Friday Night:
"I can't live with or without you." Cora and her mother sang, waltzing around the loungeroom to U2, not caring if their singing was terrible, but simply having all the fun in the world.
Cora laughed as her mother swung her into a dip, and Cora bended her knees, outstretching an arm, before her mother pulled her back up, spun in in a piroutte, and Cora fell over the arm of the couch, landing on the eternal pile of pillows on the studded-leather furniture.
"You think you get break yet? Non, non, get back up and dance with your maman to this strange little red-haired man!"
Cora groaned. "All in the name of holy, let's change the goddamned CD - any minute now Bono will start wail and I can't stand it." She climbed from the couch and knelt down to the scattered collection of CD's, and she smiled as she found the perfect one.
"Make sure it's one I like. I do not like your boom-boom music." Marta complained, waving her hands in the air. "I like nice music - Celine Dion, Chirstina Prior, Mario Lanzar, Michael Buble, Dean Martin, Fourth of July, you know darling."
"I know, Maman, I know." Cora stood up and slotted the disc into the CD player.
"You still sit for your maman, oui?"
"Duh, of course. Come on, shake it off. I'm due to go around and have a cuppa with Uncle Maki after this song - he's booked out for the next two weeks with Master degree hoper's from Melbourne." Cora explained, seizing her mother's hands, and jumping up on the couch.
"No jump on the furniture."
"Maman! You gave birth to me on this couch - you just pushed me over on it! It's not like the neighbours will come rampaging with ukranian blades and muslim bibles to pray for my sins!"
Marta made a reproving noise. "Speaking of neighbours - I wonder where cranky-bum across the road went. I not seen her for a week, you know! And her kids are there by themselves - that's trouble."
"They're 17, maman, they'll be fine."
"What's this rot? And age no count for brains my love."
"James Arthur - and I beg to differ - I reckon he's brilliant. And, yeah, oui, I give you that one."
Marta sighed and sat down on the couch, and looked over at the CD player. "Oui, he good, I admit so. Annoying."
Cora smiled like Chesire.
"You know I should go over - it's only across the road - see if they are ok. They home by themselves - I don't like this, them been on there own. God knows what goes on in there - two teenagers! I guarrantee you my dear - dishes no done, washing yucky, mouldy food - no good, I go over now." Marta decided, instantly douzing her daughter's mood.
"Maman, don't you dare - no, I mean it, let the muslims next door do this, don't you do it! They're as weird as Elton John's gay and it's the middle of the night."
Marta tutted. "All the world is a little queer bar thee and me. I am your mother, you listen to me - not the other way around."
"Rubbish!" Cora retorted rudely.
"Watch you mouth, otherwise I'll take that good underwear set off you." Cora rolled her eyes as her mother delievered the threat.
She watched her mother stalk out of the loungeroom, through the hall, into her bedroom, through the en-suite and just about to shut the back door when Cora delievered the final retort.
"It wouldn't fit your fat bum anyway, froggie!"
