The Furphy Literary Award 2022 is a national short story competition open to all writers 18 years and over. It’s free to enter. Brilliant prizes. You can find more info HERE.
The best sixteen stories from the 2021 Award are published in The Furphy Anthology 2021. Read more about it (and you can purchase a copy) HERE.
This is one of the stories which was a finalist in last year’s award…
New Chester
by Janet Fuller
New Chester. I’m pretty sure you know the place.
Big enough to be bigoted – too small to know it – too tired to care.
I mean, it’s not like we don’t know we’re sitting on stolen land, or that it was Chinese prospectors who built the place way back. But we still think a giant mural of some white bloke sitting skinning possums is the right way to tell our history.
You know it, right?
That place where everyone knows everyone else’s business, but no one ever talks. Where a long conversation goes something like:
‘Reckon it looks like rain?’
‘Yep.’
‘Probably just gunna tease, hey?’
‘Enough to piss off the missus and her laundry.’
Long pause.
‘Best be off then.’
‘Yep.’
Another long pause.
I’m sure you know it.
Small place, two pubs, one either side of the main drag. You go past the petrol station – the boarded-up one, right at the pink shop – hairdressers, closed about a year back – then past three glass windows – bakery, butcher, then newsagent-cum-Ye Olde Gift Shoppe. Main Street is bullock-wagon wide – has them buildings with Roman numerals and fancy brickwork. One was a bank. Another a livestock agent, maybe. There was serious money here. Long gone, of course.
That place where the Great War obelisk was the heart of the town. Nothing but old blokes’ beer dribblings now.
You still can’t picture it?
It’s the town where you take that twenty-buck bet from your mate to screw Chilly Chen behind the tennis shed ’cos you can’t come up with a reason not to.
Yeah … now you’ve got it. That’s New Chester, mate.
It was summer. We were fifteen. The place was dead.
Green Dog says, ‘Waddyawannado?’
‘I dunno. Stop bloody asking.’
We were sitting on the stone steps wrapped around the war memorial. We had to keep moving, chasing the sliver of shade.
‘Shove up, Dog. I’m roasting. What do you wanna do?’
‘There is nothing to do, man.’
‘We could go down the river.’
‘Nah. Tyson and his lot headed down a bit back.’
‘So?’
‘Mate – he hates me.’
Green Dog was a trifecta of targets for dorks like Tyson – glasses, money, and his family are Hmongs. So, I say, ‘Maybe he wouldn’t hate you if you weren’t such a wimp.’
‘Har har. Some mate you are.’
‘Well – what are we gunna do then? We can’t sit here all day.’
‘Why not? We did yesterday.’ Green Dog pinched at a fat zit under his chin, lost in some weird thought. ‘And the day before, and the one before, and …’
I smacked him on the side of the head.
‘Jeez – And that’s why we can’t today. We’ve gotta do something.’
Green Dog was back in the real world.
‘Look at that. I’m a freaking flagpole.’ He pushed the heel of his hand into his groin.
‘Umm – hello? Not something you need to share.’
Dog went back to his zit.
‘Have you done it?’ he asks.
‘What?’
‘Don’t be a tool. You know – it!’
‘Course.’
‘Liar.’
‘Why’d you ask then?’
‘Dunno. Don’t you wanna do it. Like … real bad.’
‘I’m saving myself for the right woman.’
‘Who?’
‘I dunno. The right one.’
‘What about her?’ He flicked zit pus and pointed.
‘Chilly?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Chilly Chen? She’s like – what – twelve?’
‘Nah. Gotta be fourteen at least. She’s in Mrs Wilson’s group.’
‘Look at her. Like gran would say, “She’s twelve if she’s a day”.’
‘Nah. Would you do her but?’
‘If she asked nicely, of course. I’d be a gentleman.’
‘Bet you wouldn’t. Isn’t your gran dead? Bet you can’t even get it up. I’ve never seen you with one.’
‘Unlike you, Green Dog, I prefer to keep some things private.’
‘Would you do her? Yes or no?’
‘I said I would if she …’
‘Yes or no?’
‘She’s a kid.’
‘Yes or no? If she let you, would you do her?’
‘What’s with you?’
‘Yes or no?’ Green Dog wasn’t backing down.
‘Yes – of course. But we’re not all raging meat bags of hormones. Seriously, you need to get that thing under control.’
‘Twenty bucks says you wouldn’t.’
