Acid Song by Bernard Beckett

She was vulnerable, devastated. Instinct kicked in, late but welcome. He reached across the table, took her hand, squeezed it. Said the words and felt, to his great relief, feelings swarming forward, smothering the gaps.
    ‘Robyn, it’s wonderful news. Jesus, of course it is. Better than wonderful, it’s … This will change our lives. I’m just a bit surprised, you know. It takes a moment to sink in. You must have been the same.’
    A mistake, of course. She shook her head.
    ‘Have you, did you, like were you expecting this? Had you been, like, or did you forget? Or was it a mistake? A malfunction?’
    She grinned, shrugged.
    ‘I guess I just forgot.’ Robyn looked down as if to mark a cute, inconsequential oversight, like forgetting to turn the oven on, or misplacing your car keys. Then she smiled, and somehow it didn’t matter. Luke noticed he hadn’t let go of her hand. Wouldn’t let go.
    ‘You are happy, really?’ she asked.
    ‘Yeah. Yeah, I am. What about you?’
    She nodded vigorously.
    ‘I’m surprised,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know how I’d feel.’
    ‘You’ve just started back at work.’
    ‘Yeah, I know. But I can work through till Easter. They’re fine with that.’
    ‘You’ve already told them?’ He let go of her hand.
    ‘I had to check it all out, before I told you. So you wouldn’t have any worries. I’ve seen the bank too, we can just spread out the mortgage. And you know, maybe you can go for an HOD job at the college. You’ve said so yourself, how you were feeling like a challenge.’
    The dead man behind Robyn coughed and brought his napkin to his mouth too late. The dead woman looked around, to make sure nobody had noticed. Luke saw a school corridor, full to bursting with the sounds and smells and bodies of ignorance, stretching out forever. He saw himself walking against its tide, heading towards an exit which he could not see, and awfully, could no longer believe in. He stopped, turned, allowed himself to be carried back towards the black hole of the classroom. Had he been alone just then, he would have cried.
    ‘Or maybe the steak,’ he said. ‘I fancy a steak. How about you? What do you feel like?’
    ‘Yeah, I’ll have the steak too,’ she smiled. ‘And I’ve been thinking about our cars. We don’t need two cars. I mean, not right away, but we should sell one, don’t you think? The school bus goes right past the end of the road doesn’t it? Yours, probably, would be best. We’d get more for yours. And mine’s fine. It still runs really well.’
    ‘It’s an automatic,’ Luke heard himself say, in the voice of a man who has just had the means of his execution explained to him.
    ‘Yes,’ Robyn agreed, happy that he should understand. ‘And it’s an automatic.’
     
     
    DIFFERENT DRINKS, RICHARD found, each had their own way of turning him. Wine made him talkative, beer grumpy, whisky maudlin. All of them made him a little sick. The East West Ferry, on its last run for the night and barely with the energy left to resist the buffeting of the wind, didn’t help. The passengers crammed together out of the rain, and their smells thickened the air: Friday night drinks, wet woollen coats, perfume hopefully reapplied in the elevator, seasoned with sea spray and diesel. Richard sat on one side of a small table and tried to take his mind from the discomfort by staring out the window into the darkness. It was his wife’s birthday and he was late home. It was inexcusable, bad manners which a clumsy gift in paua would not, should not, make amends for. She deserved better. Always had.
    Seeing William had depressed him. William depressed him. ‘When you choose to always be on the side of the angels,’ had been his old friend’s parting shot, ‘how do you know you haven’t just grown used to their company?’ Which he had no answer for. Doing right was hard enough, without the added difficulty of identification. But that wasn’t the depressing thing. What made