Something Else, page 15
In the end he decided to do both.
★
It was past eleven when Martin called. David ran to the phone like a schoolgirl and then checked himself and did a lap around the living room before he picked up. Something perverse in him strained to sound uninterested as Martin told him about the restaurants he’d been to and whom he’d caught up with. There was a pause on the line as Martin waited for David to offer some conversation of his own.
“You don’t sound happy.”
“I’ll be happy when you’re home.”
“You have missed me then.” The triumphant tone put a sheepish smile on David’s face.
“I’ve done nothing but talk about you since I’ve been here. My friends can’t wait to meet you.”
David was quiet, disconcerted; a vision of his future social life before him.
“I was clear on one thing though. I told them if you ever get sick of me, they can forget it. I’m a one-off.”
“Ha. Yeah?”
A pause. “Am I wrong?”
“You’re very bloody wrong.”
David grinned into the stunned silence for a moment.
“I’ll never get sick of you.”
★
Somehow David stopped himself from storming into town Monday morning before surgery hours commenced. He chuckled to himself imagining what Martin would’ve done if he’d booked the first time slot. Then he stopped laughing, imagining all the things that Martin might’ve done. He was there dead on three parked a long way down the street but still close enough that he didn’t dare get out of the ute till he saw Mrs Campbell leave and whizz off in her ancient Morris Minor.
The door opened and whatever Martin was going to say was forced out of his lungs in a loud gust. David slammed him up against the wall, pinning him groin to groin, pulling his head down with both hands. After a desperate interchange of lips and teeth David tore his mouth away, his hand savaging Martin’s belt. “Open up. Now.”
Later, calmer, they lay quietly on Martin’s still-made bed. Martin lay on his back with David’s face hidden in his neck.
“If I’d known I was going to encounter a force majeure, I’d’ve taken out appropriate insurance.”
David grunted. “You came pretty close to getting force majeure’d, I’m telling you.”
The quiet stretched out as Martin threaded his fingers through David’s springy hair.
“It’s an issue for you, isn’t it.”
David bit into his neck. “You know it is.”
Martin pulled away so he could face him. “Is this some primitive thing about putting your stamp on me? Claiming ownership? Because I can tell you, David, you will never own me.”
“It’s not about that.” But even behind the hurt frown he’d allowed to wrinkle his brow he felt a twinge of something like guilt. He wanted nothing left undone between them. It was unexplored territory constantly teasing him, beckoning. He wanted it all. “I just want to be as close to you as possible. I don’t know. It feels like a barrier between us. If you really do love me—”
“For fuck’s sake, David. Not that old chestnut. Give me strength! You’re like a dog wanting to piss on a tree.”
“Please don’t make this ugly.”
Martin let out an annoyed sigh. “I’m sorry.” He raised his palm to his forehead and closed his eyes. A moment later, in a softer voice he apologised a second time.
David had moved in on his neck again, glancing down to see if this was getting him anywhere. His hand slid down over Martin’s stomach. “Would you at least try with me? Just once?”
A negative sound came from Martin’s throat.
“I’ve been doing some research.”
Martin’s eyes flew open, his pleasant focus broken. “Research?”
“Mmm.” David’s mouth glided away from his neck as he slid his thigh over Martin’s legs. “I could gentle you into it. I’d be a picture of control—” He lifted his face up and grinned. “—and aim.”
Concentration was becoming tenuous as David’s teeth gently sank into his stomach. Martin let out a breathy laugh and threw his head back. He swallowed. “I’ll…I’ll think about it.”
Chapter Twenty
“Don’t just stand there, Dan, come in.”
In the kitchen Dan put a container down on the table. He looked over to where Martin was occupied pouring drinks.
“G’day, doc. Hope y’like apple pie.” He looked down at the container, tapping its lid absently with his stubby fingers. He glanced up at David.
“Sorry to hear about your dog, son. He was a good ’un.”
David handed him an orange juice. “Yeah. I’m gutted about it. I keep looking for him, and the ute reeks of him—makes me wanna cry every time I get in it.” He shook his head ruefully as he took another swig of his beer. “I still remember seeing him in the litter wobbling around on his bandy little legs. I knew he was the one, and I was right. Best dog you could have.” He let out a gusty breath. “But I guess it’s for the best. You can’t have a cattle dog in Sydney.”
Dan nodded and gave his arm a pat.
“Doesn’t stop some people,” said Martin.
“That’s just wrong. They’re too smart, anyway. Cause no end of trouble. You need a dumb dog in the city.” David grinned at Dan. “And a dumb dog’s not worth having.”
“Y’got that right.” Dan drained his glass. “So, what’s that smell makin’ me dribble like an old man?”
“Lamb rogan josh.” Martin lifted the lid on the pot and beckoned him over.
He leaned over and inhaled. “Blimey.” He looked at David with wide eyes. “I can see why y’keep him round. Y’need to marry this bloke.”
David’s mouth fell open and Martin quickly interceded. “Actually, this is David’s handiwork, pretty much. I reckon you could throw it together yourself. It’s not that hard.”
