by Lisa Henry
Last night had been…
Matt had no idea what last night had been. Unexpected, certainly. Mind-blowing, absolutely.
For starters, he couldn’t believe he’d done something as reckless as getting off with someone in a public toilet. With his colleagues nearby. His colleagues who could technically arrest him for that, if anyone had seen them. And he hadn’t got off with just any guy either, but Hayden Kinsella. That was the craziest part, actually. Not that Hayden wasn’t good looking—Matt had always had a thing for redheads—but he was a prick. Which, okay, might have been a mistaken impression thanks to a case of crossed wires somewhere along the way, but still.
Totally unexpected.
Matt sat on the edge of his bed and stared at his bedroom floor. He could hear the radio on in the kitchen.
Matt’s bedroom was the same one his mother had grown up in. Matt had opened the built-in cupboard when he’d moved in and found the faded Wham! stickers decorating the mirror stuck on the inside of the door—which was more than he’d ever needed to know about his mum’s teenage fangirl ways, thanks. In the four months since he’d moved down from Ingham, Matt had barely unpacked. Most of his gear was stored in the spare room, or was gradually migrating throughout the house: his television had replaced Grandad’s, his plates and cutlery were mixed in with Grandad’s in the kitchen, and he’d taken one look at Grandad’s clunky old vacuum cleaner before going out and buying a new one from this century. Matt was slowly making his mark on the place.
He yawned and stretched, and shuffled down the hallway toward the kitchen. The floorboards creaked underfoot.
Grandad’s house was an old railway cottage. It had solid bones, but there was a lot of stuff that needed fixing or updating, just like the house from the other day. Before Matt’s transfer to Townsville, Grandad had been living alone like the old man from the other day too. If Matt hadn’t moved down from Ingham, what then? It gave him chills to think about it. Would the neighbours only notice something was wrong when they hadn’t seen him in days? Nobody deserved to end up like that.
Grandad was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper. A cup of tea steamed away in front of him. He was Matt in fifty-odd years. His once-dark hair was grey nowadays, and thin and tufty. He was pretty much bald on top, though Matt took what consolation he could in knowing that hadn’t started to happen until Grandad was in his fifties. So some hope there.
Grandad peered at Matt, and then took his glasses off and peered at him again. “You look like shit warmed up.”
“Feel like it too,” Matt said, opening the fridge and grabbing the juice.
Grandad laughed, his jowls shaking. His skin was wrinkled and sagging; the crows’ feet at the corners of his eyes were deep furrows. His ears had outgrown his skull. It sometimes surprised Matt to look at him and realise how old and frail he’d gotten. Not that Matt would dare tell him that.
Charlie, lying on the floor beside Grandad’s feet, lifted his massive head long enough to see what the fuss was about, and then thumped his tail a few times against the floor and started to snore. Charlie was a Bull Arab; mostly dirty white with tan patches and spots, and one blue ear.
Matt poured himself a juice, blinking out through the wooden louvers into the back yard. As he watched, the chooks swept across the grass in some sort of complicated formation, before diving into the ferns to forage.
“Is that yesterday’s paper?” He put the juice back in the fridge and then sat down at the table with his glass.
Grandad shook it, and then set it down on the table. “You could pick me up today’s, if you’re heading out at all?”
Matt checked the clock over the fridge. It was nine; way later than he’d intended on sleeping. Nine was practically lunchtime for Grandpa. “Yeah. I’m going to go to Bunnings and grab what I need to fix the cabinets.”
They both looked over to where the doors of the kitchen cabinets were hanging open. The catches on most of them had busted years ago and, thanks mostly to Charlie’s inquisitive nose, they didn’t stay closed for long. And Grandad was in no position to repair them. He’d had been slowing down long before his hip replacement surgery anyway. When Matt had got the transfer to Townsville from Ingham, moving in with Grandad had seemed like the best solution for both of them.
“Make sure you get a receipt,” Grandad said, a warning tone creeping into his voice.
