suddenly occurred to me what she was doing here.
Word must have got around about the fight last night and Mr Fowler must have sent her over to tell us that the Parents and Teachers Committee had discussed the matter this morning while they
were making kebabs for the barbie and I was banned from the school.
I felt sick.
I had a horrible vision of being sent away to another school and having to sneak out at night to try and see Amanda and hitchhiking in the rain and being run over by a truck.
Ms Dunning gave a loud laugh out on the verandah.
I almost rushed out and told her it wasnât funny.
Then I realised that if she was out there chuckling, she probably hadnât come with bad news.
I went out.
âGâday Ro,â said Ms Dunning with a friendly grin.
I relaxed.
âGâday Tonto,â said Dad. âI invited Ms Dunning out to take a squiz at the orchard. Sheâs gunna do a fruit-growing project with you kids.â
I was pleased to see Dad had remembered his manners and was speaking with his mouth.
âYour Dadâs offered to come talk to the class about apple-growing,â said Ms Dunning.
Suddenly I wasnât relaxed anymore.
Dad in the classroom?
Horrible pictures filled my head.
Several of them involved Dad singing and Mr Fowler having to evacuate the school.
I pulled myself together.
Dad and Ms Dunning were heading down to the orchard. I ran after them to try and persuade them that the whole thing was a terrible idea.
As I got closer I heard Dad telling Ms Dunning about the fight last night.
Admitting the whole thing.
In detail.
I couldnât believe it.
I wondered if a person could get concussion from coleslaw.
And Ms Dunning was laughing.
She was finding it hilarious.
I wondered if chalk dust could give you brain damage.
I grabbed Dadâs arm to try and shake him out of it.
He turned and gave me a look and when I saw what sort of a look it was, half irritable and half pleading, and when I heard what Ms Dunning said next, about her breaking up with her boyfriend a month ago and giving him a faceful of apricot trifle, I realised what was going on.
I can be so dumb sometimes.
Dad hadnât invited her over for educational purposes at all.
Heâd invited her over for romantic purposes.
And judging by all the laughing she was doing, she wasnât feeling deeply nauseated by the idea.
I gave them both a sheepish sort of grin and walked back to the house.
Correction, floated back to the house.
Every thingâs falling into place.
First thereâll be a whirlwind romance, with Ms Dunning captivated by Dadâs kindnessâhe never sprays if the windâs blowing towards the old peopleâs homeâand Dad bowled over by Ms Dunningâs strength of character and incredibly neat hand-writing.
Then a fairy-tale wedding at apple harvest time so Dad can use one of his casual pickers as best man.
And then a happy family life for ever and ever, with Ms Dunning, whoâll probably let me call her Mum by then, making sure Dad behaves himself and doesnât upset people, particularly my friendsâ fathers, and keeps his singing for the shower.
Keeping Dad in lineâll be a walkover for a woman who can make Darryn Peck spit his bubblegum into the bin.
Suddenly life is completely and totally great.
As long as Dad doesnât stuff it up before it happens.
The first fortnight is the dodgy time, thatâs when his girlfriends usually leave him.
He seems to be doing OK so far, but.
When they got back to the house, Ms Dunning was still laughing, and Dad said, âMe and Ro usually have tea at the Copper Saddle on Saturdays, care to join us?â
I struggled to keep a straight face.
The Copper Saddle is the most expensive restaurant for miles, and the closest weâve ever been to it is driving through the car park blowing raspberries at the rich mongrels.
Ms Dunning said sheâd love to and we arranged to pick her
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