464

“Ah.”  Keith tensed but he didn’t let go of her hand.  “I knaow I’m a bit of a slut, Ezz.  Oi … Oi’m gay, maostly.  Ya knaow that.”

“Yeah.  I know.  I’m just being silly.”

“Nao, not silly.  But just because Oi pick up a blaoke an’ we do the daid doesn’t mean I love him.  That Oi’m his friend.”

“You love Tom.”

“Yeah.  But Tom took me off the straits.  He saved me. He saved moi loife.  And yeah, we fuck. Nao.  Oi’m wrong.  We make love.  Loik you and Oi do.”

Esmé didn’t speak.

“Moi mum and dad were the one-marriage toipe.  Ya knaow, faithful until daith.  But they didn’t love each other.”

“My parents didn’t either.  I think mum was in love with dad.  But she was so frightened of him.  And he didn’t love her.  He was a narcissist.”

“Your dad was a cunting prick and I hope every minute of his loife is a torment and agony.  But that’s not the point, Ezz.  You can have the form of the ideal, marriage.  But maybai not the reality.  What matters is that ya love each other.”

“And do you?”

“Of course.  I love you and I love Tom.”

“You love Tom more.”

“Daon’t torment yaself, Ezz.”

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463

From this blog

The next evening, when she had to go to work, because she was expected and needed, and because she herself needed the money, she dragged herself into Don Vittorio’s and put on a face.  From time to time, her co-worker and the owner would look at her, quizzically, but neither openly asked her what the problem was. And then, as she’d dreaded, towards the end of the evening Keith came in, a small smile on his lips as he said hullo, his eyes twinkling with affection and friendship.

She couldn’t help herself—she smiled back.  And yet she also wanted to weep.

Keith knew at once something was wrong.

“You OK?”

“Yeah.”  Esmé was ashamed of her feelings. Love?  Foolishness.  Hope was dangerous.  Just accept what was.

 “Yeah, roight.  I knaow somethin’s wrong, Ezzaloona.  Tell mai.”

 Esmé started to cry quietly.

“Oh, Ezz.”  Keith got up from his side of the table and knelt in front of her.  “Is it your dad?” 

Esmé shook her head unable to speak, but it might as well have been.  Because she would never be right, not after what had been done to her.  Holding tightly to Keith’s hands, she said over her sobs, “I saw.  The other night.  You and …him.”

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Episodes 1 to 320 (without pictures, 20 episodes per chapter) 

462

She showered and dressed.  One of her cuts was still bleeding.  Her guilt and self-loathing over her need to hurt herself added to her depression.  And she would have to tell Luke.  Something, anyway.  Because she and Keith ….

She dragged herself to the uni.  Just because her life was in ruins didn’t mean she had to just give up.  But somehow, the magic had gone out of French.  Instead of something precious and enchanted, it seemed tedious and pointless.  Why bother at all?  But she had to.  She had to have a piece of paper which qualified her for a job.  She couldn’t work at a café for the rest of her life.  Could she?  And that made her remember that she would have to go on working at Don Vittorio’s.  She couldn’t just resign.  She needed the money.  She knew Luke would help her out for a week or two.  But until she had found herself a new job somewhere else, she couldn’t just walk out of the job at the café.  And it was a good job too, by the standards of hospitality.  The owner, a woman, paid her better than minimum wage, and when she’d earned the maximum she could each week before CentreLink would start cutting back her welfare payments, she was paid the rest in cash. She was given responsibility, trusted.  She did a good job, she knew that.  Somebody other than her father and mother appreciated her.  She was important to the owner.  And the owner was nice, too.  And she, Esmé,  made good coffee.

Idiot! she abused herself.  Staying in a place just because you make good coffee there!  You can make good coffee anywhere.  Having made the decision she felt better.  She would look online to see if there were any jobs higher up Brunswick Rd.  Close enough to their house. 

The resolution to action cheered her up a little and she was able to pay attention to the lecturer. 

She was unable to face Luke, so went to a different café for lunch.

And, luckily, she didn’t have to work that evening.

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Episodes 1 to 320 (without pictures, 20 episodes per chapter)

Chapters 14 & 15

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461

For the first time since she’d left home, when she woke in the morning, her head and her heart aching, there was dried blood on the sheets.

She lay for a long time staring at the ceiling.  She didn’t want to get up.  She wanted to hide, here, in her room, and never have to see anyone, do anything.  She heard Luke moving about in the kitchen, banging cupboards, the sound of the kettle boiling and then hurried footsteps down the passage, various muttered imprecations and the slam of the front door.  Still she stayed in bed.

The light drifted across the window and her room brightened. 

In the end she knew she had to get up.  Life went on.  Her father’s abuse had taught her that.  Sighing, she climbed out of bed and went through to the kitchen.  She put on the kettle.  Tea would help.  Tea always helped.  Even though her father had been from Yugoslavia and her mother from Italy, she had always found tea made her feel better.  She loved coffee; she made good coffee in the café; she drank too many cups of coffee a day.  But somehow tea calmed her.  The ritual of making it.  The wait while it brewed.  The careful precise mixture of milk and tea and time to make a good cuppa.  Forced patience and focus.  Zen.

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Episodes 1 to 260 (without pictures, 20 episodes per chapter)

Majorca Flats: Chapters 9, 10 & 11

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