Earthly Delights (10 page)

I stopped him before he could dig himself into an even deeper pit. ‘What sort of shirt would you like?’ I asked.

He expressed a preference for something with long sleeves—all junkies, I guess, would prefer long sleeves—so I found a dark red skivvy which had rather shrunk in the wash. It would still hang on Jase like a shroud.

We’d drank our coffee and he asked me several other things about bread. Intelligent questions. As long as I stayed off cross-examining him we could have a conversation. I found I was quite enjoying it. No one really cares about bread, not like I do.

Finally, I had finished the baking and Jase’s clothes were dry. He dressed again in the bathroom and, without asking, put his dressing gown in the washer.

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Bye,’ and he was gone. He looked quite respectable in the skivvy, but he was still going to find eating hard for a while. Still, junkies don’t eat a lot, I imagine.

The day began with me deciding to find a new carrier for Monday, recognising Goss from her golden navel ring, and noticing that the shop needed a really good scrub. It was clean enough for the most difficult health inspector but the grime from the city floated in all the time and after some time it became ingrained in curtains and rugs and even in the polish on the floor. Gossamer told me that Kylie had gone to an audition. Meroe had made charms for both of them and I was hoping that they would begin to operate some day soon, before they died of malnutrition.

It was an ordinary morning. For some reason there are more shoppers in the city on a Friday as people often take the day off. I’ve done the same thing myself, made a firm resolution to see that film or visit that sale and then found, suddenly, that I was running out of week. I sold out of the herb rolls before
lunchtime, made a killing on the fancy bread, but rather struck out with the blueberry muffins and ordinary baguettes. I ate a muffin myself (it was no use asking Goss to taste test anything with starch in it) and it was fine. Just the peculiarity of the passing trade, which today had its stomach set on spiced apple. In a way it was good. A sackful of baguettes and muffins would do for the Soup Run tomorrow night.

I wasn’t feeling too sure of myself after my little encounter with Jase and the man in sunglasses. There was a violent undercurrent in the city which I really didn’t want to have anything to do with. I hate violence. I hid my face through half of
Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels
(though the ending was brilliant). I avoid going to Terminator-type movies and I don’t even enjoy comic-book level violence like James Bond. Also, I bruise easily. While the Soup Run existed to help the poor and homeless, that didn’t mean the staff didn’t get abused, or why would they need a heavy?

Lust has got me into some strange situations, like the time I woke up and found a rock band asleep on my living room floor (with the bass guitarist in the bath, covered in ghee—I never did find out what that was about). Or the time I found myself handing out how to vote cards for—no, I can’t say. Lust had once caused me to buy a baby-blue apron with ruffles when James’s boss, who had a ‘Bewitched’ fetish, was coming to dinner. In the cause of lust I have hitchhiked to Adelaide, watched seven games of basketball, caught cold sitting in a garage listening to a variety of mind-fracturing sounds and bought Tupperware. Lust made me agree to talk to a secondary school food technology class.

I felt a little better. I had paid my dues. I could take it. The Soup Run couldn’t be more violent and dangerous than that food technology class.

Lunch cleaned out most of the remaining stock. I decided to shut early, paid Goss and sent her to close the shutters. I heard them come down with their usual metallic rattle and then a squeal from Goss. I caught up the broom, with which I had been sweeping the floor. See previous comments on lust. I was in a militant mood.

But outside I merely found Daniel. Goss had narrowly missed braining him with a shutter and she was now apologising in several different positions.

‘Sorry!’ she squeaked. ‘I didn’t see you! I didn’t mean to!’ Then she got a good look at those trout pool eyes and the leather jacket and squealed, ‘You must be Corinna’s Daniel! Nice to see you! Kylie was right about you!’

Before she embarrassed me any more, I invited Daniel inside and shut Goss out, where I could still hear her squeaking. Daniel went straight to greet Horatio, who rose onto his paws and accepted the accolade, lowering his head.

‘You close early on a Friday,’ he said. ‘You aren’t Jewish, are you?’

‘No, I’m tired,’ I said tartly. ‘Are you coming up? If so, grab the bread. I’ll cash up later. Horatio and I watched a horror movie last night and we scared ourselves.’

‘You’d think a gentleman cat would have more sense,’ he said, ruffling the regal whiskers. ‘I’ll take the cat and the sack, if you please. What do you have to do now?’

