by Kim Lock
Ark ran his hands down her spine, over the swell of her bum. He pulled her against him. ‘Let’s just you and I do something,’ he murmured, his lips moving across her jaw to beneath her ear. He took a deep breath, as though breathing her in, and her body bowed into his.
‘But I promised her.’
‘So?’
‘So?’ Jenna said, pulling away. ‘It’s Fro. I haven’t seen her for ages. I’m having withdrawals.’
‘You saw her at work today.’ He pulled her back in.
‘She helped me clean bedpans. Then we shared half a box of Pizza Shapes.’
‘That’s more than you’ve shared with me today.’ His voice was low, his fingers brushing her collarbone. ‘You should put us first – you and me.’
Jenna bit her lip. His hand slipped lower, his palm settling over the rise of her breast. Steam from the shower warmed her skin, moisture pricked on her face and throat.
‘Please?’ His lips moved on her neck.
Hooking her fingers into the waistband of his jeans, she tugged them down his thighs. ‘Okay, you’ve twisted my arm,’ she said. ‘I’ll send her a message.’
‘Later,’ he said.
iv
Sunday morning, an unseasonably warm day for late March. Jenna waited on the couch. The ceiling fan stirred the pages of the paperback she was reading half-heartedly when Fairlie trumped through the front door without knocking and lifted up her t-shirt.
‘Check it out,’ Fairlie said from behind the fabric. ‘New togs. Slimming, no?’ She twisted from side to side.
Jenna chuckled, taking in the wide vertical black and white strips of lycra stretched across her friend’s midsection, tucked snugly into the waistband of fluorescent orange surf shorts.
‘Ahh, I see what they’re doing,’ Jenna said, tossing the novel aside. ‘That black section in the middle with the hourglass shape, and the white on the sides – it’s like a pseudo waist.’
‘Exactly.’ Fairlie lowered her shirt enough to peer at Jenna over the fabric. ‘I even waxed my bikini line for that extra wow factor. But I have to warn you,’ she said, ‘we might be fighting blokes off with a bat once I reveal myself in this at the beach.’
‘Sorry, I forgot to tell you.’ Jenna shook her head. ‘We won’t be going to the beach.’
Fairlie’s shirt fluttered back into place. ‘Why?’
‘Ark’s coming. He doesn’t swim, remember?’ Jenna shot her a look of apology.
‘Oh.’ Fairlie looked at her tummy and smoothed down her t-shirt. ‘I thought he had some conference call thing on this morning?’
‘It’s been rescheduled.’
‘Right.’ Fairlie nodded. ‘Dude owes me lunch, anyway.’ She plopped alongside Jenna on the couch and dropped a loud smack on her cheek. ‘What on earth is this?’ She picked up Jenna’s paperback. ‘Since when do you read . . .’ she flipped the novel over and quoted, ‘ “erotic romance”?’
‘Ark got it for me,’ Jenna said. ‘He thinks I’ll like it.’
Fairlie opened to a random page in the centre of the book. Her eyebrows began inching towards her hairline, then she burst out laughing. ‘Remind me never again to eat ice-cream,’ she said. ‘Do you actually like this?’
Jenna snatched the book back. ‘It’s fine.’
‘Bow chicka bow wow,’ Fairlie sang, shimmying her shoulders. ‘Is it supposed to be some kind of subtle hint? I mean, does Ark want you to get a whip and –’
‘Hey, Fairlie.’
‘Good morning, stranger.’ Fairlie didn’t miss a beat, launching straight from one sentence to another as Ark came into the room. ‘I wore my bathers for nothing, I hear.’
‘I’m sure you’ll find an excuse to strip and show them off anyway,’ he said, holding out his fist. Fairlie leaned forwards and bumped it.
Ark bent to kiss Jenna. Squeezing her shoulder, he said, ‘Ready? Let’s go.’
‘Right now?’ Fairlie broke in. ‘Can we have a cuppa first? I’m parched.’
Ark offered her a fleeting smile, then directed his gaze back to Jenna. ‘I’m not sure what time the call will come through, but it could be as soon as two. So I want to get back in time.’
Taking Ark’s hand, Jenna stood and slipped into her thongs. ‘Let’s go,’ she said over her shoulder, as Ark tugged her playfully from the room.
‘Hey, wait,’ Fairlie said from behind her. ‘Where’s the fire?’
