22
I ’M in the bathroom inspecting my sunburn when Mum screams. I pull a towel around me and race to the laundry door to see Mum running across the grass, Tommy chasing her with the hose.
‘What is it with this family?’ I yell, and then Tommy turns the hose on me. I clasp the towel tight against me. ‘Dipshit! I’m naked!’
‘Well, that’s just gross.’ He squirts me again.
I scream, my hand shielding my face as Mum sneaks behind him. She pounces. As he falls to the ground she wrestles the hose off him, drowning me in the process. Nonna has come out onto the balcony and sees me in the backyard wearing only a towel. I swear her hackles rise.
‘Catarina!’ she yells in Italian, ‘your ragazzo is here. Get inside and put some clothes on!’
I look at Mum, my eyebrows raised. She lets go of Tommy, squirting his back. ‘He’s downstairs with Dad getting organised for tomorrow,’ she says. ‘Nonna’s right. You’re too old for running around in the nudie.’
‘Why’d you scream like that? I thought you were being attacked!’
‘Why are you still standing here in a towel? Go inside before Nonna collapses from shame.’
I scuttle inside, leaving a trail of wet footprints, and back into the bathroom to grab some moisturiser.
As I bolt between the bathroom and my bedroom, I hear Dad, Matty and Paul on the stairs.
I close my bedroom door behind me and dive for my wardrobe.
I pull on some underwear and the elastic’s abrasive.
I slather myself in moisturiser, my skin drinking it like water .
I don’t even remember the last time I burned like this.
I consider my failure to burn as one of my lifetime achievements and wear it as a badge of honour.
My skin feels too tight for my body, but as I slap the cool cream across my skin, I feel it relaxing into itself, the lobster-vibe decreasing.
I find a black singlet dress in my cupboard.
It’s a little short, covering the bare minimum, which will send Nonna into a tailspin, but it’s the only piece of clothing I have that won’t feel like sandpaper against my skin.
I run a brush through my hair, and it falls down my back in a chocolate river, as Mum used to say when I was little.
The hair against my sunburn feels like razor wire, so I scoop it up into a ponytail high on my head.
Everyone’s out on the balcony and chatter flutters on the air. Mum sees me in the doorway and asks me to grab the steaks Dad has marinating in the fridge. Paul, talking to Nonna, looks up at me and winks.
‘Let’s eat outside tonight,’ says Mum as I carry out the steaks. ‘It’s such a beautiful night. Paul, you’re staying for dinner, aren’t you?’
‘I’d love to. That’s if suicidal fuckwits are welcome?’ He flashes me a cheeky grin and I shake my head, trying not to smile as I wait for the blush to recede from my cheeks.
‘What?’ Dad jerks his head to Paul as he takes the steaks from me.
‘Long story for which our charming daughter is going to apologise,’ Mum says. ‘Oh, you didn’t have to do that!’ she adds as Paul hands her a bottle of wine.
‘I came prepared,’ he says, ‘but do you mind if I impose just a little bit more and use your shower? I haven’t had a chance to go home and change.’
‘Of course,’ says Mum, ‘no imposition at all. Use the kids’ shower. Mick’s just going to run Mum home, and then we’ll eat.’
As Nonna does her farewell tour, kissing us all goodbye, I remember my bathers are in a sandy pile on the floor. God knows what else I’ve left in there.
‘Hang on a minute.’ I push past Paul. ‘I’ll just make sure Tommy hasn’t left it too feral.’
‘Me? I haven’t even been in there,’ says Tommy. ‘It’s school holidays. I’m stinkin’ it up. I haven’t brushed my teeth for days.’ He puffs his chest out as if permanent morning breath is an achievement to be proud of.
In the bathroom, I scoop my bathers into one of the wet towels I left on the floor earlier and toss the bundle into the laundry basket. I slide my toiletries into the top drawer. How much does this guy need to know about me?
‘Is it presentable?’ Paul stands in the doorway, his face bemused. ‘You remember that I live in a mansion, don’t you, with servants and shit?’
‘It’s all yours.’
I go to move past him but he puts his hand on my shoulder. I can’t tell if the heat is from him or from me, but it feels like we could send smoke signals.
‘We good?’
‘You’re good, I’m the absolute opposite.’ I shrug, disappointed when his hand leaves my skin. ‘I’m sorry I yelled at you. You’re not a fuckwit.’
‘Well, that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.’
‘I’m trying to apologise.’
‘Cat, it’s fine. I’m sorry it scared you, but honestly, Matty had a ball out there.’
‘I know, I just get a bit overprotective sometimes. Curse of being a big sister.’
‘He’s lucky he has you looking out for him,’ says Paul. ‘But he’s got me too. He had the full lineup looking out for him. Tommy’s got me too. And so do you, Cat.’
‘I’ve got you?’
‘You’ve got me. Have I got you?’
The doorway feels too small for this conversation. Paul’s eyes never leave mine and the openness in them makes my heart ache.
‘You’re going to have to define ‘got’ for me,’ I say.
‘Got is a little something like not yelling at me.’
‘I make no promises.’
‘I’ll take it.’ He leans down and softly kisses me on the cheek, his lips right near the corner of my mouth.
I could turn my head, just an inch, and they’d be on mine and I flush a red deeper than any sunburn.
I feel his breath hot against me and as he straightens, we lock eyes and it’s like I can’t look away.
‘Now where are the salad servers?’ Mum screeches from the kitchen and Paul almost hits the roof in his rush to move away from me. Smooth, Mum, and immaculate timing as always.
‘I’ll get you a towel,’ I say, opening the linen cupboard beside the bathroom. ‘Do you use two? I use two, one for my hair, but do you need two?’
‘One is fine, thank you.’
‘There’s face washers in the bottom drawer.
’ I point towards the vanity. ‘And there’s soap in that cupboard.
Do you need a toothbrush? We have spares, but they’re just manual.
Mine’s electric. For my braces, you know.
My old braces, obviously. They’re gone now.
’ If only I could wire my mouth shut to end this torrent of verbal embarrassment.
‘Thanks,’ says Paul. ‘All good.’ He stares at me, and I realise he’s waiting for me to leave.
‘Oh, sorry, enjoy. Don’t worry about how long you take, Matty’s a shocker and we have an amazing hot water system. It never runs out. You want the door shut? Of course you do, you’re not a total exhibitionist, or are you?’
‘Thanks. Cat, I think I can handle it from here.’ He pulls the door shut, closing me out.
Ugh, good one, Cat. So sophisticated. I tug at my hair, eyes rolled. Why am I such a complete tool? The door flies open.
‘The towel?’ he says.
Holy crappola, I’m still holding it. I just about throw it at him, then all but run into the kitchen. A task is what I need, a super important task to focus on so I don’t think about the naked beautiful walking surfer god in my shower. My shower. Naked.
‘Cat, can you please get the plates and cutlery while you’re in there?’ Mum calls out.
Bless you, mother of mine, you always come up with the goods when I need you to. I set the table and take out glasses and the water jug, as well as some wine glasses. Mum eyes me off as I place a wine glass at each setting, except for my brothers.
‘Don’t even think about it, Mum,’ I mutter. ‘We’re Italian, remember? It’s not like I’m going to neck the bottle and vomit all over my shoes.’
‘You can have half a glass.’