by Max Henry
I add a touch more veges and offer it to Sera once more. She pointedly stares at the spoon, then at me and back to the spoon.
I’m not going anywhere fast with this one.
“Fine. Have it your way. Get hungry enough that you won’t complain.”
Half an hour later, and my plan has backfired massively. The little tyrant is so damn ravenous that her rage outweighs her desperation. Vegetables paint my shirt, she’s massaged some into her hair, and I’m seriously eyeing the cow’s milk in the fridge when Belle walks in the door.
“Oh, damn,” she calls with nothing short of sheer amusement. “You okay there, Dad?”
I give her a middle finger in response.
“It’s okay, baby.” She ditches her bag and crosses the room to scoop Sera out of the highchair. “I’ll sort you out.”
“She’s as opinionated as you are,” I tease, “and she can’t even speak yet.”
Belle smiles, heading for the bathroom to presumably clean up our daughter. “She’s as stubborn as you, didn’t you mean?”
Yeah, fair enough. “Does she eat this stuff for you?”
“You warmed it up, right?” Belle reappears in the hall, still holding Sera and a washcloth in hand.
“Yeah.” Fuck. I scrub a hand across the back of my neck before I realise what a dead giveaway it is.
“Oh my, God, Zeus.” Belle snorts, returning to the bathroom where she calls out. “I wouldn’t have it cold, either.”
Tearing my soiled shirt off over my head, I hurl it in the door on my way past and grin when it lands where intended: hooked up on Belle. “I’m outside again, seeing if your fucking car will start.”
“You’re going to need to practice not swearing.” She wrestles the shirt off her. “Little ears.”
“Pot, kettle, dove!”
I wipe a last smear of carrot—at least I think it is, given the consistency—from my neck and pause before the Honda. I’d pray that it starts if I thought anyone was listening. Instead, I unhook the battery from the charger and set the machine aside, hoping I’ve given it enough juice to crank over.
Belle emerges, Sera in her arms, and stands in the relative shelter of the garage while misty rain peppers my shoulders. I open the driver’s door, say a little prayer anyway, and turn the key.
The whine is slow, the starter sucking what it can from the depleted battery, but against my gut instinct, the car turns over.
Belle holds her hand up for Sera to high-five. “Yay!” Our cheeky monkey grabs her fingers and promptly sucks on one.
“I’ve topped the oil up with what I had leftover, but you need to check it. Every time.”
Belle nods, stepping closer to the rattling engine. The cheap runabout sounds sick. Sicker than I’d like for a two-thousand-dollar car.
“You’ll leave it running for a while, then?”
“Yeah. See if it charges the battery on its own.”
She nods, studying the engine. Sera mimics her mumma, head bent to look at all the parts turning and spinning. I can’t fight my smile. Probably take a picture if they were likely to last long enough for me to get my phone from inside.
“I made four hundred and fifty today,” Belle informs me absently. “After Wade took his fifty-dollar fee.”
“That’s good.” I wait for the punchline.
“I want to use thirty to treat us to pizza tonight.”
“Dove.” I close my eyes and count to five before I snap something I’ll regret later.
“I know,” she argues. “We need to put the money other places, but fuck, Zeus.”
“Who’s swearing now?” I tease with a lift of my eyebrow.
She smirks, her darkened eyes lighting up. “I think we deserve a treat, don’t you?” When she does her makeup like that it makes me want to simultaneously take her out to show her off and hide her away in the bedroom for the night.
“We deserve to feel full, I guess.” I can’t deny the thought of a thick crust has me salivating already.
“It’s settled then.” Belle looks to the car once more. “I’ll order through the app after Sera’s down.” Her eyes take on a distant look for a few seconds before she appears to wake up and turns to face me. “Jodie is taking Sera tomorrow arvo so I can sneak in a few walk-ins at the shop.”
“Yeah. Okay.” I’m still not keen on my ex bailing us out, but I guess we could return the favour when she wants a night out alone with Eric. “Go inside where it’s warm, dove. I’ll stay out here and keep an eye on the car.”
