Katharine Amphlett

The Midnight Dance

“Hello? Oh. Hello Tony.” Then silence. Poppy continued rolling out the biscuit dough on the high kitchen table, trying with every crumb of concentration to roll it evenly and to ONE CENTIMETRE like Mummy had instructed. Eventually, the silence drew Poppy’s attention away from the sand-coloured dough. From her kitchen-chair perch, she glanced at Mummy, across the tabletop resembling a battlefield of bags, flour, gaping eggshells. Mummy’s face was angry. Not surprising as it was Uncle Tony who had called. Poppy went back to rolling, back and forth. She must be very close to one centimetre now.