‘The scrubbing,’ I said. ‘But I’ve had some help with that lately. Possibly he might come back so we can leave the floor to him.’

‘Who?’ asked Daniel. I really liked his voice. It was a calm, rich tenor. What with Meroe and Mistress Dread, there were a lot of deep voices around Insula these days.

‘He says his name is Jase,’ I told Daniel, shutting the door
to the shop and locking it. ‘He came in yesterday and scrubbed the floor for ten dollars. And he came in this morning for a shower.’

‘A mitzvah,’ laughed Daniel, putting down the sack and allowing Horatio to stalk along his arm to a convenient shelf. I started running the hot water.

‘Are you staying to help?’ I asked, surprised.

Daniel took off his leather jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He had forearms like Shane Warne. ‘Least I can do,’ he said, and seized a brush.

Two people working in the same space can make light work or they can continually get in each other’s way until the party of the first part begs the party of the second part to please sit down on the steps and let her get on with it. This had been the case with everyone I had ever worked with. But not Daniel. He seemed to guess what I was going to do before I even knew I was going to do it, and was never in the way when suds cascaded or liquid squirted. In fact, we ended up with a very clean bakery and he didn’t have a damp spot on him, whereas me and my trackies were sopping. He joined Horatio on the steps as I opened the street door to mop the floor and there was Jase. His bruised face had begun to darken. Daniel was across the floor in a moment, cradling the sore jaw in one big, very clean hand.

‘Someone got you,’ he said to Jase, who nodded. ‘Gonna tell me who this dude is?’ he asked, and Jase shook his head. Daniel sighed and let him go.

‘Do the floor?’ asked Jase.

‘Go to it,’ I said. It was already clean, but Jase needed the money.

I joined Daniel on the steps. This time Jase did a much better mopping job. I liked sitting on the steps, my shoulder
against Daniel’s (I was sitting on a higher step) and Horatio behind me, supervising the staff.

‘Tomorrow?’ asked Jase.

‘Closed tomorrow and Sunday,’ I said. ‘Come back Monday.’

He didn’t protest, but took the money, ducked his head at Daniel, and went.

‘You’re handling him just right,’ approved Daniel, allowing me to precede him up the steps to my apartment.

‘I am?’

‘Yes. Firm. Junkies are like—like crusaders. They’ve been pursuing their quest, deaf and blind to anything else, for years. They haven’t had any rules for living because of the little voice in their head which just tells them, your mission in life is to get a fix, get a fix, a fix, a fix. That’s all they think about. That’s all they can think about. Then there’s a heroin drought, like now, and they detox, perhaps in a police cell, perhaps in a squat somewhere. Now they’re back in the real world and they don’t know how to live in it. You didn’t give him money he didn’t have to work for because the bakery won’t be open and you’re sorry for him. By the fact he came back, I bet you didn’t ask him a lot of questions. Not even, where are you going to sleep tonight? Did you?’

‘No, I don’t think that question and answer makes a conversation. We were talking about bread. It’s a very interesting topic,’ I said. ‘Do you know anything about Jase? A large man in a suit and sunglasses, reminding me irresistibly of the Blues Brothers except not funny at all, was beating him up this morning in the lane. I just happened to come round the corner and the guy went away.’

‘A blue suit?’ asked Daniel.

‘Certainly. Day had dawned, I could see colours.’

‘That’s not so good. The only Blues Brothers suit I know of is inhabited by not a very nice man at all. I wonder what Jase has done to him? I wouldn’t have thought Jase was important enough to attract that sort of attention.’

‘You aren’t actually going to decode your previous speech, are you?’ I asked.

‘No,’ he said equably. ‘What do you usually do now?’

‘I have a bath and change my clothes, then a little lunch and a gin and tonic. Want to join me? You could watch if you like.’ I asked, trying to keep hope out of my voice. The bath was big enough for two.

‘I’ll stay here and amuse Horatio,’ he told me.

Rats. I took a quick bath and came back to find that Daniel and Horatio were both staring out the parlour window, contemplating the pigeons on the sill. Those pigeons had a death wish, or else they knew all about the fact that cats cannot reach through glass and were teasing him. Never a good idea with Horatio, who, if he caught them, would tear them wing from wing in revenge for past taunts.

