#5 years later

“Raj!” says Cookie, trying to hobble after him in her towering heels and tight skirt. He turns around at the top of the stairs, his determination to get as far away as possible undiminished by her doleful eyes and quivering mouth.
“Where are you going?” she says. “Have you forgotten we’re supposed to be having drinks with Bronwyn and Graham?”
“I’m going home,” he says. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you this evening, but I’m in no mood for socializing. I hope you’ll forgive me. ”
“But- I don’t understand!” she says. “What happened to make you so upset? What were you and Lincoln Porter talking about?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow, after I’ve calmed down,” he says. “I’ll ring you, alright? Now, go back to your friends and enjoy the rest of your evening. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I just need some time alone.”
“Raj-” she says plaintively, but he is descending the stairs without another word or glance in her direction, and he doesn’t look back when he reaches the bottom, either.

After the performance Cookie and the two other ladies in the ensemble are encircled by a fawning knot of devotees, and Raj sees an opportunity to approach Lincoln Porter. Lincoln is a multi-millionaire property developer, and Raj used to count him as a friend and business associate before his incarceration. Lincoln gives him an affable smile.
“Looking sharp, Raj,” he says. “How’re things?”
“Good, good,” says Raj. “Where’s Jasmine tonight?”
“At home. She can’t handle going out at night anymore, she gets tired too easily,” says Lincoln. “Did you know she’s pregnant? Seven months.” He adds proudly, “It’ll be our third.”
“Congratulations, my friend,” says Raj. “That’s wonderful news.” Lincoln gives a modest smirk.
“Are you here with anyone?” he asks.
“I’m here with Lavinia,” says Raj. Lincoln raises an eyebrow.
“You’re here with Lavinia Cook?” he says. “You’re dating?”
“We have been spending some time in each other’s company, yes,” says Raj.
“Well, well,” says Lincoln. “You sly devil.”
“How’s business?” asks Raj, not wanting to talk about Cookie. He has never felt the compulsion to share details of his private life with other people. Lincoln talks about his ideas for expanding into retirement homes and student housing, which he says offer “relatively stable cash flow, high occupancy and good liquidity.” Raj nods sagely.
“You’re still on the Chamber of Commerce, aren’t you Lincoln?” Raj says. “Because I made an application a few weeks ago to rejoin and I haven’t heard anything back yet.”
“Ah, ” says Lincoln. “Well. I thought you would’ve heard by now-”
“Heard what?” says Raj. Lincoln makes a slight grimace.
“I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you, Raj, but your application was rejected,” he says.
“On what grounds?” says Raj. The room seems to have become a few degrees cooler. Lincoln can feel goosebumps pimpling his skin.
“Moral and ethical grounds,” he says.
“The hell are you talking about?” says Raj.
“You were convicted of a felony, Raj,” says Lincoln. People are starting to turn around and stare at them. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t my decision-”
“I was the founder of the Chamber of Commerce in this town,” says Raj. “Without me, this place wouldn’t even have any fucking commerce. I put this town on the map!”
“Raj, I’m sorry.” says Lincoln. “If it had been up to me-”

Cookie has come  hurrying over, her eyes huge and liquid in her flawlessly made up face.

“Raj, what’s going on?” she says. “You’re making a scene. Everybody’s looking.”
“In that case, I’d better leave,” he says. “Delightful to see you again, Lincoln.”

Meanwhile, across town, Raj is attending a recital at the Town Hall performed by the Isla Paradiso Chamber Orchestra. Cookie has been a member of the orchestra for a number of years, and plays the double bass . Raj doesn’t dislike classical music, but he wouldn’t call himself a huge fan either. This evening is more of an opportunity to network than anything else. 

After their game, which Isaac wins effortlessly, they sit down with their drinks in the karaoke area. Mia has now drunk three beers and is staring into the depths of her fourth. She is feeling even less sociable than she was at the beginning of the evening. It’s as if each beer has provided an even thicker layer between herself and the rest of the world. 

