Clucky’s sold fried chicken and roast potatoes. Greasy smells from the food warmer on the orange linoleum bench wafted out the door, and at the nearby traffic lights, a man in a pickup truck was talking on his phone. Before Jaanvi could shout at him, the lights turned green, someone hit their horn, and the man accelerated, happily kicking up smoke and noise as if killing an innocent person while distracted was what he most wanted to do with his life.
‘So this is your pick,’ said Ayla. She sat down on the white plastic chair on the other side of the white plastic table. People weaved past them on the narrow strip of footpath.
‘Nothing wrong with Clucky’s,’ said Jaanvi. There were not many places like Clucky’s left in the city. One by one, they were being replaced by juice bars and cafés that sold oddly shaped food made entirely of quinoa. Ayla was vegan, or vegetarian, or paleo, and she liked quinoa a lot.
‘How’s work going?’
Ayla pulled a silver comb out of her bag and skimmed it through her long dark hair. ‘The pharmacist is a bit crazy, but apart from that it’s okay.’
‘Everyone’s crazy.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Only people who don’t think they’re crazy are crazy.’
‘What’s with the doll?’
‘Doll?’
‘That thing strapped to your chest.’
James. He was so fast asleep, so quiet and settled that, despite a morning obsessing over him, she’d almost forgotten he was there. ‘Precious, precious babies,’ Melanie May, YouTube’s queen of fake babies, had cooed before she’d gone on to offer some sage advice: ‘Don’t leave your baby in the car, or someone might break your window to try and rescue it. Far safer to put your baby in a box in the boot.’ Other pearls from Jaanvi’s online research: ‘Don’t pick your baby up by the arm, or you could rip it off.’ ‘Keep your baby away from water, particularly swimming pools, and only clean it with a fine paintbrush to remove dust.’ ‘Clean your baby by soaking for an hour in warm water and baby soap.’ ‘Only clean your baby by using this specially prepared soap made from the oil of mountain daisies. On sale now for $49.95.’ In the end, she’d cleaned him with a damp cloth, running it over the top of his head, around his neck and behind his ears like she’d been shown in the hospital. Behind his right ear she’d discovered a small piece of lint. His hair she’d brushed with a baby brush, parting it down the middle. But he’d looked odd, old-mannish, so she’d brushed it forward into a slick fringe instead. She’d then dressed him in a mint-green onesie, wrapped him in merino cloth and tucked him in with a blue woollen blanket. He’d been so clean and sweet-smelling, so peaceful and angelic, she’d spent the whole morning beside his cot, gazing at him.
‘Is this some kind of new therapy?’ asked Ayla.
‘You could say that.’
‘Where’d you get him from?’
‘A shop.’
Ayla leaned in for a closer look, then sat back and laughed. ‘You know, I thought he was an actual baby at first. Here’s me wondering if you’d stolen someone else’s kid.’
Jaanvi pushed back her chair and stalked inside. ‘His name is James,’ she shouted over her shoulder. At the counter she ordered a full chicken meal. When she returned, Ayla went in and ordered herself a half-serving of coleslaw.
‘Minus the mayonnaise,’ Jaanvi heard her say.
‘The mayonnaise is already in it,’ barked the woman at the till.
‘Can’t you take it out?’
‘No.’
‘You wouldn’t consider rinsing it?’
‘No.’
‘Fine,’ said Ayla, slapping her EFTPOS card down on the counter.
Jaanvi lit a cigarette. Last week, she’d ordered herself a carrot and beetroot salad with crispy chickpeas at Vegan Vegetable Palace. It seemed only fair that Ayla should have at least one piece of chicken. She frowned at Ayla’s long brown legs as she returned to her seat. Ayla could do with a whole chicken. Or three. She really could. Wasn’t Jaanvi’s place to say though.
‘Have you lost weight?’
Ayla narrowed her eyes. ‘What shop did you buy him from, anyway?’
‘He’s hand painted.’ She blew a plume of smoke over the top of Ayla’s head. ‘The skin is all multiple layers, veins and everything. Then they cooked him in an oven.’
She hoisted James out of the baby carrier, rolled up his sleeve and showed Ayla his veins and blotchy skin.
‘Just like a real one,’ said Ayla.
‘I reckon. Want to have a hold?’
‘Yeah why not, give him here.’
Ayla took James from Jaanvi’s arms and cradled him on her lap. Ayla didn’t like babies or children or small animals, but holding James she looked almost maternal, smiling down at him, shaking his hand vigorously, as if she was closing a business deal with an infant.
‘Can you take a photo?’ Ayla asked.
‘What for?’
‘He’s kinda cute.’
‘You’ll put him all over the internet.’
‘Come on, just one. People love babies.’
‘Take a photo of your coleslaw.’
Ayla stroked his head. ‘His hair is amazing. Did they take it from a real baby?’
‘I think so.’
‘How’s the counselling going?’
‘What’s your point?’
