from Jamie’s plate and thought about families. How Kya in the book didn’t have a family, had been abandoned and left to fend for herself. She didn’t think she could cope with that. For all that she and her brother were different and he could be annoying, she wouldn’t want him not to be there. She was secretly proud of his sporting achievements. Not that she’d ever tell him.
Tomorrow was the last day of term. Kate decided she would read the whole book tonight, no matter how long it took. Too bad if she slept in or fell asleep in class.
Kate curled up in front of the fire, barely noticing the murmur of the television or the faint pulse of rap music from Jamie’s room. She hadn’t expected the murder of one of the young men in Kya’s life. And there were so many secrets, so much suffering. Could a life really be so complicated?
There weren’t any young men in Kate’s life. The boys at school were just mates. That was the thing about books. They forced you to think about life outside yourself, of what happened to other people.
‘Don’t stay up all night, will you.’ Mum came over to say goodnight. ‘And keep an eye on the fireplace, I don’t totally trust that door to stay shut. Make sure the fire’s died down before you go to bed.’
‘Just want to finish this bit,’ Kate shrugged herself upright and went back to the story. Much later, the book fell with a thud to the floor. Kate slept on, dreaming of swamps and wild girls running through the bush.
She could feel the hot August sun on her face and some animal was making a screeching sound. Kate reached out to push away whatever was attacking her.
‘Wake up, wake up. Kate!’ Jamie was coughing and shaking her vigorously, making her head bang against the back of the chair. ‘What were you thinking! You could have burned the house down.’
‘What! What do you mean?’ Kate slowly came to. Mum and Dad were in the room, doing something to the fireplace. ‘What’s that terrible noise? And that smell!’
‘The smoke detectors are going mad, probably got the whole street up by now.’ Dad was holding something in the fire tongs. ‘This is the culprit.’
Mum had silenced the smoke alarms and Kate could hear the kettle coming to the boil. Of course, a drama like this called for a settling cup of tea.The culprit was a badly charred library book.
‘It sure made a lot of smoke, but in a way, it saved us from much worse. If that burning block of wood had landed on the floor instead of the book none of us might have woken up. These old timber houses catch fire so easily.’
‘Sorry. I forgot about the dodgy door. That last log was pretty big. It must have rolled against the door and forced it open.’ Kate was a bit teary now, the shock of what had happened hitting home. Jamie was rushing about opening windows and doors, turning on fans.
Mum handed out mugs of tea. ‘Anyone want a biscuit?’
‘Not for me, I’m going back to bed.’ Dad yawned. ‘Big day tomorrow, I’m meeting a new client.’
‘You’ll have a big day tomorrow too, Kate,’ Jamie chimed in. ‘That library book will make a great show and tell. And that’s your allowance for the next couple of weeks gone. That book was a hardcover.’
He continued, ‘I’m off back to bed too. Kate can clean up and turn everything off, it’s her fault we’re all up in the middle of the night.’
‘I’m not six, you know, we don’t have show and tell. And I won’t be telling anyone what happened. I’ll just say I lost the book.’ Kate moved over to close the windows against the chilly night air.
Mum came to stand beside her. They looked out onto the quiet, dark street. ‘No lights on anywhere, nobody must have heard the smoke alarms. They don’t sound so loud once you’re outside the house.’
Kate snuggled against her mother. ‘I’m really sorry, Mum.’
‘It was a silly thing to do, you know. I trusted you to keep an eye on the fire – you’re old enough to take more care.’ Mum gave her a quick hug. ‘But no real harm done, and I think you’ve learned a lesson.’
Mum went on. ‘Weren’t you watching the fire though? As well as reading.’
‘I must have dropped off to sleep. I’d finished the book and was thinking about going to bed. Then Jamie started yelling and shaking me.’ Kate was remembering where she’d been, lost in the story. She hadn’t given a thought to the state of the fire or the fireplace door. It seemed words could be dangerous. ‘I was miles away. Way out yonder where the crawdads sing.’
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