The Slap (17 page)

Hector smiled and shook his head. ‘Sorry. Aish and I prefer seeing films at the cinema.’

‘Fuck that shit, man.’ Van looked outraged. ‘The cinema is dead, brother. What’s your home entertainment system like?’

Hector laughed. ‘It’s called a TV.’

Nadia, one of Sandi’s oldest friends, stopped flicking the sleeves and looked up. ‘Ben and I haven’t been to the pictures in years.’

Van ignored her. ‘What kind of television are we talking about?’

Hector hesitated. ‘Sony. Yeah, I think it’s a Sony.’

‘How old?’

‘Maybe eight years? We got it when Melissa was born.’

‘You’re fucking having me on, man? Get your wife a new television, a flat-screen mother with surround sound.’

Annalise smiled across at Hector. ‘I’m with you, Hector, I prefer going out to the movies as well.’

Van snorted and lit a cigarette. ‘Right, so I pay fucking thirty bucks for me and Jia to see a film, another fucking thirty bucks for popcorn and drinks, and then have some doped-out kid usher me to a seat that some sweaty-arsed motherfucker has been sitting in for hours just so I can watch a movie that I could have downloaded for myself for free.’ Van shook his head in disbelief. ‘I hate the fucking movies.’ He stared at Hector combatitively. ‘Come on, man, there must be something you want.’

‘You got
The West Wing
?’

Harry rose and walked to the bar to refill his glass, ill-humoured. He loved his cousin but, Jesus, Hector and Aish were wankers. The fucking
West Wing
? All they did on that bloody show was talk. Talk talk talk talk. And the women were all butt-ugly. He poured himself a long shot of whisky and stayed standing at the bar. Maybe he should take Sandi to the cinema soon. She liked it, and it had been a while. But he agreed with Van. What for? He looked over proudly to the giant plasma screen on the wall.

‘Which series you want?’

Harry grinned. He could tell Van hated the show as much as he did.

‘Aish and I have seen series one and two. We never got to see the rest. You know how it is with television channels these days. They play them Tuesday one week, Thursday midnight the next. You can’t keep a flow going.’

Then why don’t you invest in cable, you cheap fuck? The whisky felt nice going down. Harry walked back, sat cross-legged on the floor next to his wife and began to pack the bong.

‘Bro, I don’t have any of
The West Wing
with me.’ Van looked around at everyone, winked at Nadia and smirked. ‘I didn’t think anyone would be interested. But I’ll get them all for you next time.’

‘Deal,’ said Hector. ‘Have you got
Six Feet Under
?’

You had to hand it to his cousin, the cocksucker wasn’t intimidated by Van’s obvious contempt for his loser trendoid taste.

‘Wog man, wog man,’ Van sang out to Harry, in a deliberately Ching-chong voice. ‘I think your cousin’s a
pousti-malaka
.’

Harry spluttered into his bong. Hector just smiled. He closed the album in his hands, handed it back to Van and got up from the couch.

‘Sandi, I’m going to take the kids to the beach.’

Van took the bong from Harry. ‘Hey, man, I meant no offence.’

‘No offence taken. You’ll get me
The West Wing
?’

Van inhaled, the bong water spluttered and gurgled, and he exhaled. ‘Sure, man. A deal.’

‘For me too? I’ve always wanted to see it.’

Harry nodded to himself. Annalise definitely wanted to fuck his cousin.

‘You want it too? Sure, darling.’ Van packed the bong and handed it to Annalise. His tone was innocent, charming. ‘You can call Hector, you could get together and discuss which season’s the best.’

Harry burst out laughing and covered it up by pretending it was a cough.

‘Coming with me, Harry?’

He looked up at his cousin. He felt good, stoned and a little pissed, sitting next to his wife, all he felt like was going to sleep soon. He had no energy for the beach. But Hector’s gaze was sharp, pressing. ‘Sure, man.’ Unsteadily, he got to his feet. ‘Let’s go.’

 

‘That guy’s an arsehole.’

Alex had decided to come with them.

‘Van’s alright.’

‘That slope dickhead is a fucking prick. You let him talk to your cousin like that?’