‘Wouldn’t what?’
‘Do her. Jeez, you’re a knob.’
‘I said I would, didn’t I?’
‘Twenty bucks. Right here, right now.’ Green Dog scrabbled around in the front pocket of his jeans, pulled out a bunch of notes, smoothed two fives and a ten on his thigh.
‘Here ya go. Twenty bucks says you won’t.’
His bulgy crotch set me off. I focused on his gnawed fingernails and thought of the zit pus.
‘Ha,’ Dog snorted. I rammed both fists between my thighs. ‘Knew it,’ he went on, ‘knobless or chicken, which is it?’ He hadn’t noticed – or didn’t care.
‘I said I would.’
‘Go on then.’
‘Leave off.’
‘Go on, knobless … look, she’s coming over.’
‘You’re not serious?’
‘What – about you not having a knob? Deadly. You’ve got nothing else to do, have you? Hey, Chilly! Come here a sec. Beanie’s got something to ask. Here she comes, mate. Easiest twenty bucks ever.’
‘What do you two losers want? I’m busy. And, my name is Lily – dickheads.’
School started up again after Australia Day. New Chester High.
No one wanted to be there – not the kids, not the teachers – and yet there we all were, lined up in limp rows of rank-BOed teenagers collecting manky textbooks and complaining about double maths first up Mondays.
In theory, Green Dog and I could leave in the middle of the year, as long as we had a job to go to. Dog was literally counting down. He had an apprenticeship with his gas fitter uncle in the city. I was working on getting one at Chen’s, the butcher. I sort of had a job there already – when Mr Chen got a delivery in. It was just scrap work for crap money, but that’s not why I did it. Watching his knife slice through the carcass swinging on the hook was like watching a sculptor. Knowing where to put the blade to miss the bone, carve off perfect slabs of flesh – just beautiful.
It didn’t take long to suss out Chilly wasn’t coming back. I asked around one lunch break. Rumour was she’d gone to Sydney to have a baby. Her aunt was going to look after it ’cos Chilly was joining a convent. When Tanya told me, I had to bolt to the dunny. I didn’t throw up, but I wagged my arvo classes anyway.
I went down to the river until Green Dog appeared. He looked at me. I looked at him. He didn’t say anything, neither did I. We both knew exactly what we were talking about.
The next Saturday, Mr Chen yelled across the street that he had some work on Sunday. I nearly said I was busy but knew that wouldn’t fly. I yelled back, ‘After footy – yeah?’
Mr Chen wouldn’t pay anyone in his family to work in the shop. He said once that respect means family before self. Nice idea. Luckily for me, Leon, his son, refused to work for nix, so Mr Chen paid me instead – in cash my old man didn’t need know about.
It took me until we were scrubbing down the blocks before I asked about Chilly.
‘Is, um, Lily on holiday or something, Mr Chen?’
‘No. She’ll be a long time to a holiday.’
‘Is she sick?’
‘No.’
‘But everything’s okay – yeah?’
‘None of your business, son.’
‘I was just wondering ’cos she’s one of the only girls around here worth …’ Too late to stop, I bit my lip.
‘She won’t be around for a while.’
‘Oh, okay. Well, if you see her …’
Mr Chen pulled his bone knife through a cloth in his fist.
‘I think we’re done here, Ben – don’t you?’
I literally backed out the door. ‘I guess so … Thanks.’ I fumbled the plastic apron over my head and shoved it in the bin. I called through the flywire, ‘See ya next week, Mr Chen?’
He didn’t answer. The way he held his shoulders, turned his back on me, was brutal.
Green Dog’s olds made him stay at school for the whole year. He was not a happy chappy. I was stoked. Turns out there was no chance of an apprenticeship for me at Chen’s, and I didn’t have rellos to give me a leg up into something else. Old Man Chen said business was on the down, so he couldn’t afford to take me on. I wanted to believe him.
Right up ’til Easter there was chatter about Chilly’s kid and who the dad was. My name never came up. As far as I could figure, only Chilly, Green Dog, and me knew.
Green Dog’s family went to his uncle’s for Christmas. He wasn’t coming back.
In the new year I started tagging along with my old man picking up whatever was on offer. Mostly, we did bit jobs at the sawmill and sometimes the mine had day work. We got a few good weeks rousting at shearing time and again at fruit picking.
