CHAPTER 52
That was as far as we took things, each for our own reasons. I knew my own, at least, but could only guess at hers. I dressed in ‘business casual’, as Maz did much the same in clothes produced from her bag, and for too many reasons we faced away from each other as we covered ourselves for the day. I still took her hand as we went into the kitchen for breakfast.

Geeta had done a more than adequate spread, and once it was served, she simply smiled at us while holding her car keys.

“You two have an awful lot to sort, and I have an awful lot of grocery shopping to do. Talk, both of you. Talk to each other, bloody well listen as well, and I shall see who is still here later”

She turned sharply, and the door was shutting before either of us could find a reply. I looked at the loaded table, raised an enquiring eyebrow to Maz, and, on receiving a nod, sat down to dig in. It was a while before either of us spoke, and it was Maz who broke the silence.

“I need to set a few things straight, Mike”

“We did a lot of that last night, Maz”

“We did indeed. Thank you, but I need to clear a few more road blocks. I…”

She looked out of the window for well over a minute, and I left her to her thoughts until she turned back to me with a tight smile in place.

“Alan was my first, Mike, my first of so many things, not just lover. I had preconceptions, I had fears, I had my family, as I imagined it, delivering scathing comment every step of the way. And, despite all of that, we wed, and I had more nerves about… about the physical side than I could handle, but, well, he was just Alan, and he took me from fear to…”

Another twist of her mouth.

“It went from something terrifying to something wonderful, and then to far more than that, which was as important as breathing, as the air itself. Alan… Alan was my life, and I am so, so sorry that I lay that on you. When…”

Another long pause, then yet another twist to her mouth.

“Kul wouldn’t shut up about you, and it all sounded so good, so perfect, and I was a little girl once again, whose Prince Charming was actually going to arrive at Perth, and I built such a dream palace in anticipation, and then you were here”

She held up a pre-emptive hand.

“Don’t even think of saying any crap about how bad you are. This is my confession, not yours”

I simply nodded, biting my tongue as she continued.

“That was the start of my fall, Mike. Dreams don’t usually survive contact with reality, after all, and my illusions shattered. Normally, when you drop something, and it shatters, it’s dustpan and brush time, and the bin, and you, you were so broken. Confused the hell out of me, but there were echoes there, what Kul had told us all. Then there we are at the quarry, and you just lit up, and I was dazzled once more, and I am now about to get really, really bad at metaphors”

“Get as bad as you want, Maz”

“I did that at the weekend---er, possibly not the right thing to say just now. No. I was going to say something about gluing a favourite ornament or something back together, still seeing it was broken, while remembering why you wanted it, and loads more, and what I mean is you can’t stop seeing the cracks”

She took another sip of tea.

“That’s you, Mike. A mass, a maze, of cracks, but I think I can still see the real you, and…. And I do believe I like what I can see. Not a dream, Mike, not that oaf on the white horse, because if he was real, he’d be bloody insufferable”

“Up his own arse?”

“All the way to his gall bladder, yes”

“Pyloric sphincter, or have we taken this metaphor too far?”

“I do suspect we have, Mister Rhodes. But I hope we have managed to gain some understanding. I know I have, after last night. That metaphor… Mike, please understand I can never fill your cracks, but you fill mine---what?”

Another long sigh.

“I don’t do that deliberately, Mike”

I reached for her hand, and she let me take it, lacing her fingers into mine.

“I know you don’t, Maz, but it’s still oddly charming. I mean, not odd, but, well”

I took a deep breath of my own.

“How do you want to play things? We’ve already jumped straight to, well, pretty far”

She looked up at me from under her brows.

“I thought a lot along those lines last night, Mike. I am, well, Mum spends a lot of time in my thoughts telling me how bad a girl I am, how much shame I bring, dishonour on the family, all of that. The salient point is that she doesn’t appear when I am with you. There’s more”

“More?”

“Mike, I dream of Alan, and I think I always will, and he came to me last night, and all he said was something about wishing he could take you for a pint”

Something must have shown in my face, because she was shaking her head.

“No, Mike! I don’t believe his ghost appeared to deliver a message. I simply had a thought about what he would, how we would, feel? And… and one thing I do know, know beyond ant possible doubt, is that he loved me as much as I loved him. Can I… I know it’s not considered good form to talk about your ex to… Shit. Whatever we are. Can I assume that you and her were the same?”

I could only nod, as the words would have hurt too much. Maz smiled back.

“I was right, then. We have both had incredibly good luck, then, and now”

She paused for a second, shaking her head.

“All I mean is that each of us met that person that made us realise, let is see that we were worth something. We’re privileged, Mike, and I need to say something here. This is sort of a prepared speech, for I went through all this before I got in my bloody car. Helps a lot, though, that we talked about Alys”

“Why Alys?”

“Your decisions about her, Mike. Let me see who… You know a person best by knowing what they see as important, what they prioritise. Enough said. I have realised I don’t know you, even though I sort of pretended I did. Now, I want to know you, and no shagging jokes there. I just feel, well, Kul was speaking the truth, and if you can handle my Mum serving awkward balls, then…”

“Maz?”

“Yes?”

“Yes. Just yes, okay? How much thinking have you been doing? I mean, all of that is so coherent”

I got a filtered smile, but one that seemed genuine.

“How much: All the time since I hurried out from work”

“Thank you. How do we handle this, Maz?”

She shook her head, turning her attention to her food, then spoke while seeming to avoid my gaze.

“I have some ideas, Mike, and I am afraid they bend to what Mum thinks”

“Go on”

“We get to know each other before… before more intimacy”

“And?”

She grimaced, shaking her head.

“The sex is wonderful, Mike, but Mum sits on my shoulder, and then it’s…”

A long breath, yet again.