“I wasn’t sure if I’d actually like bowling, but any sport where you get to drink beer is okay in my book,” says Milo.
“Yeah, it was fun,” says Jackie. “It’d be nice to get together for a bowling night once a month or so. What do you think, Mia?”
“Yeah, whatever,” says Mia.
“Where did you learn to be so good at bowling?” Milo asks Isaac.
“I used to bowl every Friday night back home in Lucky Palms,” says Isaac. “I was even on a team. We called ourselves ‘4 Guys, 12 Balls’.
"Ha!” says Jackie. Mia doesn’t respond. Milo and Jackie and Isaac chat until Milo starts yawning and Jackie apologetically says that they have to be getting home; Milo has to get up at 4 am to go to the flower markets.

“What do you want to do, Mia?” asks Isaac.
“Jump off the nearest bridge,” says Mia.

Isaac rubs the back of his neck helplessly while Jackie and Milo exchange a look.

“A word, please Mia,” Jackie says. She steers Mia towards a corner.  
“Babe, listen. I think you need professional help,” says Jackie, above the breathy falsetto of the girl on the stage trying to strangle Blue Bayou. 
“Fuck off,” says Mia.
“I have access to a lot of specialist services at the hospital. Why don’t you let me-
"The comment about the bridge was a joke,” says Mia. “We don’t even have any decent bridges in this shitty backwater, in case you’ve never noticed.”  
“Okay, but I’m still worried about you. Will you let me make an appointment for you with one of the hospital’s grief counselors, at the very least? Just one appointment. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to go again-”
“I do not need a grief counselor, for fuck’s sake,” says Mia. “I’m dealing with shit just fine on my own. I came out tonight, didn’t I? I’m socialising again. That’s progress, isn’t it?”
“Babe, you said you felt like you were cursed. That’s not progress.”

Mia gives her a sullen smile.

“I was only wallowing in self-pity, just like you said, ” she says. “I’m fine. I’m going to have a couple more drinks, then I’m going to go home. With Isaac. As long as he doesn’t get shot or stabbed beforehand, of course. That was another joke, by the way.”

Jackie sighs and shakes her head, looking her up and down.

“Will you just think about talking to someone about what you’re going though?” she says. “Just like, give it some serious thought? For me?”
“Why?” says Mia. “Why is it so fucking important?”
“Because I love you, is why,” says Jackie.

“What are you talking about?” says Jackie. “Why is Isaac going to die?”
“Because people I get involved with die horrible, violent deaths,”  says Mia, giving her a wounded look from beneath her fringe. Jackie was proud of Mia for getting out of the house tonight, and had hoped it represented a kind of turning point; she knows she is selfish, she knows Mia is hurting and needs time to heal, but Goddammit she also wants her fun-loving, irreverent, loud, cursing, inappropriate bestie back. She decides to adopt a no-nonsense tone.

“What a load of crap, Mia,” she says. “Look, I know how terrible the last month has been for you, how Noah’s death must have made you revisit a lot of very painful memories, but that statement simply isn’t true. Besides, Noah was a criminal. The odds of him dying a violent death were pretty high, and had absolutely nothing to do with you. Please stop with the self-pity. You need to start celebrating the fact that you’re alive, surrounded by people who love you-”
“I don’t care what you say,” says Mia. “I’m cursed. I know I’m cursed.”
“I’m the one who’s cursed, having to sit here listening to this rubbish,” says Jackie. “Snap out of it, Mia. Otherwise you’re going to lose Isaac too.”
“He’d be a lot better off, ” says Mia morosely.

Thursday 7.35 pm

Mia and Isaac are on a double date tonight with Jackie and Milo at ‘Balls to the Wall’, a Bowling Alley-slash-restaurant-slash-entertainment venue that has not long been open in town. It’s a month since Mia and her mother Nanette have returned from Paris, and the first time Mia has been out in public with Isaac. They’ve fucked a few times, but Noah’s death still feels like a heavy rock lodged in her heart, and most nights she would rather just sit on the couch under a blanket and binge-watch her favourite soap operas and reality shows. She has come to realise that one of the reasons she loves her soap operas so much is because their endless nature rarely provides the viewer with any closure. Mia finds this comforting, and very relatable.

Isaac has revealed himself to be an expert bowler.

“Oh my God,” says Jackie, “He’s got anotherstrike!”

Isaac does a little victory dance, while Milo grunts in admiration.

