Vesna McMaster - Lemon

‘You got yourself a right lemon there.’ He stood squinting at the aging Ford Focus in the driveway. ‘Look at that! Barely legal.’ He kicked at the front left.

‘It seems OK, Dad. A few dings and bings, not a big deal. I checked the history.’

‘Hmph.’ He makes a sound like a badger clearing its throat.

‘Shall I take you for a spin?’ Mel Waves invitingly towards the passenger seat.

‘Nah, might never make it out.’ He laughs in Superior Masculinity, and pats a corpulence of stomach. ‘Better safe than sorry.’

‘OK. Well, let’s go see how lunch is doing. Mum might need some help.’

‘Eh?’

‘Help. You know. With prep?’

‘Ugh. You don’t mess with that stuff. More than your life’s worth. My help’s never good enough.’

‘Do you ever offer?’ ’ Mel throws over her shoulder, adding a muttered ‘anything other than weaponised incompetence’. She ignores any answer if there was one.

As the small midges started to gather, forming agitated circles celebrating some unknown exploits, and the tangerine rays gathered on the post-lunch haze, Mel pats her mum’s knee and says she’ll get going now and thanks so much for a wonderful afternoon.

‘So soon? You usually stay longer.’

‘Ah, but I don’t have to wait for a lift today, do I?’ She smiles.

‘Oh yes, of course not. Congratulations on your car again. What a big day.’

‘Thanks, mom.’ She pauses. ‘You can always pop along to ours sometimes too, you know.’ She leans in and says this quietly.

‘Thank you darling.’ Her mum lowered her voice too. ‘It’s me that picked the lemon.’