One Dirty Scot

by Donna Alam

  ‘But you just heard—Mum said we can’t . . .’

  ‘Think, Kate.’ He looks searchingly into my eyes, his gaze almost willing me to understand.

  ‘Days? Mum said we’d have to wait a month,’ I add seriously, a sudden thought floating free. ‘The authorities here won’t be swayed by a bit of influence. Or cash.’

  ‘What I’m about to say isn’t a perfect solution, but I hope it’s something you’ll consider.’ He inhales deeply, reaching over the centre console and placing my cup in the holder, before taking both my hands. ‘What you saw in the hotel was orchestrated. We can both agree?’ I nod, my stomach twisting nervously at the reminder, anxiously awaiting what he’s trying to say. ‘I don’t know exactly who is responsible, but I’m loathed to admit Faris may well be responsible.’ His hands tighten, sympathy flashing across his face before his expression firms again. ‘I need there to be no ambiguity upon our return. I need us to be married, for there to be no further obstacles available. To anyone.’

  ‘Oh.’ Our army of objectors. Perhaps it’s a good job we can’t get married in church. I can almost imagine the minister asking if anyone knows of any just cause blah, blah, blah, and a whole host of people standing up, shouting, causing aggro. Faris, Essam, Sofia. Random girls. I’m sure the list goes on.

  My shoulders sag. I understand, of course I do. But I don’t have to like it. Sounds like a marriage of inconvenience, almost. Inconvenient in as much as we have to do it now, in the next few days. I understood I wasn’t really going to be able to have a church wedding, but now it seems even a civil ceremony is beyond our reach . . . I raise my gaze once more. ‘But how are you going to—’

  ‘We, sweetheart, how are we going to. Manage to get married, that is.’

  ‘Well, yes, but—’

  ‘A Nikah ceremony, officiated at the local mosque. Much quicker to arrange but just as binding,’ he adds quickly. ‘And probably preferable, in light of things.’

  ‘Preferable to who? And what things?’ My voice raises in octaves as I begin to panic, great wings of anxiety beating against my ribs. Is this what it’s going to be like—our lives together—things I can’t comprehend, things I don’t understand? ‘You said we’d have a white wedding, you said to my mum.’ Christ on a bike, she’ll be crushed. ‘What will I say to her, how can I explain—’

  Taking my flailing hands once more in his, his face is grave. ‘I can’t give you a church wedding, but hear me out, please. This part of the wedding is paperwork, mainly, but solemn and sacred. And extremely official. We’ll return to Dubai married, where we’ll then have a wedding the envy of everyone.’

  ‘I don’t want a big wedding, I just want one that means something.’

  ‘I’d pledge you my troth anyway you’d want, sweetheart, because I want you above everything. And I want to make you happy. I also want to protect you. Please consider this. Once we return to Dubai, we’ll send for your parents, family—your neighbour’s cat! We’ll have a huge affair, blessed by a priest—your priest, if we can persuade him to come. Just, please, let’s get married before we leave. Darling, marry me. Here. Now.’

  ‘In this car?’ I raise my eyes to the roof as I scrunch up my nose.

  ‘I’d marry you anywhere,’ Kia replies on a half-held laugh. ‘I think I’ve made that perfectly clear.’

  Back at the house, and with Kai gone, I spend the rest of afternoon swimming, reading the local free newspaper—back to front—and catching up on TV shows I thought I might miss after moving away. And now appears not. I’m bored to tears, in other words. Kai said he had a couple of appointments, and I know one of them is to see stepdaddy dearest. Geoff could talk a glass eye to sleep, especially once he’s on his soap-box, so I won’t expect him back anytime soon. I also suppose it could’ve been worse, he could’ve asked me to go with him, but apparently that’s not the done thing. Still, I wished I’d driven my little car back from my mum’s. At least I’d be able to go out, instead of just hanging around.

  ‘I’m off.’ Jazz’s disembodied head pops around the corner, frowning down at me as I lounge on the couch, arms crossed. ‘You want me to make you a sanger before I shoot off?’ I’d already said we didn’t need dinner as I wasn’t sure when Kai might be back. A sandwich would be just the thing right about now.

  ‘No, ta. I’ll make something myself if I get the munchies.’ Truth is, I’d feel uncomfortable asking her to make me food. I’ve got arms and legs. I just need to get off my bum and help myself.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yeah.’ God, that words just drips with despondency. ‘I think I might go out myself.’ As I say the words, I realise what I’m actually going to do is stay in, veg out, and call for a pizza. Once she’s gone.

