through the plate, through the table, down through the tiles, past the floorboards and away underneath the earth. It was cold and dark down there. Cold and dark, and silent.
Loretta looked up from her phone, “So how's the merger coming, Hon?”
Henry dropped his fork and held his aching eye, “I don't want to talk about it.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I don't want to talk about it.”
“Why not?”
Well, that was a tough question, and it would involve more thought than Henry could muster. He tried to evade it.
“It's complicated.”
That reply had never worked, no matter how he applied it. Still, it was all he had in his arsenal.
Loretta countered with another toughy, “Have you fluffed it?”
Henry looked longingly at the plate, hoping that he could have had another mouthful to ruminate on. The few crumbs that remained wouldn't have made a nibble.
“No. I haven't fluffed it.”
“Good, because we need the money. The credit card is due soon. And there's school fees on top of that.”
“Uh-huh.”
And that was the end of it. Henry went to the fridge, got a can of beer out and sat back down. Loretta moved the can away.
“What? Loretta -”
She asked, “So why don't you want to talk about it?”
So that wasn't the end of it.
“Like I said, it's complicated.”
“So I'm an idiot? I can't possibly understand?”
“No, it's...”
“What, Henry?”
His eye flipped upward, rolling about to show the red-webbed sclera, “Roger has been put on.”
She hit the table, “So you've fluffed it! Geez, Henry!”
“I haven't fluffed it! Roger's just been put on to help out, is all.”
She squinted at him, “What does that mean? Is he going to take the commission?”
“It'll be split.”
“Split? How long has he been on it?”
“He just got put on today, alright,” Henry moaned, trying to work his eye back around with his finger, “Look, can I just drink a beer in silence?”
“So how much will he get? It won't be fifty-fifty, surely! You've been on that forever.”
“I know, I know.”
“So what'll he get?”
“I don't know. It's not up to me. It all depends on what that dumb-arse Miro says.”
“Why? What's he got to do with it.”
“He's my boss. He loves Roger. And he hates me. So he'll probably do what he can to screw me over on this one,” Henry lamented.
“Well he can't! You shouldn't let him!”
“What can I do?”
Loretta scowled, “You can be a bloody man, Henry. You can tell him what's what! You can tell him that you're not going to let that Roger guy take all the credit.”
His shoulders slumped. No, she didn't understand.
“Yeah. That's what I should do. Can I have my beer now?”
“No!” she said, putting it back in the fridge, “You drink too much as it is! That's why you haven't got the merger through yet.”
“Oh, is that why?” he mumbled.
“Yes, that's why! You need to stop being such a lazy bum, and start working!”
He appealed, “I am working. I work every day. I've never stopped working!”
“Then what are you doing now?”
“I was about to have a bloody beer and a sit down for five minutes!”
He pushed his jaw forward, hearing an audible click as it threatened to dislocate. He gently pushed it back into place. For a second there was a moment of golden silence. Outside his cricket began to chirrup merrily. Loretta went back to her phone.
He wiggled the finger of his left hand to see it there was any life in it yet. He inspected it closely. It felt soft, too soft, and it looked dull and grey.
No beer. Fine. He was going to have a sit down anyway, but he needed a beverage of some sort to do that. He boiled the kettle, made a coffee and sat back down.
A dazzling flash or hair, sequins and glitter that was Paula, Henry's daughter, whizzed past the table and stopped at the fridge. Her elevated heels tocked on the tiles in her haste. She was dolled up, hair puffy, make-up slathered on.
“And where are you off to tonight?” Henry asked.
She looked up from the fridge door, “Jackie's.”
“Studying hard, I hope?”
“Ha ha.”
“No, really.”
“Ha ha.”
Henry's eyebrows dropped, “That's not an answer. Are you studying?”
There was a microscopic pause before she answered. She used that time to brush some of the hair from her face and feign a smile.
“Of course. What else would we be doing?”
“I don't know. That's why I'm asking.”
She replied curtly, “Well it's none of your business.”
“It is my business. I'm your dad.”
“It stopped being your business when I turned sixteen.”
“Ah, right. The whole age thing. Look, Pea, time has got no bearing on whether or not I'm your dad.”
“I never said you weren't. I said it's not your business.”