He was keeping careful tabs on what Matt spent around the house, so that, as he put it, when he fell off the perch and the house was sold Matt could get his money back. Given that he was only paying nominal rent, Matt had told him not to bother, but Grandad was equal measures proud and stubborn.
“I will.”
Grandad scrubbed his stubby fingers through his wispy hair. “Thought you said last night was going to be an early one.”
“That was the plan, yeah.”
“Wasn’t early when you got in.”
Matt sipped his juice and shrugged.
“Did you get lucky?” Grandad asked, waggling his eyebrows.
“Oh, Jesus.” Matt drank the rest of his juice and then set the cup down. “I am not talking about my sex life with you, Grandad.”
“Why not?” Grandad demanded. “When you get to my age, you have to live vicariously!”
Matt snorted, and then stood and put his cup in the sink. “I’m pretty sure you don’t want to know all the details.”
“Well, you can leave out the stuff about penises, and I’ll just close my eyes and think of Julie Christie.”
“I don’t know who that is,” Matt said, running water in his cup.
“Bloody philistine,” Grandad said. “So, did you get lucky or not?”
Matt sighed and turned around to lean back against the counter. “I’m not talking about this with you!”
Grandad cackled.
Charlie woke up long enough to lift his head and to wag his tail enthusiastically, then collapsed in a huff. He was big, and old and lazy, and spent most of his days sleeping.
“So anyway,” Matt said, shaking his head. “We are never going to mention this conversation again. Ever.”
“Sure, Matty,” Grandad said, lifting his mug and taking a sip of his tea. “Whatever you say.”
Matt was standing in the line at the checkout at Bunnings when he remembered that Hayden had put his number in his phone last night. Did that mean he wanted Matt to call him? Or expected Matt to call him? Matt didn’t want to screw this up. It was bad enough when Hayden had hated him for no reason at all. How much worse could he get if Matt actually did the wrong thing? Probably something Matt should have thought about before letting Hayden suck his dick.
Letting.
As though Matt hadn’t been totally, enthusiastically fucking on board with everything that had happened.
He finally made it to the checkout, paid for the fittings to fix the cabinets and the few other things he’d picked up, and then headed outside into the blazing sunlight to join the next queue: the one for the sausage sizzle. No way in hell were Matt and his hangover braving Bunnings on a Saturday morning and not getting a sausage out of it.
He ate his sausage leaning up against the boot of his car, watching the Saturday morning shoppers circle for a park. A police car crept through the car park at one point, heading for the lighting store nearby. Scenes of Crime, Matt realised. Must have had a break or something overnight. Matt hadn’t been in Townsville long enough that he knew all the Scenes of Crime guys—they worked out of Mundingburra Station, not Town Station—and he was too far away to wave anyway, without looking like a dick.
The move to Townsville had been mostly for his career. Ingham was great, and it was his hometown, but it was a small station. There hadn’t been the same room for career advancement there as there was in a bigger centre like Townsville. The move had partly been for Grandad too, because Grandad was adamant he wasn’t going into a bloody home—his words—but he was fast getting to the point where he couldn’t take care himself. And Matt’
s mum had been tired of getting calls from the neighbours that she’d frantically relayed to Matt:
“He’s up on the roof again, Kelly. I think he’s fixing the gutters.”
So maybe it was a little strange to be sharing a house with his Grandad at his age, but it worked for them.
Matt finished his sausage, wiped his fingers on his shirt, and then pulled his phone out of his pocket. He stared at the screen for a moment before finally typing out a text to Hayden Kinsella:
Hey. Last night was fun. Let me know if you want to catch up again sometime.
That was okay, right? Not too pushy, not too needy, not too desperate and lonely? Which Matt wasn’t, not exactly, but it had been a long time since he’d bothered navigating the world of dating. Or hooking up. Or whatever this thing with the world’s most annoying ambo could be called.
Okay, so Matt didn’t know what it was, but he was sure as shit interested in figuring it out.
He hit Send, and then put his phone back into his pocket in case he was tempted to stare at the screen until he got a response, and then headed home.
