It is the first weekend in our brand new home! Boxes are spread from arse to breakfast and unpacking is going to be the order of the day. A very pregnant Ruth has lists on lists, details of where everything is to go. She is still asleep!
The kettle boils, and I pop a tea bag in, to draw. The doorbell rings. “Hullo, my name is Rodja” says a small urchin, sucking earnestly on a chupa chup. He is wearing a pyjama top and thongs. He comes into the living room and makes a beeline for the kitchen. He deposits his chupa into the pyjama’s pocket, settles at the breakfast bar and proceeds to finish off my bowl of muesli.
“Where’s Ben” he queries. Before I can get a handle on things, I ask who Ben is. “He lives here. With his sister Sarah and Mummy and Daddy. Who are you?”
The chupa is back in his mouth, and a line of colourful dribble is mixing with cereal milk residues, tracking indirectly down his face. As I watch, the sparkling flecks are reaching the edge of his chin, momentarily hesitating, consolidating before dropping neatly down onto his pyjama top.
Rodja heads for the back door and out into the yard where he unceremoniously reaches the lemon tree and projects a modest stream! He tells me that Ben, Sarah and he have been practising but Sarah can’t do it. He asks again where Ben is.
Ruth appears at the back door, a smile of welcome faltering as she sees the small, semi-naked boy at the lemon tree. “Who is he?” “I haven’t the foggiest.” “We are moving soon. I want to say tut-tah to Ben and Sarah.”
The doorbell rings again. We all head back inside and meet a woman we take to be Rodja’s Mum. “Is he here? The movers arrived a few minutes ago and he must have slipped out the door while I was busy with them.” “Oh, excuse me: Molly Waters, two doors up. This is where his best friends Ben and Sarah live, or they did until a couple of weeks ago. He practically lives here.” “Come on Roger, let’s get you home, into the shower, clothes and some breakfast.”
The chupa is continuing to dribble down his chin. I notice the sparkly splodges on the kitchen and loungeroom floors, but he happily anchors a sticky hand into his Mum’s, and leaves. We assure Rodja that he is most welcome to come again. Molly smiles over her shoulder.
We entertain Rodja several times over the next few days. He continues to look around, in case Ben is hiding behind one of the doors, in a bedroom, or in the bathroom. He loves Muesli, and with Molly’s say-so, we share a couple of bowls of cereal together.
Rodja’s big day arrives and we are on the footpath waving good-bye, he at his window yelling to us not to forget to say tut-tah to Ben.