Read Online After by Sue Lawson - Free Book Online Page B

Frewen.’
    Frewen’s mum wore dark jeans, pull-on boots, a red-and-white striped shirt and a puffy vest. Her straight blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. The pearl earrings she wore were huge.
    ‘Hi,’ I muttered.
    ‘Call me Deborah, Callum. And this is Emma.’ She stroked the curly hair of the girl clinging to her leg. ‘You know Jack.’
    Frewen’s smile was cold. ‘Hello, Callum.’
    ‘Come through.’ Nan guided Deborah, Emma and Jack into the lounge room to the good furniture.
    Before I could move, Grandpa and Mr Frewen were wiping their feet on the front door mat.
    ‘Callum, meet Paul Frewen,’ said Grandpa.
    I caught the expression on Grandpa’s face and stepped forward, hand outstretched. ‘Hi. Mr Frewen.’
    Frewen’s father was lean with thin lips, like his son. His handshake was firm. A bit too firm. ‘You’re in Jack’s class?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘Don’t let him give you any trouble.’
    ‘Trouble? Jack? Hardly,’ said Grandpa. ‘Come and sit down, Paul.’ Grandpa led the way into the lounge room.
    Mr Frewen sat on a lounge chair opposite Deborah, Emma and Jack. Jack was stretched out, legs under the coffee table, like he was at home. I stood beside the cracking fire in the open fireplace. From there I could see Nan fussing in the kitchen.
    ‘I’ll get drinks.’ Grandpa left the room, leaving me alone with the Frewens.
    ‘Have you signed up for Winter Creek, Callum?’ asked Deborah, hands folded in her lap.
    The fire popped and an ember hit the fire screen.
    ‘You’d be great in the ruck, Callum. We need the height,’ said Paul.
    Grandpa returned to the lounge carrying a tray. On it were two glasses of white wine, two of red and three of lemonade. He offered the tray to Deborah first, who took a white wine.
    ‘Callum plays soccer, Paul,’ said Grandpa.
    ‘Oh.’ Mr Frewen pulled a face.
    ‘We play real footy, don’t we Mr A,’ said Jack.
    ‘Not much interest in soccer around here.’ Grandpa looked up at me. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Callum, it’s a skilful game. I just prefer AFL.’
    Jack looked about ready to explode with delight.
    Nan placed a plate of dry biscuits, olives and dips on the coffee table. ‘Soccer is a ridiculous sport. If they scored more goals there would be less crowd violence, I’m sure.’
    Like she’d know anything about it. I imagined chucking the glass of lemonade Grandpa had just handed me at Nan’s head.
    Jack reached for the plate and offered it to Grandpa and Mr Frewen. ‘Good result yesterday, Mr A,’ he said.
    ‘Fantastic. First time in years all our footy teams and netball teams have beaten Millington on the same day,’ said Grandpa, taking two olives. ‘You played a tremendous game, Jack. Best on ground, easy.’
    Jack sat the plate down and dunked two biscuits into the dip. ‘Thanks, but Klay played better.’
    ‘Nonsense—you were outstanding. Keep that form up and you’ll be best and fairest again,’ said Mr Frewen.
    Jack beamed.
    I gritted my teeth as the Jack love-in rolled into town. When they started going over the rest of the team’s performance, I tuned out, staring through the open double doors to the dining room. The table was set with cloth napkins, silver cutlery and crystal glasses, making the room sparkle like a mirror ball. Dazzled, I stood silent and still like one of the china figures on the mantelpiece behind me. Nan’s voice snapped me out of my daze.
    ‘Time to move to the dining room.’ She directed us where to sit, placing me beside Jack.
    Grandpa, Mr Frewen and Jack continued talking about footy as though nothing had changed. Not that I was complaining—it meant no one was focusing on me. That changed after Nan cleared the leftover roast lamb, potato, pumpkin and bean lunch and served her ‘famous’—according to Mr Frewen—apple crumble.
    ‘How are you enjoying Marrook, Callum?’ asked Deborah, looking over her wine glass.
    ‘Okay, I guess.’
    ‘I love visiting the city, but I couldn’t