  ‘You wanna lift somewhere? I’m heading to Robina.’

  ‘Na, I’m right, thanks.’

  ‘Suit yer self.’ And then she’s gone.

  Through the wall of glass, I watch the sun set through a haze of clouds. The effect is very dramatic, dark clouds still lingering from the earlier rain now a wash of indigo, blue, grey, apricot, and bronze staining their edges, touched now and then by the setting sun.

  My head is filled with thoughts of marriage. The how and the where of Kai’s plans. I try being philosophical; yes, it’s not at all how I want to get married, but surely the ceremony is just a platform, a springboard on which to launch ourselves into the state. Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds. I’d planned to have this sonnet read in church, for my other wedding, that is. For the first time, I really think I understand. Love withstands, overcomes difficulties. To a change in circumstances, love bends. This isn’t the way I want to get married, but married to Kai, I do want to be. So I’ll bend. I suspect I always will for him. But for now, I’m going to be all Zen, starting by being one with the sofa, while I dial my dinner.

  The evening passes uneventfully, if alone. Texts are received and sent.

  Kai’s: I’m with Geoff now.

  Mine: My commiserations to you.

  And things are consumed

  Me: pizza.

  Mosquito’s: my blood.

  My own fault for leaving the bi-folds open beyond dusk.

  I’ve read, I’ve watched telly, I’ve chilled out, and now I’m so sick of my own company, I’m in bed, though I doubt I’ll sleep until Kai returns.

  ‘Kitten, pick a side.’

  I find myself being rolled unceremoniously from the bed, the room pitch black.

  ‘Gedoff, bazza! Leemealone!’ Disorientated, my arms flail until I recollect where I am.

  ‘Move over a little,’ the voice softly says. ‘You’re lying in the middle of the bed like a starfish.’

  Okay, not rolled from the bed, just from the middle.

  ‘What time is it?’ Sitting now, I brush away the hair plastered across my face.

  ‘A little after one.’

  I bounce a little against the mattress as Kai sits heavily, his boots hitting the floor with a thunk-thunk. Tugging off his shirt, he fumbles with his belt, ridding himself of his pants before sliding under the covers, and wrapping me in his arms.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ I mumble against his warm chest.

  ‘The pub. With your dad.’

  I make to pull away, to face him, not sure I’ve heard right. ‘That’s where your meeting was?’

  Through the darkness, there’s a gleam of teeth. ‘Think it was some kind of test. I’m his new favourite person, I think.’ He tilts his head to look at me. ‘I’m a bonza bloke. Fair dinkum, love.’ As he chuckles, his warm whiskey breath blows across my neck.

  ‘You’re pissed, you mean.’

  ‘Only slightly, darling.’ His voice brims with smiling derision. ‘Your father has a liking for expensive amber liquor.’

  ‘You mean if he’s not paying. If he’s gotta put his hand in his pocket, it’s a round of Toohey’s tops.’

  ‘I’d endure far worse things than beer for you.’

  ‘Gee,
you’re all heart. You went on a bender just for me?’ Bloody men.

  He nods heavily, his head falling back against the pillows. ‘Got drunk for love. And Geoff loves me. Had him drinking out of my hand—eating. He was eating out of my hand.’

  ‘Well done. Remind me to thank you properly some other time.’ Like the twelfth of never.

  ‘Don’t think you’ll feel thanks are in order when you hear what he had to say.’ His voice softens, his words lengthening with the sudden onset of slumber.

  ‘And I don’t think you’ll be telling me anything new.’ Same shit different day, as far as the olds are concerned. I softly brush the hair that’s fallen across his brow.

  ‘Says you’re wilful. Need to be taken in hand.’

  ‘Mate, I’d like to see him try.’ He’s not big enough, any day of the week.

  He chuckles softly again. ‘Not like that. Besides, that’s my job now.’ My heart thumps once loudly. Appreciation, I think, as a slow smile grows across his face, but he doesn’t open his eyes.

  ‘Made me think, in the cab on the way back.’

  ‘Yeah?’ The word sounds breathy, wanton. Encouraging.

  ‘Might be wrong.’

  ‘What might be?’ Kai turns wrong into right so easily.

