Chapter 4
Kim woke to find Abbey braiding her hair. ‘Mum, stay still.’ The little girl bit her bottom lip in concentration. Tangles of golden pillow-mussed ringlets framed her face. She looked like an angel in the soft morning light. ‘What were those noises coming from under the floor last night?’
‘I think we must be sharing the house with a wombat,’ said Kim.
‘Can we call it Mothball, like the one in the book?’
It seemed like yesterday that Abbey was perched on Connor’s knee, listening to him read Diary Of A Wombat. Kim closed her eyes. Life was divided firmly into two parts – before and after Connor’s death. She referenced each memory this way. Trouble was, the after-Connor ones were multiplying in an untidy jumble, while the precious before memories remained finite and frozen in tim
