I shower again, and think about money. I now have enough money in the house to completely refurbish Mick’s life. I don’t feel it’s a good idea to tempt him with that. He slumps in front of the TV, so I take the garbage bags from the linen cupboard and the supermarket bags with my most recent winnings, and put them in the ute.

I say, ‘I’ll see you later,’ and he waves me off.

I’m not sure why I’m going to Elaine’s. Intrigue. I suppose. Why is she asking me, and what is her involvement with the box? I haven’t accepted an invitation from anyone to anything for months. The arrival of one box has pushed me out into the world. And sitting with Mick, watching TV and not drinking beer, does not sound like a good alternative.

3

3

I was an only child, but I don’t remember ever being lonely. Not lonely like I am now. Except I’m not lonely, because I don’t really like to see anyone. But when I was a kid there were always things I wanted to do, and usually someone who would come over and do those things with me. In the holidays, there were people around, and work to do. But when I was with my friends, we didn’t work, even if we said we did — we just rode horses and bikes, swam in the dam, caught craybobs in the creek, and had wars at the hiding tree. Later on, I had my own bush-basher car, and we used to fang around in that. My parents expected me to entertain myself, with or without friends. They never thought it was their job to find ways to keep me amused. They both taught me things, and I would never have dared to tell them I was bored or that I wanted a new toy of some sort. If I couldn’t amuse myself amongst nature on the farm, or the animals, or the machinery, then I was beneath contempt. It was never a contempt I needed to worry about. It’s odd to think that I am the only one on my farm now. But I really don’t think about it. Actually, now I feel the place is populated by ghosts, so I’m not really alone.