Page 23 of Summer, in Between
11
WHAT is with this guyturning up when I’m looking my absolute most shitful?The annoying part of all of this is I’m usually not one of those people who gets in a flap about how I look.I mean, I know I’m no supermodel, but I was the first grandchild and remain the only granddaughter of my Nonna.You can’t have seventeen years of being told in no uncertain terms that you’re the most heavenly, beautiful creature on the planet in great danger of ravishment without a fraction of it sticking, causing just a smidge of vanity.
‘You didn’t say you’re working today, Dad?’He hasn’t changed position.He’s still next to me leaning against his work bench, staring at Paul – not exactly hostile, but without his usual ‘g’day, mate’ vibe.I’m sitting on Dad’s workbench like a child and so I launch myself with a little more vigour than necessary and land on my feet, graceless, but at least upright.‘Your jumper is upstairs, I’ll go get it.’
‘Keep it, Cat,’ says Paul.‘I’m good, thanks for asking.’He turns to Dad.‘Mick, Mr Kelty, before we get going, I’d like to apologise to you and Mrs Kelty for not bringing Cat home last night.It’s not the best way to start a job, losing the boss’ daughter.She just disappeared.’
‘She walked home alone last night.’Dad downs his coffee and then straightens.‘Alone.’
‘I know, and I hate that.’Paul holds his gaze.‘As soon as I knew she’d left I came past, and I saw you guys upstairs through the windows.’
‘You’re not planning on asking her out again, are you?What if you took her to the city and let her hitchhike home?’
The air has become stuffy and heavy, and it’s not from the dust particles floating around under the house.
‘I’m right here, Dad.’
‘I haven’t asked anyone anything,’ says Paul, ‘but I’m feeling like it might be a bad idea if I did anyway, and I don’t blame either of you.Once bitten and all that, but again, Mr Kelty, I’d like to apologise, and Cat, I’m sorry you felt like walking home in the dark was a better alternative than hanging out with me.’
‘Well, that’s not completely accurate.’I dart a glance at him.I can feel the heat in my cheeks.‘I’d just had enough of the party.Not you.It’s not that deep.’
Dad takes a moment to assess Paul’s speech and I hold my breath in anticipation.
‘We’ve got to get this formwork up,’ says Dad.Paul holds out his hand and Dad shakes it in one firm thrust.‘I appreciate your apology.’He crouches and disappears through the manhole.
Paul squats on his haunches in the doorway, his hands gripping the door jamb above his head.His board shorts creep up his thighs and as he leans forward his t-shirt rises, exposing a patch of skin, startling white against his tanned lower back.I fight an urge to flatten my hands against it.
‘What are we working on?’
I can’t hear Dad’s reply.
‘So, all the formwork?’Paul moves into the space and all I can hear is faint builder-babble.
‘I’m going upstairs,’ I say to the hole in the wall.There’s no answer.The rain hasn’t let up, but I bolt up the stairs anyway.
A couple of minutes later, Paul runs through the rain to his car.Mum comes to stand with me at the window.‘Is that Paul here already?’
‘He apologised to Dad about not taking me home last night.’
‘Well, that’s pretty sweet.’
‘Sweet?You don’t think it’s chauvinistic?That he seems to think it’s the 1950s?Who are you and what have you done with my cool, feminist mother who has spent the last seventeen years telling me to fight the patriarchy, burn my bras, and rise from the oppression of men?’
‘Well, I don’t know that I was ever that emphatic,’ says Mum, ‘and fun fact: did you know that the feminists never actually burnt bras?It’s a misconception that’s floated through time.Anyway, there’s a big difference between being a chauvinistic pig and being someone with basic manners.I hope you can recognise the difference.’
‘What freakin’ manners?’I say.‘He left me to walk home alone in the dark.Anything could have happened to me.’
‘But it’s Paul’s fault, is it, that you bailed out on your date with him?And enough of the gutter language.’
‘Yeah, yeah, I already heard it from Dad.I get it.Do we have to keep going over it?Tu capisci?’
‘Ooh, so it was a date.’Mum tickles me.She’s practically cackling.
‘Are you twelve?The sooner you get back to work, the better.You need adults around you.You’re turning into Matty when you should be getting ready to turn into Nonna.’
‘Oh, shit, I nearly forgot,’ says Mum, conveniently adopting my gutter language.‘Nonna!She’s expecting me to pick her up for lunch.Want to come for a drive?’
‘No, thanks,’ I say.‘Take Tommy with you though, that game is killing me.I do have to focus, you know?’