Harry was surprised. It always looked as if Alex and Van got on fine. He waited for Alex to explain further but true to form, his friend went silent. They crossed the road at the lights and walked down the bush path to the beach. The kids ran ahead of them, in their bathers, with towels wrapped around their shoulders. On the sand, the kids impatiently waited for Hector and Harry to rub them down with suntan lotion and then ran screaming into the water. Harry was proud of his son. Rocco dashed down to the water’s edge and ran into the sea; without hesitation he dived under the soft, small waves. Adam, his fat bulk shivering, took ages to muster the courage to dare the water. Even little Melissa was under the water before him. He lit a cigarette and stretched out on the towel. Alex had taken off his shoes and was standing knee-high in the water, watching the kids, or most probably the two blonde women who were swimming bare-breasted in the water near the kids.

‘Sandi wants me to organise it so you and she can meet Rosie and Gary and have a talk.’

He groaned. The lie hadn’t worked after all. Harry sat up and stared out to the sea. Rocco was fearless, he was further out than any other swimmer. Pride and anxiety battled within him. He nearly rose to call out, then he watched as his son dived under the water, and emerged, swimming towards his cousins.

‘When did she ask you?’

‘Just before lunch.’

How dare she?

‘She’s really worried, Harry. But that guy Gary is an arsehole. There’s no way to make him see sense. I don’t think you four getting together is going to do any good.’

It would if it meant I could fucking murder the cunt.

‘What else did she say?’

Hector was looking longingly at the cigarettes lying at the foot of the towel. Harry took a perverse pleasure in lighting another one even though he had just butted one out. The intake of smoke and nicotine calmed him down.

‘Come on,’ he insisted in Greek. ‘What else did she say?’

‘She’s worried about you. She thinks you’re not handling it. She says you’re angry all the time.’

Hector was looking straight ahead, out to the kids, they could hear their laughter.

‘I’m handling it, mate. She’s the one not handling it.’ He butted out the cigarette in the sand; he had only had a few drags. ‘She can’t stop thinking about it.’

‘I understand. Charging you with assault, that’s all bullshit. He can’t live without drama in his life. It’s the way he is.’

‘And she’s innocent?’

Hector hesitated. ‘No one’s innocent in this.’

You fuck.

‘You mean me.’

‘You shouldn’t have slapped him.’

‘Fuck off, Hector. That little bastard deserved it. I was looking after my child. I was protecting him. That’s what fathers do.’

Harry’s fists were clenched. He felt the heat of the sun, the stretch of the sky, they were heavy weights descending onto him. There was a hammer at his chest. He felt his cousin’s hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off.

‘Harry, listen to me. You’re a good man. You don’t deserve this.’

‘But?’

‘But you shouldn’t have hit him.’

He wanted to cry. Take back that moment, fix that moment, change that moment, so that he had never hit that child. That fucking cunt of a child, that fucking animal of a child.
Panagia
, he whispered to his God, I want that child dead. He was back on the sand, the warm sun on the back of his neck. He could hear Rocco’s laugh. Rocco brought him back, as he always did.

‘Okay. Sure. I’ll go and apologise to them. Can you organise it?’

Hector was shaking his head. ‘I know him, mate. It’s not going to do any good.’

‘I’ll give it a go. For Sandi’s sake. But she’s not coming with us—I don’t want her to have anything to do with that
vroma
, that filth. Will you do it?’

Hector slowly nodded.

‘Are you going to tell Aish?’

Hector’s face was grim, determined. ‘Of course I’ll tell her. She’ll find out from Rosie. Don’t worry about Aish.’

Harry looked out to the water where the three children were playing. ‘I’m glad they get on so well.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It’s good for Rocco, he doesn’t have any brothers or sisters. It’s good he has Adam and Lissie.’

‘They’re family,’ Hector answered simply.

Harry laughed and indicated the sea. ‘Don’t they remind you of us when we were kids?’ He reached for his cigarettes. ‘You sure you don’t want one?’

‘Don’t tempt me, you evil bastard.’ Hector turned and faced Harry. ‘You ever going to give up?’

‘When I stop enjoying it. I still love it.’ Harry lit his cigarette. ‘Man,’ he said, putting on a fake gangsta accent. ‘All my money goes on alcohol, nicotine and gasoline.’

‘Yeah,’ replied Hector with a laugh. ‘Who’d have guessed it’s probably the gasoline that will finish us all off.’

