“You’re looking a bit better.” He’s staring at me while I settle into my seat. Eyes so keen and dark and unreadable. So closed-off to the public. To everyone, really. I haven’t a clue what’s going on in there. He doesn’t mean that he likes the way I look. For some reason, I must remind myself that. I’ve got a bit of colour, mum would say. She would pinch my cheeks and smile at the pink. If she was here, she would compliment the freshly dyed hair. Tell her I looked like grandma. We would dance and sing together about superstitions and princesses. All would be right in the world. “Did you eat yesterday?”
“No, but I wasn’t up and about much, either.” I stare into the empty glass of table water. My throat is feeling rather dry. Somehow, I don’t think water will help.
“Last time you were having nightmares you weren’t eating. Or sleeping.” Why is he so closed off? He stares into my eyes as though he’s talking to a patient, rather cool and matter of fact.
December 1st, 1999 Afternoon Damon “Chloe?” The house is silent, bar the click of the front door closing. Awfully so. A draft comes through the living room, so brittle I swear it could knock me off my feet. An alarm clock is ringing. She’s slow to stop it, the sound lofting around with that cool breeze. Or maybe she’s not home. I shrug off my coat. Lay it across the back of the couch on my way to the window. The rattle of a door in its frame stops when the window slides shut — I hadn’t noticed it, either. Somehow, the house is more silent now. “Chloe!” “Damon!” She pops around a corner, flaming hair twisted up at the crown, strands billowing around her face. She’s wearing an especially well-worn cardigan, the skin around her eyes dark and sunken. She hadn’t been sleeping. I can see that. She’s in the bed with me each night, breathing steadily, what does she do for those hours? Stare s
June 8th, 2011 Morning The sky whips around us. The trees have sprouted leaves again. The countryside is a bright green. The sky a brilliant blue. The air has warmed, though not by much. It’s strange, the sensation of beaming sun on my bare legs. Fills me with sleep but invigorates me all the same. I hug my cardigan tighter. “Where are we going?” I’m almost afraid to ask. The not knowing is most exciting. “I’m sure you’d love to know.” He reaches over, squeezing my hand. His skin has turned already. A deep, warm bronze. Hair mousy and bright. Tousled. Untouched. He wears jeans. A thin button-down. Wild chest hair peaks through the top. Sometimes I wish I was his biological daughter. If only to be that beautiful. “I would.” He grins. A cheeky, bright smile. “That’s too bad, Isn’t it?” And drops my hand again. “The beach?” “No.” “The harbour?” “Isn’t that the s
August 19th, 2002 Morning “Wait! It’s right here!” I rock over the top of her, suddenly peering at the tips of her toes. I almost barrel straight over. I would have taken her with me. Like hitting a wombat. Tiny, but solid. Enough to crush the radiator. I made that mistake on my first and only trip down under. It didn’t crack up to be half the fun I had hoped. Hot and awfully flat. That was my impression of it. “Here?” The world spins around me as I straighten up—it’s a right struggle to, at that. But those tiny trainers and planted firmly in the woodchip. She’s surveying the equipment with a purpose rather unlike an eleven-year-old. “I’m not seeing this secret base.” I was expecting a nook dug out beneath the slide. That was where mine had been. We’d nicked a telescope from my mate Thomas’ house. Used it to stare through the neighbouring windows. I certainly saw some things a child my age ought not to. I do hope she’s n
“What?” Tami is at my side, yelling between us. “His wife moved in again after like ten years, apparently they separated but never divorced?“ I pat at my jean pockets, looking for my card. I need another shot. “You reckon he killed someone?” Tami somehow sounds more British than usual. “He had a kid?” James seems to be concerned for different reasons. “Well, he didn’t deny it when I asked — he said that they all know how the kid died and who was responsible. Bobs your fucking uncle. Another tequila please!” I think the bartender is eavesdropping, she’s already looking when I sway in her direction. I need both arms to hold myself up. “On the house.” Probably shouting me a drink for the entertainment. “Damon would never.” Tami is frowning. I’ve always thought she wouldn’t mind boinking him. She did seem to fancy Damon, actually. And why wouldn’t he? I’m a bit more interested in my shot. It’s gone quite
December 16th, 2012 Evening Last night is still a little bit… foggy. In layman’s terms. Lost in the endless and ever-consuming abyss of binge drinking is probably the more technical way to put it. Temporary anterograde amnesia. Limited impairment of the ability to form new memories. The anterior of my head is hurting, I can tell you that much. Worst yet, I can smell a lecture coming on. “Big night?” Damon cocks a brow, sliding a cup of coffee across the counter. The mere thought of it churns my stomach, let alone that acrid smell. But I’ve got to play the part. “No, pretty boring, actually.” I can see my reflection in the coffee. It ripples with my breath, I’m closer than I had realised. But the smell oddly enough is doing wonders for my nausea. I almost feel mentally and emotionally prepared for a meal. Mind you, I’ve still got some work to do on that. “Is that why you’re
December 16th, 2012 Evening Damon She hardly stirs when I drop her a little more suddenly than I intended to. Of course, her bed is unmade. It always is. And she’s got a pile—mind you, a somewhat tidy one—of clothes in the corner of the room. “You need to change.” As I speak, I wonder if she’ll pretend to sleep. But she opens her eyes a couple of centimetres. “I need to sleep.” Her eyes are closed again. “Unless you want to be changing your sheets bright and early tomorrow, you need to change.” “Change me, then.” Her eyes are still closed, and a good thing at that. I’m afraid I’ve gone a bit pink. At least, I feel I have. “I’m not sure that’s appropriate,” “Why not? You’re my dad.” She rolls over. And part of me wants to accept the offer just to see her in her underwear. And another, somehow worse, part of me hopes that she doesn’t have any on. “Gues
December 19th, 2012 Evening Damon “We forgot about the news yesterday!” Sasha is sat at the other end of the couch, her toes just inches from my thigh. I’m really not sure when I became corrupted by fantasies of her feet. They’re quite pretty. Long, slender. Straight toes. Cropped, painted nails. Protruding veins. I can imagine them padding at my crotch a little too vividly. My jeans are a bit tight. “Tarantino’s film was scrapped because of Sandy Hook.” I watch as she squints, probably trying to remember her own headline. “They dug up those two murderer blokes from In Cold Blood,” I don’t want to tell her she’s won by kilometres just yet. “Why?” “Something about some murders in Florida,” So I just nod quietly, pretending to turn it over for a moment. I wonder how I managed to let that one slip through the cracks. I’ve only read the novel
Midday “How you feeling, thundercunt?” Tami has been swinging backwards and forwards on that brand-new swivel chair for a good ten minutes now. Rubbing it in my face that it still works. There was an incident at the Christmas party last year that involved a receptionist chair race. The one I had been stuck with suffered the consequence. You see, it’s risky business moving too freely on a swivel chair that only had two of the three wheels still attached. And I’ve become better acquainted with the ground because of it. “It’s been like a week, I’m fine.” It’s been a slow day. Not many patients. Even less paperwork. I’ve been tasked with refreshing the email folder and forwarding what needed to go where. Printing off the odd set of forms. Directing phone calls. Only, a job seemed to arise once ever half-hour. And it was a war between Tami and I who could lay claim first. She scoots closer, elbows crossed over the front desk. “I’m