“Yay,” says Mia dully. “Whose turn is it now?”
“Milo’s,” says Jackie. Milo climbs to his feet with very little enthusiasm. Isaac asks if they would like him to get them all a drink. Milo says he’ll have a beer.
“I’d love a  lemonade,” says Jackie. “Nothing stronger because I’m on call.”
“What would you like, Mia?” Isaac asks.
“I’ll have a beer too,” says Mia, and then adds as an afterthought, “Thanks.”
“He’s a sweetie,” says Jackie after he’s out of earshot.

Mia’s bottom lip juts out.

“Yeah. He doesn’t deserve to die,” she says.

Bowling Alley by @minasavenue

Coming soon….A Double Date at the Bowling Alley!!

Sonia feels her legs begin to sway, but she manages to look her father in the eye and speak without faltering. 

“We all need to sit down and have this conversation,” she says. “The four of us. You and Mum, and Violet and I. It can’t wait any longer.”

Behind her, Violet slowly exhales. Sonia is achingly conscious of the  warmth and scent of Violet’s skin, the strength and softness of her body, the rapid beating of her own heart. For one delirious moment she is weightless, her soul soaring on a tide of joy and freedom. Then she hears her mother’s gasp of anguish and sees the depth of the disgust in her father’s eyes, and she lands back in reality with a sickening thud.

“We will be doing nothing of the kind,” says Frank, his eyes bulging. “You and your…your friend are guests in our house, and are therefore under an obligation to respect our beliefs and standards of behaviour. And one thing we believe in very strongly is the sanctity of marriage between a man and a woman. Discussions about sexual perversions and immorality will not be tolerated. Do you understand?”
“Well, I want you to understand something too. Roy and I are getting a divorce, ” says Sonia. “And Violet and I love each other.“ 

She doesn’t dare look at Estelle. She can hear her sobs, and the sound chills her bones.

"You are going to kill your mother,” says Frank. “I hope you’re happy.”
“Dad, please-”
“Haven’t you caused enough damage?” says Frank. “Please leave. Now.”

Sonia doesn’t move.

“NOW,” shouts Frank. Sonia trembles and moves towards the stairs. She stops at the top and holds her hand out for Violet to take. They walk out together, hand in hand, into the fresh air and the sunshine.

️‍

Based on the snippets of information that Sonia had provided about her parents, Violet had envisioned Frank and Estelle de Prima to be a pair of reactionary relics, trapped for posterity in a paranoid, xenophobic existence, all their energies spent bemoaning the disintegration of the traditional family and the threat posed to their way of life by liberals, socialists, and immigrants. Frank had been just as she had expected, although she had been surprised he had actually shaken her hand. (The reality was that he was a man who prided himself on his good manners, especially towards the fairer sex, and any lapse was perceived as a threat to the civilized order.) And now Violet is standing in the de Prima’s living room and Estelle is standing in the kitchen, looking small and frail, and blinking in confusion. The room is blanketed in intoxicating layers of smells, pie crust and fresh-baked bread and garlic and coriander. Michael Bublé croons innocuously from the stereo. 

“Hello!” exclaims Violet. “You must be Sonia’s mother. I’m Violet. It’s lovely to meet you, Estelle!” 

Estelle’s blinking intensifies. Sonia stands at the top of the stairs, unable to move. Her mother’s head swivels in her direction.

“Where are the children? Where’s Roy?” Estelle asks.

“We left the children at home,“ says Sonia. “And Roy….Roy isn’t coming, either.” 

“But I made his favourite lemon chiffon pie!” says Estelle. She looks like she might cry. They can hear the thud of Frank’s footsteps coming up the stairs. 

“It’s okay, Estelle, I love lemon chiffon pie!” says Violet. Estelle has so far refused to acknowledge her presence. She again addresses Sonia.  

“Why aren’t Roy and the children here?” she says in a plaintive voice. Sonia looks helplessly at Violet, who gives her a smile of gentle encouragement. 

“I’ll explain when we’re all sitting down,“ says Sonia.

“Don’t worry, Estelle,” says Frank, standing behind Sonia. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly plausible explanation.” 

Sonia turns to face him, and his face is waxen with repressed fury. 

“You will not do this, Sonia,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “You will not do this to your mother. I forbidit.”

