Drip Dry (22 page)

‘You did! You did!' CJ is just about jumping up and down with delight. ‘And I set an extra place for Sam but now she's not here so it's perfect!'

‘Oh, I've got a great idea,' I say sarcastically as I give in to the inevitable. ‘Fergus, why don't you join us for dinner?'

‘Oh no, I couldn't –'

‘
THREE
!'

‘All right, if you insist. But I'm promising that I'll
still
be getting your floor done. Even if I have to be here bang, bang, banging away all night to do it.'

6.30 pm

‘And so when the clothing was all put through the wringer and my dear old mother was hanging it up on our line, well, that was when she discovered the poor wee mouse.' Fergus pauses to trace the sign of the cross over his monogrammed chest. ‘Nothing could be done, of course. And I refused another one ever after, as well. Ah, now let me see, what animal were we having next?'

‘Was it a fox?' asks CJ breathlessly.

‘No, no fox,' laughs Fergus. ‘They're nothing but thieving vermin, foxes are.'

‘CJ, eat up and give Fergus a chance to do the same.' I look across at her full plate, which she has hardly touched since we sat down. ‘Come on, otherwise you're going to be the last one at the table again.'

‘Oh, Mummy, I'm only listening.'

‘Your mum's right, lass,' says Fergus agreeably. ‘And it's been distracting I've been, as well. Didn't my dear old mother always say that that was my greatest fault? So now we'll both eat and I'll be telling you the rest when we're finished. How's that?'

‘But I hate lasagne anyway,' replies CJ confidingly.

‘So a deal it must be. You eat your meal and I'll be telling you the rest after. All right?'

‘Okay,' says CJ, beaming at him as she starts loading her fork with lasagne.

I can see where his dear old mother was coming from though. He has done nothing but talk, talk, talk since we sat down. First it was praise for the meal and then, when he tried to draw Ben out of his shell, he managed to elicit the information that the boy hoped to become a vet one day. That was all it took, and he was off and racing. We have heard the history of each animal that he and his three brothers and four sisters have owned up till the time of the mouse. And that
really
wasn't a suitable story for the dinner table. CJ has been listening earnestly to every syllable that has dripped from his lips. I suppose it's like
one of her Golden Book fairytales has come to life and is sitting at the table with her, eating lasagne. Ben, on the other hand, has stared dumbfounded at Fergus with the occasional glance at me to see my reaction. And I – well, I am actually having fun. There is no doubt that Fergus is a true character. And a very amusing one to boot.

I watch Fergus take a forkful of lasagne up to his mouth, his pinkie sticking out at an angle. I wonder why he frequents an establishment like Maggie's? Surely there's a girl out there who would appreciate his unique character and colourful dress sense. I can't think of anyone offhand, but I'm sure there must be at least one out there. Or perhaps he has a sexual deviation that can only be met by a specialist? I put my head on one side musingly and examine him, wondering what it could possibly be. Fergus swallows his lasagne and looks up, catching my eye. He grins and I quickly transfer my concentration back to my food.

‘So, let me see.' Fergus, who obviously can't stay silent for very long at all, lays his fork down beside his plate. ‘What animal were we having next? Ah, I think it must have been the time of the rabbits.'

‘My brother's got rabbits,' says CJ proudly.

‘Have you now?' Fergus asks Ben and gets a cursory nod in response. ‘Well then, you'll be knowing how it was then. We had two of the wee critters and, of course, they were both lasses so that was fine. Or so we thought until one morning when our Tara went out to the hutch and there were no longer two rabbits there at all.'

‘Why?' breathes CJ. ‘What happened to them?'

‘Well, that is there
were
two. But not just two.'

‘How come?'

‘They had babies, of course,' says Ben knowledgeably.

‘To be sure. Two of the skinniest, pinkiest, most hairless wee scraps of flesh you could ever have laid your eyes on. But weren't we in raptures? And we fed them, and showered them with love and were quite the experts in looking after them – except for just one thing.' Fergus pauses and looks at his rapt audience questioningly. ‘And would either of you be knowing what that was?'

‘What?' asks CJ, who has given up any semblance of eating her meal and, in fact, has both elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, gazing at Fergus.

‘And would you be knowing?' Fergus turns to Ben.

‘Um.' Ben bites his lip as he concentrates, obviously keen on getting this right. ‘You took them away from the mother?'

‘No, we knew better than that. But you're on the right track.'

‘Um. Then where was the father?'

‘That's it! You
are
a bright one, lad.' Fergus looks at Ben admiringly. ‘You'll go far as a vet because it's clear you'd be having the knack.'

