Bronnie hovered round the edges of the carting and loading with darting eyes.
“You’ve got a lot of stuff in the shed you know. Make sure you get it out.”
Alright, alright, I’m going, thought Rose. Piss off.
“Aren’t you going to the country this weekend to look at that property?”
“I’m going later,” said Bronnie.
“Is Chris going too?”“No, he’s off to a retreat at Lorne for a week. I’ll go on my own.” Her mouth was tight. Rose saw sadness behind the sullen look.
“Have you cleared all of your stuff out of the kitchen? What about that green vase?”
“It’s not mine.”“Well it’s not mine,” said Bronnie.
Chris poked his head out of the bedroom door. “Peter gave it to you three Christmases ago, Bronnie.”
“I’ll be in touch soon,” said Rose as she fled to a friend’s car. “Get me out of here.”
She looked back. Bronnie stood astride the veranda, her hands on her hips, with the look of a warrior princess who has successfully ejected an invader. Her face was pale with the effort.
