I drove past a pair of high heeled shoes abandoned in the middle of the road somewhere near the Monash University in Caulfield. I wanted to go back and see what condition they were in and whether they might suit one of my daughters, but I kept getting further away.
Then half asleep in the early morning I was with my husband who had
promised to give a friend of one of our daughters a lift to work, but
our car was no longer available and so we set off on foot.
We took a route that was familiar to us, one we had travelled often many
years before but not recently. It involved a short cut through several
properties and I worried the whole time that we would get caught; that
we would upset the people who lived in these houses; or that we would be
thought of as burglars.
All these things happened as we raced through corridors of unknown
houses on the pretext that they were apartment dwelling corridors and
communal spaces, only to discover they came to an end in some stranger’s
At one point as we were leaving someone’s back yard I could see the
occupants of the attached house in the distance. They started to chase
us. We ignored them and ran off up the street.
Someone else further up the street pulled out of a driveway in his
hotted up hoon car and tried to stop us. With Herculean strength I
managed to push his slow moving car to one side so that we could all get
past and in the process I tipped it over to one side. The driver was
trapped inside of his peeled back soft top. He only needed to unbuckle
his seat belt to free himself.
‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ my husband said. ‘You’ll only infuriate him more.’
Then I imagined someone else coming out to hose us as punishment, rather
like the Dutch hosed down the German collaborators after the Second