  ‘Me.’ He sighs, his arms around my waist slackening. ‘It’s a D/s thing.’

  D/s? Does he mean BS? And if so, what exactly is bullshit in this instance?

  ‘What?’ I wrap my hands around his face, shaking his head a little when he doesn’t respond. ‘Kai, wake up. What d’you mean?’

  ‘What?’ He comes awake with a slight jolt.

  ‘Being taken in hand,’ he rasps, sounding almost surly. ‘Male-led households. Domestic discipline. Your parents. Think they might be into kink.’

  He closes his eyes as I loosen my grip.

  ‘Oh god,’ I whisper. Then I vomit in my mouth a little bit.

  ‘Afternoon.’

  I’m on the deck, finishing brekkie when Kai finally appears, looking far too dapper to be truly hung-over: Dark, slim fitting shorts, a pale coloured button down with short sleeves, and suede driving shoes that look suspiciously Gucci-esque. Steele-grey aviators complete the high-end ensemble, or hide tell-tale puffy eyes. I can’t quite tell, as I place my cereal bowl on the glass topped table.

  ‘Shh, kitten. Not so loud.’ Sliding onto the opposite sofa, he props his feet on the low table in front.

  ‘No need to ask how you pulled up this morning. Feeling a bit dusty, are we?’

  ‘If you mean hung-over, yes. Why didn’t you warn me Geoff has the constitution of an ox?’

  Glass half-way to my mouth, I exclaim, ‘How was I to know he’d want to bond with you? And at the bloody pub!’ To be honest, I thought he’d be lucky if he’d gotten the bombastic bugger to listen at all. ‘I thought you’d gone to tell him about us, not try to become best friends.’

  ‘Golf club.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Not a pub. At least, not at first. We talked at his office, and he invited me for a drink. How was I to refuse? God, beer always leaves me feeling like this.’

  ‘Thought you’d been hitting the whiskey?’

  ‘Later, when I found out he’s fond of the stuff. I bought a bottle of Jameson’s. The rest . . . I can’t remember too clearly, thankfully.’

  ‘What did Geoff say? About us?’

  Kai inhales. ‘Lots of things, initially.’

  ‘Lots of things he ought not have, I’ll bet.’

  ‘No. He wasn’t terribly pleased. Seems he’s a big fan of your prick of an ex. So I set him straight.’

  I don’t have an answer. In fact, I can find absolutely nothing to say. I’ve never seen anyone stand up to Geoff. He’s the boorish, belligerent type, his opinions delivered volubly in a deep baritone, leaving no space for anyone else to speak. He’s got an opinion on everything, and he may have taken on me and Mum—for which, I suppose, I have to be thankful—but it doesn’t stop me seeing him for what he is. A big, barrel chested, loudmouthed bully. Yep, that’s my dad.

  Lifting his feet from the table, Kai slides his glasses to the end of his aquiline nose, peering over the rims. Yep, hangover eyes. Heaps red, but I suppose I must look gobsmacked.

  ‘Sweetheart, I’m responsible for negotiating billion-dollar deals. I think I can handle your dad.’ Pushing his sunglasses back, he pauses, glancing down. ‘What on earth is that?’

  My own eyes fall to the latte glass in my hand. ‘Milo. Want some?’ I proffer the glass.

  ‘It looks like stomach contents,’ he says, turning his head away so quick, I think he might hurl. ‘Australians seem stranger by the day.’

  ‘The drink of champions, this.’ Scooping the teaspoon from the glass, I begin to munch the stuff I’ve spooned on top. ‘This is the only kind of malt I’m interested in.’ Mmm, yum.

  ‘Eurgh. After last night, I’m swearing off the other kind. At least, for a while.’

  ‘Lightweight,’ I laugh, digging the spoon in again.

  ‘A’teni.’ He holds out his hand. ‘I mean, please. Give it to me. I’d like a taste.’

  I hold it out and he takes it from my hand, simultaneously grabbing my wrist with his other hand. Before I know it, I’m stretched across his lap, bum vulnerable and in the air. One palm resting high on my back, his other strokes from the backs of my knees up.

  I shudder reactively, even as my body stiffens. We’re outside—anyone could be watching, though they’d probably have to do so from a boat. And then there’s Jazz. Did she come back last night? What if she walks by?

  ‘Relax,’ he whispers, his hand trailing between my thighs. ‘You’re thinking too hard.’