Sticky air engulfed them as they stepped outside. Galahs tittered in the eucalypts and sparrows flitted about in the grass. Sweat sprung out on Jenna’s forehead and she rubbed it with fingertips.
‘Perfect weather,’ Ark announced. ‘Lunch; a beer in the shade. Check out the bikini bodies on display on the sand.’
Jenna scoffed softly, and Ark laughed and curled an arm around her waist. ‘None as beautiful as you, though,’ he chuckled into her ear. Jenna shoved at him, but couldn’t help the self-satisfied ripple beneath her skin.
‘Are we taking my car?’ Fairlie asked.
‘Nah, we’ll take the Merc,’ Ark tossed over his shoulder. ‘More comfortable.’
Jenna smiled at her. ‘Come on, you haven’t had a ride in it yet.’
Fairlie hastened to catch up. ‘My arse can hardly wait.’
*
The Mercedes purred the hour’s stretch of bitumen between Penola and Robe, the sleepy and unassuming beachside town that boasted a population of about 1500 in winter and 15,000 in summer. Most of the tourists had packed up their tents and caravans and dragged themselves home for the year, but a few locals and daytrippers wandered the main street.
Warmed by the friendly stream of banter that Ark and Fairlie had maintained for the whole trip, Jenna lounged back in her seat, the air-conditioner whispering cool air around her ankles. Ark’s hand rested on her bare thigh and she stroked his fingers. Shopfronts flashed past the window: a surf shop, bodyboards lined up like shark’s teeth in a window; a bakery; a trendy espresso bar that had sprung up in response to burgeoning tourism; a ladies’ wear store; another surf shop; a service station. At the end of the main street, the shops gave way to a lawn bowls green, a broad expanse of half-dried kikuyu grass and then the azure of the Great Australian Bight glittered into view.
Ark swung the car in a circle and pulled into the shade beneath a strand of towering Norfolk Island pines.
‘. . . entire roast lamb leg,’ Fairlie was saying, incredulous. She slapped her knee and snorted.
‘You’re lucky, though.’ Ark looked at Fairlie in the rear-vision mirror. ‘I can’t get Jenna to make a toasted sandwich – yet you’ve got a neighbour who leaves a Christmas feast on your doorstep every second day.’
‘Oh God, tell me about it!’ Fairlie said. ‘I lived with her for over a year. I completely understand.’
‘You’re both full of shit,’ Jenna interjected.
Out of the car, Jenna’s skirt lifted in a briny gust of wind. Ark drew her in close and kissed her forehead. Children shrieked on a nearby playground. The air smelled of pine sap and salt; slender spiked needles from the pines crushed beneath their feet as they crossed the grass.
Granite boulders crouched at the edge of the park. Beyond, the beach was a finger of sand uncurling into the distance, foam and sea-grass lazily stitched onto the shore.
Fairlie took a deep breath and sighed wistfully.
‘Gonna get your gear off then, Fro?’ Jenna looked at her.
Fairlie turned her face up to the sky, her expression hidden behind sunglasses and sweat-sticky brown curls. ‘Nah,’ she said. She dropped her gaze to Jenna and smiled. ‘Not the same without you.’
‘Time for lunch,’ Ark broke in with enthusiasm.
‘Excellent. Fish and chips.’ Fairlie rubbed her hands together. ‘I’ve been waiting all week. Did you know the management’s changed, Jen? Hope they still hav
e that spicy noodle salad.’
Ark, his arm firm across Jenna’s shoulders, turned from the beach and made for the street. ‘We’re going to the pub,’ he said.
Jenna wheeled with him. ‘Come on, Fro. Ark knows the manager.’
‘Half-price drinks,’ Ark added. ‘On me, anyway.’ He aimed his words forwards, projecting loud enough for Fairlie to hear. ‘I know you’re not one to turn down a free drink.’
Before she turned out of view, Jenna saw an irritated flash cross Fairlie’s features. Annoyance? Disappointment? Jenna told herself she had imagined it, but it was several long moments before Fairlie caught up.
*
The interior of the pub was dim, the air carrying the damp, fermented scent of beer and timber. They made their way through the front bar to the bistro. Ark waved and shouted a cheerful greeting to a thin man with a shining bald crown in a black polo shirt writing specials on a blackboard.
