Eunomia

‘That is not a word,’ Kerrie said, and Phil picked off the yellow tiles in a sulk. The dictionary’s clap covered her derision.

‘I was sure it was, but it’s okay. I’ll pass.’

‘Mr Know-It-All falls short of his pedestal.’

Kerrie played her word using all seven tiles and banking an extra fifty points on top of the triple word score. Smugness leaked over the board.

‘Right, while you go I’m getting a drink. You up?’

Phil passed his cup without looking away from his rack.

‘Shut the bloody door,’ he called behind her.

He felt that playing bitch would start a fight he was too tired for and opted for its shorter cousin. The patio around their table was sun-bleached and as tired as the rest of the backyard that grew reluctantly in patches. Even Phil steel furniture had given in to the harsh climate.

Kerrie’s chair groaned in the same tone as her knees. She handed Phil his jar.

‘Tah.’

‘What did you. . . at least it’s a word this time.’

She tallied his points and they played on. Most of the evening birds were tucked somewhere behind the stars. Phil admired the sky while Kerrie puzzled over a set with six vowels.

‘Phil!’

‘Sorry?’

‘Didn’t you hear me? Don’t you ever bloody listen?’

‘Maybe my ears are going.’

‘Maybe I should be.’

‘Look love, what’s this all about?’

‘What?’

‘You’re snakey at me and I don’t know what for.’

‘Well, right now. Because you’re not listening.’

‘What didn’t I hear then?’

‘I don’t remember now I’m upset.’

‘Mustn’t have been too important then.’

Kerrie glared. Phil took a small sip of his drink.

‘Look love, I can’t always be listening. Sometime’s I’m just off, you are too.’

Kerrie stared, and then played eunomia.