One handy thing about working with my old man was his sketchy work ethic. Soon I was getting offers of jobs ahead of him. Not so handy: he got the shits with me. It worked out best if I made myself scarce when he was around home.
There was one other good thing: there’s nothing to spend your cash on in New Chester. I was saving heaps.
It was August.
I was propped up at the window bench in the pub, nursing a schooner and not watching the footy on TV, when I saw Chilly going into her old man’s shop. She was taller and slimmer, and her hair was long, but it was definitely her. Nearly three years on. She’d be well finished school – even if she’d made it to Year Twelve. I remember thinking, ‘Do they do the HSC in convents?’
I downed my beer and crossed the street. I had my hand on the door, about to push it open, when I realised I’d no idea what I was going to say. Mr Chen saw me standing with my hand flat on the glass. Even if I could conjure up a sentence, I wouldn’t be saying anything in front of her dad. I had to do something. I pushed the door half-open.
‘Hey, Mr Chen. Just wondering if you’ve any work coming up?’
I could see strips of Chilly through the plastic ribbon curtain separating the shop from the cool room. She was looking straight at me – through me. I pretended not to see her.
‘Not this week. End of next week. Can you do Thursday night?’
‘Sure. That’s great. Thanks, Mr Chen … see ya.’ I gave a wave of my hand towards the cool room. She didn’t move.
Before Thursday had rolled around, I’d figured it was going to best for me to keep well clear of Chilly. Turns out, she’d only been back a couple of weeks but, according to my old man, was the talk of the pub. Even Too Tired Tomlins, who couldn’t make it to half time in the C Grade comp, had apparently found enough energy to hook up with her.
Still, I kept rocking up to Chen’s once or twice a month. I loved the work, and the money was bloody handy. But, every time I’d feel sick the whole day, bricking it that Chilly would be watching from behind the ribbons. She never was, but it didn’t stop me stressing out.
Mr Chen never mentioned her. Not once. He couldn’t talk enough about Leon, but never a word about his daughter – or a grandkid. Was that good or bad – not mentioning the kid?
By the time of grand finals, I reckon the whole town was calling Chilly New Chester’s bike. You’re not going to make me explain – are you?
So – there you have it. The history of Chilly Chen and Beans Bryson.
Since then, in these last three years, I’ve managed to keep my head down, save my dosh, get rat-arsed on my twenty-first, and pick up a few TAFE tickets. I’ve been doing FIFO work in WA mines for the last year and now I’m off to Longreach. Green Dog’s been up there a couple of years – the money’s big and the feral pigs bigger.
At twenty-two, it’s time this bloke moved out. Maggie’s thirteen. She and Mum’ll be fine. I’ve booked a bus and a plane, and I’m outta here next Tuesday. I broke it to them last night. Pretty disappointed no one cried.
Yeah, well, we’re all crying today. Even the old man.
Turns out the appointment I drove Mum out to the hospital for this morning wasn’t the routine check-up she said it was. The cancer’s back.
Guess I’m not off to Longreach.
I can’t leave Mum. Maggie’s hopeless. I wouldn’t trust my sister to change her mind, let alone deal with Mum’s colostomy bag. And we all know Dad’s worse than useless. I’m not letting him loose around Mum’s drugs.
The doc says she’s going to end up on more and more morphine, getting more and more helpless. It looks like muggins here is the only choice she has.
Three weeks since we got the Stage Four diagnosis, and I’m losing it. I’m just so flaming angry, all the flaming time.
I know I’m drinking too much. That’s not exactly new. I was before this shit happened, ’cos there’s nothing else to do in this shitty town. But now – sometimes I’ve gotta do something to take the edge off or I’ll go completely mental. My problem is I can’t hold booze like my old man. Once I get a skinful, I’m off. Fight a rat for a flea, I would.
I don’t do drugs – other drugs. Never have. Never will. Thanks to the olds.
Mum got a bit heavy on the weed when I was little. She grew her own – one or two plants, ’cos it was cheaper than buying smokes. Sometimes it made her pretty nasty. Or she’d be on another planet. I ran a bit feral as a kid. The old man’s always been pretty shabby – weed or booze just made him worse, and made him want something stronger. In the time it took me to get from Kindy to Year Eight, he went from beers and a puff after work to Jim Beam and a snort to get his day started.
By the time Maggie came along, they were both pretty useless a lot of the time. No wonder the little maggot’s such a weirdo.