“I doubt anyone would steal a heap of shit like this.” She chuckles, taking a step toward the internal door.
I stare at her with my brow raised.
“Seriously, Zeus? You took cars like this when you were young?”
I shrug. “Easy to pull apart and sell as scrap.”
She heads indoors with a shake of her head, still amused by tales of a time when I had a hell of a lot less responsibility and even less care—survival of the fittest. The temptation to return to easy money would have probably bitten me by now if it wasn’t for the deterrent of knowing how bad it sucks when you get caught.
Been to prison once. Don’t intend on ticking that off my bucket list twice.
The internal door opens again, Belle emerging sans Sera. “Here.” She passes my phone off to me. “You’ve got a message from Jodie.” She shunts a clean T-shirt at me. “And something to keep you warm, as much as I like how you are now.”
I snort a laugh and take the items from her, capturing Belle by the arm before she can leave. “Thanks, dove.”
She softens against me, pushing up on her toes to meet my lips with her own. My girl tastes like strawberry lip balm with a hint of coffee that she no doubt drank to stay warm on the walk home.
Small hands find my flesh, her fingertips exploring the ridge of my collarbone and across the flat of my chest. I bury my free hand in her hair, shirt and phone by my side, and keep her exactly where she is.
Devouring me.
Feeding me.
Taking the worst while she gives me her best.
“I love you.” Her whispered words feather across my lips.
The sentiment behind them is a punch to the gut.
I don’t deserve this girl. I never have.
“I love you too, dove.”
NINE
Belle
Steady rain can’t dampen my mood. I’m determined that today will rock since the minute I stepped out to the Honda and started it first go.
Windscreen wipers squeaking across my vision, I sing along to the old eighties’ hits blasting from my tinny door speakers, Sera in the back babbling away to herself as we negotiate the cautious traffic.
It never ceases to amuse me how people, in general, can drive like time-poor maniacs any given day of the week but add a thin layer of water to the road and suddenly they’re all kittens scared of getting their feet wet.
One more day until the weekend. The only thing on my agenda today is maximising my grocery budget and then curling up with my sketchpad while Sera naps. I already have the design half-drawn in my mind, just the flourishes required to make it pop. I even know what exact colours I’ll use to capture the light just right.
A golden lion surrounded by black roses.
I have no idea what made me think of it. The vision stuck in my head when I woke this morning, refusing to budge as I went about our morning routine.
My mood reaches manic levels when I cruise the first row in the parking lot and find a space two away from the doors. Dancing in my seat as I negotiate the car into the gap, I belt out the last line to “Crazy” by ICEHOUSE and kill the engine.
“You ready, baby?” I coo to Sera.
She watches me with wide, bright eyes, and awkwardly manages a half-smile that instantly reminds me of Zeus. Warmth spreads through my chest like an insipid vine, curling itself into nooks and crannies long forgotten. If only a heated emotion were enough to fill my aching belly; I’d gorge myself until the sun we
nt down without the slightest bit of remorse.
Instead, my stomach growls it’s discord each time I place an item of food into the shopping cart, rather than mainline it down my throat, earning a few curious looks from the other housewives.
Grocery shopping is bliss at this time of the morning. No hurried career professionals, and no tired children at the wrong end of the day. Only women like me with children too young for school, and the elderly who’ve probably been up since the first rays hit the sky.
Sera’s patience frays by the time we reach the checkouts, her hands grasping at anything that comes near enough for her to touch. I jerk the bread out of her reach before we end up with several slices donated to the ducks and check my messages.
Z: No trouble getting to the shops?
I tap out a reply, nudging the cart forward with my hip when the line moves.
B: Nope. Just finishing up now.
Z: Did you get formula?
I spare a glance to Sera, and then down to the bulk pack of noodles.
B: Not this time.
I send the screen to black and ditch the device back in my bag before Zeus can reply. He’ll want to know why, and I’ll have to explain it costs too much to add in this week’s budget. Whichever way we slice it, the discussion will end up with one of us pissed at the other and a fucking great big dollar sign sitting in the middle of our relationship like the elephant in the room.
