Page 57 of Kiwi Gold
“No vice in him, surely,” Trevor said. “He’s young yet, that’s all.”
Lachlan didn’t say anything.
Somehow, we made it to the kitchen, where I slung my purse onto the kitchen bench and Trevor added the bag he was carrying. The girls had already dropped their bags onto the floor to make them as easy as possible to trip over, while Long John ran back to the front door, presumably to see whether Lachlan, who was taking his own shoes off, seemed likely to do anything exciting. When the answer was apparently “No,” he rushed to the back of the flat again, his tongue hanging out with excitement. He tore past the girls, his paws skidding on the wood floor, and into their bedroom to the accompaniment of some shrill commands that I was pretty sure he would completely ignore.
When I looked again, Lachlan was standing by the kitchen table—well, the dining table, because I only had one—clearly trying not to laugh. He deposited his two grocery bags, then held up the loo paper and the pads and said, “I’ll put these in the bath, shall I?”
“Yes, please,” I said, my mouth attempting to unmoor itself from my control. Violet, who’d dropped into a chair at the battered table as if recovering from a life-threatening ordeal, slewed around to look at him, appeared to register for the first time what he was carrying, drew in a breath, and was still working out her next pronouncement when Lachlan reappeared. I’d begun filling the jug for tea, but he took it from me and said, “Sit down instead and put that foot up. Get some ice on it as well.”
“Groceries to put away,” I said. “Meat. Milk.”
“I’ve got it,” he said.
“That’s soextremelybossy of you,” I said. “I’m trying to decide if I care, or if I should just enjoy having you do it.”
“You should enjoy it,” he said. “Definitely. This is my best work. This, and carrying you.” Now, hewasgrinning.
“Weaponized competence,” I said. “That’s what you’ve got.”
“Weaponized? That’s a bit harsh, surely.” But he was grinning again.
I grabbed an icepack from the freezer and went to sit beside Violet and Trevor, who was watching all of this with the kind of bemusement that told you he knew he’d be hearing Violet’s interpretation later. “You know what I mean,” I told Lachlan, whowasputting away my meat and milk and so forth. “The opposite of what some men do, like it’s beyond them to sort out where you put the washing powder, because it can’t possibly be in the little compartment that says, ‘Detergent,’ and which button you push to start the machine. Clearly not the ‘Start’ button, as the manufacturer probably put that there just to trick you.”
Bitter? Probably. Not my life, though, not anymore. As hard as the past year had been, it was easier than living with that resentment.
“Not sure I’d want a man putting away my personal items,” Violet said, as if I’d asked her.
“Nah,” Lachlan said, while I was still working out how to answer that, or probably when I’d decided it was bestnotto answer that. “I’ve got a mum and four younger sisters. We had one bath as well. My life was nothingbutmenstrual pads, once the girls were eleven or so. Well, that and tampons. Two girls fighting over the electric heating pad, arguing over whose cramps were worse, and somebody yelling at me from the toilet cubicle to pass her a tampon around the door, and to make sure it was an ultra. The joys of youth, eh.” He was grabbing the box of tea out of the cupboard, finding the mugs like he knew where they were—which, of course, he did, thanks to the Mickey Mouse pancakes—and starting to put away my dry goods. He said, “Who are you feeding here, Laila? An army?”
“You, if you like,” I said, for some reason. “Weekend shop, that’s all. Tonight’s crumbed fish and kumara chips. Fast and not too flash, because I’ve got a project to do. What d’you reckon?”
“I reckon,” he said, “that I’ll join you for that. I could bring a salad, if you like. Not a fruit one. I’ve decided I need to expand my repertoire.”
“As long as it only takes fifteen minutes,” I said, “and still looks like you made an effort.”
“That’s it,” he agreed. He brought the tea over, carrying two mugs in each hand, set them in front of everyone, said, “Milk and sugar,” and went back for them.
“You’re quite comfortable,” Violet said, her eyes going between the two of us.
“Always,” Lachlan said, setting spoons out, then taking his seat. “Your foot’s not up,” he told me.
I had four chairs. We were sitting in all four of them. I looked at him, and he shrugged a little, took a sip of tea, and said, “I told you. Your choice.”
I put my foot in his lap. Yes, I did. He was just being medical.
He took the icepack from me and held it to the outside of the ankle, over the elastic bandage he’d put on last night, at his own kitchen table in his thoroughly updated, shiny-floored flat. When he’d been holding my ankle exactly like this, unbuckling my sandal, then rubbing a hand over my foot, checking out the bruising before he rolled the bandage onto it and wrapped it tight, and I’d been holding my breath, in my too-transparent dress that had slid up my legs, trying not to show him how the touch of his hands affected me.
After which, he’d carried me and my sandals to my back door, held me while I unlocked it, then set me down as Oriana hurried into the kitchen, saw me, and exclaimed. No chance to kiss him goodbye even if I’d wanted to, which I didn’t. I mean, clearly I didn’t. What would you do, grab him and … and pull his head down? Stare meaningfully into his dark, endlessly blue eyes, then put your palm on his chest and sway forward in a seductive fashion? Would that count as “asking him”? See, I had no idea. That was how hopeless a dater I was. So instead, I’d said, “Thank you for everything. I’ll see you later,” and closed the door.
He didn’t say anything now, either, to indicate that holding an icepack on a woman’s foot was his idea of breathtaking foreplay. Instead, he said, “Let me know if it gets too cold,” and took another sip of tea.
“Right,” Violet said. “If we’re ready to have a discussion.” As if she were chairing a meeting of the neighborhood association.
Trevor cleared his throat. “It’s not so much the babies. It’s really the dog.”
“What?” That was Violet. “You said you’d talk with her about the babies! Good I came over after all, if you were barely going to mention it.”
Lachlan said, “The babies? Oh, the babies. Yeh, I’ve heard that a couple of times. Can’t legislate your friends visiting, though, surely.”