Dan shook his head and gave David a knowing look. “As if Nell would let me do anything in her kitchen. I’m lucky I’m allowed to eat in there.”
“Well, you don’t want to set any precedents. You might find yourself strapped up in an apron before you knew it.”
Soon Martin and Dan were seated in the living room, dinner trays on their knees, watching David fiddle with the old VHS player.
“Dad taped these off the telly, but they should still be okay. We can fast forward through the ads.”
Martin had groaned when he found out he would have to endure not one but two westerns.
“Just be grateful I don’t have any John Wayne. They’re his favourite.”
Dan was astounded at Martin. “Never seen Shane or Cat Ballou! They’re classics, lad. Wait’ll y’see Jane Fonda. Sweetest little piece of—y’know, before she went all funny with that exercise stuff.”
Halfway through Shane, Martin reached over to prod David in the leg. They both smiled at Dan, legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded, keeling to one side. “Should I offer to drive him home?”
“Nah. He’ll be right as rain when he wakes up.”
After a lot of hand shaking and back slapping, he walked Dan down to his car. He came back to stand with Martin on the verandah and they watched the red taillights disappear round the bend. A riffle of sadness threaded through the air as he became aware of the non-barking silence. He made no effort to move, and Martin slung his arm over his shoulders.
“He really enjoyed himself, didn’t he?”
“Yeah? If I’d known I’d’ve had him round sooner. I’ll just have to hope I haven’t put the girls’ noses out of joint. Jesus.” David shook his head in wonder. “I nearly bloody choked when he said I should marry you.”
Martin gave him a squeeze. “I know it scares the shit out of you, them knowing, but I have a feeling Nellie and Dan might surprise you.”
David turned to him. “There’s no bleeding way—”
“I’m not telling you what to do. All I’m saying is, if they found out by accident or gradually figured it out for themselves, I don’t think it would be the horror-fest you’re imagining.”
He shook his head.
“They love you, David. And where there’s real love, there’s acceptance.”
He continued to stare out into the dark, his jaw set. “It’s not that simple.”
Martin reached up and tugged on his earlobe.
“Sometimes it is.”
★
Martin’s words were still eating at him later when they were sat on the sofa with their last drinks for the evening. The latest Tim Winton, bought for him by Martin on his trip, lay open on his lap, still on the page he’d opened it at.
“So, tell me about the acceptance in your family.”
Martin turned from the television to look at him. He turned back and grabbed the controller and switched off the noise.
“Mum accepts me, but it’s complicated.”
A memory came vividly tumbling back into his mind. “What was that you said…something about the men in your family beating you up? What’s that about? I’m sorry I’ve never asked you before.” He shot a quick look at Martin. “Assuming you want to talk about it, that is.”
Martin rubbed his forehead with his palm and leaned back into the arm of the sofa, folding his arms over his chest. “Not one of my favourite topics. I said to you where there is real love there is acceptance. I stand by that. My brother is an arsehole, to be frank. And because of…things, I don’t get to see much of his kids. Nothing of them, actually. His wife toes the line. I get second-hand news through Mum. It’s very sad.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. My mother loves me. She’s the one who counts.”
“Tell me about your mum.”
“Oh, she’s an Eastern Suburbs Lady.” His mouth tilted up at one end. “A bit of a lady-who-lunches. She’s beautiful. She’s elegant—”
“Like you, Princess.” Smiling, he poked him in the arm.
“Yeah,” he laughed. “Thanks. And the man she married kept her squashed under his thumb. He’s been dead for years but now she lets my brother carry on the job. I wish she had some backbone, but she’s just not been brought up that way. Too giving.”
“I look forward to meeting her. What will she think of you taking up with a rough yokel like me though?”
Martin eased himself up out of the corner of the lounge and leaned towards him. He playfully grabbed him by the ear and steered his face towards his. “She’ll see how I look at you and she’ll know.”
He dipped his head and spent a long time plundering David’s mouth.
David shifted his weight so Martin was more lying next to him.
“What will she know?”
“That you’re the rough, real, yokelly thing.”
Chapter Twenty-One
It was not yet December, but it had been summer for a good month already. Dry heat rising from the ground, hot air rattling under the eaves and gutters. The sky a washed-out blue, the sun leaching the remaining colour out of the landscape, rendering the distant hills a faded lavender.
David shovelled some cow manure into a plastic crate. He carried it up to the house and distributed it over the base of some plants he had on life support. One of them was a stunted looking tree that had been at the back of the house since he was a kid. His mother’s tree. Yesterday-today-and-tomorrow, she called it. In the good years, its leaves had been glossy green, its flowers an abundant cloud of purple, mauve, and white. This was the season for its flowers, and he noticed a few charred buds.
His morning had been taken up with the real estate agent. David had expected old Tom Standish, but he’d sent his son, Owen, who’d been a few years behind him at school. He’d come out in his crisp shirt and trousers, clipboard in hand. David had taken him for a run around the paddocks, down along the creek. Then they’d walked around the house, finishing at the kitchen table where Owen had spread out his paperwork. David leaned on his hand, his face grimly resigned.
