I could burn it, along with the shoes, or possibly personally toss it onto a landfill site and watch it being covered by banana skins, and said, “Come take a shower.”
They weren’t as awed as I’d been by the bathroom, which surprised me. And then Fruitful started turning on taps and said, “How do you aim them? The low ones are for kids, I guess, but how do you make both of you get wet? Squash up with me, Obedience.”
I looked at the red stripes of bruising on Fruitful’s bum, thought how glad I was that Gray had brought his shovel along, wished he’d been able to use it more, decided to focus on the positive, and told her the awful truth. “They’re all for one person, love.”
The two of them stared at the eight water sources, then looked at me uncomprehendingly. “They can’t be,” Obedience said. “These ones are too low. They must be for kids, even though he doesn’t have any. But you’d build your bathroom ready for kids even if you hadn’t been blessed yet, I guess.”
Fruitful said nothing, and I said, “No. This is what’s called a master bath. Which means for the master bedroom. It’s only meant for two people, or in Gray’s case, one. You don’t always share, Outside. And the low showerheads are to wash the lower parts of you.”
Both girls stared at me, now, as if I’d just casually told them that everybody Outside engaged in orgies whilst sacrificing a goat and summoning the Devil. I said, fighting a desperate desire to giggle, “It feels quite nice, actually,” and Obedience actually backed away from my possibly contaminated presence. I stepped into the multiple sprays for the second time that night and demonstrated. “You can wash and rinse off so easily,” I said, pulling the sprayer wand down. “Extra aim, see?”
Obedience said, “That’s … it’s … it’s sinful. Do they really let you just sin, then? Outside?”
Fruitful said, “Well, yes. Obviously. That’s the whole point, that we get to sin.”
This time, I did laugh. “No,” I said, “it’s not sinning, because pleasure isn’t sin. Come on.” I moved behind them and turned on one more tap, the one to the bath. “I’m going to climb in here, though, now that I’ve washed the mud off.” It was a bit bold, maybe, getting into a man’s bath—all right, a lot bold—but I was willing to bet that Gray never used it.
Just his female guests, the insidious voice at the back of my mind whispered.
I shut that voice out. I was going to take a bath, and I was going to enjoy it. I wasn’t going to believe that my pleasure was a sin. I refused.
13
Water Over Stones
Daisy
When Gray came in the door again, a little after noon, he was … well, gray. That was the only word to describe it.
The dog sensed him first. The ute must’ve still been streets away when she pelted to the front window, let out a couple deep-throated, joyous barks, and started swinging that otter’s tail like mad. By the time Gray came through the door, she was quivering with excitement. He gave her a pat and a word, got his boots off with hands that looked clumsy for the first time since I’d met him, and stood up, bracing himself against the wall as he did it. Not like him at all.
I said, “What is it?”
“Pardon?” He dropped his hand and stood straight. “Girls still asleep, then?”
“Yes. Never mind. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Migraine again, that’s all. Still. Whatever.”
The dog whined softly, and no wonder. I asked, “Did you take another tablet?”
He tried to smile. “What are you, my mum?”
“No. I’m a nurse who knows sickness and pain when she sees it, and I see both.”
“Yes, I took another tablet. Doesn’t seem to be doing the business. Odd.”
He was still just standing there. “Big, tough men,” I told him, “are the worst patients in the world. Come on. Upstairs.”
He blinked at me. He looked like blinking hurt. I said, “Upstairs.”
Gray
The migraine was all but blinding me, and the world was spinning. I stumbled on the stairs, and Daisy took my arm. She was wearing her jeans again. The tight ones. They looked good. I could see enough for that. I said, “Where are … the girls?”
“Asleep. I said that already. Don’t talk.” She opened a door. I wanted to tell her it was my mum’s, but before I could, she said, “I knew she’d have flowered prints,” closed it, opened