Bloom

"Hello, Annabelle," Isobel said. "I'm Isaac's mathematics teacher."

"Yes, Isaac's spoken only good things about you, and I'm very sorry for what he has said to you."

"Well, yes," Isobel said with a slight sigh. "I've spoken to Isaac and he's apologised to me."

"Please," Lynda said, bringing her chair around so she could sit with Annabelle and Isobel rather than from behind her desk, "Have a seat and we'll discuss this."

And they did. Isobel outlined how at morning recess she'd found Isaac and several of his peers sitting at one of the school benches in the playground, where Isaac was in the process of drawing a caricature of another teacher, Mr Palmer, on the table top with a permanent marker. When Isobel told Isaac to stop, he'd argued there was a thousand years' worth of drawings, tags and other writing on the table top, and she'd told Isaac he was right, and now he'd volunteered himself to clean all the markings off the table.

"That's when Isaac told me to eff-off you stupid bitch." Isobel spoke the words completely matter-of-fact, in an emotionless and expressionless manner.

"Oh, my," Annabelle said, her face burning with embarrassment and anger, unable to be emotionless and expressionless in the slightest. "I am so sorry, I've brought up Isaac to respect people and definitely not use those words when speaking to a woman."

"If it's any consolation," Isobel said, a little smile on her lips now, "Isaac has apologised profusely to me and promised to clean all the tables in the school."

"I'm glad to hear," Annabelle said. "He should do what is necessary to atone for the damage he's done, especially for the way he spoke to you, Isobel."

"He told me there was a break in at your place last night and his sister hit the intruder with her guitar and he was still on edge."

Annabelle nodded. "This did happen, but there's no excuse. I'll make sure he carries out his punishment."

Lynda spoke up. "It won't be necessary for Isaac to clean all the tables and benches in the school, and to be honest, kids are drawing and writing on desks and tables all the time. The main issue, of how Isaac responded to Isobel, could have seen him suspended, but Isobel tells me he is a good student and genuinely apologetic for the way he spoke."

Isobel nodded. "Like I said, Isaac apologised profusely. He's a good kid and despite being only new to the school, he's one of my better students. I don't think suspending him is appropriate."

"But we are giving him after-school detention for the rest of the term," Lynda added.

"This sounds reasonable," Annabelle said, nodding. "And I will ensure he is more respectful of teachers and school property in future."

Lynda and Isobel said their farewells to Annabelle and she walked back to the reception area where Isaac sat, slightly nodding his head up and down in time to whatever he was listening to. He looked up, his dark brown eyes catching hers, and they widened as he took out an earbud and stood. "I'm so sorry, Mum."

"We'll talk in the car."

They did, Annabelle driving, silently fuming as Isaac said, "I didn't mean to swear at Ms McAvaney, it just came out."

Sounds exactly like something Travis would say...

"It just came out is never an excuse..."

"I know, Mum. I like Ms McAvaney, she actually takes notice of me."

"Why'd you swear at her then?"

"I don't know," he said. "She was being a bitch."

"She was not being a bitch, she was being a teacher. And you must never use that word in reference to woman, do you understand?"

"Dad used it..."

"Uh, uh, no," Annabelle said, forcefully. "Do not ever model your behaviour on your father."

Hardly the best role model...

"Maybe I couldn't help it because I have his genes."

Annabelle, who felt her blood rising, wanted to pull over and give her son a piece of her mind. Instead she took a deep breath and said, "You also share my genes and we don't speak like this to anyone. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Mum..."

"You need to redeem yourself, so it better be crystal clear. You will be helping me out at the markets every Saturday..."

"Every Saturday! No way..."

"Yes way..."

"I have detention for the rest of the term."

"Too bad, so sad."

"How long for?"

"For as long as I say." Isaac stomped his foot in the Polo's passenger foot-well and Annabelle added, "And if I see any more attitude like this from you, I'll find you a whole bunch of other chores. You need to take a bit of responsibility."

Isaac huffed and they drove on in silence until he asked, "What's for dinner, Mum."

Argghh, Annabelle thought as she coasted to a stop at a traffic light, Good question. I do not feel like cooking.

But she didn't want to reward her son's recent behaviour either.

Damn this...

"How about pizza?"

Isaac turned and looked over to her. "For reals?"

She sighed, "Yes, for reals."