Sonia’s mouth moves soundlessly, the coldness in her father’s eyes robbing her of coherent speech. Violet steps in to rescue her, her arms outstretched, her voice dripping with honey. “My name’s Violet, Mr. de Prima,” she says. “I’m so glad to finally meet you!”
After a few moments’ hesitation Frank shakes her hand, while Sonia avoids making any further eye contact with him.
“I was just telling Sonia how much I admire these lovely old brownstones,” Violet says. “Have you lived here long?”
“Nearly forty years,” says Frank tersely. He turns to Sonia. “Sonia, please answer my question. Where-”
Violet slips past him and up the stairs. Sonia feels giddy, as if she has just stepped off a roller coaster.
“Sonia!” says her father. “I demand to know what’s going on!”
Sonia throws her shoulders back and lifts her chin. Then she pushes past him to follow Violet inside.

“Here it is,” says Sonia. “The house I grew up in.”

Sonia has decided not to bring the children to her parents’ place today. It’s Apollo’s day off so Constance has come over to babysit. Sonia’s parents will be upset they were denied an opportunity to see their grandchildren, but Sonia figures their disappointment will be a mere drop in an ocean of regret by the time the day is finished.

“It’s just as I expected,” says Violet. “A bastion of middle-class respectability." 

Sonia walks towards the steps then pauses.

“I-” she says. Violet waits. The water is close by, and seagulls wheel and cry mournfully overhead.

"I think I’m going to vomit,” says Sonia.
“No you’re not,” says Violet. “Just breathe.”
“Can we go?” says Sonia. “I’m serious. This was a really bad idea-”

The front door swings open to reveal Sonia’s father Frank, energetically waving. “Hello, my dear!” he calls out in a jovial voice. Sonia waves limply in return. Violet smiles as widely as her distrust will allow. Frank stares at her as she and Sonia climb the front steps.

“Who’s this, Sonia?” says Frank. “And where are Roy and the kids?”

[previous]

“You’d really do that?” says Sonia. “You’d really come to my parents’ with me?”
“If you’re ready to tell them the truth about your marriage, and the truth about us,” says Violet. “But I don’t want you to feel pressured-”
“I want to tell them,” says Sonia. Her teeth are gnawing at her bottom lip, which has started to tremble, but her voice is clear. “I want to tell them. I’m sick of living like this. I’m sick of feeling ashamed. I’m sick of not being able to stand up and look my parents in the eye and say ‘This is who I am.’ I’m ready, Violet. I don’t want to live my life as a lie any more.”
“You don’t have to decide immediately,” says Violet. “You can take some time to think about it-”
"No, I’m sure,” says Sonia. “I’m sure. I love you, Violet. With you by my side, I can do anything.”

️‍

“Well, I’d better be heading back home before Saoirse calls out a search party”, says Roy. “Thanks for dinner, hon. I’ll be over at around 2.30 tomorrow to pick up Angus and take him to the game, okay?”
Sonia is stacking the dishwasher and doesn’t answer.
“Right, then,” says Roy. “I’ll just go and say goodbye to the kids and then I’ll be off.”
Sonia waits until they hear his footsteps creaking above their heads and then turns to Violet.
“So now we know why he bought a new Ferrari,” she says.“To bolster his poor ego.”
“So you don’t believe him either?” says Violet.
“Not a single word,” says Sonia.“I knew it wouldn’t last. Any fool would have known that.”
“Why don’t we invite them both around for dinner?” says Violet. “Then we’ll find out for sure.”
“Over my dead body.”
“But if they’re not together anymore-”
“He’d probably pay her to come with him, just to perpetuate the lie,” snorts Sonia.
“Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” says Violet. “I mean, you wanted Roy to go with you to your parents’ place tomorrow, which is also perpetuating a lie-”
“It’s not the same thing!” shouts Sonia.“Why are you on his side?”
“I’m not on his side,” says Violet. “I’m just making a point. And don’t scream at me like that. I know you’re stressed about seeing your parents tomorrow, but there’s no need to be such a bitch.”
“Sorry,” says Sonia sulkily. They hear Roy yell out a cheery “BYE- BYE!” from the hallway, and then the front door slams. Sonia turns away from Violet to wipe down the counter tops. The raucous throb of the Ferrari’s engines as Roy accelerates through the gates makes the window frames rattle.
“Babe?” says Violet, after the noise has receded. Sonia turns around, her face a mask of rigidly controlled emotion.
“I want to come with you to your parents’ place tomorrow,” says Violet. ”If you’re ready to tell them the truth, that is.“ 

“I can’t come and get you, Mother. I have to leave here in twenty minutes to pick up the children from school,” says Georgina.

