‘I’m sorry I only called today, I just didn’t think it was anything. And I’ve been sleeping a lot during the day.’ She gestured to the obvious disarray, just as the shrill wail of a baby bored through the thin walls.
I briefly stepped outside onto the small balcony. The drill of the cicadas thrummed into my thoughts. I could see the top of the tower through the waving gums.
‘Something happened at the play that night,’ said Felix, coming up behind me. ‘She pissed someone off or did something.’
‘I know. I can see her standing down there fighting with someone but being careful not to call too much attention to what was happening. She had something to hide. She didn’t want it yelled out for everyone to hear.’
‘But why come to the lake?’ he wondered. ‘Why be alone with someone who’s going to put you in danger?’
‘I don’t think she was scared at first,’ I replied. ‘Maybe it was someone she trusted. I don’t think she knew she was in trouble until it was too late. It wasn’t planned. The rock was an opportunistic weapon.’
The baby started to cry inside the house and I remembered Ben’s needy wails at that age and wondered whether I could look after such a tiny creature like that now. Give myself up to its primal need. I looked at the tower again, the wailing baby gathering volume behind me, and pictured Jacob throwing himself from the top, crying as he fell.
We finish our glasses of wine. Jazz crackles through the speakers. Felix peels off my clothes. He’s inside me. Everything is suddenly clear. His hands are on my face, then my breasts, then pulling at my legs. He can’t get enough of me and I want to give him whatever he needs. For a few minutes nothing matters except us and then he shudders on top of me as he comes and my breathing slows and I realise that I’m cold. The air-con is set too low and there’s a dripping sound coming from somewhere, drip, drip, drip, and suddenly I can’t bear it anymore. My son was missing only a few days ago. Christ. What is wrong with me?
‘This doesn’t feel right.’ I’m like a toddler picking at a scab. A child pushing at a loose tooth.
Felix half sits. His body blocks the lamplight and the soft curling hairs on his chest look darker than normal in the shadow. I get up and wrap a towel around myself. Goosebumps have erupted all over me and I can feel each one. Craig and Laura are at the farmhouse for Christmas so Felix and I are at a hotel around the back of a pub that is popular with backpackers, about half an hour out of Smithson. It’s risky, but being Christmas Eve we assume that everyone we know will be home with their families.
‘I thought it felt great.’ He laughs, and the lightness of his tone hits my wall and is swallowed up instantly. ‘I’m sorry, Gem.’ He leans back against the plump pillows, his face serious. ‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’
‘I almost kissed someone the other night,’ I say, remembering Fox’s lips on mine. ‘I went to a party and I almost kissed someone. Someone I used to know.’
His right eyebrow lifts. ‘Okay.’ He places his hands behind his head as if he might launch into sit-ups. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
My legs feel funny. I start to pace, trying to shake the itch away. ‘No, I don’t want to talk about it. But I wanted to tell you, I felt like I should tell you.’ My face starts to fall and then I actually think the words, can see them being written down, No, no more crying over this, and manage to halt the tears mid-spill.
‘Well, I’m kind of used to the idea of you being with other guys. You are basically married.’
‘Hang on. You’re saying you wouldn’t mind if I was with someone else?’ I sound middle-aged and worn out, like I’m yelling for my naughty children at the park. I lower my voice. ‘So my being with someone else would be totally fine?’
‘Gem, c’mon. Come sit down.’ He glances at his watch. ‘I have to go soon and I already want you again.’
I want that too but I also want him to answer the fucking question. ‘Well?’
He sighs. ‘Look. It’s not fine, but I guess … I don’t know, I guess it’s like how I know you’re still with Scott sometimes and I deal with it. So I guess I’d put it in the same place I put that stuff.’
‘I haven’t slept with Scott since May.’
Felix is surprised, I can tell: it spreads quickly up his face followed closely by a gentle guilt.
‘Do you still sleep with Mary?’ I demand.
‘Gemma,’ he says warily.
‘Well, do you?’
‘Gemma,’ he says again, with a sharpness that pushes me back, away from him. Then he shakes his head and speaks more softly. ‘I just don’t see how it will help to lay our lives out side by side. To compare every little thing. We both know it’s difficult. The past few days especially. We make it work the best we can. Do you know what I mean?’
I know what he means and I understand that I can choose to let this go, put it down and shove it away to the back of the shelf. I can pull him into me, get lost in the smell and feel of him and let this pass around us. ‘I guess I just assumed that your relationship wasn’t like that. How often are you with her?’ The words tumble from my mouth and mingle with the images I have of them together. I wonder whether he acts the same way with her as he does with me. Whether he presses her down, heavy and strong, and whether he looks at her with the same wonder when he pushes inside her.
‘Gemma, please. I won’t do this with you. It’s stupid.’ He gets up and pulls on his clothes. Rubs his eyes. When he looks at me again his gaze is weary.
I’m making him so old, I think.
‘We need to go home. You need to see Ben. Put out a stocking for Santa. Whatever.’
‘I know what I need to do. Don’t patronise me.’
His hands rise in the air. ‘Gemma! I’m not. I’m just saying normal things. Don’t make it out like I’m attacking you.’ His accent hits rare high notes and cuts at the air.
‘Okay, fine. Let’s just go.’ I dress quickly, remembering my watch and bracelet on the tiny writing desk. I pick up my bag. I comb my hair with my hands and pull it into a ponytail. I swallow past the ache that has set in my throat.
The air-con whirs from its place on the wall, the sound needling my brain.
‘Hey.’ He takes my hand, holds it briefly to his heart and looks at me with a pained expression. There’s nothing left to say and not enough time to say it anyway. We’re certainly not going to solve our future tonight. We leave the room and he holds my hand even as we walk down the stairs to the small brown lobby. Brown walls, brown carpet.
‘Okay. Well,’ he says, dropping my hand. ‘Merry Christmas.’