The house murmured and mocked as I lay staring at the ceiling. My mind whizzing, wondering what Paul was thinking. Scenarios twirled like leaves, in my head.

I can't abide staying inside four walls for one more second. I pinched the keys and snuck out the front door. It was cool inside, and out! I had taken to wearing my beanie, a prezzy from Michael, slammed on my head twenty-four seven! It was so cold dairy cows would give ice-cream.

How many Eskimo nuts below zero it is in the timber clad garage, I do not know. I do not care. I had to do something, midnight or not, something...

Three days ago I pushed an old ex- army motorcycle through Pauls, somewhat solid, somewhat pitifully lacking, front gate. Pitifully lacking because girls still swung on it, climbed it, scratched their names in it and wrenched it about like it was a teatowel wringing contest. Tires half flat I dragged more than pushed the machine past twenty-six, thirteen to sixteen year old, certifiably mad, Paul loving, girls.

An awesome find at the local motor traders a few suburbs away; and Paul didn't say a single peep. Oh, he scowled and looked down his nose alright but not a word was grizzled.

He scowled openly though..

...At the mess of flaked paint and rust.

...At the headlight dangling from its mount.

After he showed his distaste he waltzed back inside and started clobbering away on the piano.

I've quickly come to realise that if he's upset with me, the piano gets it in the nuts. Banging of the lid, random crashes of chords. Not anything like the sweet tinkering he does softly in the early morning when the birds- feathered, not the sheilas at the gate, start announcing the beginning of the new (bitterly cold) day.

In the morning the sounds are beautiful, tender even. A little fragmented yet sweet even when repeated over and over again with the odd, almost imperceptible, change. In those early mornings, snuggled down in my bed, I can feel his smile as he looks down upon the ebony and ivory.

The Berceuse lullaby's tingle and hum, like sweet wine, flooding over me.

Berceuse. Mother would throw some corker words in my direction over toast and jam for breakfast; Dictionary suitably dog-eared sat to the left, tea cup to my right. Fumbling my few un-sticky fingers I hurriedly fluttered the pages to B, then eyes down, and up again to Be, then Ber. Finally, the word appearing and my vocabulary enlarged. Oh mother, how I love you. How I miss you so.

In the morning I lay listening and imagining myself going to sit beside him. An easy smile greeting me as I nudge him over for a sliver of the bench he perches upon. I imagine him smirking as he completes the melody, and I imagine him smile back at my 'I'm so proud of him' smile.

I'm doing it again.

Thinking, thinking, thinking!

I scrubbed my hands together to get some warmth then flicked on the lights, and opened the hood of his fancy motor.

It was a pretty car. Couldn't imagine it on the property with bales of hay in the boot but there you go. We aren't in Kansas anymore, nor Australia. More's the pity.

The Aston Martin emblem was very swish and I would probably get my knuckles dusted for doing this but boo-bloody-hoo. I'm here now and I'm fixing this sucker. I laid a towel over the side, above wheel arch, so I didn't scratch the pretty pale blue duco.

It's not a tractor that's for sure.

Everything under the hood is gleaming and new, everything's tiny compared too. It's a petrol engine, not diesel, so I took out the spark plugs. Using a wire brush, I got busy. Cleaned up around the wire connection points and made sure they had a good, clean port. Next, I tightened the cables where they fitted and finally, I tighten the plugs back into place with a ratchet. I then blew out the air cleaner as best I could. Yep, that was pretty hard with no air hose in sight! Oh well... Next!

Fashioning a throttle spacer out of tin I fitted it in the line. It should work and increase the torque. I should take it for a spin-

"What the actual fuck are you doing to my car!"

Ut-Oh. Caught....

"I'm fixing it if you must know"

"Get away from it!"

"I'm done anyway. Was just about to take her for a whirl!"

"You're not going anywhere in my car. Oh, here it is! The moment I caught you stealing. Finally. Caught in the act!"

"Your car was running on four cylinders Paulll. Four. Not six! I fixed it. Can't you just say thank-you and give us a kiss of gratitude"

"Not likely. What did you do then?!"

Paul hovered over the engine looking into the recess like it was a Chinese Abacus. I don't know what a Chinese Abacus does and/ or looks like but I'm guessing that's how he's gawking at it. So yeah- Abacus.

"I removed, cleaned and re tightened the do-hicky and turned the thingy-me-bob to the right. Or was it the left?"

"Theresa!"

"Oh, you do know my name then"

"Huh? What?! Yes of course I do. Need something to identify you to the coppers with when you pinch my car"

"Charming"

"Is it all there?"

"What?"

"That?" Paul swirled a hand over the motor.

