‘Good idea.’
And so we lay there, in bed, googling orgasms and clicking on articles. After reading eight or nine articles, we determined that it was very likely that I’d had one, but it would be better to try again so we could be totally sure.
Wally leaves before morning, which makes me like him even more. As much as I’d savoured the night with him, I am keen to keep my morning routine intact. There’s been enough disruption this week, I decide. But as I go through my yoga poses, I find I’m still thinking about him. I imagine telling Rose about my relationship with Wally. Wouldn’t that be something? On television and in books, sisters always talk to each other about these kinds of things, teasing each other about boys, confiding secrets. I imagined Rose gasping and giggling and demanding sordid details. I imagine her helping me get ready for a date and begging for details afterward. It would be something I’d quite enjoy, I decide.
I’d hoped for this sort of reaction when I started dating Albert.
‘I have a boyfriend,’ I’d told her, even though Albert and I hadn’t specifically used the terms ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’. Still, I’d come to recognise our behaviours as typical of those in that kind of relationship, so it seemed a logical conclusion to draw. ‘His name is Albert.’
‘What do you mean . . . you have a boyfriend?’
This should have been my first warning. Unlike the vast majority of the population, Rose didn’t usually ask questions to which she already knew the answer. She knew I didn’t understand it when people did this. But this day, she seemed to have forgotten.
‘I mean . . . I have a boyfriend,’ I replied.
Rose didn’t gasp or giggle, but she did ask dozens of questions about Albert, none of them in the least bit interesting. What was his last name? Where did he live? What was he studying? Her lip curled as she talked, as if a boyfriend was something that personally offended her.
‘When can I meet him?’ had been the last question, something of a surprise given that she’d seemed so disgusted by his existence.
After some prodding, I’d agreed to bring Albert to dinner at her place, where she’d proceeded to ask him all the same questions she’d asked me and more. There was no nudging or winking or giggling. There was nothing fun about it at all. There was nothing fun about it the next day either, when Albert stopped talking to me. So I decide it might be better not to tell Rose about Wally. For now.
*
At 9.15 am, when I’m about to leave for work, Mrs Hazelbury knocks on my door.
‘I’m sorry to bother you so early, Fern, but I wanted to catch you before you went to work. I have a copy of the body corporate documentation here.’ She holds up a stack of papers and places her eyeglasses on her nose. ‘Section 4.2 states that no dogs are permitted in the building, and section 15.6 states, and I quote, “Parking of larger vehicles including trucks, trailers and caravans is strictly not permitted by building by-laws”.’ She removes her glasses and looks at me expectantly. ‘Are you familiar with these by-laws?’
‘I am,’ I say. (In fact, I’d read the body corporate documents very carefully after moving Alfie into my flat, and then done subsequent research on the computers when the library was quiet.) ‘However, by-laws that have a blanket ban on pets have been found to be contrary to section 180 of the Domestic Animals Act, which advises that “a by-law must not be oppressive or unreasonable, having regard to the interest of all owners and occupiers of lots included in the scheme and the use of the common property for the scheme”.’
Mrs Hazelbury blinks. I take her blank expression to mean she needs further explanation.
‘That means that the by-law can say what it wants, but owners corporations do not have the legal power to prohibit pets from private properties.’
Now Mrs Hazelbury understands. I can tell because she becomes red in the face.
‘As for the van,’ I continue, ‘you’ll find it is not a caravan or trailer. It is registered as a standard motor vehicle, and as such does not breach any of the by-laws mentioned. Anyway, I do need to get going now, Mrs Hazelbury, or I’ll be late for work.’
With that, I take Alfie by his lead, walk out and close the door behind us, leaving Mrs Hazelbury standing speechless at my front door.
Everyone is especially kind to me at the library today, and I ascertain it is because of the scene I made at the bowling alley last night. It is also possible it is because there is a dog by my side. With Wally at his meeting today, I had no alternative but to bring Alfie to the library with me. The fact that Carmel is at an inter-library meeting for the morning is a fortuitous twist of fate, and one I take advantage of.
Alfie is a big hit with library staff and borrowers alike. Even the grumpy old folks who’ve been bussed in from the nursing home cheer a little at the sight of him. Linda uses him as a prop during story hour. Gayle goes out to buy dog treats in her break and feeds him so many that he can’t do much more than loll about at my feet while I process returned books into the system. Of course, he chooses the second that Carmel has arrived back from her meeting to poo on the carpet.
‘What on earth is going on here?’ she cries, as I’m on my hands and knees with a spray bottle and paper towel.
I look up. Carmel is wearing those eyeglasses that become sunglasses when you go outside. Except she’s inside and the glasses don’t seem to have realised.
‘Oh, Fern,’ she says, softer