~0~

Annabelle sighed, sitting at the small dining table, staring at her bank statement on her laptop screen. Grungy distortions vibrated from Isaac's amp, through his walls and closed door, reverberating around the small unit and probably beyond. But he was learning a new song and practicing it to perfection, a trait Annabelle admired in her son.

And it's not too loud, no more than some people in this building play their stereo at all hours, and it's Nirvana's Smells Like Teen Spirit! How many kids his age even know classics such as this?

The thought made her feel old, recalling moshing out in the lounge room to her older brother's CD's, way, way back in time when she was like, nine or ten. Good times...

There was thumping coming from down the hall and Annabelle heard Millie yell, "Turn your fucking amp down, Zac. I'm about to start fucking streaming."

Isaac kept playing, perhaps oblivious, and Millie banged again. Annabelle decided to let the kids work their shit out, while noticing her bank account timed out. Millie was likely playing her PlayStation or PC online, otherwise she'd probably join her younger brother in a jam session as they used to do. Annabelle was happiest when her children did jam together, where occasionally she joined them, pulling out her ancient acoustic guitar, her Grandfathers, the one her Grandmother gave her and her Mother taught her to play. The one on which Annabelle taught both her children to play.

But Millie was too cool for school these days, in her first year of university, studying psychology, where Covid reduced most lessons, tutes and practicals to on-line content.

Poor thing, she and her peers are not getting the traditional university experience they've grown up expecting.

Annabelle re-logged into her bank account while recalling the one year she'd studied at university, regretting she'd wasted the opportunity.

"Mum, can you make Isaac turn his guitar down!" Millie's demand was not a request and shook Annabelle out of her not-so-pleasant contemplation.

Annabelle looked up, seeing her daughter, Millicent Thorne, named after Annabelle's Grandmother. Poor Millie, her first true love, recklessly conceived by two horny idiots, likely in the back of her father's souped-up WRX somewhere.

Gosh Millie was beautiful, despite her scowl, and despite her arrangement of piercings, in her nose, lips, and all up her ears, and short-cut hair.

What happened to my sweet, beautiful girl with her long dark hair, dark brown eyes and lovely smile? It feels like it was only yesterday we were drawing dinosaurs and making cubbies from blankets over chairs and having garden picnics with all her toys and playing chords on the guitar and piano.

"Mum," Millie pressed, "Did you even hear me?"

"I did and I'm thinking perhaps you could use some of the psychology you learn at uni to get Isaac to turn his music down without resorting to banging on his door and swearing."

"How can I learn anything when there's so much noise in this tiny shoe-box of an apartment?"

"You're a bright girl, I'd like to think you'd be able to work these problems out."

Millie huffed and frowned, her eyes glowering dark. "I fucking hate it here, it's tiny and hot and we can't escape each other, and people climb through the windows in the night."

"I'd like you to stop swearing around here, and you could get a job and move out if you like." Annabelle raised her eyebrows, but considered how she didn't want Millie to move out, somewhat sympathising with her daughter who'd grown up spoilt, given everything she could possibly want and more, knowing nothing but wealth, living in Sydney's northern suburbs. Millie said they were slumming it in this tiny flat in Brisbane, which wasn't even a quarter of the size of their former six-bedroom house with its huge open-plan living spaces with views of Sydney Harbour through the trees, and a cleaner who came once a week, and multiple cars and a boat, holidays overseas...but that was then and this was now, their situation changed. The little money left in the bank after rent and groceries and other needs was testament to this, and Annabelle blinked, considering if she'd have any money to put aside into savings this week. She looked to her daughter and said, "I was working at your age, you know, and paying rent."

"You were working Dad's cock in the back of his car."

"I beg your pardon, Millicent Thorne!"

"I was only speaking the truth."

"We were in love back then and I was working hard, thank you very much, and working hard is not a euphemism for your father's cock. Which, by the way, you must never mention the words cock and father in the same sentence ever again."

Mother and daughter glared at one another for a moment, then Millie said, "Unless I say Dad's a fucken cock-head, right."

Annabelle didn't know whether to smile, frown, cringe or whatever, but sure as day she agreed with Millie on this one. But she shook her head and said, "Keep it civil, Mills, he's still your father despite his...mistakes."

