‘I have some news,’ I say to Mum on a whim. It feels good because I never have news. Mum’s eyes widen again.
‘I’ve met a boy,’ I say, and finally I get the gasp I’ve been waiting for.
When I arrive home from Sun Meadows, Wally’s kombi van is parked in my parking spot. It looks distinctive among the maroon sedans and white Toyota Corollas, and it adds some character to the place. I reach the sliding back door and pause a moment. I don’t know the proper greeting when arriving at someone’s van, so I knock loudly and wait.
‘Hello,’ Wally says, poking his head out of the driver’s side window. Alfie sits happily on his lap. ‘Did you have a good visit with your Mum?’
‘I did.’ I go around to the passenger door of the van and get in. Alfie immediately leaps across the seat and lays his head on my lap. ‘So, tell me more about your preeesentation. Who did you preeesent to?’
‘A group of investors. They’re the same guys who gave us the money to start up Shout!’
‘What is this idea? Another app?’
He nods. ‘It’s a social prompter called FollowUp.’
I scratch behind Alfie’s ears. ‘What is a social prompter?’
‘Basically, you enter all your invitations and engagements into the app, and it spits out communications that you can send via text, email, WhatsApp or whatever platform you use. For example, if you receive an invitation to lunch that you want to decline, you can click on “lunch” and “regular” or “one-off” and “business” or “pleasure” then press “Go”. And the app will give you an appropriate response. Like . . .’ He fiddles with his phone, then begins to read the screen. ‘No can do, I’m afraid. I don’t do Mondays. Or Ah, would love to, but I’m slammed next weekend. Sounds like it will be a ripper! Or Have a great birthday. Wish I could be there but I’m going underground ’til I get through this busy period at work.’
I look at the responses in wonderment.
‘I still have a lot more coding to do. Eventually we’ll be able to personalise it with the person’s name, the event, follow-up excuses if they change the date, auto-phone calls to give you an excuse to leave midway through an event, and also phrases to use if you are confronted by the person in real time. You’ll be able to give it instructions to accept an invitation now but decline on the day saying you have an illness. It will also remind you what your excuse was for future communications with that person, so you don’t go making any gaffes.’
‘Wow,’ I say. To have these turns of phrase at my fingertips – to not have to ask Rose or agonise over a response for hours – that would indeed be an app I would be willing to pay for. ‘It’s genius.’
‘I think it will have a market. And now that we have investors, I’ve got work to do.’
‘So no more freelancing?’
‘Not for the moment, no.’
I consider this. ‘Is this cause for celebration?’
‘I think it might be.’ A small smile comes to his lips. ‘But how should we celebrate?’
‘Usually I celebrate by reading. But that’s not really very sociable.’
Wally frowns. ‘I often reward myself after a day of work with a few games of Fortnite. But, like reading, it’s kind of a solitary endeavour.’
We drift into silence as I ponder alternatives for celebration. After a short time, I notice Wally is staring at me. Right at me.
‘Staring competition?’ I ask eagerly.
‘Actually, I was wondering if I could kiss you.’
I giggle. Again. This time I can’t even blame the orgasm.
That night, as we make love, I don’t think about getting pregnant at all. Not once.
I see him, under the surface of the water. His hair fans around him like a halo. He’s struggling. I hold tighter. Just a little bit longer, I think. It’s almost over.
When I do let go, he is slow to rise to the surface. He’s bloated and unnaturally white. Limp. His eyes and mouth are open.
I jolt awake.
‘Fern. Fern! Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.’
I’m in my room. It’s quiet, as usual, but something is different.
Wally shakes me. ‘Fern?’
‘I’m awake,’ I say.
‘Are you all right?’
Wally hovers over me. It’s hard to make out his features in the dark room. I nod.
‘Are you sure? It sounded like you were having a nightmare.’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Just I have them sometimes.’
After a moment, Wally lies back down. He scooches up close behind me so we are a pair of crescent moons. He throws an arm over me. The weight and warmth of it is a surprising comfort. I focus on enjoying it, while I steady my breath.
On this night, sleep comes surprisingly fast.
In the morning, when I open my eyes, I am looking at Wally. His eyes are closed and his long, black eyelashes lightly touch his cheeks. My eyes drift down to his shoulders, his chest. He has a hairy chest, with a freckle just above his left nipple. His body is definitely on the slender slide, particularly his legs which are dangerously close to skinny. But his arms and chest are shapely and muscular, and I admire them curiously.
Until I lurch upright. ‘Shoot!’
Wally jolts awake. ‘What?’ He scrambles around the bed, looking for his glasses. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I slept in!’
He pushes his glasses onto his nose. ‘What time is it?’
‘7.07 am,’ I say, scrambling out of bed. I haven’t slept in for years. My body is my alarm clock and it wakes me every morning without fail between 6.10 am and 6.30 am. Without fail until now. The fact that my body has failed me is unsettling enough, without the other unsettling things I’m starting to register. Like the fact that