Harry groaned. ‘Jesus fucking Christ, cuz, you think too much.’ He placed an arm around his cousin’s shoulder. ‘Don’t think about all that shit, global warming and terrorism and the war and the fucking Arabs and the fucking septics. Fuck them all. Fuck them up the arse.’ Harry nodded out to the dazzling sea, the brazen, endless sky. ‘We got it good. Just think about how fucking good we’ve got it.’

They sat, in silence, watching their children play.

 

It cost him—for he was full of such fury he could gladly have struck at God—but he remained polite, courteous, a classy host, on his return from the beach. He was confident that as far as his cousin, his son, Alex, Van and his wife’s friends were concerned that he appeared to be content; possibly only a little detached from the effects of the mull. He was proud of how he contained his fury, maintained an easy humour throughout the interminable afternoon. He nursed that pride, consciously submerging himself in the role of generous host, so as not to lose it and snap, to lose it and grab his wife and shake the stupid bitch over and over till he could hear her teeth rattle in her head, till he could see her eyes bulge, till he had her crying for forgiveness on her fucking knees. On. Her. Fucking. Knees. He was affectionate saying goodbye to his cousin and the kids, cracking jokes and smiling all through the quick supper that Sandi prepared for Van, Alex and Annalise—would the arseholes never leave? He read Rocco a bedtime story. Van offered Alex a lift, and Harry was glad he had drunk and smoked just a little too much to feel any obligation to drive Annalise home to Frankston. He was smiling as he walked her down the drive to the cab. She kissed him clumsily on the lips and he thought, You are such a slut.

‘Sandi’s so lucky,’ she called out as the cab reversed, screeched out onto Beach Road. Annalise leaned her head out of the window.

‘But you’re the real lucky one,’ she yelled. ‘Don’t you forget it.’ He could hear the rush of waves from the beach and her voice sounded ugly, a squawk, like one of the seagulls. He smiled again, waved a goodbye, nodded in pretend agreement. He watched the cab drive away. He was no longer smiling. He walked slowly back up the drive.

 

Sandi was loading the dishwasher. She was a little bit tipsy herself and swung around eagerly on hearing him behind her. A coffee mug fell onto the floor, jumped and rolled again and again on its side before coming to a stop, unbroken.

‘That was lucky.’ She shrugged good-naturedly and stooped to pick up the mug. He could kick her in the face right now. She stood up, a delirious smirk on her face. ‘That was a fantastic day.’

As she spoke she must have become aware of the danger in his eyes because she took a step back, bumping the back of her knee on the open dishwasher door.

‘Honey, what’s wrong?’

‘How dare you go to Hector behind my back?’ He saw fear spread across her features and a surge of excitement flooded through him. He grabbed her hair and tilted her head towards him. ‘How fucking dare you?’

She went limp. She did not struggle. ‘Harry, I was going to tell you.’

‘You stupid bitch, you don’t talk to anyone about our business. Not to Hector, not to your mother, not to your sisters, not to your girlfriends. Our business is our business and nobody else’s.’ He kept his voice low. He would not awaken his son. He pulled again at his wife’s hair, a thick strand was now curled tight around his fist. ‘Do you want that stuck-up Indian bitch of Hector’s knowing your business? Do you? You don’t think she’ll run straight to that slut friend of hers and tell her everything? What the fuck were you thinking?’ Now he wanted to scream, he wished he could yell, that he could slam his fist into her face. He pulled at the coil of her hair around his fist and brought her face right up next to his.

He could see the terror in her eyes. She was petrified, shivering like a desperate animal, and he realised, looking into her eyes, that he had failed her. She would never be able to forget his violence, never forget the slap. He could hit her now, he could, like his father would have, to see how far he could go, how far she’d let him and how far he’d let himself.

He freed her hair from his hand, pulled her into his arms and hugged her hard, tight through her confusion, her crying, that blessed moment of relief when her tense body collapsed into his and he realised that her fear had gone.

‘I’m sorry,’ she kept repeating. ‘I’m so sorry, Harry.’

‘It’s alright.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘I’ll go and see that bastard, I’ll go with Hector. I’ll go and see him and that bitch of a wife. Fuck! It will cost me, but I’ll apologise to the cunts. I’ll do that, sweetheart, I promise. But you’re not coming with me. You and Rocco are going to have nothing to do with them ever again.’