"I'm sorry, Mum, but you know I'm right. And you also know I've looked for jobs but this whole pandemic thing's making it difficult since they let it rip. So much for living with it, everyone's off work sick."

Millie was about to continue but she paused when the music stopped, and Annabelle almost spoke to her daughter, but Isaac joined them in the small combined dining and living space, saying, "'Sup, Mills?"

Millie glared at her brother and he gave her a smile, a cheeky one, and she gave an exaggerated sigh and stormed off.

"Please keep your amplifier as low as it will go," Annabelle said, calmly. "You're not the only one around here, the entire building doesn't need to hear your guitar. I'm surprised no one's complaining, but give them time."

"I need to feel it," Isaac said, going to the kitchen fridge. "It's not the same when..."

"Isaac," Annabelle said, sternly now, "We live in a unit block and no longer have a sound-proof room like we did in Sydney. So please be courteous to our neighbours, your sister, and to me. You're already in enough trouble today."

"Yes, Mum...by the way, we're out of juice."

Shit, and we're out of bread still because I forgot to buy some...

"There's water in the tap."

Isaac frowned but took a glass, filling it at the kitchen sink.

Annabelle looked away, to the print on the wall, the one of the painted sunflower. It was one of her favourites, where she'd worked for months painting the seeds in the centre of the disc floret.

Below the print was a low book case, with several photographs and drawings sitting on top. One was a caricature of Annabelle, drawn by Isaac, where her hair flowed long and black and without a hint of grey, and her eyes were wide and brown and twinkling, and her smile big and warm. Below, Isaac's hand writing said the words Happy Birthday Mum, and she almost teared up, recalling he'd given it to her three years previously, on her thirty-seventh birthday, right at the time it was like their life was seemingly collapsing. The caricature from her son was one thing keeping her going in the darkest of times and she'd never forget how he'd been her shining light.

Examining the caricature, she remembered why she was called into school, the chain of events beginning with Isaac drawing a caricature of a teacher on a bench-top. Yet, an idea popped into her mind and she looked to her son and smiled. "Maybe you can draw cartoons of people at the markets."

"Isn't the embarrassment of hanging out with you punishment enough?"

"I'll endeavour to embarrass you as much as I can, mister. But if you busk as a caricature artist, I'll consider reducing your embarrassment. We can speak with the manager and see if we can get you a permit. You might make some money from it."

"I could play my guitar or drums or keyboard with Mills instead."

"Millie only gets to play for half an hour and barely makes a few bucks, and we couldn't fit anymore instruments in the car. Be unique and use your other talents, the one thing you can do few others can."

"I'll think about it."

"Otherwise, you can sit at my stall for five hours and sell my prints and be embarrassed by hanging with me."

"Yay," he said, the sarcasm palpable.

"Excellent attitude," Annabelle said, giving her son a cheeky smile. He rolled his eyes and placed the glass by the sink and began to walk back through the kitchen, and Annabelle spoke up. "Eh, what do you do with your glass?"

"God, Mum, do you ever let up."

"Look mister, you're fourteen now and the cleaning fairy no longer cleans up after you. And remember, you're on thin ice as it is, so once you clean up your glass, you can take in the washing from the clothes horse, and fold it too.

"Muuumm! No way..."

"Uh, uh, no arguments, mister, and see your mess over there?" She waved her finger in the direction of a half-assembled Lego Technic, a remote-controlled drone, a skate-board, his schoolbag, his keyboard, and the thing irritating her most, his drum kit. "Pack your drums away because you can never use them in the unit. As for everything else, I've told you a million times to take your stuff to your room and not leave it lying about here in the living spaces. Also, speaking of your room, tidy it rather than tossing your belongings in there. We're not going to live in squalor, young man. You can vacuum it in the morning, too."

I sound exactly like my mother, Annabelle thought.

"You're obsessed with cleaning..."

"Too right, Zac, because this is what being an adult's all about, cleaning all the time, so maybe you could help out by not making a mess and cleaning up after yourself."

Isaac looked as if he was about to protest, but must have thought better of it, grumbling and groaning, but turning to do what his mum asked. Slovenly, but he completed the tasks to some minor level of satisfaction.

I remember when all you and Millie ever wanted to do was hang out with me, she thought, the melancholy stabbing at her heart again. And all the time's you've wanted to help me when you were little, and now I'll take whatever I can get as a win.