  ‘But—’

  He halts my protests with a swat of his hand on the back of my thigh. It stings briefly, but it isn’t nearly as unpleasant as the image conjured immediately in my head. It’s like lady-boner bromide.

  I turn my head and look over my shoulder at him, at the sensitive curl of his mouth, the desire kindling in his gaze.

  ‘Are you going to take me in hand?’ I ask, aiming for sugar-sweet, though the words are more like a low rasp from my mouth.

  His expression reflects no sensitivity to my tone, that aimed for or otherwise, his hand now cupping between my legs. ‘I was hoping you might like to come upstairs. Help make me feel better?’

  ‘Play doctors and nurses? Funny,’ I add as grave as a judge. ‘Because if you mention my parents’ sex-life to me again, I’m going to have to take up another kind of profession. I’m going to have to join a convent. Become a nun.’

  His beautiful face is as blank as a mask. For about three more seconds, when the bastard breaks out into a hearty laugh.

  ‘Oh god. I’d hoped I’d dreamt that!’

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Would you rather have sex with someone watching, or watch someone have sex?’

  ‘Wow. A toughie.’ I scrunch up my nose. ‘With an audience you’d need pretty good multi-tasking skills. All that sucking in your stomach, keeping your legs at an angle where bits don’t wobble, all the while looking like you’re in the throes of ecstasy thing. Can’t say I’ve ever really been grabbed by porn—’

  ‘That wasn’t an answer.’ He cuts off my rambling, deeming it unworthy of commenting. And I suppose it is because sex with Kai is all consuming and therefore there’s no brain power left for consideration of wobbly bits. ‘And in this instance, watching someone have sex implies watching the real thing, not porn.’

  ‘I can’t imagine getting a kick out of someone watching me have sex, let alone the other way around. So I guess I’d rather watch someone. Give them the performance anxiety, instead.’

  Kai smirks as I abandon my silverware, bringing both hands to my face. Having suggested we play this game over dinner, under the auspices of getting to know you better, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised we’ve veered a bit off the path.

  I know who I blame.

  We’ve had a pretty cruis
ey day. After Kai had pulled himself and his hangover together, we’d decided to take the opportunity to play tourist. Though I vetoed the beach because, you know, sand and waves. Instead we played mini-golf at the place where I’d worked as a girl, drinking slushies that stained our lips and eating fairy-floss and ice-blocks until we felt sick. Or maybe that was just me. We’d then hit the designer shops at Surfers Paradise, looking like a couple of hobo’s, or derros as we say over here. Colourful derros, blue lips and black Amex card. It was a bit like that scene in Pretty Woman where the snobby cow sales assistants turn Julia Roberts away. Or it might’ve been, if Kai didn’t just exude class from every pore.

  Elbows against the table, I peek from my splayed fingers, lowering them again as Kai schools his expression, shaking his head in mock admonishment.

  ‘You astound me. A voyeur?’

  ‘Tough choices.’ I lift one shoulder in a shrug. ‘Okay, my turn.’ I take a deep breath, because if we’re playing dirty . . . ‘Would you rather have amazing oral—’

  ‘God, yes.’ He gives one definitive nod, unable to bite back an audacious grin. It’s bloody dazzling. It’s not as though he doesn’t smile lots, because he does, but most are more difficult to decipher, usually holding a hint of lazy mocking. So this smile, this spontaneous smile, is all the more special for its artlessness.

  ‘I wasn’t offering, and you’re bending the rules again,’ I reprove, even as I grin myself. ‘So the best oral ever, then abstaining for the rest of the month, or just, like, average sex for the whole month?’

  ‘Average sex?’ he repeats, fork poised midway to his mouth. He lowers it, almost as though the phrase puzzles him, so much so that he abandons the remains of his steak. Steak that I’ve just cooked on the barbecue after it became clear he didn’t even know how to switch the gas on.

  ‘Define abstain.’

  I roll my eyes in a gesture of frustration. ‘Like a nun. You get nun.’

  ‘What, you mean nothing? Not even a quick fuck?’

  ‘They do say abstinence makes the heart grow—hang on, that’s not right, it’s—’

  ‘Absence, sweetheart. Though abstinence would definitely make something grow harder. Painfully so.’ He shakes his head indulgently. Not only is sex with Kai beyond mundane, but I can’t imagine not wanting to well, do it all the time.