‘Oh, okay.' Ben goes bright red and I have no doubt that, if he was so inclined, he'd be shuffling his feet and saying ‘aw, shucks'. I also know that he is beaming with pleasure inside where nobody can see. Except perhaps me. It looks like Fergus has made another conquest.

‘But why is that bad?' asks CJ impatiently.

‘Because, little lass, animals aren't like humans. And daddy rabbits shouldn't be left around their wee babies. To be sure, they become all aggressive and nasty and, sooner or later, the mother rabbit isn't there to protect her young.'

‘So what happened?' asks Ben.

‘The bugger ate them.'

‘Yeew,' shrieks CJ.

‘
What
?' I cry, with my forkful of salad halfway to my mouth.

‘Knew it,' says Ben sagely.

‘Well, that is, he didn't eat
all
of them. Just a wee bit of each, sufficient that we –'

‘Enough!' I say quickly as I put down my fork. ‘I think that's quite enough, thanks, Fergus. Apart from the fact that CJ's going to have nightmares, you've put me off my food. And, believe me, that's not usually very easy.'

‘Oh, I am
so
sorry!' cries Fergus. ‘Aren't I a thoughtless fool? My dear old mother always said so and she's been proven right. Again!'

‘I'm not hungry any more, Mummy.' CJ pushes her plate away with relief.

‘What did you do then?' asks Ben, who has actually finished his meal anyway, apart from the salad, and doesn't seem the least concerned by the dietary habits of the male rabbit. ‘Did you breed them again?'

‘No, we did not,' answers Fergus. ‘And perhaps I'd better ask your mother's permission to be telling the rest of the story.'

‘Please, Mum?' pleads CJ. ‘Please? I promise I won't hab nightmares, I promise.'

‘Go on, Mum,' Ben adds. ‘He's told us most of it anyway, so why don't you just let him finish it off?'

‘Well, I don't know.' I get up stiffly and start clearing the table. ‘Is the rest of the story as revolting, Fergus? Or worse?'

‘No, no it's not,' says Fergus earnestly. ‘And the bits that are, I'll be softening up for the consumption of children. You have my word.'

‘Oh, all right then. But no more buggers either.' I take the pile of plates out to the sink, dump them and return for the rest of the story.

‘Goody! Thanks, Mummy.'

‘Go on, then. Tell us the rest.'

‘Well, there we were, all seven of us in our hand-me-down rags, bleating and whimpering and crushed by the murderous actions of that beast. So we took the bits of little rabbit and we buried them up by our mother's potato patch where the ground was all moist and made for easy digging. And our Patrick, who was very good with his hands, fashioned two little wooden crosses for the wee graves. And our Tara made wee little shrouds. And we had a service for them. And we took to cursing that old rabbit and said we would never forgive him for doing what he did, and that we would never be feeding him again. So our old dad, who wasn't the most patient man to be sure, said that if we wouldn't be feeding the rabbit, would we be wanting him dead then? And we said yes.'

‘So would I,' states CJ emphatically. ‘Nasty old bugger.'

‘CJ!' I say, shocked. ‘If I hear that word out of your mouth ever again, you'll be eating soap!
Thanks
, Fergus.'

‘Oh, I
am
sorry!' Fergus slaps his hand to his head and looks at me apologetically. ‘So sorry. I am a thoughtless fool, to be sure.'

‘Go on,' says Ben impatiently.

‘Ben, shouldn't you be going to Jeff 's by now?'

‘When he's finished,' says Ben, without looking at me. ‘C'mon, what did your old dad do then?'

‘Well, let me see.' Fergus smiles at me sheepishly before returning to his audience. ‘My old dad grabbed that rabbit by the ears and then took his old axe down –'

‘Fergus,' I interrupt, ‘I thought you said this bit wasn't revolting.'

‘It's not,' says Fergus insistently. ‘Haven't I been giving you my word? And I won't be going back on that, to be sure! No, it's not like he used the blade side of the axe, not at all, that would have made a god-almighty mess. No, he just used the blunt edge and bopped that old rabbit fair on the head, clean as a whistle.'

‘Good,' says CJ emphatically. ‘Wish he
had
used the blade bit.'

‘What about the mother rabbit?' asks Ben. ‘Did you get her another mate?'

‘Ah, no.' Fergus pauses to take a mouthful of water. ‘Because, after her man had been done for, wasn't she bopped on the head as well?'

‘Why?' I ask angrily. ‘What did she ever do to you lot?'

‘Well, we were reasoning that she was letting the old fellow eat her babies, so wasn't she deserving to die as well? So our dad bopped her after he did the other.'