So, I avoid it even if that means avoiding Zeus.
Not much longer. I repeat the mantra that feels more transparent each time it travels through my mind in the hopes my good mood will return. I’m left with a hollow nothingness in its place as I shuttle the few items in our cart onto the conveyor belt and wait our turn.
Numb. I guess that’s what you’d call it: a total and complete avoidance of anything that’ll send me into a woe-is-me spiral. I’m not unique. We aren’t the only couple who struggle. Hell, look at what Dad went through to raise me.
I’m a product of my environment, my upbringing. Conditioned and pre-programmed by what I accepted as normal as a child.
It’s so easy to get wrapped up in the fantasy of what could be, but when it’s outside what you’ve known your whole life, the dream feels like nothing more than an illusion drifting by on a cloud of toxic smoke.
Pretty to look at, but lethal to keep close for too long.
“One hundred and twenty-four, sixty-five,” the sun-wrinkled lady behind the scanner announces.
I do a quick tally in my head, triple-checking that I’ll have enough. Yep. Clean sailing.
Sera manages to free a rewards card pamphlet from the display case as I swipe and tap in my PIN. I take it from her, much to her disgust, and bend the corner straight again before placing it back with the others.
“I’m sorry. That declined.”
What? I rerun the math. Zeus’s pay, less the mortgage, and the power leaves me one hundred and fifty.
“Can I try again?”
She gives me a flat-lipped smile as an older gentleman shuffles into place behind me. He unloads the few items from his walker frame while I repeat the process. My lungs burn, my breath held while I bite my bottom lip and watch the EFTPOS screen unblinking.
DECLINED – insufficient funds.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. The flesh on my arms burns at the thought, but I’ll need to place it on the credit card until I get this sorted out—yet another debt to add to the stack that we’ll never pay within the interest-free period.
“I have a second card.” Switching to the near-new VISA, I lift it for her to see. “Third time lucky, right?”
“Mmm.” I get no smile, just the rapid tap of her finger over the touchscreen as she pops the transaction through again.
Same. Fucking. Result.
The supermarket feels too small. My heart wildly beats as though I’m centre stage at some show where making an arse out of me is the main attraction. Awareness burns around me like wildfire, every set of eyes in proximity an absolute risk to my safety.
I can’t get the card back in my wallet; my hands shake so much. The plastic falls to the floor, and as I stoop to retrieve it, my head swims on the return.
Not enough to eat. Low blood sugar. A racing heart.
I’m a sitter for a blackout if I don’t get my shame under control.
“Could you park the transaction while I make a call?”
“Sure, honey.” Her voice is saccharinely sweet, but her eyes show contempt.
Yep. I’ve been in this situation enough times to know they can park a sale and serve the next customer. Difference is, those times I had an out.
This time, according to the VISA, I don’t.
I push the cart to the side of the exit aisle and remove Sera from the seat. She tugs at my hair, snagging my earring with one finger. I welcome the burn. My little angel here to snap me out of my spiral into panic.
Thumb screaming across my phone screen, I retrieve the banking app and scour the recent transactions. Damn it. I pull up Zeus’s number next and say a silent prayer.
“Hey. Gotta make it quick before I get busted,” he greets.
“The card declined.”
His pause tells me he’s no longer concerned with being reprimanded for using his phone while driving machinery. “Which one?” I catch the whine of the hydraulics as he probably lifts the bucket.
“Both.”
“Debit and credit?” He grumbles, seemingly perplexed.
“Yes,” I hiss, tucking my chin to my chest to conceal my voice from the curious stare of the checkout lady. “What other cards do I have?”
A rush of air indicates Zeus’s sigh as the machine rattles in the background. “You said you had enough for food this week, though.”
“Because I thought the insurance payment would decline,” I mutter. “It did last time we didn’t have the funds to cover it.”
“Did it not?”
