Read Online Loose Connections by Rachel Trezise - Free Book Online

icon at the bottom left of the monitor. It was flashing bright green. ‘I think it’s done,’ she said excitedly. She double-clicked on the purple and red ISP emblem. 
    Daniel picked up the plate and put it down on the desk. He picked up the screwdriver too. ‘What did you mean when you said it isn’t what it looks like?’ he said. 
    Rosemary was staring at the screen, her body bent over the keyboard, her elbows on the desk. ‘What?’ she said, voice prickly. 
    â€˜That’s what you said,’ Daniel said. ‘You said, “It’s not what it looks like.” Are you having an affair with the Internet man, Mum?’ He was rummaging around in the drawer looking for the book of first-class stamps. 
    Rosemary laughed. ‘Me? An affair?’ she said. ‘Who would I have an affair with? I hardly leave the house!’
    â€˜But that Internet guy is here all the time!’ There was a playful quality to his voice. He was joking. 
    â€˜Don’t be ridiculous, Danny,’ she said. From the corner of her eye she could see that he was holding a piece of paper with her spidery handwriting on it. 
    â€˜What’s this?’ he said. He held it up to the light. ‘Oranges, for Cézanne, are more than just juicy fruits,’ he read, his eyebrows knitted into a squint. ‘Heavier than reality, by far, they are dense geometric forms, individual beings, symbols of Eden or perhaps eternity. In this great counting game, the picture is more than the sum of its parts.’ They were the notes Rosemary had made at the National Museum, according to André’s instructions on how to look at art. 
    She plucked the paper out of her son’s hand and glanced at it briefly. ‘Can’t remember,’ she said. ‘Might have been some translation work I did once for a gallery.’ She scrunched the paper into a ball and flicked it into the wastebasket. 
    â€˜I like Paul Cézanne,’ Danny said unexpectedly. 
    â€˜Do you?’ Rosemary said.
    â€˜Yeah, I saw that Still Life with Apples and Teapot one at the museum. Dad took us there a few months ago, one night when you were working late. He liked it as well. He misses you, Mum. He doesn’t like it when you work late. He takes extra clients on just for something to do.’ 
    Rosemary stared at her son’s face, wondering if he was telling the truth, or trying to catch her out. He was standing next to her, his elbows leaning on the desk. He slowly stuck the stamp on the envelope, making sure that the edges were precise, his tongue poked out in concentration. His face was a perfect blend of her and her husband. He had his father’s broad nose, and her blue, emotion-filled eyes. 
    â€˜Really?’ Rosemary said. ‘I thought it was the other way around.’
    â€˜That’s what he told me,’ Danny said. 
    Rosemary turned back to the screen. She quickly typed her password into the space provided. Her e-mail inbox opened quickly. Unread messages 0. Spam messages 47. It was what she had come to expect. She closed it again. 
    â€˜Hey, Mum,’ Danny said, glancing around the room. ‘Where’s your chair?’ Before she could think of an answer, he was out of the room, heading towards the post-box at the entrance to the cul-de-sac. She followed him to the front door. 
    Her computer chair was in the middle of the road, the parcel tape still sticking to its arm. The repairman was standing next to his white cab, the door open, wiping his face with a cloth. The broken handcuffs were still attached to his wrist. He glanced at her before stepping into his cab. 

    Aaron could see the woman in his windscreen mirror. She was standing on the doorstep with her son, their voices the same muffled drone he’d heard from the kitchen. His heart was thumping, but he fought the urge to turn the key. He was safe now. His mobile phone was