One (Sarah Crossan)

Almost

The front door opens and closes

and Dad’s voice calls out,

‘Hello? Anyone home?’

We are so close to finishing the jigsaw puzzle

we don’t shout back.

We don’t even look up.

All we want is to conquer this Picasso,

these masses of colour.

‘I got you presents!’ Dad says,

sweeping into the kitchen and

throwing two bags right

on top

of the puzzle.

We hold our breaths.

Dad rummages.

He pulls out two boxes and

hands them to

Tippi and me.

I gasp.

Phones—

brand new,

still wrapped in cellophane.

‘Oh my God,’ I say.

‘Are you serious?’

Dad smiles.

‘You’ll need them for school tomorrow.

They’re state-of-the-art

and they’re new.

For my girls.’

‘I thought we had no money,’

Tippi says.

Dad ignores her and hands a larger box

to Dragon.

‘And for you,’ he says.

Dragon peers inside,

blinks,

and takes out a pink satin

ballet slipper.

She turns it over to look at the sole.

‘They’re nice,’ she says.

‘But they’re too small.’

The fan in the corner of the kitchen whirs.

Dad stares at her steadily.

‘They’re too small

is all,’ Dragon tells him.

Dad sighs.

‘I just can’t win, can I?’ he says.

He grabs the shoebox from Dragon,

pitches it back into the bag,

and pulls the lot

down from the table,

taking every last piece of Picasso

with it.