Perfect Skin (25 page)

I stand and walk past him to take my first file from Sylvia.

And it wasn't a date.

And she knows it now, doesn't she? Hi, honey,
he says, slipping into something less comfortable (but more
like Darren from
Bewitched,
this time),
just turned up to trample the livestock.

I never called anyone ‘honey'. Not in my whole life.

I can see my first patient listening, looking less than confident about the hands he's in.

And until yesterday,
George goes on,
you could have said, I never killed a chick's pet to put her off. The world's a more dynamic place than you give it credit for.

You bastards. You're all being so insensitive. Katie's really attached to that cat. And Flag is still fighting the good fight. I've put him in Intensive Care, I know that, but I haven't killed him. Not yet.

Hey, you're good. You trample on a cat, and you call everyone else insensitive. But I do admire you for this, you know. You were actually making a move to sort things out, even if it did misfire a little. There might have been a time when you would have juggled two chicks, but you're pretty clear that's not happening now. Sorry, not two chicks. One coffee friend, one running buddy.

And no juggling. You know that's not where I am. This is not about juggling. I just didn't want to be misleading people.

Yeah, I know,
he says, after pausing and deciding to ease back on the game.
I'm sure it's just bloody envy on my part.
He squeezes my shoulder, gives me a pat on the back, beefy but gentle, and picks up his own next file.
You and that sleek runner's body of yours. It's a weapon out there. That's what they're all saying.

Yeah, yeah.

I call my patient in, and try to assume something like a professional demeanour. I try not to let it show that
my body's a weapon out there. What is it with everybody here? Is nothing my business? Why do they seem to be paying such close attention to my spare time? Because I piss on cats, put them in hospital, get it wrong with flowers, find myself a running buddy, somehow. But I guess if it was George doing it I'd be paying plenty of attention, and cutting him no slack at all.

Two patients into the day, I go to check my emails. The Window Weasel looks really cranky this time, and says:

Bad Weasel. Bad Weasel. I s'pose you steal stuff from people all the time, Jon. Pay up, bud. Go click YES!! I LOVE MY WEASEL!! and you can register to use Window Weasel for life for only $301 Click LATER to register later.

That's it. I've had enough. George is in the vascular-laser room. I buzz him on the intercom.

Did you put all the software on these computers?

Yeah.

Well, what the fuck is a Window Weasel?

Um, I'm doing a procedure in here. On a patient.

I don't mind which one of you tells me.

Um, it's those really cool icons you've got. And stuff. And that shloopy noise when you open and shut things, or move them around.

That shloopy noise?

Yeah, the one that goes . . . shloop.

Ah, shloop. It's much clearer when you put a bit of effort in. Now I get it. The shloopy noise. Thanks.

Yeah, well, it's all that stuff. I lined it up for you a while back.

Oh, I wondered where it had come from. I thought you'd just done a general software upgrade for everyone.

No, just you. Well, you and me.

Oh, thanks.

I thought you'd like it.

Yeah, I do. I do like it. It's just that this weasel's started appearing. I didn't know what was going on.

The trial period must be up. Just click LATER and it'll leave you alone.

I've been clicking LATER for weeks now. It's starting to get really cranky with me.

Yeah, I've got a strategy for that. That's when I tell myself it's a cartoon. I think you'll find that helps. The whole thing gets a lot less stressful then.

Thanks a lot, George. I'm sure I'll be fine now.

What icons? What shloopy noise? The only difference I noticed was the weasel, coming out to bug me every day and hit me for thirty bucks. Was there no shloopy noise before I took the time off? Surely there was. Surely there was some kind of noise, at least. And was there really any call for an upgrade? Is my day improved at all by a change in tone of the shloopy noise when I move things or open them? Is there some extra whoosh to it now? Some extra spring in my step as a result? How many of my precious megabytes are now devoted to things as purposeless as shlooping?

I've got no idea about this stuff. When people say ‘icon' the first thing that comes into my mind is still the Orthodox Church.

Wendy comes into the kitchen when I'm making coffee.

Hi,
she says, and then leaves it to me to say something.

Hi. Just thought I'd make some coffee.

Me too.
She goes to fill the jug, gets her mug from the cupboard. She still has her back to me when she starts to crack up laughing.
I'm sorry,
she says when she turns.
Last night was the strangest night I've had in my life, I think.

It'd be at least in my top ten too. Do you think it's stranger than going round to someone's house for dinner and pissing on the cat?

The hole next door, the shovel, that's what made it for me. It was those finishing touches that made it special.
The jug boils.
I shouldn't say that, should I? Flag's really not well.

No. He doesn't sound well.

I thought it was nice that you went round there.

Somehow I think that, even in time, Katie won't come to feel the same.

No, I mean, going round to tell her
. . .

I wasn't going round to tell her. I was going round to be gutless. Sneak up, leave a card explaining things and a bunch of flowers as some kind of stupid gesture. That was the plan. And I'd put thought into it. It was my best plan. I thought face-to-face would be even more uncomfortable from Katie's perspective.

Which it would have been.

Which it was. She did get to read the card in the car, remember. We got to do face-to-face. I don't think she liked it.

No, she told me. I'm sorry if I did anything that contributed to this.

What do you mean?

Well, I might have accidentally contributed to her
expectations. I got the impression . . . It doesn't matter what impression I got. Katie just has to adjust to the idea that you aren't interested, and that's what I'll be working on.

Um, it's . . .