“Why don’t you get that…that goonyou live with to pick them up?” says Bunty, her voice prickly with irritation. Georgina closes her eyes and counts to ten. Behind her Vinnie is tucking into a slab of apple pie with noisy relish.

“You know, it would make more sense if Vinnie came to you,” Georgina says.

“Georgina, I’d rather drink a bottle of anti-freeze than be forced to endure more than a couple of seconds in that ghastly man’s company-“

“Please stop being so melodramatic, Mother. I’ll tell him to bring his tools. He’s a wonderful mechanic. He’d probably be able to fix your car straight away.”

This gives Bunty pause. She is always willing to push aside her value judgments of a person’s character if they can be of some use to her.

“Very well,” she says with a haughty sniff. “But only because you have left me with no other choice. And if he robs and murders me and dumps my body in a ditch, it will be all yourfault, Georgina!”

Vinnie: Mmmmm, something smells good….

He presses his mouth to Georgina’s bare shoulder and in one deft move hoists her on top of the counter, covering her face and neck in kisses as he slides his hand between her thighs. Georgina’s phone starts to ring just as he’s unbuttoning her jeans. She groans. 

Georgina: Are you kidding me? It’s Mother. God. Of course it’s Mother.

Vinnie: Go on, answer it. You know she won’t leave you alone until you speak to her.

Georgina sets her jaw and does up her jeans while Vinnie wanders off in the direction of the apple pie.

Georgina: Hello, Mother. Is everything alright?

Bunty: No, things are definitely notalright, Georgina! My car engine’s overheated in the middle of nowhere and I need you to come and get me! Now!

Today is Wednesday and Bunty has spent the morning ‘Wardrobe Wrangling’ with a group of farmers’ wives in the nearby hamlet of Butterfield, an hour’s drive from Appaloosa Plains. The poor things have no idea at all about layering, a critical life skill in Bunty’s opinion. She advises them to play around with proportions and textures, and now that the colder weather is coming she suggests they experiment with wearing two coats together to create ‘a warm and edgy vibe’ while milking the cows and feeding the livestock. They could also wear fishnets or neon tights under their dungarees for a ‘fun, playful look’! As always, the ladies seem stunned by her knowledge and expertise, and Bunty leaves feeling as if she has truly made a difference in their lives. Volunteer work is so satisfying and fulfilling!

A soft rain is falling as Bunty zooms along the town’s perimeter and towards the intersection that will take her back to Appaloosa Plains. She turns left and has been driving for ten minutes when she notices with a stab of dread a red warning light flashing on the instrument panel. Why do these annoyances always happen when one is in the middle of nowhere, with no garage for at least ten miles! Bunty pulls over and kills the engine, noticing that it has stopped raining. She gets out of the car and tries to call Ian, but he isn’t answering his phone. She leaves a terse message then calls Douglas. Douglas isn’t picking up either. Honestly, the men in this family are like waiters- neveraround when you want them!

“So did you do your assignment yesterday?” Phoebe asks Anya. “Or did you end up doing Roy instead?”

“I didn’t see him at all yesterday. And I handed in my assignment first thing this morning,” says Anya.

“Can you not smile while you’re eating?’ says Phoebe. “It’s creepy.”

“Sorry,” says Anya. “It’s just…he rang me last night and told me he’d bought us tickets to Broken Simlish’s concert. In three months’ time. In Paris.”

Phoebe’s eyebrows converge beneath her heavy black fringe. Anya slows her chewing.

“Do you know what’s happening?” says Phoebe. “You’re being love-bombed.”

“No I’m not,” says Anya. “Roy’s just a very generous person, that’s all. And he has money, so it’s probably not really that much of a big deal to him-“

“Your very first date with him lasted twenty-four hours,” says Phoebe. “You’ve already met his kids. And his best friend! And his ex-wife! Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“It tells me that we enjoyed each other’s company,” says Anya. “A lot. And I’ve only met two of his kids-“

“It should have told you that things are moving too quickly,” says Phoebe. “What’s going to happen tomorrow? Is he going to ask you to move in with him?”

“Oh, come on,” says Anya. “Seriously-“

“Buying tickets to a concert in Paris is just way too over-the-top. It’s another red flag. So is assuming that you’re still going to be together in three months’ time. He’s starting to sound like a narcissistic arsehat.”