Unfortunately it was the only win, because Annabelle now opened her CV and began tweaking it, knowing she couldn't leave four months into her current job until she secured another job.

Later, when the children were both doing whatever in their rooms, Annabelle searched the internet and found a photograph she liked, picked up her sketching pencil, placing its lead to a blank sheet of A4 art paper.

She drew big curves, large petals side-by-side, a large dorsal sepal flanked by two lateral sepals under the petals. Next came the column with anther cap on the end, the labellum at the centre bottom.

Selecting several shades of pink from her Derwent watercolour pencils, she began to colour the flower, adding yellows and whites to the throat of the labellum. She drew a second flower and three unopened buds on the same flower spike.

The flower reminded Annabelle of her Grandmother, and she smiled and yawned, writing lightly across the bottom of the page, Phalaenopsis sp.

~0~

CHAPTER 2

Annabelle's personal car, a small white Holden Barina, was parked next to her work's Volkswagen, and the previous evening she'd packed the tiny Barina full of prints. Both Millie and Isaac helped lift the two trestle tables plus a three-by-three metre collapsible marquee to the roof racks and strapped them down, a job they both did with surprisingly little complaint.

But now they were carrying on like pork chops, Isaac telling Millie, "You take the back seat with your guitar."

"Nope, no way," Millie said, closing the rear door after stuffing her black guitar across the back seat, not quite squashing her mother's prints. "I'm older and more important, so I ride shot-gun."

"Fuck off, Mills, I'm in the front and you can ride with your guitar."

Annabelle ignored her children's bickering until Isaac swore. "Hey, you're on thin ice with your swearing at people, young man. For this reason alone you can ride in the back with Millie's guitar."

Isaac huffed with great exaggerated disappointment and said, "Aww geeeeee."

Millie poked her tongue at her brother and Annabelle gave her a stern look. "And you should act your age, young lady."

"Lady, pffft," Millie said derisively.

Annabelle sighed. "It's way too early in the morning for this kind of cheek."

"Tell me about it," Millie said, though she was grinning now. "Five-thirty is an ungodly hour to wake, it's the best time to finally go to sleep on a Saturday."

Annabelle thought of saying something but decided to take Millie's sarcasm and grin as a win of sorts. A deep accented voice rumbled through the under-building car park, followed by a young girl's higher-pitched voice, and Annabelle recognised it as Felix and Mariana from upstairs. She turned and saw the father and daughter walking across the carpark towards their little van. Mariana, who was carrying a colourful blanket and toy dog and wearing a small pack on her back, waved. "Hello, Mrs Thorne."

"Hello, Mariana. You can call me Annabelle, I'd prefer it."

"Okay, Mrs Annabelle."

She smiled, as did the girl and her father. She looked to Felix and said, "Starting extra early this morning?"

"I have to get this one to her mother's before heading to the markets to pick up some fresh produce for the café," Felix said.

Mariana's eyes looked huge behind her spectacle lenses, and she said, "I'm only going to Mummy's for one night. Mummy has to nurse people again on Monday so Daddy is picking me up tomorrow night."

"I bet you're looking forward to seeing Mummy."

The girl beamed. "I can't wait! She's so busy these days."

"I better not keep you two then. Have fun with your Mum."

Mariana giggled and Annabelle heard Millie snigger behind her. She ignored her daughter and looked into Felix's eyes, delicious eyes she thought, like dark chocolate. She felt her face flush when he smiled and pointed to the roof of her car. "I've seen you strap these to your car before every weekend but I've never asked."

"Oh, this," Annabelle replied, a little flustered, keenly aware she needed to get going, but wanting to continue chatting. "It's for my stall at the markets. I sell my paintings there."

"Oh, you'll be at the markets too," he said, his thick eyebrows raising. "Maybe I'll see you there?"

"I hope so," she replied, then feeling her face flush more, she added, "Drop by my stall if you have time."

"I'll try." Felix smiled, then pattered Mariana on the shoulder. "Come, my anjinho, we need to get you to Mamãe's."

"Bye, Mariana," Annabelle said, waving, and Mariana beamed and returned her wave.

Felix waved and smiled too, and when Annabelle sat in her car Millie chuckled and put on a cutesy voice, saying, "I hope I'll see you at the markets, Mr Felix Dias."