“Right. None of my business.”
“That's right.”
Loretta looked up from her phone, “Henry! Shut up!”
“What? All I want is to know what's up with our daughter.”
“She's fine, Henry. Leave her alone and shut up.”
“Don't you want to know what she gets up to at Jackies?” he asked.
“None of your business,” Paula interjected.
Loretta added, “She's old enough to take care of herself.”
Paula huffed from the room, taking a drink with her. Loretta was staring at him.
“Alright. Fine. Sue me for giving a shit.”
“Shut up. And fix your eye up, already. It's giving me the creeps.”
“Stupid thing keeps rolling about,” he explained, pushing it back so that it pointed forward, “I don't know how to fix it. Gosh, this coffee tastes like crap.”
“Then make a pod.”
“We haven't got any. There are no pods left.”
“Then why didn't you get some at the supermarket?” Loretta grouched.
Henry looked down at the brown liquid. It was tasteless. The jar was pretty fresh, he was sure, and he had put sugar in it, but it was as if he was drinking a cup of hot water.
“What coffee is this?”
“Moccona. The same you had yesterday.”
“Tastes like crap.”
“It's the same you had yesterday. Did it taste like crap yesterday?”
He sighed, “I don't know. I can't even remember yesterday.”
Loretta blew sharply over her bottom lip and went back to looking at her phone. Henry got back to his coffee. Tasteless, odourless, it was all he had, so he drank it, grimacing with each mouthful. He had a chance for a sit down and, by golly, bad coffee and no beer wasn't going to stop him!
“Oh, for Pete's sake, Henry. I can see you, you know. If you don't like the coffee just throw it out!” Loretta said.
“It's almost finished, anyway,” he said, swirling the bottom and looking at the little brown flecks that got lifted, “May as well see it to the end.”
Paula called back from the front door, announcing, “I'm going now!”
Henry snorted, “Great.”
“I need a lift!”
“Great.”
Loretta whacked his arm, “Hey! You're always on about not spending quality time with your daughter.”
“Huh?”
“Give her a lift!”
“Only a few minutes ago she didn't want to even tell me how she was doing.”
“That's because you were prying!”
“I was not! I was asking – Oh, screw it,” he grouched, leaving the grubby remains of the coffee and grabbing his keys, “I know how
this is going to end.”
“Shut up, Henry.”
He got into the car, grumbling all the while.
“What's gotten into you?” Paula asked, “You're always pissed off these days.”
“Nothing!” he snapped, “Absolutely nothing!”
He started the car, checked his seat belt and reversed to the road.
“Right. I'm driving, see? Everyone's happy?”
“Whatever,” Paula replied.
“Where are we going?”
“I'm going to Jackie's. You can go wherever you like.”
“Where's that?”
“Brunswick.”
He cried, “Brunswick? Oh, come on! That's twenty minutes away.”
“That's why I need a lift.”
“So that's another hour out of my life, then?”
“It's twenty minutes.”
“Up. Then twenty back, then add in an extra bit for the drop off and that's if this heap of junk doesn't conk out on the way.”
“Let's get going, Dad.”
Henry asked, “So I'm a bloody taxi service now?”
“Do you want me to take a taxi? It'll cost, like, fifty bucks.”
“Suits me fine, so long as you're paying. Couldn't you take a train?”
“At this hour? Come on, let's go. I'm supposed to be there in twenty minutes.”
And that was the end of the discourse. Henry tried to talk about various things on the way, about the weather, about school, about his work. Each attempt was met with silence or a grunt or a non-committal response.
At the Nicholson Street lights, Henry looked over at his daughter. It might have been only last week when she was a bopping, bouncing little girl, keen on getting into this and that, stumbling to take her first steps, fumbling over her first words.
Now her chubby little arms had been replaced with ultra-tanned sticks. Her dazzling eyes were hidden under layers of make-up. Even her cheeky smile had been transformed to a smarmy snarl, coloured a fake, ruby Maybelline red.
The world, Henry realised, was changing her. The world consumes everyone, one nibble at a time.
“Do you remember, Paula, a bit ago, I used to push you around in the wheelbarrow in the backyard? We'd go around and around, and over bumps and under the clothes-line until I got tired,” he asked, “You never
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