‘That's terrible,' I comment with disgust. ‘She loses her babies, and then she gets blamed for it.
She
was the victim here and she gets the chop. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.'

‘Mum, don't take it to heart,' says Ben disparagingly. ‘She did deserve some of the blame.'

‘Absolute rubbish. That's like saying that if your father up and ate you, then I share the blame. It's ridiculous.'

‘Mummy!
Gross
!'

‘Anyway,' says Ben, ignoring me, ‘what happened then? Did you bury them near the babies?'

‘Fergus,' I say warningly, ‘
don't
make it revolting.'

‘Did you?' asks CJ imploringly. ‘Did you at least put the mummy rabbit with her little wee babies?'

‘Oh, no,' says Fergus cheerfully. ‘Our mother skinned and boiled the pair of them and we were having rabbit stew that very night. And didn't each of us seven kids get ourselves a lucky rabbit paw? With one to spare as well. Ah, but nobody made rabbit stew like my dear old mother. My mouth is all for watering at the very thought. Though your lasagne comes very close, I must say. Mmm, hmm. And so that was the end of the rabbits.' He pauses to trace the sign of the cross on his chest and doesn't seem to notice that his audience has gone very quiet. ‘And now let me see, what animal were we having next?'

8.03 pm

I have waited till now to pour myself my first drink for the evening because I simply hate it when a guest turns up and you already feel half-sozzled. So it's with
perfect
timing that the doorbell rings as soon as I finish pouring myself a scotch and coke. I put the glass down and go to answer the door. As I pass the bathroom, Fergus looks up from where he is kneeling on the half-floor he has installed thus far, and gives me a huge grin.

‘Still tasting that lasagne! De-
licious
!'

‘Glad you enjoyed it,' I reply – for at least the fifth time since we finished eating. I grimace and shake my head to myself as soon as I pass out of sight. Personally, every time I think of lasagne from now on, I shall see a big pot of boiling rabbit stew instead. I try to put Fergus, and his rabbits, out of my mind for now and open the front door for Terry.

‘Hi! Took your time – it's getting rather chilly out here.'

‘Well, I'm not surprised. You should try getting dressed if you want to stay warm.' I look at Terry's outfit with my eyebrows raised. She is wearing a pair of black bike shorts with a broad red stripe down each side and a matching crop top that leaves very little to the imagination. Whoever designed this outfit probably had fantasies about someone like Terry wearing it – talk about statuesque. Bitch.

‘You're just jealous. Anyway, I was late because I went jogging with Barbara. From the library, you know. I'm getting in shape for my tennis final tomorrow afternoon. And I couldn't be bothered getting changed.' She flips her blonde ponytail over her shoulder with a swift movement of her head, grins and then brandishes a bottle of champagne in the air. ‘But look! I brought champagne!'

‘Have you at least showered?'

‘No, why – do I smell?' Terry lifts one arm up and has a whiff. ‘I'm fine. C'mon, let me in. I need a drink.'

‘Do you mean to tell me Barbara's trying to lose weight?' I ask curiously, because as long as I've known her Barbara has always been on the large side, and very anti-diets.

‘No, I think it's more that she wants to get fit too,' replies Terry as she loses patience and pushes past me into the house. ‘C'mon, let's crack open the champagne.'

‘I'm not really in a champagne mood, Terry,' I say, because I haven't been able to even think about champagne since it let me down so badly on Tuesday night. ‘But come up to the kitchen and I'll open it for you – but I'll stick to scotch and coke.'

‘
You
not in a champagne mood?' Terry stops and turns to give me one of her searching looks. ‘What's going on?'

‘Nothing! I feel like a scotch, that's all.'

‘Bullshit. There's more to it.' Terry peers at me and suddenly her eyes widen. ‘You overindulged in champagne some time this week and that's why you can't face it!'

‘All right, so what if I did? Now come on, let's go down to the kitchen.'

‘Hang on, there's more.' Terry puts her fingers up to her temples and begins to chant in what she obviously fancies is a mystical tone, ‘Hmm, hmm . . . I can feel it in the air . . . it's coming closer, and closer –'

‘Terry!' I interject, because it has suddenly dawned on me that all sounds of construction have ceased from the bathroom, which happens to be just next to us.

‘Hmm . . . hmm . . . it's almost there – a palpable sense of . . . of . . .'

‘Ter
ry
!' I say as I attempt to usher her on past the bathroom.

‘Of . . . of . . . Oh. My. God! Look at you!'Terry
is
looking and now she points at me accusingly. ‘You've had sex! Don't deny it – it's written all over your face!'

