Henry smiled. “Burning. You?”
“I smell like hospital.”
“Good old Mrs. Chilman. That was pretty hurtful, that stuff she put on, wasn’t it?”
Clay felt a hot streak on the side of his face. “Still better than metho spirits
,” he said, “or Matthew’s Listerine.”
* * *
—
Earlier, a fair few things had happened:
The lounge room was cleaned up.
We convinced both the fish and bird to stay.
The story of Henry’s exploits came out in the kitchen, and Mrs. Chilman dropped in from next door. She’d come to patch up Clay, but Henry needed it more.
* * *
—
First to the kitchen, though, and before anything else, Henry had to explain himself, and this time he mentioned more than said it; he talked about Schwartz and Starkey, and the girl, and he was a lot less jovial now, and so was I. Actually, I was ready to throw the kettle, or smack him in the head with the toaster.
“You did what?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “I thought you were one of the smarter ones here—this I’d expect from Rory.”
“Hey!”
“Yeah,” agreed Henry, “show a bit of respect—”
“I wouldn’t start any shit like that right now if I were you.” I had my eye on the frying pan, too, lounging around on the stove. It wouldn’t be hard giving it something to do. “What the hell happened, anyway? Did they beat you up, or run you over with a truck?”
Henry touched a cut, almost fondly. “Okay, look—Schwartz and Starkey are good guys. I asked them, we got drinking, and then”—he took a breath—“neither of them would do it, so I sort of started in on the girl.” He looked at Clay and Rory. “You know—the one with the lips.”
You mean the bra strap, thought Clay.
“You mean the tits,” said Rory.
“That’s her.” Henry nodded happily.
“And?” I asked. “What did you do?”
Rory again. “She’s got tits like bread rolls, that chick.”
Henry: “You think? Bread rolls? I’ve never heard such a thing.”
“Are you two quite bloody finished?”
Henry ignored me completely. “Better than pizzas,” he said. It was a private conversation between him and Rory, for Christ’s sake. “Or doughnuts.”
Rory laughed, then serious. “Hamburgers.”
“You want fries with that?”
“And a Coke.” Rory giggled; he giggled.