One Long Thread by Belinda Jeffrey Page A

door.
    â€˜Come on Button. We’re going out.’
    We got into the car and drove into town. Dad parked the car beside a newsagent.
    â€˜Wait here a tick, Button, I’ll be right back.’
    I was numb, like I understood very clearly what had happened, what went wrong and what our lives would be like from that moment on, though I didn’t feel anything. Only removed, somehow. Dad returned to the car with a small book-sized package which he threw on to the back seat.
    â€˜Here’s the deal,’ Dad said, forcing a confidence he didn’t feel. ‘Keep watch out the window and look for the first Chinese restaurant you see with a carpark out front.’ It wasn’t far until I saw Charlie’s Chinese Restaurant with a spare car space not far from the entrance. And ever since that night, Charlie’s has been the place we celebrate everything from anniversaries to birthdays, even slow weeks.
    â€˜I know it’s a sad time,’ Dad said once we were seated. ‘But everything in life has two sides. You can sit around thinking about all you’ve lost or you can look forward to everything you might find. So . . .’ he said, unwrapping the parcel he’d bought at the newsagent. ‘I am going to tell you the very worst jokes I can find in this book. And while we feel sad, we are going to remind ourselves that there is always something to smile about, too. Order anything you like,’ he said, opening the book.
    Every birthday and special occasion after that night, Dad would begin preparing weeks in advance, scouring book stores and bargain tables for joke books and, while the jokes were usually terrible, we laughed regardless.
    The week after cleaning out the garage, Dad and I went to Charlie’s to celebrate my birthday. Life had been busy and we missed the actual day, but it didn’t matter. Mr Grandy had surprised me on the afternoon of my birthday with a small teacake at work. I had posted Sally’s parcel but hadn’t heard back from her at all. No letter, email, no phone call.
    Dad had found a book, The Darwin Awards. That birthday was Dad’s triumph.
    The Darwin Awards are given for the most interesting and unusual method of death. I know it sounds macabre, but it really is so funny that it’s hard not to laugh just thinking about it. Dad and I share a strange sense of humour. Funniest Home Videos was often the humour highlight of the week.
    Becky called me wicked. And strange. ‘What kind of person cries while laughing at people hurting themselves?’
    â€˜It’s the context,’ I tried to tell her. ‘And, besides, I must be among good company because the show is an institution. I think it’s outlived that Bert Newton show.’ We thought Bert Newton was a Romeo. For all the wrong reasons.
    â€˜You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Dad. I don’t think I could stand to laugh one more time. My cheeks are killing me.’
    Despite the humour there was an unspoken irony of those awards, too, given it’s where Mum and Sally had ended up. It was hard not to celebrate my birthday without thinking of Sally.
    â€˜I sent her some money this time,’ Dad said. ‘I think she’ll like that.’
    I nodded, flipping through the Darwin book.
    We finished our dinner feeling warm all over.
    â€˜Let’s read them to Amona tomorrow night,’ Dad said and I laughed, thinking how delicious it would feel laughing all over again with someone new. But I felt that sting again, too. Jealous for no good reason.
    We walked back to the car, Dad’s arm around my shoulders and I couldn’t think of a happier birthday. Usually Sally would email a thank you to Dad for her present. But Dad hadn’t heard anything either.
    We drove home from the restaurant and Dad chose a video to watch and I had made Earl Grey for us both.
    Amona was flying home the following morning and the garage was mostly cleared away.