“I have realised that I need you. Need you in whichever bed we use, so that I can fall asleep with you, then wake with you. Am I sounding too prepared in my speech?”

“Eloquent, Maz”

“Well, I spent hours without sleep trying to prepare my words, so, well, that was what I came up with. Sorry. I just have a few hard limits”

“Sorry, yet again?”

She looked down, then back at me.

“I want to share everything. Mornings and evenings; music and favourite films; books and places”

“Those don’t exactly sound like limits, Maz”

“The limits are in the categories, Mike. Films, for example. Nothing macho”

“Music?”

“No rap. Music should be musical, not simply shouting. And I really, really hate Country and Western”

“Absolutely? All of it? I could surprise you”

“It… it would be something you could try, but it probably wouldn’t work. What is your music, Mike, given a choice?”

I picked at the remains of my breakfast for a few seconds, memories biting hard at my soul.

“My wife… Carolyn and me, we were regulars at a folk club. We even had a sort of club event for our wedding reception. They… Sorry”

She rose from the table, returning with some kitchen tissue for my tears. Deep Breath, deep dive, Rhodes.

“We basically met through the climbing club, like Keith and Pen, and just like them, we were also members of the folk club. Caro is… Her grave is in a place near the climbing wall we used, and each time I have been to visit, since the move to Sheffield, I have found it neat and tidy, with notes left by both clubs. She was a very popular woman, Maz”

“I think that must have extended to you, Mike”

“Whatever… Music… would you mind if U put some on, just to show you what I mean?”

“That would be good, Mike”

I dithered over the stereo, where a respectable share of my luggage allowance was racked. Sod it: ‘Bright Lights’ would be too dark, ‘Trawler’ too shouty; Eric Bogle would do. I spoke over my shoulder.

“I have a lot of instrumental stuff, and a lot of traditional singing, but this man is sort of local. I mean, he is from Scotland, but emigrated to Australia. One of his songs is a real Aussie classic now, but I’ll save that one. His strength is in his words, and I know you love language, so I’ll start with this one”

I set ‘A Reason For It All’ playing, and as I settled back next to Maz, she passed me a fresh cup of tea before taking my hand, and three minutes later it was me passing her the tissues”

“Mike, oh. I recognised the voice. ‘Waltzing Matilda’?”

“Yes, if you mean ‘And The Band Played…’, Maz. He says that song was based on a real incident”

“You’ve met him?”

“Once, at a festival. Lovely man, incredibly ordinary, down to Earth. I can’t do what he does--- I’m a singer, Maz, but if I tried some of his stuff, I’d just choke up. I have no idea how he manages it”

I went back to the stereo, and swapped the disc for some Capercaillie, took my seat again, and found Maz nodding along.

“She has a beautiful voice, and the instruments--- so complex!”

She grinned at me, which was a delight.

“I do think you have made a very good start, Mr Rhodes, so I will admit a great interest in French music and film. Well, when I say ‘French’, my favourite is actually Belgian. Jacques Brel”

“Heard the name”

“You’ll know some of the songs, probably from covers. I’ll bring some over when…”

She closed her mouth abruptly, then turned a far more serious face to mine.

“Mike, I have a request, but not for now. I… Tonight will be best. Now, work. Will you be happy playing second fiddle to me today?”

I couldn’t help wondering what thought had turned her manner so serious, but my smile was still available for her.

“You’ve got the car, Ms Rahman. I have no choice”

“Right. Then we should get moving, and later you can have a trawl of the internet whatever you call a venue for your music. I just happen to have remembered which disc is sitting in my car’s CD player, so have your listening ears ready”

“There are other kinds? I mean, apart from people who are deaf?”

“There is a major difference between hearing and listening, Mike. Teeth and titfer, and we are off”

She took her holdall with us to the car, but it was only as she dropped it into the boot that I realised it was empty. The contents were obviously still in my bedroom; I stayed silent. Into the car, she started the engine, and then set the disc playing, and she had been absolutely right about recognising the songs. I couldn’t get the words, of course, but the sense of them came from my memories of the English versions. When one started, I found myself laughing.

“Alex bloody Harvey”

“Who?”

“Scots rocker, died ages ago. Very odd mix of styles, but…”

I reached out to pause the disc, and started my best take on SAHB.

“N-E-X-T NEXT! Naked as sin, an army towel covering my belly…”

She laughed out loud.

“That’s the one, but I think Brel’s version is a bit more suave”

“Oh, suave was never really a word associated with Alex. I will play you some… oh, and the Butts are also into the folk music, as well as Alys and Enfys”

“Really? At their age?”

“Indeed. They sit and listen as intently as, well, sometimes more so than some of the adults at their local club. Your words about listening and hearing would work well there.”

We carried on in that vein for the rest of the drive. Safe, neutral conversation, as were our grease and oil customers, Maz having quietly warned me that none of them was somewhere she liked to eat, unlike the sausage maestro she had raved about. We took some cups of tea, though, and once the last café was done and dusted, she drove me out to King’s Park, where she treated me to the park café’s take on fried rice.

“Nasi goreng, Mike. Not quite how I would make it, but it’s a Malay dish”

Various birds hopped in and out around us, and Maz kept the conversation safe by naming them all: “Australian raven, western ringneck, red wattlebird, New Holland honeyeater, galah, silvereye…”

I rang Geeta and let her know we were already eating.

“That place closes at five, Mike. We’re just having a mixed salad tonight, but I’ve got loads of sandwich stuff from that grocery run. Will it be two of you tonight?”

Maz went, “Ooh! Corella!”, and her hand squeezed my thigh. I gave Geeta the simplest of answers.

“Yes”