‘Rudo!’ the bald man cried, grinning broadly and setting down his chalk. ‘Good to see you, mate.’ He hurried over, slapping his palms together, and the two men shook hands with bicep-swelling gusto.
‘Hey man, thanks for that box of shiraz, eh?’ the bald man enthused. ‘Bloody generous of you. Bloody generous.’
‘Hey, hey.’ Ark held up his hands, refusing the gratitude. ‘Not at all. I appreciate your support.’
‘And this must be the lovely Mrs Rudolph.’ He turned to Jenna.
‘Yes, this is her. My beautiful wife.’ Ark wrapped his arm around Jenna’s shoulder and made introductions: the man was Tate Adams, newest manager of the Commercial Hotel and, according to Ark, a great bloke and a man with whom he’d shared many a local wine appreciation event. After shaking Fairlie’s hand and giving her a cursory smile, Tate returned his attention to Ark.
Jenna felt, more than observed, Fairlie looking back and forth between Ark and the animated pub manager as they spoke. After some minutes, Fairlie tittered something about her tragically distinct lack of beer and wandered to the bar, leaving Jenna with the men. Jenna made to follow her, but Ark’s arm held her in place, and for a beat in time she felt a twist of anxiety. Where was she supposed to be? A moment later, Fairlie, beer in hand, ambled through the back doors into the sunlit beer garden. Jenna exhaled and mentally shook herself.
‘You got my order?’ Tate was asking.
‘You know it,’ Ark replied.
‘Excellent. Buyer’s all set.’
Ark lowered his voice. ‘You finalise the deal?’
Something in Ark’s clandestine tone piqued Jenna’s attention. Nodding, then offering Ark a fist bump, Tate gave a shrill whistle that made Jenna jump. A boy appeared, his white t-shirt damp and stained, a tea-towel tucked into his apron.
Ark fished his keys from his pocket and handed them to the kitchen boy. ‘Silver Mercedes,’ he said. ‘Top of the street.’ The kid nodded and left.
‘What’s he doing?’ Jenna asked.
‘Nothing. Just delivering something. Hey, babe, why don’t you go pick us out a table?’
Jenna considered him, but he just smiled at her nonchalantly.
Outside, the beer garden was walled with low red brick and fringed with potted palms. In the shade of a broad canvas umbrella, Fairlie was seated at a table in the middle of the garden, sipping her beer. Over a crackly speaker, Kenny Rogers’ ‘The Gambler’ was playing. Only a handful of people were scattered about. Seagulls hopped on spare tables and squabbled on the pavers.
Fairlie had gathered the cardboard coasters from her table and stacked them into a pyramid. She hadn’t noticed Jenna threading her way through the tables. As Fairlie was balancing the last coaster atop her creation, her tongue sticking from the corner of her mouth, Jenna stopped at her elbow.
The coasters tumbled onto the table.
‘Bloody hell,’ Fairlie said. ‘That took me half a day.’
‘Sorry.’ Jenna slid into a seat. ‘That Tate guy can talk the head off . . .’ She gestured to Fairlie’s beer. ‘You know.’
‘What’s taking so long?’
Jenna shrugged. ‘Business. I guess. Think Ark brought something for him.’
At that moment, Ark, laughing riotously, barrelled through the back doors and strode over to their table. He grinned and announced, ‘Lunch is on the house.’
‘See?’ Jenna said to Fairlie. ‘I told you he’s a handy man to have around.’
‘Real handy,’ Fairlie agreed, taking a swallow of her beer. ‘Like a Chux wipe.’
Lunch arrived quickly, piles of golden fried chips stacked with crispy-battered fish.
‘Fish and chips, as promised,’ Jenna pointed out.
‘No noodle salad, though,’ Fairlie returned, indicating her inadequate pile of lettuce leaves.
Ark’s phone rang. Dropping his fork, he mumbled his apologies and hastily walked to a quiet corner. Jenna couldn’t hear him but he spoke rapidly, waving one hand around. When he returned to the table, his face was lit up.
‘That was him,’ he said to Jenna, bouncing on the balls of his feet. ‘New buyer. This is really gonna happen.’ He shook his phone triumphantly, like a trophy.
‘That’s great, honey!’ Jenna cried.
‘But,’ he said, ‘I’ve gotta go.’ He slapped his watch. ‘Now. They want a Skype conference in an hour.’
Fairlie looked down at her barely touched meal. ‘We can’t finish lunch?’