But I’ve got to keep it together. I’m trying like all-get-out. For Maggie and for Mum. At least Dad’s got full hours in the sawmill – which means I can stay in town for them both. The only work I can get is with the Chens – Leon and his old man. It helps.
I am officially a bona fide, one hundred per cent, gutless chicken.
It turns out that Chilly’s parents had her staying in a shed out back of the shop. I only found out tonight. I didn’t even know there was a shed back there. I think it might’ve been a cool room before there were hygiene rules and stuff. I don’t know how long it’s been going on – I’d been preoccupied with work, then getting ready to leave, and now Mum.
Mr Chen said he had a Rotary meeting, so asked me to finish up, and to leave the keys on the door ledge of the back entrance. I cleaned up, locked the front door and headed up the alley. I was using the torch on my phone so I didn’t go arse over tit. There was this wheezy half-cough. I shone the light into this shed, like a kids’ cubby. Chilly was inside, half-sitting, half-lying on a skinny camp bed. She had manky old footy socks on, and not much else. My torch lit up bits of vomit soaking into a sleeping bag. Her lips were kinda blue. I said her name and nudged her leg with my boot. No need to be Einstein to figure she was in trouble. I bolted out to the street and called triple-zero. I didn’t check for a pulse. I wouldn’t give my name. Told them I wasn’t even sure she was alive.
The Chen’s will know it had to be me who called the ambos – which means they know that I know that they’ve been letting their daughter doss in a shed, like a dog in a kennel. What a shambles. But I can’t quit – I need the money.
Two weeks now – neither Mr Chen nor Leon have said anything, but we all know that we all know.
Leon makes megabucks hiring out roadwork equipment, mostly because he uses cheap, unqualified labour – blokes like me – to do the day-to-day maintenance. Don’t get me wrong, there’s pretty much nothing I can’t fix, but I don’t have tickets for any of his stuff. He doesn’t care, I like cash in hand, so everyone wins … except for this morning.
I strolled into his office, casual like.
‘How’s your kid sister doing these days?’
Nothing from Leon.
‘I haven’t seen her for ages.’
Leon looks me square on, says, ‘I don’t have a sister,’ then turns back to prodding keys on his laptop.
There’s really no coming back from that, is there?
From shambles to shit fest.
Chilly’s been assaulted. Fuck.
I see her down at the river. We both like it for the quiet. I ask why she’d started on the smack. She says, ‘Huh. It was you called the cops on me then.’
She won’t call it rape, won’t tell me who it was, and won’t tell her parents.
Her dad’s chucked her out. She came back from hospital and the lean-to had a lock. She says she didn’t even bother asking. She points at a backpack and a bin bag by her feet: ‘That’s me.’
I can’t leave her here, can I?
Mum’s not delighted Lily’s come to stay for a bit. It’s ridiculous. I reckon every bloody doctor that’s cared for Mum’s been of Asian ethnicity. Is that the right word? Race? Colour? Creed? Buggered if I know.
And, Dad? He walks in, sees us having tea, says, ‘I don’t eat with them lot,’ and walks out. Mum says, ‘Let him be, Ben.’ She half-smiles at Lily, who shrugs. Maggie says, ‘Who’s them?’ I sit back down.
Remember what I said about New Chester? Big enough for more than its fair share of arse hats, small enough to pretend there’s none. It’s why I hate the place. Everyone thinks everyone else is the problem; everyone gives you their opinion; and everyone thinks someone else should fix it.
I got barred from the pub for giving my opinion. Well … for that and slapping Tyson to the floor.
Green Dog’s tormentor hasn’t changed. Spends his days working in a quarry a hundred clicks away, and his weekends propping up the bar. He’s such a prick – reckons a bloke wouldn’t bother helping an Asian chick unless it was for sex or money. For Christ’s sake, the Chens are way more Australian than him and his ten-pound-Pom parents. The Chens are fifth generation Aussies – three of ’em in this tinpot town. But a name like Chen is fair game in New Chester. Especially Lily Chen.
Lily and Maggie are getting along like a house on fire. It’s pretty cool.
Even Mum’s coming around. Apparently, it turns out you can change your mind pretty quick about someone you’ve been pretty damned racist about if they’ll take you to the bathroom instead of having to get your galumphing, ham-fisted son do it.
Leon and I are not getting along so well. In fact, we’re so not getting along he’s stopped giving me work. He’s decided he does have a sister and isn’t too happy she’s moved in with us – and I quote – ‘shit-shovelling Brysons’.
