We'll Stand in That Place and Other Stories by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Anthologies
ISBN: 9780648485018
Goodreads: 45856293
Publisher: Margaret River Press
Published: 2019-05-01T00:00:00+00:00

Thirty Sacks

Audrey Molloy

‘I ’m just taking the dog out for a walk,’ she said, pulling on a black puffer jacket and grabbing her keys. She strode along the pavement, past low fences lined with shaved hedges. Behind tidy gardens, leadlight windows reflected a hundred winter suns. The dog pulled her off the path to sniff intently at specific trees—identical in all respects as far as she could see, but special, somehow, to the dog, who ignored so many, then made a bee-line for the chosen ones. She let him sniff his fill. For dogs, smell is the strongest sense. You couldn’t rush it. As soon as she was past the houses she unclipped the lead from his collar and the dog was gone, padding his way down the railway sleeper steps to the park below.

She loved it down here in the evening. Just when she thought her nerves must surely fray, she would use this excuse to get away for half an hour. It was a lifeline. She sat on a bench and stared at the water for some time while the dog investigated the sloping bank. Mostly her mind drifted aimlessly, but occasionally she thought of him.

She took a different route on the return journey, strolling now, aware of what lay ahead. Arsenic hour—that time of day when it all unraveled with the kids. And then, once they were asleep? Perhaps that was what she dreaded more. The dog was tired now and plodded beside her, tongue flapping from his joker’s smile.

The woman turned the last corner onto their street and that’s when she saw them; dozens of black garbage sacks, neatly lined up like a colony of emperor penguins on pack ice. They completely covered the nature strip, each one full to the top, which was tied with a piece of garden twine. Her neighbour was bending over one, retying it. Another was ripped, soft toys and kids’ books spilling from it.

‘The eyes have been picked out of this lot already,’ he said to the woman, a jerk of his head referring to the line of sacks. ‘A couple came through with a van and ripped open a whole bunch of them and took heaps of stuff. God only knows what they would want it for—it’s just rubbish,’ he said. ‘It’s amazing what they take. Last time we had a household waste collection someone took a broken ironing board. Honestly!’

‘That’s quite a spring clean you’ve done there, George,’ said the woman, flustered at the last moment in case she had his name wrong—she’d only spoken to him a couple of times in the years she had lived there. She knew his kids’ names, although she had never spoken to them. He lived several houses down and on the opposite side. His kids were about ten years older than hers. She was on a different timetable to him, a different circuit of sports, music lessons, play-dates.

She could still recall meeting him the week they had moved in. He’d come into the garden when the guys were unpacking the truck.

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