7.

I came to find hangovers are like love or loss, and your next always feels like your first. I watched bad television and didn’t leave the house. Claire didn’t come knocking. A realtor valued the house.

‘Thus concludes our tour. Pretty great, huh?’

‘Could do with a tidy-up,’ she said, navigating empty bottles in heels while I led in my dressing gown, a beer in hand.

‘But it’s worth something, yeah?’

‘Of course. I don’t see why we couldn’t get a buyer up past one-twenty-five or so.’

‘Thousand? Dollars?’

‘What? Yes. After some time bringing it up to a saleable condition, I think that’s a perfectly reasonable expectation.’

‘Interesting …’ I said, finishing the beer and dropping the bottle onto the carpet as we continued back into the living room. ‘Let’s say we skip the tidying part and put it up for eighty?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I’d like a quick sale.’

‘You and I both, but that is a massive, unnecessary loss.’

‘Hmm, of course, you’re right. Let’s say eighty-five.’

‘With all due respect, Mark, taking a forty-grand loss over what could be a few weeks of your time is absurd. I don’t exactly see Melbourne house prices tanking at the turn of the twenty-first century.’

‘Lady … Linda?’ I said, lifting my arms and gesturing around the room. ‘With all due respect, do I look like a guy who’s concerned with the twenty-first century?’

‘I suppose not. Okay, if you’re insistent. I’ll draw up the paperwork and bring it around same time tomorrow.’

‘I’ll clear my schedule.’

‘You do that.’

She headed to the door. I watched her body move inside her skirt; the tide of her hips pulling and pushing. Those gentle currents capable of steering a leaf down a stream or tearing a ship apart. The bottomless ocean of a woman.

‘Hey, Linda.’

‘Yes?’

‘Are you, ah, are you seeing anyone?’

‘I’m seeing you tomorrow, Mark,’ she said, closing the door from the wrong side. I stood alone in front of my audience of empty bottles while the fan slow-clapped.

There wasn’t much of a plan. I woke the following morning unsure if having the house valued was something I’d dreamt, until a contract was thrust at me between painted fingernails a few hours later. I hesitated to sign it; she did not hesitate to leave right after. I gratified myself in the shower to the idea of her having stayed. The first day of the rest of my life.

Cleaners came and mess disappeared. Linda rearranged furniture and threw down rugs I didn’t own to create a façade of larger rooms for the photographer. I yelled at a cleaner for being rough with one of my mother’s photos as they were taken down. An obnoxious sign with an auction date and inspection days was hammered into the grass by the footpath.

‘What do I do during the inspections?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know. Find a bar that allows dressing gowns or something,’ Linda replied.

Claire came knocking.

‘Jesus Christ …’ she said as I stood in the doorway.

‘What do you want?’ I asked, scratching stubble. If she’d been around a few hours and drinks earlier, I might’ve been able to muster actual anger towards her.

‘To be invited in would be nice.’

‘I recall you having something to do with a door being slammed in my face,’ I said, walking back inside.

‘You think I knew that was going to happen?’ she asked, following me, closing the door behind.

‘Your handwriting on the booking. You knew Martin wanted to see me and he didn’t want me to know. As far as I’m concerned, it was a goddamn ambush,’ I said, pouring a drink and struggling to take myself seriously.

‘This is somehow my fault …?’

‘Your words.’

‘Did you or did you not turn up to work drunk and tell the guy to fuck himself?’

‘Well, yes, but, you know what?’ I replied with a pointed finger and dignified pause. Claire and I both waited for me to resume. ‘Maybe he does need to fuck himself. Why’s nobody considering that?’

‘You’re a child.’

‘Sure, but you didn’t call or come by for weeks – that says some­thing to me. You felt guilty.’

‘Yeah, I did, and why shouldn’t I? Look what you’ve managed without me. What the hell is that sign out there?’

‘Pretty snazzy, huh?’

‘No, Mark, it’s ridiculous and obnoxious.’

‘That’s what I said! But my realtor, Linda, massive hard-arse, she –’

‘Shut up, for the love of god! Go on a holiday or something, whatever, but don’t just sell your mother’s house. That is a ridiculous and obnoxious way to deal with your problems.’

‘Maybe it is, but you have no idea what it’s like to live here and be constantly reminded of the things I grew up without,’ I snapped. ‘Of the childhood I had taken away from me; of a ‘good’ day being one where my mother didn’t feel compelled to drink herself into a stupor; of how ugly this world and the people in it can be. This life is a losing game, Claire.’

‘The world is only against you if you’re against it. It doesn’t have to be. That’s your choice.’

‘I was never given the choice.’

‘What are you afraid of …? You avoid anything real – it’s like you’ll do anything but face it. Right now it’s selling the house on a whim, but what next?’

I had no words.

‘I want to help you, Mark, but you don’t want to be helped. Your pride isn’t some trophy; it’s an anchor, but you’re too fucking stubborn to let go, even when you’re beginning to drown and … I should go, this was a mistake.’

She turned away, tears traced the lines of her face, shimmering as they caught light. I wrapped my hand around her arm, held on and kissed her. We tumbled onto the hideous rug, attempted to make something beautiful, and I felt better – if only for a little while. A drink and a woman was all I needed. The world had nothing else to offer me.