Perfect Skin (36 page)

She backs out onto the deck, looking flustered.

I've got to go and check this, I tell Oscar. Cover for me. Us.

I run to the bathroom. Or, rather, start running, but change it to a brisk walk. I'm already sending the wrong signals. I don't need to make things worse. How do I get into these situations?

I lock the bathroom door. I check. There's a puncture wound where I knew there would be, but I think it's only superficial. Even if, at the time, it felt as though Flag had pushed it so far it could constitute the kind of body piercing that would allow me to wear a big enough piece of metal to create mystery at airport security.

A dot of blood wells up out of the puncture, and so
does another when I wipe it away. I'd like to avoid applying pressure to stop this. All Flag's wrenching around has made the area far from comfortable. I pull off a good length of toilet paper and improvise something involving a lot of wrapping. Which, when all is put away, makes me look like I'm trying to tell everyone I'm hung like a donkey, but this isn't the time to care.

I go back into the lounge room and Oscar's still there, or back again.

I don't think he penetrated beyond the deep fascia. So . . . what do you think?

I
think
, he says, looking at my pants,
I think you're looking very perky today. Is something happening?

A big wad of toilet paper. There's active bleeding, you know. I meant, what did you think Anita thought?

Oh, it's okay, I cleared that up
.

You told them about the claw.

No, I just said I was going down on you
.

What?

It's okay. I told them it was your birthday
.

I'm going to assume you're kidding. That's what I'm going to assume. And your next birthday, you're still getting socks, okay?

Sure. I like socks. How about we go outside? And pretend this never happened
.

Good idea.

And how about you walk like you haven't spent forty-eight hours in the saddle
.

Also a good idea, but perhaps not possible. We'll see.

We walk through the French doors. Everyone stops talking. Oscar gives them a three count. And they sing ‘Happy Birthday'. Several of them, I'm sure, give my
pants a lot of attention, but try to be very open-minded.

There's throbbing down there. Not good throbbing. I just don't understand body piercing, do I? Particularly those bits of the body. I stand at an angle, but there's no angle from which my groin looks small for everybody (a problem I never thought I'd face in my whole life). I should have stayed in the bathroom. Gritted my teeth and applied pressure until the bleeding stopped, and then made do with a simple, non-space-occupying bandaid.

They give three cheers, but I know Katie's faking it.

Someone asks how old I am, and I say, About thirty-five.

Because thirty-four and a half isn't a birthday. But it does mean I'm up for thirty-five next. I hadn't thought of that before. It seems a lot older. There are going to be forms where I have to tick a different box. Thirty-five to forty. Thirty-five to forty-four. That seems like a whole different bunch of people. Men who like jazz and badly groomed beards. Shit like that.

Jon
, Anita says, beside me.
I'm sorry about before. I just
. . .

It's okay.

No, I just didn't realise you were both there. I didn't know Oscar had arrived. Um, and . . . that you were in that situation
.

Um, I . . .

No, no, it's all right. How are your trousers?

They're okay.

Good. Good. Well, happy birthday
.

Thanks.

She smiles and goes to refill her plate. How are my
trousers? For parents, these people are much more open-minded than I thought. Was that a Monica-Lewinsky blue-dress joke she was setting up there? I don't think I can stay here, surrounded by cheery people who think I just got a happy-birthday blow job from Oscar in the lounge room. I'm used to living in a much more hung-up world than that. Things have changed while I've been out of circulation.

Hey, Jon
, Wendy says.
Your birthday's not till September
.

That's right.

So why did Oscar tell my mother Flag had his claws in your birthday-present pants and was on the brink of doing some serious damage?

They're very special pants. So what if my birthday was months ago? I've only worn them about twice and I didn't want them wrecked. Someone had to get right down there to sort it out, or I would have had big loops of thread hanging everywhere.

I tell her I'm going to get some food, and I go to find Oscar.

Before I talk to anyone else, could you tell me exactly what you told everybody?

Oh, yeah, sure. It got a bit elaborate, didn't it? It was worth it though. I liked it best when the singing started. Your face was good. And you really are Big Jon in your birthday trousers today, aren't you?

George sidles up to us, and I've never seen him even attempt sidling before.

Have you tried these pikelets?
he says, with an almost peculiar enthusiasm.
They're still warm
.

Pikelets? I haven't seen a pikelet for years.

Pikelets are back. There's a lot of thought behind this catering
.

Good of you to notice. I'm sure Katie'll be pleased.

Yeah. Maybe she is
. He wrestles hard to suppress a knowing smile, but it breaks out anyway.
We've, um, got coffee scheduled for Wednesday. She figured I'd get a break for coffee now and then. And I thought, why not? I've completely come to terms with the eighties. Unlike some people. So why not?

Ash is holding Lily when I get home, rocking her, calming her, singing. Their noses touch, and Lily grabs Ash's ear.

She's been a bit grizzly
, Ash tells me, as Lily looks at the ear in fascination, and they bump heads.
But I think we're okay at the moment
.

We look okay.

I put her back in her cot for a few minutes and had a quick shower. I borrowed a T-shirt. I hope that's all right. I think it's just the right size
. She passes me Lily and holds her arms out to show me how well the T-shirt fits.
What do you think?

You might not know this, but there are some countries where the convention is to wear the elbow outside the sleeve. But I'd have to say that, to me, it looks just the right size.

That's when I realise I don't want her to go home. That something's missing when she's not here. That if she stopped coming, there'd be another loss to cope with. That's the sum total of what I've stopped myself thinking till now. Till now, walking in the door, seeing her with Lily. I want to tell her. I want to tell her now.