“He is not. He’s a kind, generous person, that’s all,” says Anya.

Her phone dings. Phoebe’s eyes narrow triumphantly.

“Let me guess,” she says. “A text from the Love Bomber, telling you how much he loves you and can’t live without you.”

Anya stares at her screen. Phoebe is right about it being a text from Roy. She feels a dopamine-laced little bubble expand in her chest as she reads. She places the phone gently on the table and picks up her grilled cheese sandwich.  Not even the expression on Phoebe’s face can dampen her elation.

“Roy just asked me to be his date for the Sports Agent of the Year Awards on Friday night,” she says.

“That absolutefucker,” says Phoebe.

Anya and her best friend Phoebe are having lunch in the school cafeteria. Most days on the cafeteria menu there are special dishes cooked by students of the Culinary School, available for a discounted price. Phoebe is more adventurous than Anya and likes to sample the specials. Today she is trying the fried lentil and chili sausage bowl. Anya is nibbling a grilled cheese sandwich. They enjoy looking around the room and observing their fellow students while they eat.

“I can’t with Carolina’s jacket,” says Anya.

“Oh my God, it’s soooo two months ago,” says Phoebe.

“And did you notice Erica’s jeans? I mean, there’s cute boyfriend jeans, and then there’s… boyfriend jeans.”  

“Right?” says Phoebe. ”She always tries way too hard.”

“Is she talking to you yet?” says Anya.

“Nope,” shrugs Phoebe. “I don’t understand why she’s so angry with me, to be honest. I mean, I’d want to know if something I was wearing made me look fat. Wouldn’t you?”

“Totally!” says Anya.

Liam knows that tone of Saffron’s well- he is being put to some sort of mysterious test, and if he fails the consequences will be dire. Despite the cool temperature, sweat again prickles his skin. He tries to focus. Saffron wears a lot of blue, so it stands to reason that blue would be her favourite colour. As for her favourite band….shit. What’s the name of that boy band that all the teenage girls in his classes are into? Guyzone! That’s it! He feels at once dizzy with hope, and nauseous with apprehension.

“Well?” Saffron snaps.

“Your favourite colour is blue, and….and you don’t actually have a favourite band.” says Liam. “You used to be into Guyzone, but your tastes are a lot more sophisticated and discerning these days.” For several seconds his phone pulses with silent tension. Then Saffron gives a grudging snort. 

“Huh,” she says. “Of course blue’s my favourite colour. And I know you’re just trying to flatter me with the comments about my musical tastes, but I’ll allow it. I did go to a Guyzone concert a couple of years ago, did I ever tell you that? It was fun. But I’ve definitely grown up a lot since then.”

“I’m sure you have,” says Liam. “My favourite colour’s grey. Do you want to know what my favourite band is?”

“No,” says Saffron. “My baby sister’s crying, I’ve got to go. Catch you later, Mr. McFarlane!”

Bridgeport University’s Ancient Civilizations Society has invited Stephanie to give a talk on Al Simharan Music and Musical Instruments of the Second Millennium B.C, and this is where Liam is tonight, seated at the back of the packed and over-heated auditorium, his armpits beginning to feel clammy and his head to ache. Stephanie speaks with passion and incisiveness, but Liam thinks that her looks are so distracting that she could probably be speaking complete gibberish and nobody would be any the wiser.

“We now know that by the end of the Second Millenium B.C there existed standardized tun­ing procedures that operated within a heptatonic, dia­tonic system consisting of seven different and interrelated scales,” says Stephanie, pausing to allow the audience to properly digest this mind-blowing information. Liam’s phone buzzes discreetly in his shirt pocket; it is a notification from The Poetry Forum. ‘Shygirl3000’, aka Saffron, is trying to get in touch with him. Liam breathes a few words of thanks to the Universe and slips out of his seat and through a side door, the cool night air instantly chasing away the pain in his temples. He calls Saffron’s number. She answers on the third ring.

“Hello,” he says. “What’s up?”  

“What’s my favourite colour?” she says. “And what’s my favourite band?”

Roy: Hey, you. I wasn’t sure if you were going to answer. Have you finished  your assignment?

Anya: Ugh, no. It’s probably going to take me another two hours at least. But I desperately needed a break, so…that was really good timing. What are you doing?

