“You hate them because you would have to do housework every week,” said Chris.
“Bullshit. Why should the woman have to do all of the work?”
Rose had observed that Bronnie freely scattered things around the house and Chris usually cleared them up.
Chris and Rose gave up their attempts at defiance and washed the dishes, cleared up the kitchen and mopped the floor.
Bronnie flopped on the lounge room floor, slightly mollified, looking at real estate ads on her lap top. Chris settled into a corner of the room to meditate. He wrapped himself in a red blanket and closed his eyes.
In the kitchen Rose hacked at vegetables. She smarted at the loss of her runners, a worn-out reminder of a defunct love affair. She formed a plan to retrieve them from the bin in the middle of the night when Bronnie was safely in bed.
Bronnie burst into the kitchen, her face alight.
“I’ve found a beautiful place in the mountains for sale. It’s cheap. I could make a killing growing goji berries and cut flowers. There’s a good market for them.”
“Sounds great,” said Rose flatly. “Sounds like it could be a bit expensive for you.”
They were currently in debt and planning a trip to South America.
“No worries. Chris and I could get it paid off in two years. I’ll do private work on the weekends in rich people’s gardens and charge exorbitant fees.”
“Chris!” She called.
“I’m trying to meditate.”
“Haven’t you meditated long enough? Listen, I’ve got a great idea.”
“Hang on.” He intoned a chant, got up and ambled into the kitchen, still wrapped in a red blanket.
“Look at this ad. Wouldn’t it be great? I could grow produce and you could set up a meditation centre.”
“It’s a bit far away.”
“What do you mean? I thought you wanted to live in the country.”
“I do darling, but not yet. I want to finish my yoga course and then I want to travel to work with the guru in the Punjab.”
