Flying the Coop by Ilsa Evans

hear from you. And, rest assured, I have faith in you even if your father obviously hasn’t. Now, would you like a kitten?’
    From: Christin Beggs
    Date: Friday, 21st July 2006. 9.16PM
    To: Jenny Parker
    Subject: Start taking me seriously!
    As I told you yesterday, and the day before, etc – I really have bought a farm! Just because you’ve known me almost my entire life doesn’t mean that you know me – if you know what I mean, which you probably don’t. Because of the aforementioned reason. As for farming experience, what sort of idiot do you take me for? As part of the purchase I also get on-the-job training from the former owner who will be staying on for a month to teach me everything . And I’ll have you know the former owner is this young bloke who spends most of the day wandering around flexing his biceps while wearing nothing but a pair of bib & brace overalls. Okay, I made that up but here’s hoping. I’ve always fancied being plundered on a haystack. But the point is – I really have gone and done it!
    Love, Chris
    From: Jenny Parker
    Date: Friday 21st July 2006. 10.03PM
    To: Chris Beggs
    Subject: Re: Start taking me seriously!
    Okay, I believe you. But I don’t believe it . All jokes aside – Chris, are you sure you’re doing the right thing? I mean, a farm ? Chooks ? Don’t you remember what happened to Fluffy? Seriously, Chris – isn’t this whole thing a huge risk? And what about the income – will it be enough? And, please don’t take offence – but what about your aptitude for commitment ?
    Love from Jenny.
    PS Anyway, what about ‘Garth Vader’? Doesn’t he still own half the house?
    PPS Speaking of the above, didn’t the two of you once plan to buy a farm when you got older? Please tell me you’re not doing this because of that?
    PPPS I believe haystacks are vastly overrated as a place in which to engage in activities of a sexual nature. Hay can be very itchy and, if you’re not careful, you may need to have a few bits of it surgically removed. Anyway, knowing your luck, you would probably find the proverbial needle – the hard way.

CHAPTER FIVE
    B y the weekend following her unexpected property purchase, Chris had told everybody who needed to know about her planned move. She had also told quite a few people who didn’t need to know, like the man who delivered her junk mail, and the lollipop lady at Michael’s school, and a young man in a wheelchair who jammed one of his wheels in a grate and hadn’t been able to get away.
    One of the reasons she found telling her news almost compulsive was that the reaction was more often than not the same – admiration and envy. And she found that these alone were capable of quelling the niggling doubts that sat in the pit of her stomach like lead weights. But what was not helping quell the damn doubts was the fact that Garth was not only refusing to discuss any details, but he was even refusing to return her calls. And she couldn’t put the house on the market without his signature unless she took him to court. Which, she was guessing, wouldn’t exactly improve their strained relationship.
    But things couldn’t go on the way they were because she was holding all the cards. Or rather two of them – and they were both currently sitting at the kitchen island bench, dressed neatly and waiting patiently for their father to collect them foran outing to the Melbourne Immigration Museum. Or rather, Michael was dressed neatly – in jeans and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle windcheater. Grace, on the other hand, was wearing an old khaki-green army shirt and an extremely baggy pair of cargo pants with ragged hems that dragged along the ground.
    â€˜Why can’t we go to the zoo?’ moaned Michael, kicking out at the bench with his runners. ‘That ’gration place sounds boring.’
    â€˜It is,’ replied Grace, who had