The Last Day on Earth

“What? Why ever not?” Liz frowned in puzzlement.

Lucy shrugged. “I don’t know. He said he wants to be alone. Alone with his thoughts and his whiskey and his memories.”

“That poor boy, he’s been through so much.”

“We all have, Mum.”

“That’s true, but… well, I wouldn’t wish that family’s past year on anyone.”

“I wish we’d found Beth,” Lucy sighed.

“Of course.”

“Where’s Dad?”

“Just washing up, he’ll be out in a minute.”

“Okay, I think I might too. What are you looking at?” Lucy asked as she belatedly registered that her mother was surrounded by scattered photo albums.

“Baby photos, yours and Claire’s, and mine…and some of your grandmother’s. Your Gran looks so young in these.” Liz handed a photo to Lucy. There was a young redheaded woman holding a newborn baby, with a black haired toddler clutching her skirt.

“Is that you?”

“I’m the baby. That’s your Aunt Mary.” Liz pointed to the toddler.

“Was Grandma’s hair really that colour?”

“Yep, she was a natural red-head. Your Grandma was quite disappointed that she never had any redheads herself. Just Mary’s black, my mousy brown and Greg’s blond.”

“She must have been happy when Patrick was born then.” Patrick was Lucy’s cousin, Aunt Mary’s youngest.

Liz smiled fondly at the photo. “Yes, she was.”

They spent the next half hour looking through the old photographs until Lucy’s father came looking for them. The smell of cologne preceded him into the room.

“Wow, Dad, you look spiffy!” Lucy and Liz both looked up at Bill admiringly. He had somehow managed to tame his unruly hair, trimmed his beard, managed to get the dirt out from under his fingernails that, Lucy swore, had been under there since she was a child.

“Just dressing for the occasion,” he said.

“What, dying?” Lucy asked with a furrowed brow.

“No. The last supper.”

“Oh. Right, suppose I’d better too!” Lucy got up. Her father sunk into the spot she’d just vacated and started looking at the photos in Liz’s hands.

Lucy paused just outside the door and listened to her parents reminiscing about a family holiday they’d taken to Perth when Lucy had been seven. She smiled fondly and made her way to the bathroom. It was still steamy from her father. She took her time in the shower, refusing to feel guilty. What was the point of saving water now? She inhaled the scent of the mango body-wash and enjoyed the feeling of the bubbles all over her skin. She turned the taps off once she started to get bored, and then dried herself under the heat light.

Hair wrapped in a towel, she stood in front of her wardrobe trying to decide what to wear. Something nice. She ran her hands through her dresses hanging there, considering.

“You look lovely,” Liz said when Lucy came into the kitchen a while later. She’d settled on the dress that her mother had given her last Christmas, and actually made an effort with her hair and make-up for the first time in weeks.

“Thanks, Mum. Like Dad said, better dress for the occasion.”

Liz nodded approvingly.

“What can I do?” Lucy asked, eying the kitchen bench which had bunches of herbs and piles of fruit and vegetables on it.

“The chicken’s already in the oven, your Dad’s just gone out to pick some basil for me, you can cut the potatoes for the roast while I finish up the lasagne. Thanks, love,” Liz said as she pushed a chopping board toward Lucy. Lucy went into the pantry and grabbed a half dozen large potatoes, plonked them in the sink and started peeling them. After she’d chopped up the potatoes, her mother pushed carrots, broccoli, cauliflower and pumpkin in her direction.

“Bleh, Mum, I hate pumpkin.”

“Too bad, I love it, and we’re having it,” Liz said firmly. Bill winked at her from his reclaimed spot stirring at the stove.

The kitchen was warm and full of mouth-watering smells. Lucy thought it was pleasant, all of them cooking together. It was usually a solo job for whoever’s turn it was cooking that night. Lucy smiled to herself again as she listened to her parents exchange light-hearted banter.

One of the dogs stuck his head around the corner, watching them with bright, alert and hopeful eyes. The dogs weren’t allowed in the kitchen, and they knew it, but it didn’t stop them from trying their luck every now and then. The smell of the roast chicken made it a most tempting challenge.

Lucy stopped chopping.

“What are we going to do with the dogs?” She looked up at her parents, who glanced at each other. “And the cat, she just had her kittens this morning… I know the horses and the goats can’t fit into the shelter…but…”

“Well. I’m not sure. I don’t have enough food for four dogs and five cats and us as well,” Bill frowned.

“That’s assuming we survive at all, my dear,” Liz said.

Bill nodded.

“Surely we can have them with us tonight. Give them the best chance if there is a chance to be had,” Lucy pleaded. She wanted to be surrounded by her animals — to give comfort and to receive it.

“Yes, alright. I wouldn’t mind having them there at that.”

“Thanks, Dad.”