Over tea last night, I told Mum, Maggie and Lily that we’re going to have to be careful with money for a bit. We get enough from Dad to keep body and soul together – just. My money is for the odd takeaway and Netflix. I said I’m sure it won’t be long before Leon realises how cheap – and how awesome – I am.
Maggie plops onto my bed sometime around midnight.
‘What are you doing, maggot? I thought you’d outgrown nightmares.’
‘I have. I’m thirteen, remember?’
‘Sorry. Look at you, you little feral, all grown up. And yet – here you are – in my bed – in the middle of the night.’
‘I wanted to talk to you. In private.’
‘Sounds serious.’
‘About money.’
‘Don’t stress – I promise, we’ll be fine. This is just a little hiccup.’
‘I can help.’
‘I know. We have to think if we really need to buy something – that’s all.’
‘I can do more. I asked Lily how she made money – when she was my age.’
No surprises about my reaction – I’m wide awake, and my stomach’s clenching.
Maggie looks me square in the face.
‘It’s not that bad – I’m not a virgin, you know. I’m not a baby.’
I’m in Maggie’s bedroom in seconds. Lily is asleep on a lilo on the floor.
I’d figured two bucks to cop a look, five bucks for a feel, and ten bucks to put a finger in. It seemed a good deal for both of us – a fifty–fifty split. I’d get to fiddle around, she’d give me ten minutes of her time, and no harm done. As long as we both told Green Dog we’d done it, I’d get my twenty bucks.
Once I got a finger in …
I said she could have the twenty bucks to let me go all out – with protection. At fifteen, I wasn’t a total idiot.
She said, ‘You think I’m going to sell it to you?’
I upped the ante: ‘Two fingers for twenty-five bucks.’
‘I’m not a fricking auction lot.’ She pushed against my finger.
I was getting a hard-on with a life of its own.
‘Thirty bucks. Just to let me put it in.’ I didn’t look up to see her answer, I was trying to get the franger on right. I told her thirty bucks was all I had, but she said she didn’t want it. I said, ‘Too late – I’ve already started.’
She didn’t stop me. She didn’t make it too easy either. Then she went all still on me. I had to get to the end, didn’t I?
I pulled out, real careful like, rolled onto the grass so I didn’t squash her. She just lay there, looking up at the sky. There was nothing there, no clouds or nothing, just that hard, sharp blue. It made our eyes water real bad.
I told her I’d give her fifty bucks, but she couldn’t tell anyone except Green Dog – and, only if he asked. I said she’d have to wait for the fifty though. I only had the twenty from Dog. I told her, ‘It’s not like I’ve got a rich daddy flashing cash at me like your old man.’
That’s when she sat up, gobbed on my face, and bolted.
I could use the excuse I was only fifteen, but that’s crap. The only excuse I can come up with is New Chester.
Of course – I am an idiot for thinking that what happened had happened and we’d all moved on. Of course – I am a moron for hoping like billy-o I wasn’t an idiot. And, of course, we’ve not moved on. From the depth of hate in Lily’s eyes, as she stares up at me from the lilo, I don’t hold out much hope of our ever moving on.
Lily says, ‘I didn’t suggest that Maggie …’ She lets me fill in the blank. ‘Maggie asked how I paid for stuff ’cos my parents chucked me out, and I thought it’d be wrong to lie to her. She’s not a kid anymore, Ben.’
‘You told her it wasn’t so bad,’ I snap.
‘No,’ Lily replies matter-of-factly, ‘I told her it could’ve been worse.’
‘How? How could it be worse?’
‘New Chester’s small. Everyone knows everyone. It’s safe.’
‘For flog’s sake, you were raped. How is that safe?’
She sits up and gets right in my face.
‘I made one bad choice. One! I should’ve kept away from Tyson. I shouldn’t’ve …’ She waves a hand at me, flops back on the lilo, and turns away.
I’ve got nothing.
I go out to the porch.
I should have thumped Tyson harder.
By the time the first kookaburra starts up, I’ve decided. Rather, I’ve decided I’ve three choices.
One: I up and leave them all to it.
Two: Grab Maggie and we go. Get her out of this place before she’s concreted into New Chester.
Three: Get Lily out of our lives.
You can see where this is going, right? Only one of them is actually going to work. Not ’cos of Maggie. Not ’cos of Lily. ’Cos of Mum. I fall asleep on that thought.
