rel="nofollow" href="#uc9209075-a408-587a-99ef-8db7281a97b0">Back Cover Text
Barbara Hannay
I’d like to thank Anne Gracie, for her wonderful
insights into adult literacy, and Elliot,
my live-in bush poet.
THEY were asleep.
At last.
Holly held her breath as she closed the storybook, then backed out of the children’s room with the stealth of a special ops soldier.
The caution was necessary. Really. These kids could sleep soundly through the familiar blast of car horns and sirens from the busy New York street below, but the tiniest squeak from within the apartment could rouse them to instant panicking wakefulness.
This evening, to Holly’s relief, neither child stirred. They lay perfectly still in their matching bunk beds. In striped pyjamas, one dark head and one fair, they clutched their favourite fluffy toys—a kangaroo for Josh, a koala for Anna—and their eyes remained blessedly closed.
Holly reached the doorway without a mishap and quickly flicked the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. For once there were no responding squawks or protests. Just sweet, blissful silence.
She tiptoed down the hall…and the silence continued.
Fannnntastic. With a little luck, tonight would be a good night. No wet beds. No nightmares. In the past month there’d only been a handful of good nights. But, before Holly could even think about letting out a sigh of relief, her cellphone rang.
No-o-o!
With the speed of a baseball short stop, she dived across the room, snatched the phone from the coffee table and darted into her bedroom, closing the door quickly but softly behind her.
The phone’s screen identified the caller. Her boyfriend, Brandon. Wonderful.
‘Hi, Brand,’ she whispered.
No squeaks emanated from the bedroom down the hall and she sank gratefully onto the bed.
‘Holly, why are you whispering?’
‘I’ve just got the twins to sleep.’
‘Oh, right.’ Brandon gave an audible sigh. ‘How are they coping this week?’
‘A little better.’
‘That’s great.’
Great wasn’t quite the word Holly would have chosen