Reg came over to visit, once things had settled down. He had a newspaper-wrapped parcel with him.
‘What’s that?’ Pippa asked, wrinkling up her nose.
‘Well, I went fishing this morning and the King George whiting were jumping out of the water to get on my line. Must have been casting into a massive school of ’em. Thought you Grays might like a few for ya dinner.’
‘Oh, Reg, that’s lovely of you—thank you!’ Mum said.
Dad opened a corner of the package and looked impressed. ‘Nice catch there, mate.’
Mum turned to Reg. ‘Can I get you a cuppa, Reg? We were just about to put the kettle on...’
‘That’d be lovely, Suzie,’ Reg grinned. ‘Thank you.’ He turned to Dad. ‘Maybe you should ... act a bit more like one of ya patients. If you get my meaning ... Sort of lie around ... Isn’t that what you’d be telling them to do? Aren’t you meant to be keeping your feet up?’
Dad fairly huffed. ‘Oh, those bloody health professionals, you don’t want to listen to everything they say—they’re a bunch of killjoys, let me tell you.’
‘He’s not a very good patient, is he?’ said Reg to Mum.
‘Shocking,’ she said. ‘He’s itching to get back to work. He puts all this crankiness down to the dent in his head but he’s always been like that, if the truth be told.’
Spencer snorted. ‘The dent!’
‘Oy!’ Dad said.
‘You do have a bit of a dent there now, Dad,’ Pippa said, standing up on a stool to get a close-up look. ‘See? It’s like a crater!’
‘Don’t worry, Dad, the hair will grow back—some day,’ Spencer said, straight-faced.
‘Well it might not,’ said Mum. ‘According to the surgeon, it might never grow back. Might always be a bald spot.’
‘Well, you could always have that hair replacement surgery.’
‘Oh, gee, thanks mate. What does a man have to do to get a little sympathy around here? Isn’t surviving a plane crash enough?’