Just lying here in the sun. Warmth from above and warmth from below. Sometimes asleep, sometimes only half asleep. Just lolling about on the patio decking. It’s a sun trap. The wood heats up in late afternoon. Like hot coals. My arm draped over my eyes. My other arm tucked under my head. There are boxes in the house. Full of clothes and pictures and plates. Other stuff. I acknowledge the thought then let it drift out of my mind again. Later. Later. I yawn. There is sweat on me. Not from any effort. Under my arms and in the small of my back. It cools when the air stirs. The air never stirs. Sometimes it rouses itself, moves somewhere nearby, then settles down again. That’s all it does. Like an old dog. Dee is here too. On the sun lounger. Blue bikini. Legs and arms akimbo. Unless she’s moved. But she’s not moved. That is her calf my fingers are curled up against.
‘We should have a baby.’
That was her. Maybe an hour ago. I said okay. We both drifted back to languor. Sensuously satisfied. I never want to move from this spot.
‘I love you.’
‘I love you.’
Evening now. On the couch. Tracksuit bottoms and vest. Her. Not me. Her comfortable clothes. No need to dress to impress anymore. I like the way she’s let her guard down so soon. It says something about us. I don’t know what exactly. I think it’s a good thing though. She will leave the bathroom door open soon. Her feet are in my lap and I’m pressing my knuckles into the soft fleshy bits. She gathers stress in her feet. That’s what she says. Every so often she yelps and jerks her foot away. That’s when I know I’m doing it right. I go straight back to that spot.
Why did she marry me? That’s what I want to know. It’s our anniversary in five days. It doesn’t make sense to me yet.
I’m telling Dee how much I’m looking forward to starting my new job tomorrow. It’s a big fat lie. I’m not looking forward to it at all. I still can’t believe I got it. Perhaps they mistook my disinterest for quiet confidence. We were in the car when they phoned. I put them on speaker. There’s Dee clapping her hands silently at me while I try not to look at her. She was proud of me. She knew I could do it. I’d have said no had she not been there.
Jason Gash. That is his name. My new boss. I hate that word. Boss. He is my boss. He bosses over me. He tells me to do stuff and I must do it. No one is the boss of me. That’s what I think. He is the boss of me. That’s what everyone else thinks. Gash, though. Gash. No wonder he told me to call him Jason.
‘Let me give you some advice for free,’ he said, ‘don’t ask for permission first, ask for forgiveness later.’
His exact words. I can’t wait to spend my days with him.
‘It’s only a name,’ Dee says. She has delicate feet. Long and slender. Like her calves. But thick toes. Fat stubby digits that don’t belong to her. She has disowned them. She never paints them. She bites their nails. It’s quite something to see. I find a soft area and press. I lean my shoulder into it. As hard as I can. So much energy going through my thumb it looks disjointed. But it’s here somewhere. That pressure point. Suddenly she squeals and pulls her foot back.
I want to know why she married me.
I watch her now without her knowing. I watch her when she’s watching TV. As she is now. I watch her getting dressed. I watch her when she eats. So meticulous. She eats food off her plate by the colour. It should be me who does that. I can’t start now though. It would just be copying. I watch her when she is on her phone, when she’s entering or exiting a room, when she’s walking to or from her car. It only counts if she doesn’t know I’m watching. I watch her and I’m mesmerised. Mesmerised and perplexed. Mostly perplexed. What is she doing here? What can her long-term strategy be?
‘Why did you marry me?’
‘You kept asking.’ She answers without missing a beat, without even moving her eyes from the screen. She’s not surprised by the question. She has asked it herself. I don’t say anything and the silence eventually reaches her. She does look at me now. Her manner softens.
‘Aw, I didn’t mean it like that.’ She puts her hand on my knee and gives it a quick squeeze. ‘I mean you’re very determined. That’s an extremely attractive quality in a man. It makes me think you might do great things one day.’
She smiles. There, that should satisfy him. That’s what her smile says. Or it could be genuine. Just a normal smile. She continues watching TV. I continue watching her without her knowing. You don’t love her. You never have and never will. The thought arrives suddenly, fully formed. It is alarming. Luckily it’s not true.
I realise something quite marvellous. She’s right. About great things and that I will one day do them. It makes perfect sense to me. I’ve never quite been able to pinpoint the source of my general agitation, but that’s it. I am destined for something spectacular and the mundane is just holding me up. Now I think about it, I think I’ve always known this. Some people are set apart from the rest. With unusual qualities. Hidden qualities. Qualities that lie dormant, disregarded, until the supreme moment arrives.
There is something forming in my stomach. A little kernel of something. I recognise it as excitement. I want to know what they are, these qualities of mine, and what is coming that will draw them out. I so seldom feel equal to Dolores. But she sees something. Now I see it too. I will show the world.
Dolores is clicking her fingers at me. She has an odd expression on her face.
‘What are you grinning about over there? You were miles away. Were you thinking about what I said?’
‘Yes. I was actually.’
‘You’re sure? It’s not too soon?’
‘Too soon?’
‘To start a family.’
What is she talking about? Oh. That. ‘No,’ I say, ‘it’s not too soon.’ It’s four days until our anniversary. Not five. That would be an ominous start.
‘Good.’ She wriggles her toes. ‘Now focus on the arch.’
Salad days. An odd phrase. From Shakespeare. I know this. But I don’t know how I know this. These are them. Right now. Rare I think to recognise them while they’re happening. Not to have to look back wistfully. We were happy then. If only we’d known it.