‘Fairlie,’ Ark said, beaming, ‘when this deal goes through I’ll buy you lunch for a month.’ He batted a hand at their plates. ‘It was free anyway. Come on. Let’s go!’
Taking Jenna’s hand, Ark led them from the beer garden, Fairlie trotting to keep up.
*
As Fairlie’s car disappeared into a cloud of white dust down the drive, Jenna smiled and tucked her arms around Ark’s waist.
‘I’m glad you could come anyway,’ she told him, ‘even if it was cut short.’
Ark peeled her arms away, glancing at his watch. ‘Shit, I’ve only got five minutes.’
Jenna followed him inside, jerking up a hand to stop the door from slapping her in the face. In the bathroom, she watched him yank off his t-shirt and set the hot water gushing into the sink.
‘What’s the rush?’ she asked, putting her hands on his back.
Ark shrugged her off and glared at her in the mirror. Steam rose in wisps from the tap. ‘I’ve got four minutes to look half-decent – we’re talking potential stocking at Dan Murphy’s here, Jenna. Haven’t you been listening?’
Jenna blinked, taken aback. ‘I’m always listening.’
Ark slapped shaving foam onto his cheeks. ‘I shouldn’t have come today, I really didn’t have time.’
‘You wanted to come.’
‘What choice did I have?’ Water squirted across the tiles as he rinsed his razor under the tap. He cursed. ‘I’ve barely seen you for weeks. You said you were going to the beach with Fairlie on my one free day. How else am I supposed to spend time with my wife?’
Wife. He’d said it like she’d forgotten his birthday.
‘I’ve just missed you so much this week,’ he was saying, swiping a hand towel across the bench. The muscles in his upper arms bulged. ‘We’ve barely spent ten minutes together. You’re working all hours – taking care of everyone except me – or playing with your girlfriend.’ He looked at her sadly. ‘We need more time as a couple.’ He took a shirt from a hanger and was gone. A moment later she heard the click of the office door.
Jenna closed her mouth, and sat down on the bed to stare at the floor.
v
Jenna remained silent as the waiter cleared plates from between them. She stole a quick look at Ark and saw that he was watching her, a small smile on his lips, but he thanked the young guy profusely.
‘And to think,’ Ark said, after the waiter had left, ‘six we
eks ago we were just Ark and Jenna. Now,’ he was rubbing his napkin into a drying squirt of garlic butter on the tablecloth, ‘it’s Mr and Mrs Rudolph. Sharing a meal like any normal married couple.’
Her fingers traced the rim of her coffee cup, papery-rough with hardened milk foam. She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, brushing it away. She didn’t answer him.
He crossed his arms and sighed. ‘You’re still pissed at me.’
‘No,’ she replied at length. ‘I’m . . . disappointed.’
He stared at her, tapping his teaspoon on the table. ‘You’re flirting right in front of me for the entire meal, and you’re disappointed?’
‘This is ridiculous,’ she said curtly. ‘Come on.’ Unhooking her bag from the chair, she made to stand up but Ark remained seated, and so, after a brief, half-squatting hesitation where she was neither sitting nor standing, she gingerly sat back down.
Ark stood up.
Outside the restaurant, a chill had crept into the evening air. Jenna hugged her arms, her shoes clicked across the car park.
‘So now you’re not going to speak to me, is that it?’
Jenna glared at him. The car door handle was cold beneath her hand; she jerked the passenger door open. Snapping into her seatbelt, she replayed the dinner over in her mind: how contented they’d both been when they’d arrived, the waiter politely taking their order. Ark’s behaviour had turned bizarre when their entrees had been delivered, after the waiter had set the bruschetta in front of them – what had she said? She recalled thanking the waiter, surely she’d smiled courteously. The waiter had remarked that the bruschetta was one of the chef’s specialties, told them to enjoy it, and she’d simply said, Thanks, I’m sure we will. Or something like that. Hadn’t she? She swiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.
‘You’re crying?’ Ark said. ‘Please don’t make this into a big deal.’
‘Of course I’m upset,’ she said angrily. ‘You harangued me for the entire meal about doing something I have no idea that I did.’
‘Babe, look, maybe it’s because of all the wine you had, but . . . you were a bit brazen. I mean, by the time he brought desserts the poor kid was blushing. You asked him what time he would be “getting off”.’