Roy: Just lounging around, listening to music, thinking about your, um…your beautiful personality.

Anya: Ha. Mypersonality. Sure.

Roy:Look, I don’t want to keep you from your studies for too long, but I just wanted to let you know that the music I was listening to was Broken Simlish’s new album. And I have to admit they’re not bad. Some of their songs are a bit too experimental for my taste, but I totally get why they’re your favourite band. I mean, their lyrics are really awesome. And the lead singer has an incredible voice. Though how she can sing at all with all those facial piercings is beyond me - 

Anya: You actually listened to Broken Simlish’s new album? Oh my God! ROY!! I’m so happy you like them! 

Roy: I love ‘em, babe. Anyway, I looked on the internet and they’re playing a concert in Paris in a few months’ time so I bought us a couple of tickets. Front row, naturally. It’s during school holidays so hopefully it won’t interfere with your studies too much. We can work out the deets later. Anyway, I’d better let you get back to your assignment. Ciao, bella!

[previous]

“Who were you talking to on the phone earlier?” says Anita to Joël as they gather around the kitchen bench for hamburgers and salad, prepared by Saffron. “I could hear you laughing all the way upstairs.”

“Just Roy,” says Joël. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“How are things with his new girlfriend?” Anita asks, with a trace of a smirk.

“The latest is that he reckons he’s in love with her,” says Joël. Anita’s smirk erupts into a full-blown snort. Saffron drops her hamburger back on her plate, her eyes cold pale blue shards.

“I do notunderstand you, Mother,” she says. “A week ago you were criticizing Roy for supposedly only being interested in Anya for one thing. And now he’s proved that he isn’t, you’re stillputting shit on him! He can’t win!”

“Saffron, there is no way he’s in love with her,” says Anita. “He’s proved nothing. All he’s done is mistaken lust for love.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” says Saffron. ”Maybe it’s true. Maybe he really is in love with her. God. Who are you to act so smug and superior?”

“A person cannot possibly be in love with another after only spending a day with them,” says Anita. “How can you properly know anyone after only a day? Does he even know what her favourite colour is? Or her favourite band?”

“I think I’m in love with Anya,” says Roy.

“You thought you were in love with Saoirse,” says Joël. “…and look how thatturned out.” 

“I was in love with the ideaof being in love with Saoirse,” says Roy. “And with her freckles. I still miss her freckles. She had freckles everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Plus she introduced me to the greatest sex act ever known to man, so for that I owe her an enduring debt of gratitude. But even though the sex was awesome, there was still something missing. It was always…I dunno. I never felt she was committed 100%.”

“What about Naomi? You were totally in love with Naomi,” says Joël.

“Naomi cast some sort of spell over me,” says Roy. “I was powerless to resist, dude. She’s like one of those mythological sirens who used to lure sailors to their deaths. Or Satan. Every time I kissed her, an angel would have an aneurysm, I swear to God.”

“So what’s the deal with Anya?” says Joël. “Apart from her physical attributes.”

“Being around her just makes me feel good,” says Roy. “And she’s just so cool and down to earth. It didn’t even seem to bother her that first night when I couldn’t- ”

“Couldn’t what?”

“Nothing. And she was amazing with Henrietta, Henrietta loved her and you know what Henri’s like, she thinks everyone’s beneath contempt. And she’s affectionate, dude. I fucking love that. And it’s like she knows exactly what I’m feeling about stuff without me even telling her. Like we have this connection, you know? I’d always heard people talking about their connection and I always thought it was a huge wank but now I know exactly what-  

“When you couldn’t WHAT?” says Joël. 

“Dude, it was her father’s fault! He rang her just after we got back to my place and told her to make sure to use a condom. So, yeah. That was it. He got in both my heads, the evil fucking bastard-”

“So the first night you spent with Anya, you couldn’t get it up,” says Joël. “Dude.”

“Listen, Dropkick, I more than made up for it last night,” says Roy. “But the whole point of the story was, it didn’t even matter. Like we just really enjoyed each other’s company, somehow she still made me feel like a total baller-”

“Erectile dysfunction’s a growing problem,” snickers Joël.

“Ha-fucking-ha.”

“You could start a club. Except it would probably be a flop, and nobody would come.”  

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself at my expense, dude.”

