they couldn't have been more delighted with his decision.
Debbie just wouldn't give up on him. She'd bring Ian into his room at night and they'd play good cop/bad cop; she'd read the Bible with him; she learned about Vietnam, and even tried learning some of the words to encourage him to speak to her. One night, when he'd broken into a face-splitting smile, she'd thought it was working. She was winning him over. Cutter couldn't bear that her efforts would now redouble and he'd have to sit here for hours more, listening to her shit. Instead, he spoke his first full sentence ever to Debbie.
'You know why I smiled, Debbie?' He looked up at her through straight, black eyelashes, shadowing bottomless black eyes.
He really is a striking boy, she thought, reaching out with her foot to touch just the tip of his shoe, the first time she had ever touched him. Finally, she was getting through. All they need is a little love, she told herself.
'Why Henry? Why were you smiling?' She leaned in close.
'Because I can smell your cunt, you slut. You fucked Ian just before you came in here, didn't you?' He spoke quietly, concentrating on every feature as the horror flared her nostrils and dilated her pupils. Before she could physically recoil, he grabbed at her crotch under her pretty, yellow skirt, and managed to push his finger through her panties and hard into her hole.
'Or maybe,' he continued, holding her arm now as she screamed, 'you were waiting for me, with your finger going round and round in there. I've seen the way you look at me.'
He could no longer hold her and she fell off the bed, screaming and screaming, scuttling backwards on the floor. He jumped out the window before Ian could grab him, but not before slowly sucking his finger on the window ledge.
Debbie could tell Ian all about what that gesture meant later, when she was feeling better.
Cutter checked out the basement underneath Karen's huge back patio. He showed his grandmother carefully to a chair by a desk. She'd been wonderful. He knew he would never have got this place in Baulkham Hills if he'd come alone. And he knew his grandmother would always do whatever her number-one grandson asked.
He smiled at the two women, walked to the small window looking out onto the backyard and breathed in the lemony air.
'Perfect,' he said.
22
'YOU WANT SOMETHING to drink?'
Jill looked at Gabriel standing in his kitchen. Yeah, white wine, she thought. Where did that urge come from, she wondered. She hadn't had a drink in ten years. 'Um, some water would be great,' she said.
'Help yourself.' He pointed his chin at the fridge, his hands expertly paring the skin from two fat, brilliant- orange salmon steaks.
She opened the refrigerator and looked around, almost disappointed to find there was no wine in there anyway. A tall bottle of water stood in the door. She pulled it out and put it on the bench, then stuck her head back in the fridge.
'You want me to make a salad or something?' she asked, spying bags of lettuce and carrots.
'If you want,' he said. 'And pass me those beans.'
She grabbed the vegetables and set them next to the water on the bench, then stood for a moment, figuring he'd tell her where things were. When he didn't, she went looking for the glasses, a knife, a salad bowl and chopping board. She also found some warm, ripe tomatoes, a lemon and a Spanish onion in the fruit bowl, and set to tearing lettuce leaves. She stole glances at him as he worked. Without his cap, dark curls fell into his eyes. He kept wiping them away with his wrist, careful not to touch his hair with his fishy hands. She realised she had never seen him clean-shaven. He always had a dark stubble; she noticed for the first time that it was flecked with just one or two greys. His full lips moved unconsciously as he concentrated completely on the food.
She looked away and checked out his apartment instead, stamping firmly down upon the stupid thought that this felt more like a lunch date than a day at work. We gotta eat, she told herself. Might as well be here as anywhere else.
Actually, this is quite nice, if kind of weird, she thought, looking around the apartment. It felt more like a treehouse than a two-bedroom, third-floor unit in Sydney's northwest. A giant eucalyptus tree that danced literally at the edge of the balcony established the effect. Midway up the tree trunk, the view from the unit was of spinning lime-green leaves and gnarled branches, with just a few glimpses of the sky beyond. This apartment building felt as if it had been surgically inserted into one of the rare pockets of original Sydney bushland.
She drizzled olive oil onto the salad, and walked over towards the balcony to take a better look. Sliding open the glass door, she stepped into a greenhouse, took sips of the green, oxygen-soaked air. Had she dared, she could easily have climbed onto the balustrade and down the knobbly trunk of the huge tree. She could see no sign of other humans living anywhere nearby. She imagined strolling as far as she could see along the bush-gully floor, through fallen leaves and stands of stringybark and gum trees. Half-tempted to do just that, she suddenly noticed a smoke- like shape break away from the base of the tree and hurtle up towards her. She almost stepped back in fear until she recognised the lithe movements. She waited to see where the small cat would go. Within half a second, it sat staring at her from the branch closest to the balcony. Entranced, she froze, and they stared at one another until she had to blink.
The cat sprang silently from the branch to the balcony floor and rubbed its chubby grey cheeks around her ankles. She blinked down at it for a few moments more, hoping it would not run away, and then bent carefully to pat it. There was a rumble of purring, and then the little cat lifted high its tail and sauntered into Gabriel's apartment.
Jill followed it in, leaving the doors open. Inside, from this angle, the room was less remarkable. A couple of squashy lounge chairs and a coffee table, a TV, no dining table. The light in the apartment was a cool, flickering green – the effect of the tree outside, breathing through the room.
'Ten,' said Gabriel, matter-of-factly, from the kitchen.
'Pardon?' she said.
'That's Ten,' he pointed at the floor.
She looked down, lost.
'Oh, the cat!' She finally got it. 'Why do you call it Ten?'
'Her. She's a her,' he said, and then, 'Lunch is ready.'
They ate on the lounge chairs with their plates on their laps. Gabriel had coated thick fingers of the salmon in the most translucent tempura Jill had ever eaten. The fish had barely been cooked through, and when her fork caused the soft pieces to flake apart, she copied Gabriel and ate it with her hands. It was deep-fried, and the delicious sin of this made her lick her salty fingers with each bite.
'You ready to look at the tape?' he asked eventually, the first words either of them had spoken since they'd sat down.
'Huh? Oh, yeah.' She stood. 'That was just… great. Thanks.' She took the dishes to the sink, and tried to rise out of the strange mood that had enveloped her since she'd walked in here. She dropped her fork when she identified the feeling.
She was relaxed.
The knowledge made her hands shake.
23
'AW FUCK, MOUSE, now look what you've done!' Simon Esterhase threw his snooker cue into the rack in disgust. 'I sank the black, man. Why don't you stop bitching for a while? It's getting old.'
'Are you fucking serious?' Dang Huynh, known to most people as Mouse, chewed at his thumbnail. The skin