"That what? Oh, you mean the engine..."

"Yeah. Is it all still there??"

"I guess so.... I threw a few bolts out in the garbage can. I couldn't remember where they went-"

"You didn't!? Bloody hell!"

"Oh, but I did"

"You did not"

"No I didn't, but looks like you wouldn't know if the engine mount was held on by chewing gum or bolts so it's all good for me now isn't it!"

"Stop being a cow"

"Stop being a wombat, Paulll. Don't chuck a wobbly"

"Don't call me that!!"

Which one? Don't call you a wombat or say you're chucking a wobbly... Paulllll"

"Would you just shut up you little colonist"

"No!" I wiped my hands on the rag I had found under the pile of discarded tools in the back of the workshop area and pressed toward him into his personal space. This was fun. He was mad but he was talking. But I had bigger fish to fry. I just had to get him to shut up and take this little beast for a drive for my sanity's sake at least. I hope that throttle spacer works. Oh well, if it doesn't, I'm in the cow dung which is what I'm always in anyway. "Just take the damn car for a spin around the block, would you. If you don't like how she sound's and goes I'll put everything back how it was- dirt, grime, bolts, chewing gum- everything"

"What' you do to it then?" Oh bully for me! He's on the hook. Baited, intrigued now, much to the chagrin on his mug. I should be straight with him, show how excited I am to have done this, for him.

"Well it was running on only four cylinders so I fixed that for starters- Should sound beautiful on all six. Then I made the thingy" He scowled and I ran my mouth off ahead to get over the thingy thing "A spacer for the throttle alright!?! It'll go like the clappers now! And the fuel economy will be fabfour-ulous" I grinned and wiped my brow, I was now hot from the work and probably from the mini tiff with Paul.

He glanced up from peering in the engine nibbling his lip, then stopped and let his lip go all of a sudden. It was only at that point I realised I was doing the very same darn thing. "That spacer you know, it should give you more torque and maximum grunt out of that engine, safely mind you. It should blast down the road now. All kinds of power to get rolling fast"

"And it won't blow up or anything?" Unease flittered over his face as he poked his finger around the top of the engine, he never glanced up at me. Obvious he didn't know a thingymebob from a carby. Just shook his moptop and kept touching bits and pieces in the engine like it was a spider, all hesitant and worried like.

"Just take it for a run, will you! I'm pulling your leg!"

"I'm in my pyjamas"

"Just 'round the block... or I could go first if you like, get the kinks out. Make sure the spacer is lovin' its seat"

"No, I'll go. It is my car after all"

"Yes! Yes, it is" My face was going all sorts of stupid. Beaming I was, at the brother that won't give me an inch. Now this... He was trusting me, or driving like a bat out of hell away from me. Either-or was good, cause then he would see how good the car went....

Hopefully.

Crossed fingers...

Maybe.....

"I'll get the garage doors and gate open for you"

He was gone ages....

I think I blew up his precious car......

I'm in the cow dung again....

He was gone so long I sat polishing the motorbike.

Gee didn't she come up a dream. Slap of paint, bit of the old elbow grease. New fuel, headlight fixed and working. A couple of kicks and she flared to life and boy was she smooth after I stripped down the front prongs and re-fitted them. Awesome. Now I can go to Jim's and off to see Mike and into town to the dumb lawyers anytime I like. Freedom!

Hours passed me by. There is only so much polishing a girl can do. A girl that would rather be spinning down country roads or over paddocks in search of missing cattle or heading off to check fences or dams or the mail. The old mailbox was over ten kilometres away down dusty potholed gravel roads with corrugation ruts, creeks to cross, a dozen or so hills with steep drop offs to the side. And sometimes, no, most times, there isn't any mail cause it's coming via the fuel truck or maybe someone was going to town from a neighbouring property and would bring the post back....

Airmail letters. Now they was my favourite.

Thin, ever so thin pages of news and ante-dotes and love. Beyond all else, love. Marys writing leapt off the page engulfing all and sundry with her musical prose. Poetry of sentences she wrote, and sometimes, when I hear Paul fiddling and mumbling lyrics and the guitar chords pressed and experimented with, making them fit.... I dream I can see Mary leaning over his shoulder. Hovering, gifting wisdom, loving him complete, still.

Smiling and yawning I sat on the steps hugging my knees and thinking of all the things I would have told Mary. All the adventures and excitement of living in Australia. No sticking it to kangaroos just enlivening them into real fur and bounce and moving as fast as the wind blows. No whinging about the drought but explaining the abundant birdlife and myriad of wildflowers that blossomed as mother earth drank in a new season of monsoonal rain. Rain enriching the land until it dried up completely parched again.