“There can’t be many interested buyers at the moment.”
Owen glanced up. “Oh, there’re some. Asian, mainly. Looking for bargains. The patient money.”
David chewed his lip. That would go down a treat with Dan. Christ, maybe he’d end up selling to them in the end as well. But then he smiled. No, he’d never sell. It would be Nellie or the kids who would have that pleasant job.
And so, it was done. He agreed to the terms. Signed the papers. Felt empty and cheap as he watched Owen drive off in a cloud of dust. And no Fang to see him off. The pain pricked at his heart. That was when he’d headed to the cow yard. Shovelling shit was all he felt up to.
He waited till quarter past three and called Martin.
“It’s done.”
“Ah. Do you think you’ll get a fair price?”
“Gotta find a buyer first.”
“Whatever happens, David, you can stay with me for as long as it takes. You don’t have to sell to the first vulture that swoops in. Once you’ve got some cashflow, you’ll have room to manoeuvre.”
The line was quiet.
“I’ll help you fix that guttering up on the weekend, and we’ll get that painting done. It’ll make a big difference.” He paused, his voice soft. “Babe, it’ll all work out. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
David’s throat constricted. “Yep.”
“David?”
He forced himself to swallow. Took a breath. “Yep?”
“I’ll never leave you, okay?”
★
The weekends were spent removing old paint and painting on fresh while the weekdays ground on, the hard work broken up by a visit to town on the Wednesday.
“I’m becoming a bloody hardware expert,” David said, throwing the paper down on the kitchen table.
Martin picked it up, reading the ad David had jabbed his finger at.
“Reads okay. And it’ll be in the Sydney Morning Herald on Saturday as well, yeah?”
“Yeah. These ads cost a flaming fortune.”
“Hmm.” Martin folded the paper and put it away. “So have you heard from Jodie lately?”
David looked up. “No. No time for me, these days. I hope he’s showing her a good time.” He grimaced. “Makes me feel ill imagining him touching her. Clumsy oaf.”
“You’ve had her to yourself for too long, David. She has her own life.”
“Yeah, I know, but…”
Martin smiled. Slid a plate of sandwiches in front of him. “Besides, you said yourself it’s what’s inside that moves you. The outside is what you get used to.”
“Yeah, but I was talking about—”
“It’s no different, David.”
He sighed. Took a large contemplative bite. “I guess.”
“I might have a bit of drama over the weekend.”
David raised his eyebrows, his jaw working a mouthful of ham and salad.
“Sally Munro is getting close to time. A bit overdue, actually. If she doesn’t go by the weekend, she’ll be induced on Monday.”
David wiped his mouth. “You’re not a baby specialist.”
“No, but I promised her I’d be there. She had trouble with her first and they live a fair way out, as you know. She’s worried she’s going to get caught.”
“Ah well. Mum had me in the ambulance, screaming in at seventy mile an hour.”
“What, her, or the ambulance?”
“Both, I reckon. I came in at ten pound she said.”
“Crikey.”
“You wouldn’t know it when I was growing up. I was a weed. Tim was the chunky one. He’d’ve been the farmer.”
“You can’t know that.”
“He was the one used to tag along with Dad everywhere. S’why he never forgave me.”
“Presupposing how life will turn out leads to disillusionment all round, David. Anything could have happened. No one has a crystal ball. Easy to blame you for his disappointment.”
David looked up from his hands stretched out in front of him. “I rang Mum the other night. Told her about the sale.”
“Yeah?”
“She’s relieved, I think. Says she’ll be glad to have me closer in Sydney.”
“From what you’ve told me, it sounds like your mum gets you more than you realise.”
“Maybe. When she has time.”
Martin slid a hand over David’s. “You can be pretty prickly, you know. It took me a while to figure out how to approach you without getting stabbed.”
“Is that right.” A small smile puckered David’s lips.
“Poor Jodie’s still trying to figure it out.”
“She’s used to me. Anyway, she’s spending her time more fruitfully now.” He watched Martin’s hand on his. “So, you did fancy me early on, then.”
Martin grinned. “Sure. In the time it took to stitch your hand I’d ripped your shirt off maybe fifty times. I was desperate to lick you.”
“Hum.” David cleared his throat. Looked at his watch, and then at Martin. “Oh my.” He was up and heading towards Martin’s bedroom, pulling his shirt tails out as he went. “Is it that time already?”
★
He raced in to pick up the phone, thinking it would be Martin.
“Hello, Davey. Everything all right?”
His whole body slumped into anti-climax. “Yes, everything’s good here. Did Dan go in for that test today?”
“Yes, he went into the hospital after breakfast. It’ll only take half an hour if that specialist’s on time. Said he’d pick up some feed on the way home. I was wondering if I could get you to do a little job for me. I need you to have a look at that chicken coop. Dan thinks it’s fine after he fixed it before, but something’s had another go at it last night and I don’t want to ask him again.”
David laughed. “Sure. He doesn’t have to know. I’ve got some spare offcuts I’ll bring around.”