‘You’ve been through a lot, it’s good to talk about things.’
Jaanvi pulled a cigarette out of the packet, but then saw she was still holding the first one and put it back. The counsellor woman was a sadist whose singular goal had been to make Jaanvi cry. It had taken three sessions, and Jaanvi was under the impression this was more than the counsellor was used to, because until then she’d seemed tetchy. After Jaanvi had cried and upended her chair and shouted a little, the counsellor was practically jovial.
The chicken and coleslaw arrived. Jaanvi stubbed out her cigarette, took James off Ayla and placed him under the table, face down on her handbag.
‘Don’t want any chicken juice on him.’
Ayla dabbed at her coleslaw with her napkin. ‘I’m a healthy weight for a Filipina. We’re naturally skinnier than Europeans. Smaller frames. BTW, I’m not eating mayonnaise because I’m vegan.’
‘BTW, doesn’t a cheesecake have some kind of cheese in it?’
‘I knew you’d use that against me.’
‘Not using it against you, just clarifying.’
‘I said I’m trying to be vegan. It doesn’t mean I’m perfect. Balance is what matters.’
A homeless man with a sleeping bag and a small cardboard sign under his arm slowed down to look at James under the table. Jaanvi recognised him; she saw him every few weeks, sometimes sitting down with his sign, begging for money, sometimes sleeping on a park bench. He was beautiful. Young. Muscles in his arms, golden skin and dark eyes. She’d never given him any money because he was probably an undercover movie star. Doing research for a big project, like Richard Gere did that time. If she gave him money, she’d be all over TV and people would congratulate her on her humanity, even though she only gave him two dollars because she knew she was being filmed. Perhaps the camera was in his sign. Jaanvi winked at him, and he turned, sprinted across the road and disappeared around the corner of the Civic building.
‘What does Mark think of James?’
‘I haven’t told him.’
‘You haven’t told him?’
‘I’ve only had him a day. It’s not come up.’ Jaanvi put down her chicken drumstick. ‘I’m not sure how he’s going to take it.’
A woman in a tailored suit gaped at James under the table. Jaanvi glared at her, and she huffed to herself and hurried away. Ayla prodded at her coleslaw.
‘What do you think?’ Jaanvi asked.
‘It’s not that nice.’
‘What isn’t?’
‘My coleslaw.’
‘We’re talking about Mark!’
‘Oh yeah, right.’ Ayla went quiet. She held up a sliver of carrot to the light and frowned at it. ‘I’m considering trying a keto diet,’ she said finally. ‘Just not sure how I can make that work as a vegan. You need to eat a lot of bacon.’
‘Look, Ayla, James’s been helping me — I mean, I know he’s not real, I’m not deluded, but to have him with me and pretend, it’s like being in a play. Remember when we were in that play? I was a tree and you were Little Red Riding Hood.’
‘How old were we?’
‘Maybe ten or eleven.’
Ayla looked alarmed. ‘I don’t remember that at all,’ she said.
They didn’t speak for a moment.
‘Can we go?’ said Ayla. ‘People are staring at us. It’s embarrassing.’
‘He’s perfectly fine down there.’
‘I’ve got to get back to work anyway.’ She collected her bag from underneath the table. ‘As far as Mark goes, the main thing is you’re happy. That’s what matters. And remember: use your smile to change this world but don’t let this world change your smile.’
Jaanvi watched Ayla saunter off down the street. Why were they still friends? They were poles apart in just about everything. How they saw the world. How they saw themselves. What they wanted from life. Ayla’s main focus had always been herself — her diet, her mind, her body. She believed life was best enjoyed solo — she’d vowed never to marry or have kids. Jaanvi ate Weet-Bix for breakfast, her tummy rolls she’d long accepted, she’d married Mark at twenty-three — and now she had James. In a way, she and Ayla were like a middle-aged couple who’d divorced in their twenties but still met up weekly to look at each other’s saggy faces and reassure themselves about their close escape.
Ayla could be a good listener though, when you managed to get her attention, and the bit about Jaanvi’s happiness being the main thing was a nice thing to say. Mark’s happiness was important too. Mark. Her husband. She rolled the word over her tongue. Hush-band. Huzband. Haz-bind. There was a chance her us-bin wouldn’t like James. He was straight-up and, in his own words, a ‘no-nonsense logical thinker’. Though in Jaanvi’s opinion there was a lot of nonsense and not much logic in his inviting Jehovah’s Witnesses in for a cup of tea so he could berate them for an hour. Or in joining Facebook and Twitter so he could correct everyone’s spelling mistakes and grammar.
Perhaps his reaction would surprise her. Perhaps he’d be open to the idea of a reborn in the family.
She pictured it — Mark wearing the front pack, striding towards her, beaming. And then, when he reached her, wrapping her in his arms and thanking her for bringing so much joy back into his life.
‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you, James?’
She rubbed his ear affectionately with her thumb.