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“Keelhaul scurvy dog lazy jack landlubber.”
Will’s bark of hilarity was so sudden he startled a flock of galahs into flight. Pete was gasping with mirth in his ear. He and Pete were going to be okay. He watched the galahs settle in a treetop, adding their pink and grey to the green, breathed the bush fragrance and laughed at Pete laughing.
If he could make peace with the creek, if he could remember how to laugh, he might make it out of Tara. Make it out of hell. Again.
44. Favours
“If a man takes no thought about what is distant, he will find sorrow near at hand.” — Confucius
Will pulled a face; self-conscious, bashful. “Quit looking at me like that.”
Darcy still wasn’t used to being with him, being able to watch him. He looked the same and yet different. He was leaning into the fridge, shirtless, wearing only a frayed, torn pair of jeans with the top button missing. For a wealthy man he had an extraordinary collection of ragbag clothes. They suited him as much as his immaculate business attire did.
She couldn’t stop herself gawking at him. Even after the best part of a day making love, sleeping, waking and doing it all over again, being with him was part novelty, part new habit, all thrill. A re-run of Shangri-La but with added bad-ass attitude and unexpected casual domesticity.
“They put you back together looking very sexy, but left you hopeless in the kitchen.”
He looked affronted. “I can reheat.”
“And if Bo hadn’t left you a fridge full of almost ready meals, what would you have done?”
“Eggs.”
“How long is Bo away?”
“Beans.”
“Thank God for Bo.”
Will laughed. “Echo that. You know it’s not like reading. I didn’t lose my gourmet skills. I never had any.”
“What do you mean not like reading?”
He ducked back inside the fridge, his strained, “I said that did I?” was addressed to Bo’s meticulously well ordered Tupperware.
Darcy wore an old flannelette check shirt of Will’s, the sleeves cut out, long on her, and nothing else. She sat on the dining table swinging her legs while he pretended to organise food. She could rescue him, but then she wouldn’t be able to watch him, and she wasn’t that hungry.
He abandoned the fridge, and came and stood between her knees. His hair was all rumpled, and he smelled of sex and coffee. He was going to try to seduce her again, and she was so going to let him, but he had to talk first. She dodged a kiss, turning her head at the last minute so he caught her ear.
He growled mock annoyance, and sat on one of the dining chairs. “I got my language back, but I can’t read.”
“Can’t or need to learn again?”
“Both maybe. I don’t know.”
“Keep talking.”
“That’s it.”
“That’s so not it.”
He folded his arms, his biceps bunching. “Are you being my friend, my lover or a journalist with her own current affairs show?”
Darcy sighed. It was a fair question, but she wished it didn’t need to be asked. “I’ll take boxes A, B, and C.”
Will dropped his head. “Sorry, but I like talking about this shit about as much as I like cooking.”
“What happens when you try to read?”