“No,” I snap, jostling Sera on my hip. “They put our account into temporary overdraft.” She clutches a fistful of my T-shirt and pulls hard enough to cut the neckline into my throat.
“But we don’t have an overdraft.” The bucket makes an almighty bang. “Fuck’s sake.”
Great—now I’ve pissed him off so much he’s screwing up his work. “We don’t.”
“How can they do that, then?”
“I don’t know,” I cry, all out of fuck’s to give if Ms Judgmental wants to be nosey.
She glances across while the old man shuffles toward the exit, giving me a chance to jump back in. I turn my back to her and continue my conversation with Zeus.
“How much is there, then?”
“Like, thirty dollars.” I jerk my clothing out of Sera’s hand, causing her bottom lip to tremble. Great. “Why don’t we have enough on the credit card? I thought there was two hundred still available.”
“I used it to get the alternator,” Zeus mumbles.
“Fan-fucking-tastic.” Our girl’s eyes water, the meltdown imminent. She feeds off my vibes and, right now, they’re volcanic. “What the hell do I do, then? We need to eat, Zeus.” I take a deep breath and add. “Should I call Jodie?”
“No.” His curt tone takes me aback. “I’ll make the call.”
“And I just, what …?”
“Stay where you are,” he growls. “What else are you going to do, Belle? Busk out the front until you have enough?”
“Fuck you.” And fuck you too, nosey-parker woman. “Don’t make this my fault.”
“I didn’t say it was your fault,” he roars before cursing at the digger again. “I’ll call you back.”
The line goes dead, quickly replaced by Sera’s first whine. Perfect. Nice about-turn, Universe. Couldn’t give me a break for a whole day, right? Just thought you’d tease a desperate woman with a few hours of bliss.
“Excuse me,” the checkout operator interjects.
I spin and face her, my resting bitch-face on point.
“Are we able to close this trans
action out?”
Much like the slow erosion of an ice-flow over time, my tenacity finally fractures. The last shreds of strength melt away, losing their grip as I crumble and disintegrate.
Right there on the fucking supermarket floor.
Amongst strangers.
TEN
Zeus
Like fuck, I’ll go running to my ex-wife for a handout. May as well rip my balls off and hand those to her as well.
Nope. My wounded pride has me do the unthinkable as I try to fix up the damn spill I created while talking with Belle. I flick through to John’s number and smack speaker before tossing the phone on the instrument panel of the backhoe.
“G’ day,” he answers with a hint of a question in his tone.
“Hey, man.”
“It’s been a while.”
“Yep.” The request clogs my throat, refusing to budge no matter how hard I swallow.
“What’s the occasion?” John finally prompts when I let the silence hang too long.
I nudge the bucket carefully against the edge of the overflow, sweeping it back in the channel. “Can you meet Belle at the supermarket?”
“Is everything okay?” His whole approach shifts and fair enough—it’s a strange request.
“She’s fine. Everyone’s fine. I just need a favour.”
I need his money, but I can’t say the words, so instead, I ask for a random rendezvous and hope he accepts. He has to; his daughter is involved.
“When?”
“Now.” I relax in the seat, job done, and retrieve the phone. “She’s at the checkouts. Can you let me know when you get there?”
Yep. Too much of a proud pussy to call my ex-wife, yet I’ll let my damn woman be the one to ask her father for money. Such a man, Zeus.
“Yeah. Okay.” He shuffles around. The rattle of keys. “Talk later.”
The line disconnects, and I leave the phone seated in my lap while I hammer out a text to Belle to let her know help is on the way. I know it’s irritational, but I can’t escape the feeling this is the beginning of it: the end.
I’ve failed in my job as the provider in the house. I’ve failed Belle. Worst of all, I failed my damn daughter.
It won’t be long until whispered I love yous and sex aren’t enough to keep Belle happy. She’ll see that it isn’t our situation that holds her back, but mine. My jealousy already crawls every time she works on a young guy at the tattoo parlour. How long before the need to keep her away from temptation turns me into an emotional abuser? How far will it get before I realise what I do to her by clipping those beautiful wings?