‘Terry!'

‘You have! Why, you dirty little thing, you.'

‘
Terry
!' I gesture frantically with my head towards the open bathroom door.

‘What? Do you need to have a shower to wash away the grimy residue of your lust?'

‘No,' I hiss as I grab her arm and propel her towards the door. ‘Look! Meet Fergus, who's fixing the bathroom floor for me.'

‘Why hel-
lo
,' says Fergus, not at all embarrassed by being so neatly caught listening in. He looks at Terry's outfit with raised eyebrows and genuine appreciation before giving her a super
super
-wattage smile.

‘Hello to you too,' replies Terry as she straightens her back, a practice which she knows perfectly well does wonders for her figure – and the size of her chest.

‘The name's Fergus O'Connor. At
your
service, to be sure.' Fergus wipes his rather grubby hand on one lemon trouser-leg and offers it to Terry. She doesn't hesitate to introduce herself and grasp his hand, and even I can tell that the handshake is held for a little bit too long. They grin at each other. I might as well not be there.

‘So glad you've both met now. C'mon, Terry –'

‘So you're a floor layer. Are you any good at it?'

‘Ah, well it's my best that I'll be always trying, to be sure,' replies Fergus modestly, ‘and usually my best is quite good enough.'

‘And so how's it going at the moment?'

‘Surely it's better and better by the minute.'

‘I must say I do like your overalls,' says Terry with a girlish little giggle that sets my teeth on edge. Then she proceeds to lean casually against the doorjamb as if she is settling in for a while. Fergus grins at her.

‘Well,
excuse
me,' I say sarcastically and head down to the kitchen for my scotch and coke. I have a feeling I'm going to need it. Hell's bells, talk about adolescents. I wait by the sink for a few minutes, thinking that Terry will soon join me, but when she doesn't make her entrance, I grab my scotch and head into the lounge-room. At least I can have something to eat there while I enjoy my own company. I have laid out a platter of dip, crackers and cheese, a bowl of chips,
and
a bowl of pretzels on the coffee
table so I flop down on the couch and help myself to a selection from each. First that damn Fergus stuffs up my day with his delays, then he hijacks my meal, and
then
he flirts with my best friend! This is his second visit here and he never flirted like that with me! So what's wrong with
me
?
And
he'll probably fill Maggie in on Terry's little psychic flash as well. I hope he's not expecting a tip, to be sure.

‘
Mummy
! Mu-
mee
!'

I groan as I put down my scotch, hoist myself out of the couch and head down to CJ's room. As I turn into the passage I can see Terry still leaning nonchalantly in the bathroom doorway, now flirting back for all she is worth. I
know
that woman's body language.

‘What's wrong, CJ?'

‘You forgot to say goodnight to me.'

‘I didn't know you'd finished reading. Are you ready for sleep now?'

‘Yes, I'm
really
tired. Is Terry here?'

‘Yes, but she's busy.'

‘Good. But can Fergus come in and say goodnight?'

‘I'm afraid not. He's busy too.' I pull her doona up and tuck it in around her. ‘But I'm sure you'll see him again.'

‘Why? Won't he be finished?'

‘It certainly doesn't look like it.'

‘Oh, cool.'

‘Yeah, cool.'

‘Goodnight –
Mummy
! We forgot about my story, the one about the art smock. I was going to tell you all about it, remember?'

‘You're right. But we'll have to leave it till tomorrow now, okay? It's late and you need some sleep. I promise I'll remind you in the morning. Okay?'

‘Okay.' CJ yawns sleepily. ‘Goodnight, Mummy.'

‘Night, sweetheart.' I give CJ an enormous cuddle and kiss her on both cheeks. ‘See you in the morning. Don't let the bed bugs bite.'

‘I feel sorry for those little rabbits.'

‘I know. But it's a long time ago now so don't worry about it.'

‘Lub you.'

‘I love you too.' I smooth her hair back from her face and give her another kiss on the forehead. Absolutely adorable.

As I walk back up the passage I send a filthy look in Terry's general direction. She turns just in time to catch it, and then grins at me.

‘Do you want to open the champagne for me?' she says, holding out the bottle.

‘Why not? I've got nothing better to do.'

‘Thanks. I'll be there in a minute.'

I take the proffered bottle as I walk past and head down to the kitchen where I open it. Without any undue damage to my ceiling. I pour the champagne into a flute and carry it into the lounge-room where I place it carefully down on the coffee table. Then I flop back onto the couch, pick up my scotch, and curl my feet up underneath me.

