Page 77 of Kiwi Sin
“But you wanted to,” I said. Again, with a daring I hadn’t realized I possessed. “I thought you just said youdidn’twant to.”
“I do,” he said, “and I don’t. But it’s nothing to do with Valor. Whatever happened with him … I know it was wrong. Wrong for him to do, I mean, and what you didn’t want. He thought he could follow you out here and do it again. He can’t, because you told. Now, we all know, and we’ll all be looking out for you.”
There was a sort of warmth happening in my chest. Not embarrassment this time, or maybe embarrassment, but something else, too. I got out the Dettol, the gauze, the tape, and the cotton pads from the cabinet and said, “I’m going to pick up your hand and take off the bandage. And that doesn’t mean we’re about to have relations in the bath.”
He laughed again. “Got it. Fire away.”
I unwound the grubby tape, then went to peel the gauze off. It stuck a bit, but I got it off, too.
The stitches were black, and they were neat. The skin around them, though, was red, puffy, and angry-looking. Not as bad as I’d feared, but not good, either. I’d patched up the kids in the nursery enough to know that. I washed my hands with plenty of soap and asked, “How often have you been bandaging this?”
“Every day,” he said. “Or most days, anyway. When I remember.”
I began dabbing Dettol onto the stitched area, and he wasn’t wincing, though it must have stung. “And how much have you been cleaning it?”
“Well … not,” he admitted. “I don’t have all the stuff, and it’s a bit hard to do with one hand. It doesn’t hurt much anyway. Except when I carry too much with it or whatever.”
“Gabriel.” I was dabbing on antibiotic ointment now with a cotton swab. “You have tocarefor it. Have you had a fever?”
“Uh—no. I’m fine.”
“No,” I said. “It isn’t really fine. Maybe you can come see me before you go in to work, Monday, and I’ll change the dressing for you and check it. You start at seven, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then come see me first, and I’ll do it for you.” I was putting on a new layer of gauze, then taping it in place, taking care the wound had a chance to breathe. “There. I’ll tidy up. But …” I hesitated.
“Yes?”
I wasn’t even sure where the next thing came from. “Can I cut your hair?”
31
NOT CHILLING
Oriana
Gabriel wasn’t looking at me, but he was. He was looking at me in the mirror, and I couldn’t breathe. I still had his hand, too.
“Yeh,” he said, and that was all. Then he smiled, and my heart turned over.
“Then bring in a chair,” I said, doing my best to be brisk, like Daisy, “and I will.” Meanwhile, I got a sheet from the cupboard. When Gabriel came back, I put him in the chair, wrapped the sheet around him to keep the hair off, and realized.
“Oh,” I said. “My scissors are in the caravan. Would you … if we go down there to do this, could you pleasenotthink that I’m inviting you to have relations?”
This time, he laughed. “Yeh. I could.”
“Bring the chair, though,” I said. “We’ll need it. I’ll bring the sheet.”
For his haircut. It was just a haircut. I had tostopthis.
When we were walking down the track together with the night-blooming jasmine scenting the air, though, he said, “This is what Honor told me to do. Take you for a walk after dinner.”
“Honor?” I was so confused. “Why?”
“Because she thought I liked you.”
I couldn’t answer that. I literally couldn’t think of anything to say, so I just said, “It’s here,” as if he couldn’t see an enormous metal caravan in front of his nose, and opened the door.
