‘Where’s your telly?’
Yeah, because that’s what’s missing here. A TV and another twenty-three backsides to fill the seats.
‘There’s one upstairs in the snug, three in the basement gym and a cinema downstairs in the—’
‘How big is it?’
‘The cinema or gym?’
‘Pfft. I don’t know anyone calledJim,’ she says disdainfully. ‘And if I did, I wouldn’t speak to the fecker. Don’t be an eejit. How many does it seat?’
‘You aren’t meant to sit in it, you’re meant to exercise.’
‘Sure, like your arse has seen the right side of a sit-up bench.’
It’s definitely going to see the wrong side of it, according to last night’s phone call with Kai. He’s begun making a list of all the places we’re going to root like bunnies when he gets back.That’s Australian for screw, don’t you know.Apparently, he has several gym scenarios, and I’m so freakin’ excited at the prospect, but I don’t overshare.
‘No need to get flushed, chick. I’m no fan of the places meself. No, the movies,’ she asserts.’
‘It’s not the Cineplex!’
‘Savage,’ she says, her eyes gleaming. ‘I’m thinking the Oscars, the Aria’s.’ Her eyes glaze, one hand painting an invisible rainbow in the air. ‘The Eurovision-feckin’-Song contest.’
‘Calm your farm. I might go for an Origin night.’
‘Rugby?’ she says, coming back to the earth with a bump.
‘The State of Origin isn’t just a footy game, Niamh.’
‘It’s notfooty, either. You don’t kick ’em and your balls are the wrong shape.’
‘’Scuse me, and I suppose Gaelic football’s the shit, is it? Men with their balls in their hands?’
‘Bite the back of mine, would ya? You’ve got your own pictures, and I’m havin’ some of that!’
‘You mean Kai has. He’s also got a cellar, so next time, leave the wine for when I visit you.’
‘I’m gutted, so I am. The man should have brothers, for feck’s sakes! It’s so unfair,’ she complains. ‘Anyway, cinema, cellarandcontents are yours, too, you know. He endowed you with his worldly goods, along withendowingyou with the rest!’ Her shoulders move with her bawdy laugh. ‘You know what they say. What’s his is now yours, and what’s yours is still your own.’
‘Doubt he wants any of my stuff.’ Endowing him with all my worldly goods, I’d be sharing my butter-box of a car, my Uggs, my two-year old iPhone, and my questionable literature collection.
‘Where did you say the incompetent scrotal component has gone?’
‘South America somewhere. To start with, anyway.’ I make a vague gesture with my hand. ‘Africa, then Europe, I think. I would’ve gone with him, if I could.’ But for my visa issues. All those places I’ve never seen. I could’ve wandered around and done the tourist thing while Kai worked. Then, in the evenings, we might’ve rooted like bunnies, maybe even made a comparison chart; sex in tropical heat, desert climes, and European winters. It’s bloody unfair. ‘And just for the record, his scrotal components are more than fine.’
‘I just bet they are.’
In the kitchen now, she twists the cap from the wine as she glances at the gleaming granite surfaces and untouched stove.
‘Does anyone ever cook in this gaff? Glasses?’
I pull a couple from a cupboard. ‘It’s supposed to be the family kitchen. So far, it’s just for show.’ I gesture to the door. ‘Out there there’s another kitchen. A commercial one.’
‘Two kitchens?’
Setting two glasses down, I answer with an apathetic shrug, my gaze sliding back to the door again. That kitchen is Martha’s domain, though Kai says when we’re settled, we’ll get a chef. Seeing as how I live on cheese on toast and take-out while he’s away, and we’ll mostly eat out when he’s home, I don’t see the need.
Niamh fills our glasses, raising hers to her nose and inhaling deeply. ‘Beautiful bouquet. Just asousantof blackberries.’ She sips, looking thoughtful as she rolls the liquid over her tongue. ‘Notes of possible bad decisions. A hint of regret and... if I’m not mistaken, a tiny taste of memory loss.’