Have you got a hair drier?

No, I don't think so.

That's okay. No big deal. We'll just have to put up with the spiky look
.

She stays for lunch, and into the afternoon. She talks about going to do some work in the library, but it doesn't happen.

I make us cups of tea, and she sits there holding hers, both hands round it as though they're cold. Which they can't be. She's looking down into the tea, thinking.

I haven't been completely straight with you either
.

What do you mean?

I was going out with the guy who handles the distribution of our tea, runs the web site, things like that. And suddenly the whole thing turned icky. It ended a few months or so ago. So you surprised me with the tea yesterday. I thought it could have been something to do with him. Which is pretty stupid
. . .

Well, it's not rational, but I wouldn't call it stupid. But you did tell me about the home page. It wasn't too hard to get there and click in the right boxes.

Yeah. Which is what I should have been thinking. But you know how things can do that? Trigger things that don't make sense?

Yeah.

He was sort of into the relationship more than me. A lot more. When I talked about coming down here . . . that all became clear. What got to me was that it seemed to piss everybody off. My family – my father particularly – they like him a lot. ‘Part of the family', I think the expression goes. So I think there were lots of people more into the relationship than me. It turned into a bit
of a mess. It was like, You're going to what? Dump the golden boy, quit the weekend tour groups, move to the other end of the state? What's got into you? You'll worry your father sick? What'll you do for money? What's wrong with everything you've got here? Etcetera, etcetera. I mean, welcome to Erikson Eight, guys. The nest is emptying
.

Did you say that? I hope you said it.

Do you think it would have helped? So here I am. After all my bold counter-arguments like, Oh yeah? I'll get a job. You'll never hear me asking you for money. So here I am, wearing your T-shirt, having sponged six meals off you in the last few days. That's independent. I can't even have a period now without getting your help
. She laughs at her own joke.
And then I hassle you about not opening up, and I tell you none of this. That's not very fair
.

You could have told me.

And it's meant to come out saying just what it says – to mean that I was willing to listen – but it accidentally sounds tougher, maybe critical.

Hey, I have now. It just seemed insignificant compared to what you've gone through
.

No, I meant you could. It wasn't compulsory. And I'm sure what you were going through felt pretty significant when it was happening.

It still does. It's not an easy time, going through all that
.

I know.

And even that sounds patronising. I drink my tea. She drinks hers. Before I make a mess of this, I want to tell her how I feel. I have to tell her. Before I say the
wrong thing. I have to work out how I feel, the right words for how I feel. How I felt when I walked in the door today.

Do you think she's getting another tooth?

Who?

Who? How many people round here don't have the full set? Lily
.

Um, I don't know. Look, we've been seeing a lot of each other lately . . .

But that's where I stop, and get stuck mentally rifling through all the things I might say next, suddenly feeling the risk I'm on the brink of taking.

And?
she says, as though urging a slow child.

What do you mean?

There's an ‘and'. We've been seeing a lot of each other lately and . . . I should be paying for more things? Is that what you're going to say?

No.

But? Could it have been a ‘but'?

No. Give me a chance. Um, I'm not sure . . .

That's evident
, she says, and I can't believe how awkward I feel, how long it's been since I tried to say anything like this. I don't even know what I'm trying to say – the actual words anyway.

You turned up at a strange time for me. And my mind was on other things. So I don't always know . . . we haven't . . . I didn't think through anything when we started running. I'd always run by myself. And I know it's a good idea to get into a routine when you exercise with people.

You're slipping back to that non-direct approach again
.

What?

The non-direct approach. You're talking about exercise theory
.

Yeah, right. And how many weeks did it take you to tell me why you came to Brisbane?

I came to Brisbane to study
.

You know what I mean.

At least it didn't start off as a story about car number plates
.

Are you kidding? How was I supposed to tell you? I'd never told anyone before, not when it mattered. And you don't exactly make yourself an easy person to tell, with your ands and your buts and your observations about the non-direct approach. And you could have told me that other stuff sooner. It wasn't such a big deal. Relationships end.

I knew that was bugging you. I knew you thought I should have told you
.

Fuck. Look, I'm sorry. It was a big deal. Of course it was a big deal. And it doesn't matter when you told me. I just . . . please don't get into the number-plate stuff again. I can really do without it. I mean, that's all to do with the person I married having died, you know.

There's a pause. She looks down at her tea and the muscles in her face clench.

Do you think I'd forgotten that? For a second? How am I supposed to deal with you? How is anyone supposed to deal with you? I've got to be so cautious around all of that. I just forgot how to handle you for a second, okay?

Handle me? What are you? A zoo keeper?

Shit, Jon, what am I supposed to say? There's another mistake. Sometimes you're so far in there, running around,
that you don't even know what's happening on the surface. How temperamental you are. How carefully people treat you. How nothing gets sorted out
.

Well, there goes the careful handling. This is nice and direct.

I'm sorry. I'm not sure what to say. I'm really sorry that the person you married has died. And I'm sorry that you didn't like her. And I'm sorry that you don't really know how to deal with that, and that no-one ever talks about any of it
. She stops, leans her forehead forward onto her hand.
What am I doing? I'm sorry I'm saying all this now. It's not my business. I can't know what you feel like
.

Particularly if I don't tell you. And I'm working on that. And I've made it your business. So don't say it's not your business. It's your business now more than it's anybody else's.

I think I'll go home
.

What? Don't go.

No, I think I will
. She stands up, goes to the coffee table in the lounge room and picks up her keys.