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    No Such Thing
    No Such Thing
    No Such Thing
    Ebook83 pages1 hour

    No Such Thing

    By Tabitha Ormiston-Smith

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    About this ebook

    Callie Jones and her dad are devastated when the bank threatens to foreclose on their home. But help comes from an unexpected quarter, and Callie learns that actions have consequences, and sometimes the price you pay can be too high....

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTabitha Ormiston-Smith
    Release dateMar 6, 2016
    ISBN9781311218735
    No Such Thing
    Author

    Tabitha Ormiston-Smith

    Tabitha Ormiston-Smith was born and continues to age. Dividing her time between her houses in Melbourne and the country, she is ably assisted in her editing business and her other endeavours by Ferret, the three-legged bandit.

    Read more from Tabitha Ormiston Smith

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      Book preview

      No Such Thing - Tabitha Ormiston-Smith

      NO SUCH THING

      Tabitha Ormiston-Smith

      Copyright Tabitha Ormiston-Smith 2015

      Smashwords edition

      Smashwords Edition License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to www.smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      NO SUCH THING

      PART I

      Callie Jones was parentified. She had it on good authority.

      Your trouble, Callie, said the school counsellor, is that you’re parentified. She said it with an air of smugness, as if she’d invented cyanide or something. Callie tried to paste the required expression on her face. Slightly worried but respectful, that should do it. She crossed her eyes slightly, her private act of defiance. It was Callie-speak for the raised middle finger.

      Callie knew what her trouble was. It wasn’t being parentified, whatever that meant. It was being skinny, and flat as a board, and having dead white skin covered in freckles, like a Dalmatian. It was having a great bush of orange hair, like Ronald McDonald. It was also being top of the class in everything except gym. Being called Calliope wasn’t much help, either. Thanks, Dad.

      The counsellor was still rabbiting on, with her bullshit about parentification. Was that even a word? Callie let her mind drift. It had been last year that everything had suddenly gone all wrong. Callie had been happy enough in primary school. She’d had friends, and been good at everything, and had actually been quite popular. Then they’d moved here and she’d started high school, and everything had changed horribly. All of a sudden she had been surrounded by girls who were blonde, and tanned, and developing curves, and came up to about her shoulder. All of a sudden, Callie had become the class freak. Was she intrinsically a freak? Would it have happened just the same if she’d been able to stay at St Martha’s? If the divorce hadn’t happened, and they’d still had the big house with the pool, and she hadn’t had to go to the state school? Were people at a private school kinder, more accepting, than state school kids? Was it, perhaps, a geographical anomaly? Was there something about Summer Bay that made people shitty? Or just the school? Callie toyed for a few moments with the idea of the school being positioned over a hellmouth, and rejected it. There was, after all, no such thing as a hellmouth.

      Ms Clements, a.k.a. Ms Bullshit, was winding up her spiel. Some crap about the precious moments of childhood. What did she think would happen if Callie didn’t cook, and clean, and do laundry? They’d be knee deep in rubbish and living on pizza and instant noodles, that was what. It was no use expecting Dad to be practical. Callie had realised that within a week of their move to Summer Bay. As soon as he’d got his computer set up, he’d been away Being A Writer, just as if nothing had changed. The only reason the old house had been nice was that Mum had had a cleaning lady three times a week and gardeners and a man to do the pool. Gradually, Callie had learned to take care of things. And she was doing just fine, thank you, Ms Parentified Bullshit. If only the bullies would leave her alone.

      The counsellor was an idiot, Callie reflected on the ride home. She knew one thing about Callie, that her parents were divorced, and she let that dominate her thinking so that she couldn’t see what was in front of her nose. Callie actually hadn’t cared much when Mum had left. It had actually been more of a relief than anything, not to hear the fighting going on all the time. And they’d moved into the holiday house, out on the point. Callie loved the shabby old house. She loved its position, on the cliff looking out to sea. She loved the long bike ride to and from school. She loved that there weren’t any neighbours closer than half a mile. She loved getting up in the early morning and climbing down the little track to the beach. If it weren’t for Debbie Pearson and her gang, life would be just about perfect.

      Dad was sitting at the kitchen table when she let herself in at the back door. Callie dropped her backpack in the corner and went to the fridge.

      What’s up, Dad? Stuck with your book again? It was a frequent occurrence.

      Dad didn’t reply. Turning, Callie noticed he looked oddly different. Sort of smaller, and old. When had he got old? Dad wasn’t old. Forty was the new thirty, that was what it had said on the card she’d got him for his birthday last year.

      Dad? What’s going on?

      He didn’t answer; just kept on staring at some letter. Callie had no patience with drama. She snatched the paper out of his hand. Dear Mr Jones, she read. We note with concern that your monthly payments for March and April have not been received. This letter is a formal notification that you are in default of your obligation to make payments on your home loan, account number 998365-2345987. We regret to inform you that unless your account is brought into order by close of business on 29 May 2015, we shall have no option but to foreclose upon your home, and exercise our power of mortgagee sale pursuant to clause 51.3 of the loan agreement.

      Dad? What is this? What’s a power of mortgagee sale? Is it bad?

      But he didn’t say anything. Just buried his face in his hands and sat there shaking. Callie patted his shoulder

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