Marcus thought about it. It was a tidy temporary solution, and certainly easier than trying to find her an affordable place close by. Since he’d moved out of home, he’d missed being close to the beach—and if he wasn’t dancing anymore, he could surf every day, instead of staying out of the waves for fear of getting hurt and missing a whole season.
“I’ll give you my flat, Mum,” he said, and she beamed with satisfaction. “As long as it’s okay with my landlord.” It would be a huge effort to pack up both places and swap their contents. They’d probably have to have a garage sale or donate a bunch of the clutter in the house.
“Of course,” she nodded, dipping her spoon back into her soup like she hadn’t just fixed a problem they’d been trying to solve for months. “I’m sure David will be more than happy to help us with the moves, especially since you’ve saved him from having to give up his cold, grey flat.” She said it like it was a suggestion, with her eyebrows raised and deep creases in her sun-aged forehead, but it was a clear instruction.
When they finished eating, she excused herself for the bathroom. Marcus heard her slowly head up the stairs and breathed a sigh of relief when he remembered she wouldn’t have to contend with them much longer.
He stood and cleared the table—after the soup, Leanne had served a large salad, followed by apple crumble, which had been his dad’s favourite dessert—and Davo ran hot water into the sink to wash up.
“Well, that’s that,” his brother said tersely, staring into the soapy water.
“Yep,” Marcus replied as he took out some plastic containers for leftovers.
“Problem solved. You saved the day.”
“Um, I guess.” Marcus shrugged, picking up the ladle from the soup pot.
“And hey, even if you don’t have a job anymore, you can still dance around on the back verandah like when we were kids.”
Marcus took a deep breath. He tried to focus on spooning the soup into the Tupperware, instead of on the audible eye roll in his brother’s voice, but he couldn’t do it. He’d barely slept in days, his heart was shredded, and despite putting his sheets through the wash twice, he still woke up every morning haunted by the scent of lavender. Marcus whirled to face his brother.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he growled.
Davo looked up from the suds-covered salad bowl. “What do you mean?”
“What the fuck is your problem with me, and with ballet, and with...me?”
“I’m just joking, jeez, calm down.” Davo gave his head a littlecome on, mateshake, then turned back to the sink.
“You’re not joking, so don’t give me that shit,” Marcus pressed, unwilling, or perhaps unable, to let this go. “You’re always doing this, talking about me like I’m silly, talking about ballet like it’s stupid, and I’ve fucking had it.” He tossed the ladle back into the pot with a clatter, orange-yellow droplets spraying onto the counter.
“Oh, you’ve fucking had it, have you?” Davo snapped, turning off the tap to look at him. His pale face, so like their father’s, was blotchy and red, and his chest rose and fell rapidly under his hoodie. “Well, I’m sorry not everyone in this family is as impressed by you as Dad was, okay, but I’m sure you’ll get over it. The rest of us had to.”
Marcus gaped at him. It was the most words he’d heard Davo say about their father in one go since he’d died. Marcus just didn’t understand any of them.
“What are you talking about?”
“The fuck you think I’m talking about? Dad never shut up about you and ballet, did he? Never stopped talking about how greatMarcuswas at this concert, or how wellMarcusdid at that competition. All the fucking time, like he didn’t have a whole other son who was good at school, and good at footy, and really fucking good at building houses. Nothing I ever did was enough to make him notice me or give a shit. It was all Marcus this, Marcus that.” Davo was shouting now, his whole body rigid with rage, and Marcus took a step away and felt his lower back hit the counter.
“Why do you think he was like that?” Marcus shot back. “Because you and Uncle Gaz were so embarrassed having a ballet boy in the family, and he had to make up for it!”
“He didn’t have to ignore me! He didn’t have to miss all my footy games or act like my career didn’t matter. I’m one of the youngest and most successful residential contractors in the entire city, and henever gave a shit because I wasn’t dancing the lead inSwan fucking Lake. He was so bloody proud of you, and I was just...there.” Davo’s voice cracked, and he looked to the floor with a quiet sniff.
“Oh,” Marcus said quietly, realization half dawning. He gave his brother a moment to compose himself, and after a few more sniffs, Davo lifted his head. His eyes were rimmed red, but he looked at Marcus defiantly, as though he was ready for round two.
“I had no idea,” Marcus said. “I guess I never noticed. I was just grateful he was there for me, and it never occurred to me he wasn’t doing the same for you.”
Davo gave a little snort of disbelief.
“It’s true,” Marcus said. “But I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair to you. And I do think he was proud of you. How could he not be?” Davo swallowed hard and nodded. There was a long silence, and Marcus wondered when their mum was coming back. It occurred to him that she might have heard them arguing and was deliberately taking her time upstairs.
“I’m sorry I was such a shit back then,” Davo mumbled, after staring at his shoes for a full minute. “But I was just a kid, I mean ...”
Marcus raised his eyebrows and fixed him with a look.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, full stop. Really.”
“Thank you,” Marcus said. “Did you say any of this to him before he...before he died?”
