Hilda, still impressed with Mandy’s ability to open a sachet, dove out of the camper van to find some milk, expertly skidding past “the girls’” s**t. She made a beeline for the cottage.
The kitchen was empty. Hilda looked around the tiny space, examining, for the first time, the eating habits of those on Earth.
Hilda’s curiosity gnawed inside her like a tunneling worm, like a miner on the promise of gold.
She was learning to read Mandy and felt she was getting closer to something.
The truth was, Mandy talked in her sleep, and Hilda, an insomniac, heard everything, not that it made sense.
I mean, what the hell is a Yarra?
I mean, what the hell is a Yarra?She opened the fridge, lifted a packet of bacon and sniffed, poked at a tub of margarine, picked at a bit of cheese, and almost swoo
