Drybread: A Novel by Owen Marshall Page B

novelty of the encounter
was wearing thin for Theo. 'I'd better be off,' he said.
    'The thing is,' said the parson, not moving from the
car door, 'that my client's willing to pay for information.
How to get in touch with Mrs Maine-King, I mean. Her
whereabouts in fact.'
    'Not interested,' Theo said.
    'Willing to pay quite a lot. Remember that Mrs Maine-
King's in the wrong here. Breaking the law in fact, Theo.'
    Being called Theo by the parson irritated him. It was
the talkback host's unjustified assumption of familiarity.
And Theo didn't like to have Penny classified as a law
breaker when he was aware of her suffering. He told the
parson he didn't want to talk any more, and without much
thought put the flat of his hand on the parson's chest to
move him from the car door. He wasn't thinking all that
clearly. The parson took his wrist with a markedly firm
grip and suggested they didn't need to get physical. 'Fuck
off,' Theo said.
    Having had a few wines and feeling morally superior,
Theo assumed that dealing with the parson would play out
according to their respective just deserts. He was wrong.
Theo hit the parson's long face with his free hand, but
thereafter it was all parson. He slammed Theo into the
side of the car and kneed him in the hip, catching a nerve.
He put a hand behind Theo's head and pushed him into
the outside mirror. The mirror unit came away from the
connection as it was designed to do after such trauma, and
bounced on the carpark seal. 'Maybe you need to do more
than just the running, Theo,' the parson said, trying to
keep his breathing even. 'I don't like to be pushed. Sorry
about the mirror. They're excellent cars these — hold their
resale value well, I'm told.'
    He walked away quickly, already regretting what had
happened. There would be no repercussions: he was disappointed
in a lapse of professionalism, and Theo was
humiliated at being so easily bested one on one. Theo
was left alone in the dim carpark and glad of it. He retrieved
the plastic mirror unit and sat in the car for a while to
calm down. He told myself that if he hadn't been drinking
he'd have had the bastard. He decided he wouldn't worry
Penny by saying anything about it.
    In the morning he noticed a bruise on his cheek, the
fractures on the glass of his watch face and the scratches on
the door of the car. That pissed him more than anything.
The Audi's colour was a metallic blue of deep iridescence,
and any touch-up from the bottle was always obvious.
He would be on the lookout for the parson in the future,
feeling a playground determination to get his own back.
    Stella used to tell him that he could be very unforgiving.
    'You can be so proud, can't you,' she'd say. 'You find it
so hard to let things go.' He never understood what she
meant by it.

10
    Melanie was the editor of the leading local community
newspaper. It wasn't cutting-edge journalism by any
means, but she didn't care about that any more. She'd
been on the main newspaper with Theo, Nicholas and
Anna, but the community newspaper gave more regular
hours and was less rigorous regarding copy: mainly feel-
good Christchurch stories and thinly disguised advertising.
She had an acknowledged flair for computers, and her
male colleagues were sexist enough to be impressed. She
was good at friendship too, without the exclusiveness that
marks some women's affection. 'Come round for pasta
tomorrow,' she said on the phone, the day after the parson
and the carpark.
    'What have you done to your face?' she asked Theo
on his arrival, and with the misdirection that truth allows
he told her that he had hit his head on the outside mirror
of the car. 'Looks sore, Theo,' she said. 'You should take
better care of yourself.'
    More than usual he was aware of her appearance, perhaps
because it was Penny who had been on his mind. Melanie
was small, and when they lay together her head almost
tucked under his chin. Her height was less noticeable when
she was upright because of the great, springy fan of