Sometime in the afternoon Maggie and Lily’s arguing wakes me up. They’re eating cereal and debating hot or cold milk on cornflakes. Cold milk – obviously.
I tell Lily to get the hell out of our house.
She cocks her head at me.
‘Does Maggie know about the tennis shed – yet?’ Then she kicks open the screen door and is gone.
Maggie’s not talking to me. Mum’s missing Lily heaps.
We knew it was coming. Knowing doesn’t always help.
You’re not supposed to be pleased when someone dies. But – trust me – what Mum was dealing with wasn’t pretty. There’s living and there’s being alive. So, yeah, I’m pleased she’s not putting up with godawful pain and a slow trickle to a miserable end.
I’ve got a feeling in my guts Mum did it for us – for Maggie and me.
Mum gets cremated, and they give us a cardboard box.
The old man gets pissed and throws the box in the river.
Maggie and me order flowers from the internet. We float them on the water.
They say you take stock of your life when someone dies.
Nothing holding me here. Dog says he’s put in a word for me up in Longreach. Fat chance the old man will take decent care of Maggie – if he even hangs around. She stays with me. Plus, if Maggie and me get out of New Chester the problem goes away. I get to start again, Maggie gets a real stab at life, and she never gets to know about Chilly and me.
Dog came through with a job. Maggie and me are all packed, ready for the off, time for one last beer, then fuckin’ Tyson has to ask if I know where Chilly hangs out these days. Bugger it.
I’m just gunna have to man up and tell Maggie what a prick I was. That’s what’s wrong with taking stock, you have to take stock of the whole thing. I can’t ignore it, can I? I am the reason Lily can’t escape Chilly.
I’ve seen enough movies to know how this goes. I’ve gotta get some ice cream, sit Maggie down, and tell her what’s happened. Better she hears it from me than Lily – or, holy Christ, from Tyson.
We’re on our way to Longreach.
It’s late afternoon, and we’re knackered. Maggie’s asleep. Lily and I have the windows down, trying to stay awake. We’ve just driven through another Could’ve-Been-New-Chester when I see a road sign: ‘Sydney 555 km’. Before my brain engages, I say, ‘Your kid still in Sydney?’
You wouldn’t credit it – bloody New Chester.
Turns out, Old Yeah Nar from the newsagency saw Lily coming out from the back of the tennis courts and told her mum. Her mum bails her up, and Lily can’t blag her way out of it. Her mum tells her dad, her dad ships her off. She did go to Sydney, she did live with her aunt, and she did go to a convent – a posh convent school.
I got nothing for the next fifty clicks until Lily says, ‘I got into uni.’
‘Bloody hell! Why didn’t you go?
‘It all seemed too hard. I was a New Chester kid.’
‘But – your dad?’
Lily shrugs.
The thought ‘better the devil you know’ is in my mouth. I spit out the open window.
‘It was supposed to be my big life lesson – scare me off having a kid,’ Lily says.
‘Did it work?’
‘Maybe … I dunno. I’m only twenty-one. Didn’t put me off sex though, hey?’ She grins.
We drive for a bit. Me working up the courage to ask, she waiting for me to ask.
‘Did you tell your folks? Did they know it was me – you know – back then?’
‘Course not.’ She’s quiet for a bit. ‘I told ’em it was Tyson.’
‘Shit.’
‘I figured that’s why he …’ I nod urgently backwards, towards Maggie. Lily shrugs. ‘Why do you even care? It’s so long ago. We were fifteen. Everyone does dumb stuff at fifteen.’
‘I dunno. Back then I thought, maybe one day, you and me might …’ I blink hard. Luckily, we round a bend and the sun shines straight at me. I blink again.
Lily wriggles around until she’s sideways, looking over to me.
‘You know before – that night, how I said I made one bad choice?’
‘Mm-hmm.’
‘It was two.’
A drowsy Maggie pipes up: ‘Cool. But, we’re sticking to Beans and Chilly ’cos Ben and Lily Bryson is old people’s names.’
‘Righto, Maggot,’ I say.
The Furphy Literary Award 2022 is a national short story competition open to all writers 18 years and over. It’s free to enter. Brilliant prizes. You can find more info HERE.
The best sixteen stories from the 2021 Award are published in The Furphy Anthology 2021. Read more about it (and you can purchase a copy) HERE.
Wow,
I could picture it all