Leaning back against the front door I gazed up into the heavens. All the important people I loved were up there, but some remained fixed to the ground. Daddy, Mum and Mary were all sparkling brightly above. Watching over me, Paul, Mike and Jim.

Watching over trusted and beloved family, like angels. I sniffled and rubbed my long sleeve over my nose, never daring to look away from the splendid sight above. Sparkling, glorious, abundant beauty as perfect as crystal graced my eyes. Eyes which bled tears for them, for me, for the grounded ones that surrounded me. Perfection should be eternal.

Mum, Mary, Daddy all perfection, yet gone. Why can't I meet her, why can't they come home and hug me one more time so I can feel complete...

"Come on luv"

"Paul? Car?" I muttered as someone poached into my dreams. I knew it wasn't him but yet I still wished and spoke his name first before cracking my red eyes open and watching John huff and puff his way up the staircase. "Put me down before you kick the bucket" I muttered sleepily.

"No. I'll be delivering you to your bed" He staggered a few more stairs higher and I woke a little more and giggled at the grunts emerging from between his lips. Thin lines as he grunted, then they turned up a little cutely at the corners. A grin just for me. Another step, then another, he pauses our wobbly ascent "Oh. Alrigh, let's put you down. You are getting heavy. Bloody lard arse you are"

"Poppy cock"

"Bloody fags"

"Pardon. I don't see what sexual persuasion has to do with you huffing and puffing on the stairs... don't answer that" I giggled and watched John realise what I had been on about. His eyes grew ever so wide and indignant. I giggled again.

"Fags- cigarettes, you silly Australian" John poked a finger in my side and pushed me ever higher up the staircase "... Sexual persuasions. I'll give you sexual persuasions" Suddenly he wasn't winded, suddenly I was pressed urgently forward. Hands on hips, body against body as I was hurried toward my bed.

"John. She can put herself in her fucking bed, herself. Get your arse down here before I-"

"Alright Paulie. Was just joshing with the bird. Christ" Shaking his head John touched my chin.

What is it when, in a blink of the eye, innocent becomes guilty. I know he's married and I know he is struggling with the concept. His lips brush over mine and the pain of loneliness eclipse my thoughts and I want to burrow into everything he was about to offer... to get away from the reality of being one person alone. He knows I have been all alone. He has tried to get Paul to include me. He knows I have Mike as a confidant, and him. He's so easy to be happy around. He treats me nice and includes me. We back away from each other with a sense of impending guilt for what might have happened, although it wouldn't. John was married. We would be friends, full stop.

The kidder kidded in the tight space between us "Geezers girl. I nearly tipped a heap of Lennon juice into you"

My inner child broke forth and before I knew it I had him in a clencher of a hug. Squeezing the bits out of him, his chin sat on my head and his hand swept up and down in great soothing waves. I couldn't speak and I just knew he knew what I was missing. Comfort, a friendly face, inclusion.

"If Paulie gets too much you come out 'ome alright. Cyn would love to have ya. I'd love to spend time with you, even if your idiot brother doesn't" A kiss is pressed into my hair as Paul makes the landing and scowls at our innocent hug.

"Alrigh?" A chin, so like mine, is thrown up in question.

John continues to pat my back, then is pushing me backwards toward the room. "Yeah we were just... bonding"

"That's a new one- bonding"

I'm blessed a wink and dirty smirk from one, and roll of a set of eyes from the other. They head off down the stairs.

Hang on, the car!

I'm back at the top of the landing in seconds "Wait" And they both spin on the spot near the bottom of the stairs "The car. Is it alright?"

Paul grins super wide then tames it down to an annoyed stance. Why can't he just be normal for one moment. "It worked" He disappeared down and around the corner into the kitchen leaving John grinning like a loon on the stairs.

"Well?"

"Went like the flaming clappers girl. You should have heard him. The car screamed into my place and he was harping on and on about it. Decided I had to see for myself, we've been all over the shot. You did good lass" John saluted me happily and followed the sound of the tea kettle into the kitchen.

I, on the other hand, ever so slowly walked down the hall, opened my door and closed it. Staring at it in all its white gloss timber presence. Then found the mattress. The blanket covered me completely as I cried. Why couldn't he say one lousy thing nice to me. Hug me tight like John did. A kiss on the cheek thank-you. I lay alone. My head saying you did good and my heart feeling as mushed up as ever. Why can't he smile openly, at me. 

A/N: Something I have been sitting on for a while. Hope you like it. I didn't have time (aka wasn't bothered hehe) to add the glossary this time so let me know what words your stuck on so I can add one :) 

Isn't he gorgeous 

*sigh*