I left them to it, slashing some baguettes to pieces and laying out butter, pickles, a packet of ham, some red English cheese and a bunch of Meroe’s organic salad, the most delicious leaves in the world. She says that they aren’t actually picked by the pixies and wafted to her shop on a pinch of fairy dust, they just taste like that. That was all I had in the fridge, apart from a couple of emergency frozen chicken breasts and a lot of cat food. I usually do the shopping on Saturday. Daniel didn’t seem to mind. He accepted a glass of chateau collapseau (rouge) and ate bread and cheese with what looked like relish.

Of course, I should have thought, anyone with a grandpa who talked about mitzvahs was probably not going to eat ham for lunch.

‘I shouldn’t have offered you ham,’ I said. He raised his eyebrows. They were straight.

‘You can offer whatever you wish,’ he said. ‘That just shows your generous heart. It is up to me whether I accept or refuse. In the case of ham, I refuse. In the case of …’

He leaned forward and took my hand. He lifted it to his lips and kissed my work-worn knuckle very gently. I dragged in a deep breath.

Then my bell began to ring frantically, Horatio jumped onto Daniel’s shoulder, Daniel let go of my hand and I swore.

‘Shit! Now what?’ I went into the parlour and pressed the intercom button.

‘’S’me, Goss, you locked me out and you got my mobile, I need it,’ said a fast, angry voice.

‘Can’t you do without it?’ I demanded

‘Spend a weekend without a mobile? Duh,’ she sneered.

It was true. Goss was as wedded to her mobile phone—her whole social life revolved around it—as Tom was to Jerry, Marge to Homer, or Princess Leia to Han Solo.

‘Go to the bakery door,’ I sighed. ‘I’ll come and let you in.’

‘Whatever,’ she snarled, which meant ‘yes, and this is all your fault for making me put the phone under the counter while the shop is open. If you let me carry it in my hand this would never have happened’, which is quite a lot for one trisyllable to carry. It managed. I turned to look at Daniel and Horatio, who had come to the parlour door.

To my surprise, Daniel was laughing. He had a pleasant, infectious chuckle and I found myself laughing too, despite wondering how long it would take to wring Goss’s neck and where I could conceal the body. Horatio, who would never allow himself to smile, seemed gently amused. Well, I hoped it kept fine for them.

I clattered down the stairs to the bakery, clean and sweet smelling, into the shop, unlocking as I went. I found the wretched phone and opened the bakery door to discover Goss jumping up and down with impatience. I thrust the phone into her hands and she clasped it to her bosom (such as it was) with a gesture that would have been considered overdrawn on ‘The Bold and the Beautiful’.

‘I might have missed a call!’ she complained, giving me an accusing look. Then she saw Daniel behind me. Her mouth opened and I knew that she was about to make a declaration as to why I had shut her out of the shop. I reminded her that she had calls waiting, closed the door, and leaned on it.

Then I looked at Daniel and he looked at me and we started to laugh so hard that we ended up sitting on the steps, clutching each other and practically crying. Every time I started to regain some control he would make a most endearing snuffling noise and set me off again. We sat there for some time. Horatio, confronted with the essential irrationality of humans, had mounted to the parlour and was enveloped in slumber.

‘We’re alone,’ said Daniel huskily.

‘Alone at last,’ I agreed. ‘We had to resort to sitting on cold stone steps but we did it.’

‘So before someone else rings the doorbell, calls out fire or reports a landing of Martians on the roof garden, I am going to kiss you,’ he declared, and did.

He was strong and tasted spicy and his mouth was softer than silk. I had to pull away to draw breath. I was close enough to notice that his eyelashes were fringed and absurdly black. Beautiful Daniel. And with all the thin gorgeous girls in the world, he was kissing me.

And doing it damn well. Important parts of me were melting when we finally drew apart. I could feel his handprints
on my back. My whole body protested when I was no longer in contact with him.

‘Well,’ he said pleasantly. ‘That settles that question.’

‘Which question? You never asked a question,’ I mumbled.

‘Do you kiss as well as I thought you would?’ he said. ‘Not possible to answer without empirical data. Can we stop sitting on the steps now?’

‘I think we should,’ I said, and led the way upstairs to the parlour, beyond which was my bedroom with a bed quite big enough for two humans and Horatio …