Chapter 15 #2
Unfortunately, it’s too tall for Effie to see anything. Anders gives a quick excuse and returns with a dining chair. He helps Effie scramble up. The look on her face is awestruck. All I see is a brownish, ugly lizard, but Effie whispers, “She’s beautiful.”
She twists her head up to look directly at Anders. “How old is she?”
“Quite old now. She’s eight.”
“That is old.”
Wait till she learns Anders is thirty-five.
I look about the room. There’s not much in here to interest me: some textbooks in a bookcase, a bank of computers in a rack, a couple of posters for Cerium games.
As Effie and Anders continue to talk herpetology, I wander over to the window.
Like the open-plan kitchen-lounge, it faces the river.
Outside, the sun sparkles on the water. A barge swishes by, scattering droplets of reflected light.
In the distance, traffic crawls across a bridge like a myriad of millipedes.
Idly, I watch the world go by while my daughter blossoms at having someone else who will listen to her enthusiasm, someone who appreciates this is her love language – the sharing of her greatest joy.
Minutes pass and I zone out. Then I feel a tap on my arm. Anders is standing beside me, the head of his lizard cradled in the palm of his large hand, her body and tail curled around his brawny forearm. Lucky lizard.
“Effie is going to feed her,” he says. “I thought it best to do it in the living room. There’s more space.”
Effie's big blue eyes are shining. She's brimming with barely suppressed joy.
While Anders carries his pet, Effie clutches a small plastic box.
With one hand at her back, I guide her into the lounge.
At the far end, an L-shaped sofa sits around a gaudy rug, facing large patio doors that lead out onto a balcony.
The doors are cracked a little to let in air.
Anders slides them shut before crossing his legs and smoothly descending to the floor.
Effie follows suit less elegantly and plumps down on the edge of the rug.
With his free hand, palm out, Anders gestures an invitation for me to sit as well.
When I perch on the sofa, he shakes his head and points to the floor. I slide down, smoothing my dress out under me until I am sitting with my back to the sofa and my legs stretched out in front.
“Now?” Effie whispers.
Anders lowers his hand. Smauglette lifts her scaly leg and climbs off. She holds a pose. Effie is struggling with the lid of her plastic box. Anders takes it, loosens the lid, and hands it back to her.
She's beaming as she lifts the top to reveal — a cockroach. I slide back hard against the sofa, full of horror and disgust. But both of them are ignoring me. With their eyes fixed firmly on the lizard, Effie tips the box over, halfway between me and Smauglette.
Suddenly finding itself out in the open, the roach takes off, heading for the nearest piece of shadowy safety: the drape of my skirt.
Attracted by the movement, Smauglette goes from languid to light-speed in a fraction of a second.
My scream is only just reaching the correct pitch when both the roach and the lizard disappear under my dress.
I yank my skirt up to see what is happening.
I don't care that I only shaved my legs to the knee or that Anders can see my ragged bikini line; I am terrified the roach will seek further safety in my knickers.
I feel a million tiny pinpricks as spiky lizard claws clamber over my thigh. There's no sign of the roach.
I brace myself to spring up, but before I can move, Anders's voice commands: “Hold.” Such is his tone that despite my terror I freeze, although I continue to shriek. “Get it off me!”
Then Anders's warm hand is sliding down my thigh. It’s strangely calming.
“She’s far more delicate than she looks,” he murmurs and I’m not sure if he’s referring to the lizard or me.
With one swift motion, the bearded dragon is back on his forearm, and my cry has changed to: “Where is it? Where has it gone?” I'm still thrashing about when Effie pats my leg. She is choking back laughter.
“It's okay, Mummy. It's in her.” She points to the lizard, now looking smug on her muscular perch.
“She needs to rest now,” Anders says. “It helps her to digest.” His eyes find mine. “There's nothing to worry about.” He tries to reassure me. “We'll put her back now.”
He and Effie leave the room. As soon as they're gone, I haul my skirt to my waist and peel down my panties. Smoothing my hands over my buttocks, I check for any sign of the bug.
I've only just finished a minute inspection of my nether regions when I hear a throat being cleared behind me. I whirl around, dropping the folds of my dress down to cover the knickers around my knees. Anders is standing in the doorway, his lips twitching, his dimple carved into one cheek.
“That was horrible!” I cry with as much dignity as I can manage.
“But funny,” he insists, with a half nod.
“We will not ever speak about this.”
He puts his finger and thumb together and draws them across his smirking mouth, zipping it.
But he ruins it all by tapping his temple with a lewd wink.
The thought of Anders storing the image of me bare-arsed and bent over sends a jolt of liquid heat through me, which is somewhat problematic, because my knickers aren't where they're supposed to be.
Internally I debate having the chutzpah to pull them up in front of him but opt for cowardice instead.
I shuffle past him and head for his bathroom.
But when I open the door, I come face-to-face with a hooded assassin, blade about to be unsheathed.
Sometimes I wonder about Anders’s sanity.
Locking the door under the piercing gaze of the resin figure, I strip and do one last thorough top to toe check for errant roaches.
Only when I’m absolutely certain of the absence of any bugs do I pull up my knickers.
I flush the toilet for misdirection, wash my hands thoroughly and exit.
When I rejoin our host, I find him sitting across the table from Effie while she munches on a stick of shortbread.
Although she's not making much progress because she's far more interested in quizzing Anders than she is in eating.
To my surprise, Anders shows not a trace of boredom on the subject, but the same excitement.
He is plainly happy to talk to Effie about Smauglette and reptiles in general. And I am happy to let him.
Wordlessly, Anders slides a coffee toward me.
He knows how I take it, as he's made me coffee before. With a deep breath, I sip it, surreptitiously checking the time. My frayed nerves can’t take much more of this visit and I’m hoping it’s been long enough I can legitimately end it.
Although I do feel bad because my daughter is clearly enjoying herself.
I perk up when I hear him mention the Natural History Museum and Effie shakes her head.
“You haven’t been?” Anders asks, a glance in my direction. “You’d love it.”
I’d suggested it as a venue to Mike last winter. I was none too keen because I find it creepy: taxidermied animals, desiccated bones and body parts in jars. What’s not to dislike? Mike had said he’d take her but six months on and it’s not happened.
“Her father was going to but …” I trail off. Anders knows enough about Mike, but Effie still lives in hope.
“I don’t want to upset your ex, but would it be okay if I took her?” he asks. “At her age, my parents took me to the Field Museum in Chicago. I still remember it.”
I shake my head gently. “You can’t take Effie to a museum.
You’re too busy.” Because I know how this will end.
Effie will bank on it and be destroyed when it doesn’t happen.
I’m surprised this visit actually took place.
But there is a big difference between our brief interruption of his work and the loss of an entire afternoon.
“Yes, he can,” Effie contradicts me. She’s bolt upright, leaning forward, radiating excitement.
“I’ll make time,” he says firmly.
Both of them turn to look at me. And I can’t bear to disappoint my daughter. Despite my reservations, I relent. “Okay.”
Anders offers his hand to Effie and I’m shocked when she takes it. He shakes it up and down and then drops it. “It’s a date.”
Then he turns to look directly at me. “As long as you promise to keep your butt in your panties, I might let you come too.”
Ha bloody ha.