The Fall Ch. 01

Dylan laughed. 'Glad to see you draw a line somewhere.'

'Well, we've now established where my line is. Where's yours?'

'You passed it when you were in kindergarten.'

It was her turn to laugh. 'Right. You make it sound like I'm... I'm...'

'Fun?'

'Girls are only fun when they're sleeping with you,' she grinned. She hopped out of the car and shut the door. Held the joint up and said; 'It's not bad. Thanks. I'll see you around, huh?'

~~~~~~~

Suchada gave Lydia a filthy look as the younger woman jogged up to the house.

Lydia smiled at her as sweetly as she could. Stupid old bird. Lydia wasn't interested in interfering with her Uncle's weekly routine of a Thursday night root. In fact, now that she'd had realised there was a pattern to the prostitute's visits, Lydia had switched from morning to nightly jogs on Thursdays.

Suchada walked past her and into a BMW sedan. It had personalised plates and it looked new. Lydia was curious as to whether she'd bought it with her dead husband's money, or with the money she made hoeing. Several clients had been late paying her this month. Her credit card debt was rising. A new career might just be on the cards.

Lydia went inside. Cyril was humming and making himself a cup of coffee. She immediately scrapped the thought of becoming a working girl. No money could compensate for the actual job that had to be done.

'You're getting better with the cattle,' Cyril said. 'I've called Dylan and told him not to bother coming in tomorrow.'

Lydia poured herself a glass of water and downed it. It was still hot outside, and a northerly wind was blowing. Her throat was parched. Her chest ached, but that was more to do with the cigarettes. She ran not to keep herself fit, but to stop herself from descending into a drunken, chain-smoking mess. Running was orderly. It involved commitment.

When her thirst was sated, she asked Cyril how he was going to pay Dylan.

'I've got to go into Toowoomba tomorrow to see the oncologist,' he reminded her. 'I thought we could stop by Oakey on the way back. We can drop in on him at work.'

'Shit, I forgot about the oncologist. I better get some work done. I'm almost done with my article on Asian prostitutes and their role in satisfying lonely farmers.'

'Don't be like that,' he reprimanded her.

Lydia poured another glass of water. 'She gave me a death stare as I came back to the house.'

'She's probably used to daughters and nieces giving her a hard time.'

Lydia shrugged. 'I don't know why she'd assume I'd be the same. You can sleep with who you want. I just think it would be nice if she said 'hello'. In turn, I could say 'hello' back and we could talk about how men seem to get dirtier as they get older. She could let me know what I'm in for in ten years' time.'

Cyril shook his head disapprovingly. 'It might do you some good to put yourself out there and get a man.'

'Oh, I'm waiting and excited,' she teased. 'I've already met Dylan. Who else is on your list?'

'What's wrong with Dylan?'

'Are you kidding? Does he look like my type?'

'What is your type then, eh? Hair like a parrot, scribbled all over with tattoos, and pickled in alcohol?'

'Don't forget the cigarettes,' she corrected.

'You're going to knock him back because he's a non-smoker?'

'No, I've knocked him back because he dresses like a hobo, he's thirty kilos overweight and he's a non-smoker.'

Cyril shook his head in frustration. 'He's lost a lot of weight in the last few years, actually.'

'Christ, then God help him when he puts it back on.' Lydia drank a second cup of water. 'I'm going to have a shower. Are you eating here tonight?'

'I'm going to have a counter meal. Would you care to join me?'

She shook her head. 'No, I've got to catch up on work.'

'Suit yourself.'

An hour later she was regretting declining the invitation. She'd showered and finished her work in record time. She'd sent reminder emails to her tardy clients. She'd backed up everything that could ever possibly need backing up and, worst of all, it was one of her alcohol free days.

There were two booze free days each week. They were, like the jogging, designed to keep her from falling too far into the abyss. They also made time stretch out interminably. The feeling was more intense out here. She was surrounded by a community where everyone seemingly knew everyone else, and everyone had a purpose. Except her. She was different. An outsider.

Jesus. She'd been here just over two weeks and it seemed like forever.