“Yeah, it’s not hard,” says Joël.

Roy: Hey dude! What did you think of the pic? I was trying out a new angle. Do you think it’s better if I emphasise girth more, or length? I mean, I’m equally blessed in both departments, so-

Joël:I don’t know and I don’t care. Jesus. What the hell is wrong with you? STOP WITH THE DICK PICS, YOU PERVERTED SICKO.

Roy: That’s offensive. They’re not just pics for one thing, they’re art. They’re dick masterpieces, dude.

Joël: I’m too tired to have this conversation right now. Hey. When are you going to give me my car back?

Roy: When I get my car back, duh. Which might not be for another couple of days. What’s the problem? You can drive Anita’s car.

Joël: I don’t like Anita’s car.

Anita’s Chrysler belonged to Jim, Anita’s deceased ex husband. Joël yells at Brutus who is digging a hole in the lawn. Brutus ignores him.

Roy:Tough titties. Hey, speaking of titties, did I tell you how Anya has the most perfectly symmetrical areolas? And they’re like this amazing pale caramel colour. Everything about her’s incredible, dude.

Joël: So you’ve told me about a million times. Why don’t you send her your stupid dick pics instead of annoying me with them?

Roy:Because she’s supposed to be doing some assignment that’s due tomorrow and obviously if I send her dick pics she’ll be too distracted and horny to be able to concentrate.

Joël:Obviously.

Roy: Besides, her pyscho father would be just the type to go through her phone. If he saw I’d sent her dick pics he’d probably try and have me arrested or something.

Joël: Have I mentioned before how well I think I’d get along with Anya‘s father?

Roy:Shut up.

Joël:Youshut up.

Roy:I think I’m in love with Anya.

Joël: No, YOU shut up.

Joël: I’m sorry, what did you just say?

Joël takes Brutus outside and scrolls through his phone while he waits for the dog to do his business. The sun is setting, the garden slowly bathed in a golden pink light. Lots of people have texted him their congratulations and best wishes on the birth of his daughter. (His daughter!) He is suffused with warmth and tenderness, and feelings of hope and kindness and beneficence towards his fellow man.

Until his phone dings again to announce a picture text from Roy. 

Sunday 5.41 pm

*phone camera shutter sound*

Roy: Heh heh.

Sunday 5.39 pm

Anita: You know, unless I’m actually looking at her or touching her, I can’t believe she’s real. Do you know what I mean? How did she get here? How did she actually come to exist?

Joël:Well, when a Mummy and a Daddy love each other very, very much-

Anita: Darling, please don’t make fun of me! I’m too emotional at the moment to handle it!

Joël: Okay, I’m sorry. Yeah, I totally know what you mean. I’m still trying to process it too. The fact I have a daughter. It’s….it’s mind-blowing. It still hasn’t sunk in.

Anita gives him a tremulous smile then turns back to baby Alice. Alice stares placidly at the ceiling. Anita coos and waves.

Anita: Hello beautiful Alice! Hello gorgeous baby girl!

Brutus is making soft whimpering noises. Joël forces himself to climb up from the rocking chair and yawns and stretches. He hasn’t gotten out of his pyjamas all day. Poor Brutus hasn’t been taken for a walk. He supposes he ought to have a shower at some point and discuss dinner with Anita. It feels strange to be thinking about such mundane things after the miraculous arrival of his daughter. His daughter. His daughter! What the actual….he has a DAUGHTER!!!

“Can you believe we’ve spent over twenty-four hours together?” says Anya. “That’s amazing!”

Her head is resting on his stomach, her breasts pillowing his victorious and exhausted cock. He can tell by her voice that she’s smiling.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s been a pretty wild.”

“Especially the last few hours,” she says.

“What can I say?” he says. “I’m just like a sexual carnival ride.”

He can feel her giggle reverberating through the hollow of his navel.

“You can stay another night, if you want,” he says. “No pressure. But the offer’s there.”

“I’d love to, but I can’t,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s no big deal,” he says.

“I’ve got an assignment due on Monday that I’ve barely started-“

“You don’t have to explain,” he says. “It’s fine.”

“I’d like to lay here a little longer though,“ she says. Within a couple of moments she is asleep, her breath quivering against his skin. He strokes her back as softly as he can. He doesn’t want either of them to ever move. 

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