He cranked up the air conditioning on the drive so that he was blasted with cold air. Air conditioning was another thing he wanted to sort out at Grandad’s house, and he needed to look into it before summer really hit. Grandad had a rattling old window unit in his bedroom that was as loud as a freight train and probably hadn’t been serviced in years. Matt figured he’d replace it with a split system, and get one for his room as well. No way in hell would he be able to sleep though a sweltering summer’s day when he was on night shift.
He stopped off at the corner store to pick up a newspaper for Grandad, and a Fanta for himself. Apparently his hangover was calling for something fizzy and orange and full of sugar, and Matt wasn’t in the mood to deny it. He’d stayed out a lot longer than he’d intended last night, buoyed by…buoyed by Hayden Kinsella’s blowjob, probably, even though they hadn’t had any more contact after that. Just a few smirks exchanged between their tables. Hayden had left soon after, but Matt had stayed on with his team. They’d been there until closing. He definitely needed this Fanta.
When Matt arrived back home, the chooks met him at the front gate. Charlie, swaggering, brought up the rear. The chooks were unbothered by Charlie. He was way too old and lazy to chase them, although he did still get himself jammed in the entrance to the coop from time to time, trying to get to the eggs. Matt ran the gauntlet from the gate to the front steps with the chooks racing after him, sharp-eyed and eager just in case he was carrying food for them. He had to be careful they didn’t follow him inside.
Grandad was still in the kitchen, his old toolbox opened up on the table. He was digging through it, rattling away.
“Got you the paper.” Matt set it on the table.
“Good lad.” Grandad closed his toolbox. “Have you seen my Phillips head screwdriver?”
“Nope.”
Grandad huffed. “We’re going to need it for the cabinets.”
“No, we’re not. I’ve got a power drill with a screwdriver bit.” Matt cracked open his Fanta. “You sit there and read the paper. I’ll take care of it.”
Grandad snorted, but sat down and opened the newspaper straight to the Classifieds, just like he did every Saturday. Listening to Grandad muse aloud over the price someone was asking for a second-hand pressure washer or looking for parts for a 1971 HQ Holden stripped the years away, and transported Matt back to all the school holidays he’d spent here as a kid. It reminded him of Saturday morning cartoons, of the fanfare played before the news was broadcast on ABC radio, of sneaking Iced VoVo’s out of the biscuit tin on top of the fridge and, oddly, of the smell of sarsaparilla. A bottle of it must have been spilled in Grandad’s kitchen at some point and the smell had never truly vanished.
Matt screwed the lid back on his Fanta and put the rest in the fridge for later, and then headed out the back door. His appearance in the yard invigorated the chickens: they raced around the corner of the house and ambushed him on his way to the shed.
As a kid, Matt had been leery of Grandad’s shed, convinced that every dark corner and cranny was hiding a snake or a spider, and age hadn’t improved the place. It was probably a good couple of decades overdue a clean out, but Matt kept pushing that task to the bottom of the list. His own toolbox was on a shelf within reach of the door, so he didn’t need to brave his childhood fears today.
The chickens followed him hopefully back to the house, and Matt shooed them out of the way while he held the door open for Charlie, who struggled up the three shallow steps from the yard, and collapsed with a sigh at Grandad’s feet.
“Lazy old bugger,” Grandad said fondly, and rubbed his head with his slipper.
Matt set his toolbox on the table next to Grandad’s, and opened it to find his drill just as his phone chimed in his pocket. He held his breath as he checked the message: Sounds good. You off for the whole weekend?
A smile spread across Matt’s face as he tapped out a reply: Not working again until Tuesday arvo.
“Oooh,” said Grandad. “Is that your new fella?”
Matt flushed and set his phone on the table. “He’s not my anything, but yeah, it’s the guy from last night.”
Grandad smirked. “If you say so.”
Matt rolled his eyes, found his drill, and sat on the kitchen floor. He opened the first cabinet door, and unscrewed the old broken catch. Charlie’s ears twitched at the buzz of the drill, but he didn’t open his eyes.