‘Thanks, Cam, I
really
need this.' Terry grabs the flute and throws herself onto the opposite end of the couch without spilling a drop. She takes a gulp,
swallows and throws her head back with abandon. ‘Mmm,
mmm
.'

‘How did you manage to tear yourself away from
young
Casanova up there?'

‘With difficulty. You could have warned me that you were providing entertainment as well as munchies tonight, you know. I would have dressed more suitably.'

‘I think he found your outfit quite suitable enough. And how was I to know that you'd find him even remotely attractive?'

‘You mean you don't?' Terry looks at me with genuine disbelief.

‘Actually, no – I don't. At all. So tell me what you find cute about him then.'

‘Well, his smile for a start – it's enough to melt your soul.' Terry gets a faraway look on her face. ‘And his eyes! They're so . . . so
cheeky
. And he's rather witty . . . clever, you know. Really, really funny.'

‘To each their own, I suppose,' I say in genuine wonderment, ‘but I didn't know you liked younger men.'

‘Might as well, it's not like they mature anyway. Hey –' she looks at me suddenly with consternation – ‘
he's
not the one you've slept with, is he?'

‘No,' I reply with a grimace. ‘God, no.'

‘Oh, that's good,' she sighs with relief. ‘But do you think he likes me?'

‘Terry, I think he's positively in lust with you! But then,' I look her up and down pointedly, ‘in that outfit, there's not many men who wouldn't be!'

‘Ha, ha. No, I'm serious – I wouldn't mind going out with him.'

‘Are you insane? He's about six inches shorter than you, nearly a decade younger and – Terry, the man wears
lemon
overalls! The other day they were
pink
!' I lower my voice, ‘And he says “to be sure” as if he's been watching too many television shows about leprechauns!'

‘Why shouldn't guys wear pastels?' she says defensively. ‘And he's an adult, so age is immaterial. As for height, well, if I waited for a guy who was taller than me, I'd be waiting forever!
And
I think his Irish accent is adorable! You're just a prude.'

‘Okay.' I shrug philosophically. ‘We'll have to agree to disagree.'

‘Good.'

‘But there's one thing I should tell you –'

‘What now?' Terry takes another gulp of champagne and puts her empty glass down.

‘Maggie recommended him. To do my floor, that is. He's a client.'

‘Oh.'

‘Sorry.' I reach out and pick her glass up from the coffee table. ‘I'll get you a refill.' I take both our glasses out into the kitchen where I fill one with champagne and the other with scotch and coke. When I go back into the lounge-room, Terry is sitting up straight and helping herself to a cracker laden with dip. I hand her the champagne flute.

‘So, tell me. Who's the lucky man?'

‘What lucky man?' I stall for time, simultaneously recognising that she doesn't want to discuss Fergus any more. But I
had
to tell her – I'd want her to tell me if the positions were reversed.

‘The one you had sex with.'

‘Oh c'mon, Terry. How can you tell that I've had sex?'

‘You have the unmistakable look of a woman who has just had her loins quenched.'

‘What?!' I collapse back on the couch and dissolve into laughter. ‘Loins quenched? What rubbish have you been reading?'

‘I'll have you know even the best of us have our loins quenched from time to time.' Terry picks up her glass and takes a long sip. ‘So, spill it. Or should I guess?'

‘You can guess – but keep it down. I don't want Fergus in there to hear any of this.'

‘Well, now you've given it away. As if I haven't guessed already – but the only reason that you wouldn't want Fergus to hear is because he knows Maggie and you wouldn't want him telling her and the only reason you wouldn't want him telling Maggie was if the guy you just bonked was her brother. Am I right?'

‘Yep.'

‘The powers of deductive thinking.' Terry puts her glass down and flips her ponytail over her shoulder. ‘And here was I thinking that you were saving yourself for Phillip.'

‘Terry, we've been through this before.' I give her an exasperated look.

‘I know. I'm only teasing. So tell me the in and outs – every nitty-gritty little detail.'

‘You won't understand.'

‘Try me.' Terry grabs a cracker, loads it with dip and pops it into her mouth whole.

‘Even
I
don't understand.'

‘Stop putting off the inevitable.' Terry smiles at me as she reaches forwards for another cracker. ‘You'll have to tell me sooner or later, you know.'

‘Yes, I know that.' I smile back and take a deep breath. ‘Okay, well it was on Tuesday night –'

‘Tuesday night? But he only got here Tuesday!'

‘Yes, I know. Hang on –' I look at her suspiciously – ‘how did you know that he got here Tuesday? He wasn't due until Thursday!'