'The Better Years' by Annette Edwards-Hill

We moved in before the house was finished.  I touched the pink stuff in the unlined walls. My fingers itched. While Dad was waiting for the builder to come back, he made a bird box and Mum said, ‘isn't it great, we'll see so much bird life in our backyard.’

We called it The Best Nest. The cat sat on top of the box and hung his paw in front of the entrance.

We had no doors. There were only open spaces we used to pass between rooms.  When I got up in the night, the moon lit up my bedroom through the curtainless windows. I walked through the wardrobe into my brother’s bedroom. He lay asleep in his cot. I touched his cheek.

A man visited the house. He had a clipboard and he drove a truck. He looked around. He took some measurements. I heard Dad say ‘the section was cheap and my wife drew up the plans.’

The neighbours had a party and I saw Mrs Jones from across the road walking up their driveway with a bottle. I asked Mum why we weren’t invited. She said we were new to the neighbourhood. I lay awake trying to sleep but it was hot. I heard laughter and glass break.

The next day there was cardboard taped to our letterbox. Someone had used a marker to write the word ‘Hicksville’ in wonky capital letters.  Dad threw the sign into the bushes. Then he mowed the lawns. I asked Mum where Hicksville was, and she sent me outside.

I lay by the road, where the grass was still long, and I put my cheek in the dirt.  The grass was different, softer.  I pulled it up like carpet. When I went inside, I walked dog shit through the house.