Sam stood on her tiptoes looking around for signs of this boy. She couldn’t see any but she guessed anyone with a house this big had to have a trampoline, or at least a few of those pump-action water guns they had on TV.
“Where’s your son?” she asked Elaine. “We can be friends.”
Elaine smiled and for the first time, she looked happy doing it. “What a lovely offer, Scott’s with his auntie this afternoon but I’m sure—”
“Elaine!” A man’s voice boomed somewhere above them. “Elaine, who the hell are you talking to?”
Sam felt a thrill of fear go down her spine. Beside her, Nicole was forcing her face into their dad’s leg.
Elaine looked down, her delicate cheeks milked of color. “That’s my husband.”
“I see.” Their dad’s voice was different from how he usually sounded, flat and hard.
“Elaine?” A man appeared in the doorway. He was tall and wide with a red face and a neck like a bull. “Who are you lot? Not Mormons, are you?”
“Greg, these are our neighbors. They’ve come to say hello.” Elaine was using the tiniest voice Sam had ever heard. She sounded like a sugar mouse.
The big man held out a hand the size of a T-bone steak. “I’m Greg Sanderson.”
Greg Sanderson’s eyes were the color of the coffee their mum made in the French press. Sam couldn’t stop staring at them. He didn’t look at her or Nicole or Tabby, and she was glad. Nicole was still pressing her face into their father’s leg. If he talked to her, she might cry.
The handshake ended and Greg Sanderson looked her dad up and down. “You don’t own that…shop, do you?”
Sam’s dad smiled. “The tattoo studio? Yep, that’s mine.”
Greg Sanderson was smiling, too, but it reminded Sam of snakes. “Really?”
“Can’t you tell?” Her dad held up his arm and his sleeve seemed to shine in the afternoon sun, highlighting all the colors he had inked into his skin.
Greg Sanderson sneered and Sam felt another sizzle of fear. Her dad was different from other dads. He had long hair and didn’t eat meat and when she got told off for wearing pants to school, he wrote a letter saying her principal was an agent of the patriarchy. But the thing that really made her dad different were his tattoos; Norse hammers and koi fish and Celtic knots and dragons and poetry. Sam loved her dad’s tattoos, but she knew most people didn’t and Greg Sanderson was clearly one of those people. Her dad didn’t seem to know it, though. He was still smiling his wide happy smile. “The studio’s called Silver Daughters Ink. Feel free to come in if you’d like to take a look around.”
Elaine—who was hiding in the doorframe the same way Nicole was hiding in their dad’s leg—smiled. “Is it named after your girls?”
Her dad beamed at her. “It is.”
“That’s so lovely.”
“If that’s the kind of legacy you want your children to inherit,” Greg said, staring at the sky.
There was a long, awkward silence. Sam kept waiting for one of the grownups to talk but everyone kept looking at everyone else without speaking.
“I’m going to be a tattoo artist when I grow up,” Sam said, because someone had to saysomething.
“Me too!” Tabby screamed. “Me too.”
“Very good,” Greg Sanderson said loudly. “Well, thanks for the booze and flowers, mate, but we should get going. Need to pick up the boy.”
“Not a problem,” her dad said. “We’re having a barbecue next Friday if you’d like to stop by, get to know a few more people?”
Greg Sanderson looked like Tabby when someone gave her broccoli. “Thanks, but we’re busy. The house is still getting sorted and Scotty’s due to start cricket tomorrow.”
“That’s great, the girls play cricket! Sammy’s an excellent batswoman, aren’t you, Sammy?”
“Yes,” Sam said, but it didn’t matter. Greg Sanderson wasn’t looking at her. “Your girls won’t like playing with Scotty. He was the best bowler in his year back in London. He’ll make them cry.”
Indignant, Sam opened her mouth to say no one could make her cry, but her dad rubbed his hand against her back. “Good for him. Well, we’ll be off. Let me know if you change your mind about the barbecue.”
“Will do.” Greg Sanderson closed the door. It wasn’t a slam, but it felt mean all the same.