“So tell me about this new fella who’s not your anything,” Grandad said, the crisp pages of the newspaper rattling.
Matt sighed. “He’s an ambo. He’s cute. A redhead. He…” He sucks dick like he’s competing at an Olympic level? No. Grandad didn’t need to know that. “I don’t know much else about him yet.”
Grandad hummed.
“It might just be casual,” Matt said. “He might not be looking for anything else.”
“But you are?”
“Maybe.” Matt shifted so he could reach far enough to hook a finger around the Bunnings bag and tug it onto the floor. He popped open the packet of new catches. They were the same size as the old ones, which meant he didn’t even need to drill any new holes. That would make an already simple job even easier. “I don’t know. I’m open to it, I guess. I mean, for the last few months I thought he was a complete arsehole, but it turns out we got off on the wrong foot.”
“Sounds like a story there,” Grandad commented. “What changed your mind?”
Matt was glad Grandad couldn’t see his blush. “Um…”
Grandad laughed.
“Anyway, we’ll see how it goes,” Matt said.
“That’s all you can do.”
“Yeah.” Matt shuffled on his arse to the next cabinet door and opened it. The plastic catch was cracked, not totally broken yet, but he might as well replace it while he was doing the others. “If he’s interested.”
He took his drill and unscrewed the old catch. Grandad laughed at something, and Matt twisted around to find him holding his phone and squinting at the screen.
“What?”
Grandad’s laugh turned into a wheeze. “I think he’s interested!”
Matt scrambled to his feet and snatched his phone. He stared at the screen, horror flooding through him.
Hayden was interested alright.
He’d sent a dick pic.
Grandad was still chortling about the dick pic that night as he settled down in his recliner, his phone within easy reach as he waited for his regular Saturday night call from Matt’s mum. Matt made him a cup of tea, checked he had his cane, and pointed at the phone: “Do not tell Mum about that picture!”
“I’m saving it to tell her in person when she’s down next,” Grandad called after him as headed for his room. “I want to see the look on her face!”
“You’re a bloody menace!”
Grandad’s cackle followed him down the hallway.
Matt lay on his bed an
d went through his phone. He and Hayden had exchanged texts throughout the day—Matt was keeping the fact that Grandad had seen Hayden’s dick pic to himself—and they’d agreed to meet up tomorrow evening at City Lane to grab a few drinks and a feed. Matt wasn’t sure if it was a date or not, but that was fine. He was content to see how things went and, like he’d told Grandad, he was open to more.
Provided he and Hayden didn’t murder each other.
Matt shook his head.
Weird how much last night had suddenly flipped everything he’d thought about Hayden Kinsella. Yesterday morning he could have written a thesis on exactly how much he hated the guy, and now…now they were going on a date.
Or for drinks and a feed.
Which was probably just another name for a date.
Or maybe it wasn’t. The only thing he was sure of right now was that it had been a long time since he’d felt this tightly wound with anticipation, a giddy, bubbling sensation in his gut, and he liked it.
He liked it a lot.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
On Sunday afternoon Hayden met Matt Deakin at City Lane. Matt looked good in his jeans and his button-down shirt—definitely a step up to smart casual after Friday night’s casual-casual—and Hayden smiled when he saw him walking toward him.
They went to the same place they’d been at on Friday. It was quieter tonight, with more families with children and less people dressed up to hit the nightclubs after they’d finished their meal. They talked about work, and about people they knew in common.
“Are you from Townsville originally?” Matt asked while they ate.
“Nobody’s from here originally.” Hayden laughed. “They just move here and forget to leave again.”
Matt laughed too. “So where are you from?”
“Born in Melbourne, moved around a lot, ended up here.” Hayden shrugged the question away. This bullshit small-talk stuff was why he preferred random hook-ups—so much less work. But Matt Deakin interested him enough that he might be worth the effort. He turned the question back onto Matt. “What about you?”