No. I don't need to know the details. You're my friend, she's my crazy sister. You pissed on her cat, you stepped on her cat – all of it accidental, that stuff happens. Then there's that business about the bath towels, and I never want to talk about it again either. These are two worlds that were not meant to collide. I realised that last night. And I realised, when I saw Katie with that knife, that there's a lot I don't need to know.

I hope she's all right. How is she today?

Mental. Don't call her.

Do you really think I was going to call her? You could beg me and I wouldn't call her. I'm hoping she's all right from afar.

Well, let's see what happens to Flag.
She presses the plunger, pours her coffee.
Is anyone, ever, going to tell her he's only a cat?

No, obviously. If someone stepped on my dog, I'd feel terrible. You are so not a pet person. I know she pushes it a bit with the Acapulco blanket . . .

Jon, she sent Flag postcards from Mexico. Four of them. She sent us one.

I'm sure she would have handled it differently if she'd known you were counting. Oh god, it was such a charmed life for Flag until last night, wasn't it? How is she about me today?

Not good. I could lie, but she's not good. She's still pretty angry. And not entirely coherent.

What does that mean? What's she said?

Something about how you seem to have it in for everything she stands for. I don't know quite what that's about.

Neither do I. What does she stand for?

She mentioned hair at the same time. But I don't get the connection. Did something happen to her hair? Did she cry last night?

Yeah, but . . .

Did she get . . . she can get a bit messy about the face, a bit snuffly, when she cries. And when she cries a lot
. . .

She cried a lot.

Damn. Poor Katie. And it got in her hair again?

No. There were tissues. It wasn't a problem. Anyway, you know what it's like. We've both got kids. Fluids'll never put me off a person again. And you have to respect someone who doesn't hold back.

Yeah. What a disaster. Have you got the sugar?

Sure.

She taps her single, carefully measured spoonful against the side of the Tupperware container,
Hey, George says you've got a running buddy.

Yeah.

I
thought you told me you ran with a group.

That's sort of the idea, but it's supposed to be flexible. This might surprise you, but we don't have roll call, or anything. No-one does a headcount. It's just running.

So
there are lots of you, then?

Not lots.

So
how big would the group be at its biggest?

So far?

No, next year. Yes, so far.

Still mainly the two of us. Me and the running buddy. You know the buddy theory with exercise? How it makes you better at sticking to the routine?

You were sticking to the routine already.

Well, maybe it gives her a routine. She's a student from up north, a postgrad student, and she used to run with people there. She prefers to run with people.

You poor, powerless man. A young woman comes along and forces herself on you like that . . . Your pants are
so
on fire.

No-one forced anyone. It's a series of coincidences. It's healthy. And people should stop reading things into it.

And she's butt ugly, right?

Look . . .

She stirs her coffee and laughs at me.

Too easy.
She shakes her head.
Way too easy. And I'll take that as a ‘No, she's not butt ugly,' shall I?

We just go running. She's got a runner's body, I suppose.

Whatever. Having someone to run with is nice. And, let's face it, it wasn't going to be one of us.
She pauses, and I'm bracing myself for some more reassurance that it's okay that I'm not with Katie.
How are you going, really?

I'm fine. Really. And I'm going. Things are moving along all right. Don't think I'm stalled, or anything. I've got Lily for a start, and we're okay. And I know it seems odd to start running with someone and then see them suddenly practically every day, but that's how running works, if you think about it. You do it practically every day. So it could be that it's not as complicated as George might like to think.

He doesn't mean
. . .

I know he doesn't mean.

It's just you that we're thinking about. You know that, don't you? With all of this interfering
. . .

Yeah, I know. And it's not interfering. But don't make too much of the running. Please.

Okay. But sometimes you have to tell us what we should make of things. This, the last six months, it's all been different for us, too. I wish things could be the way they were, but they can't.
So
all I can wish, really, is that things work out for the best. That's what we all want.

I know.

Sylvia's at the door, holding a handful of files.
We've got a couple waiting. Just thought I'd let you know.

My shirt wilts as I get out of the car at Ash's place. From my east-facing window at work I could see nothing but clear sky, but the western storm clouds have been building most of the afternoon. They're not here yet though, and the air's still thick and hot and humid in the world beyond airconditioning. In the distance, a City Cat hums along the river, behind Ash's house.

Ash comes down the steps, her hair wet and slick. She's wearing the dress she wore when we had lunch at uni a week and a half ago. She jumps into the car, swings the door shut behind her, and before I'm back in there she's leaning over to the baby capsule, saying hello to Lily. Reaching to let Lily's small hand take her finger, and asking her what kind of day she's had.

Then she flops into the front seat and says,
I've just been swimming. Thought it'd be a good day for a few laps.

And she smells like a clean, well-chlorinated pool as she sits there, transferring some of the damp in her hair to the headrest, wrapping her arms around herself as the sudden temperature change springs goose bumps up on them. And last night seems like a long and complicated nightmare I could have done without.

I shouldn't feel that. When I think of last night, I should think more of the distress I've caused Katie and the harm I've caused Flag, but now that Ash is in the car it all seems to matter less. Or to be less real, or more in the past or another place.

Running buddy. Am I thinking ‘running buddy'? This is not how it's supposed to be.

So
what were you doing round there with flowers in the first place?
she says, as she kneels on the floor with the Bean. She gives her fingers to hold again, this time one for each hand, and says, Go
on, stand. Stand.

I put her glass of mineral water down beside her and I turn the ceiling fan up a level. There's a grumble in the distance, thunder somewhere.

Ash lifts Lily so that she stands on her wobbly bow legs and then says,
Nah.