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Authors: Donna Malane
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— not in a designer way, more in a ‘I’ve just been attacked’ kind of way — one eyelid red and swelling. That would be the eye-gouging. Four distinct finger marks bloomed on his neck; they would go through the full autumn colour range over the next week. Eye-gouging and cheek-raking were techniques I learnt in women’s self-defence classes years earlier. They served the dual purpose of effectively fighting off an intruder and leaving visible wounds to help with identification later. I’d send the self-defence girls an email inthe morning. Tell them how well it worked out. But this was no normal intruder. If there is such a thing.
‘I’m going downstairs to the kitchen now,’ he said, loud and slow, like he was talking to a dangerous inmate. ‘I’m going to put some ice on this so I won’t have to explain to everyone that a madwoman tried to kill me.’ The self-righteous type. All drama, he backed out of the doorway, his hands up in surrender mode. I needed ice, too, for the carpet burn. Grumpily, I pulled on sweat pants. He was muttering as he went down the stairs. ‘Unless, of course, you’d rather go straight into round two. What’ll it be this time? Knives? Nunchucks? Pistols at dawn?’
Ha ha. Funny guy. A bra seemed unnecessarily prudish given the naked tussle we’d just engaged in. I yanked a T-shirt over my head.
‘Come on down,’ he called. I heard the clatter of ice being dropped into glasses. ‘Maybe we can try “Pleased to meet you” as an alternative introductory technique this time.’
I didn’t need introductions. I’d already figured out who he was: the good-looker from the photo in the spare bedroom, Karen’s stepbrother.
I probably hadn’t made that great a first impression.
Chapter 9
F RIDAY 23 N OVEMBER 2012
A ccording to Ned, he had used the spare room on a regular basis when Norma was alive and since her death he’d continued to stay there roughly one week out of every four or five. They were his clothes in the wardrobe. Karen, apparently, was happy with the arrangement. He had his own key, which was waggled in front of me as proof. In the excitement of learning she was going to meet her daughter, Karen had obviously forgotten to tell Ned and me about each other. He claimed to have been as surprised to discover me in the house as I clearly was to discover him. Though we had each, he repeated several times with increased emphasis, reacted rather differently to the situation. He had tried to wake me to introduce himself, whereas I had flown at him like a freakin’she-devil. Despite his words, it seemed to me he actually looked quite thrilled each time he said it and I noticed some new little detail was added with each repetition. Finally he settled on the story: I threw myself at him like a freakin’ she-devil and set about ripping him apart with my bare hands. No doubt by the time the story had done the rounds I, the she-devil, would have ripped off each of his limbs and consumed them one by one. Even as a joke, I didn’t want to encourage him by suggesting it. At least he’d had the decency not to refer to the she-devil being stark bloody naked when she attacked him. Not yet, anyway.
Eventually I apologised, begrudgingly. The explanation of my deep-sleep condition fascinated him. Well, he seemed fascinated. But he was an inveterate charmer from way back, this one, with his elaborate storytelling and the attention he paid. With every new story the accent grew stronger. I accused him of turning it on when it suited.
‘Oh, well, everyone loves the Irish, you know.’ He swirled his wine around the glass before knocking it back. ‘Except the Irish,’ he added, with a wink. Normally I hate being winked at, but I laughed.
‘So where are you from then?’ I asked.
‘I was born here, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘And now?’
‘And now I’m based in Perth, but I travel between here and Australia on a fairly regular basis.’ He stopped as if he
‘I’m going downstairs to the kitchen now,’ he said, loud and slow, like he was talking to a dangerous inmate. ‘I’m going to put some ice on this so I won’t have to explain to everyone that a madwoman tried to kill me.’ The self-righteous type. All drama, he backed out of the doorway, his hands up in surrender mode. I needed ice, too, for the carpet burn. Grumpily, I pulled on sweat pants. He was muttering as he went down the stairs. ‘Unless, of course, you’d rather go straight into round two. What’ll it be this time? Knives? Nunchucks? Pistols at dawn?’
Ha ha. Funny guy. A bra seemed unnecessarily prudish given the naked tussle we’d just engaged in. I yanked a T-shirt over my head.
‘Come on down,’ he called. I heard the clatter of ice being dropped into glasses. ‘Maybe we can try “Pleased to meet you” as an alternative introductory technique this time.’
I didn’t need introductions. I’d already figured out who he was: the good-looker from the photo in the spare bedroom, Karen’s stepbrother.
I probably hadn’t made that great a first impression.
Chapter 9
F RIDAY 23 N OVEMBER 2012
A ccording to Ned, he had used the spare room on a regular basis when Norma was alive and since her death he’d continued to stay there roughly one week out of every four or five. They were his clothes in the wardrobe. Karen, apparently, was happy with the arrangement. He had his own key, which was waggled in front of me as proof. In the excitement of learning she was going to meet her daughter, Karen had obviously forgotten to tell Ned and me about each other. He claimed to have been as surprised to discover me in the house as I clearly was to discover him. Though we had each, he repeated several times with increased emphasis, reacted rather differently to the situation. He had tried to wake me to introduce himself, whereas I had flown at him like a freakin’she-devil. Despite his words, it seemed to me he actually looked quite thrilled each time he said it and I noticed some new little detail was added with each repetition. Finally he settled on the story: I threw myself at him like a freakin’ she-devil and set about ripping him apart with my bare hands. No doubt by the time the story had done the rounds I, the she-devil, would have ripped off each of his limbs and consumed them one by one. Even as a joke, I didn’t want to encourage him by suggesting it. At least he’d had the decency not to refer to the she-devil being stark bloody naked when she attacked him. Not yet, anyway.
Eventually I apologised, begrudgingly. The explanation of my deep-sleep condition fascinated him. Well, he seemed fascinated. But he was an inveterate charmer from way back, this one, with his elaborate storytelling and the attention he paid. With every new story the accent grew stronger. I accused him of turning it on when it suited.
‘Oh, well, everyone loves the Irish, you know.’ He swirled his wine around the glass before knocking it back. ‘Except the Irish,’ he added, with a wink. Normally I hate being winked at, but I laughed.
‘So where are you from then?’ I asked.
‘I was born here, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘And now?’
‘And now I’m based in Perth, but I travel between here and Australia on a fairly regular basis.’ He stopped as if he
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