~*~
It was coming on to half eleven as the Ute’s tyres crunched across the gravel of my family home's driveway. The headlights illuminated the large metal shed (my dad's pride and joy and favourite refuge from my mum) surrounded by three large gum trees, before sweeping round and lighting up the federation style white weatherboard house encircled by a large veranda.
The large, French doors were flung open as Jack cut the engine and warm, orange light spilled down the steps and lit up the path of worn stones which led to the edge of the driveway.
"Doesn't take her long," I remarked with a tired smile as my mum hurtled down the path to the Ute and, opening the drivers’ side door, practically yanked Jack out and into her embrace.
"And what time do you call this?" She asked, pulling back and holding Jack at arm's length so she could scrutinise him in the poor light. "You look tired," she decided, pursing her lips.
"I don't feel tired," Jack protested mildly.
"Which just goes to show that I know you better than you know yourself," Mum clucked, pulling him in for another tight hug.
"Oh, don't mind me," I grumbled hopping out of the cab of the Ute and stretching expansively, accompanying the movement with a loud yawn. Seeing another figure coming down the steps, however, I immediately forgot my tiredness and raced round the side of the Ute and straight into my dad's open arms.
"Hi, Dad," I said happily, squeezing him tightly and revelling in the feeling of coming home that hugging my dad always gave me.
"Hello, pet," he said fondly, ruffling my hair.
Matt appeared in the open doorway and surveyed the scene with a look of disgust. "I'll just get the bags shall I?" He said as he stomped down the steps between the two hugging pairs. "Seeing as how I'm clearly the least favourite child."
"Darling, you had your hugs earlier. Don't be greedy." Mum finally released Jack, presumably finally allowing him to get some air. "Come here, Talia, I'm ready to swap now."
After the greetings were concluded, the boys grabbed the luggage (well it's nice for them to be useful at something, isn't it?) and we all trooped inside.
Without any discussion, we all gravitated towards the kitchen, otherwise known as the heart and soul of the house. Matt, Jack and I threw ourselves into three of the chairs surrounding the large, scarred, scorched and scored table which had dealt the brunt of the Davenport family lifestyle for as long as I could remember. Dad settled himself into his armchair which was situated in the corner, exactly, and we know this because Matt and Jack measured it once, equal distance between the fridge and the TV, and Mum bustled around making hot chocolate for everyone.
It seemed like everyone was talking at once and as loudly as possible. There was definitely more noise than it seemed possible five people could make, what with Mum squawking about her adult education course, Dad explaining his new plans for the garden, Jack trying to listen and reply to both of them at once, and Matt and I warbling away about our lives at uni.
Not usually the best of cooks, it must be said that my mother's hot chocolate is to die for. It also seems to contain sedatives as, by the time we were slurping up the dregs, I could barely keep my eyes open.
"Well," Matt said with a huge yawn, "I'm bushed, time to hit the swag, I reckon."
This statement was greeted with more yawns and nods from the rest of us and we began the laborious task of pulling ourselves away from the warmth of the kitchen to our beds upstairs.
The house has two bathrooms, one downstairs, which has always been known as the parents’ bathroom, and one upstairs which Matt, Jack and I use. Through losing out to both of them in games of rock, paper, scissors, I was the last to get to brush my teeth and do all the other bedtime toiletry necessities and so, by the time I left the bathroom, everyone else was in bed. Sticking my head round my parents' door I bade them good night and then padded my way across the landing to do the same to Matt and Jack. I paused, however, with my hand on the doorknob of Matt's door, as I heard Jack's voice rise angrily. That was weird, Jack hardly ever shouted, especially at his best mate.
"I've said no, Matt, drop it alright?"
Man, he sounded really pissed off.
"You're going to have to see him sometime," Matt replied insistently, seemingly unperturbed by Jack's unusual behaviour. "Have you even told him about the scholarship yet?"
"What's the point?" Jack snapped. "He'll just tell me there's no chance in hell of me getting it and he's probably right."
I heard Matt sigh and I knew that he was making a face at Jack. "So you're going to have come all this way and not even go and see him for a moment? It's a small town, Hammer, your dad's gonna know that you're here."
"Yeah, so why doesn't he pull his bloody finger out and come and see me? Why do I always have to go to him?" Jack still sounded angry but there was something of a small wounded boy in his voice that time.
"You're going to have to see him sooner or later," Matt said after a long pause, "Why don't you just get it over with now?"
"Because," Jack replied, reverting to a hard, flat voice, "when it comes to my father later is always better than sooner."
There was an extended silence and then Matt sighed again. "Night then, you stubborn bastard." And then, slightly more loudly, he added,: "And good night to you too, Natalia, you little sneak."
I jumped guiltily and fled to my room.