Monday Lunch
Bree-Anna stands on tiptoes, her nose pushed against the window, her breath fogging the glass. Below her the garden tangles, a mess of weeds and long grass, like a garden made special for hide and seek. The windows in her house slide open. She thinks this window lifts but she can’t get it to work. She pushes up, but her hands slide on the glass now grubby with sweat from her palms.
The door wouldn’t open either. She tried to open it after she wet her pants. She rattled and rattled it, but it is stuck. Stuck, stuck, stuck. She is stuck.
She doesn’t take her eyes off the shopping centre car park. She watches every car driving down the road. A little red car comes, a bit like her mother’s, and her heart beats fast. She watches it turn into a car space. Waits and watches, hopef
