My Brother’s Keeper by Donna Malane Page A

that’s a problem.’
    The menu took on a whole new meaning. ‘I’m paying?’
    ‘It’s the very least you can do, given the state of my eye here, me hearty.’
    There was a worrying red and blue streak leaking from below the eye patch, which appeared to be spreading down his jawline at speed. I ordered a salad and encouraged him to be equally extravagant in his choice but before I got to hear his order my phone rang again. Ned spun it around to face him. A photo of Sean I’d taken years ago lit up on the screen, his hand raised above his head in a gesture of farewell. I hadn’trealised until now how prescient the image was. His contact name came up as a large ‘X’ on the screen. Not so subtle with the nomenclature. Ned raised an ironic eyebrow and spun the phone back in my direction.
    ‘Hi,’ I said.
    ‘It’s me,’ Sean said.
    ‘Yeah, I know,’ I said.
    This was another of those compact little exchanges that pretty much sums up my relationship with my ex-husband. I waited for Sean to pick up the conversation while I watched Ned engage in an animated discussion with the maître d’ about his order. Ned did a lot of pointing at items on the menu. The maître d’ did a lot of writing and nodding. I did a lot of frowning.
    ‘Where are you?’
    ‘What do you want, Sean?’
    ‘How’d the caravan go today?’
    ‘The what?’ Then I remembered. ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t heard. I’ll give him a ring in the morning.’ There was silence at the other end. ‘I’m kind of busy right now, Sean,’ I explained. At that moment a woman at the table next to us shrieked with laughter.
    ‘Yeah, I can hear that.’
    Ned pointed and laughed at my grumpy face and ordered another bottle of what was no doubt an expensive wine.
    ‘I gotta go,’ I said.
    ‘Obviously,’ he said.
    ‘Fuck you,’ I said cheerfully, and hung up.
    With the meagre salad and the two bottles of quality rosé, I didn’t put up a fight when Ned took my phone into custody. ‘Two phone calls during dinner is the limit,’ he announced and made a big deal of switching both our phones to mute and placing them side by side on the far edge of the table. No sooner had he done this than mine lit up. Ned studied the photo of Robbie. I’d snapped him one morning as he was heading off to work. I had taken the photo from his bed, which I was still very nakedly in. His look reflected his response.
    ‘Who’s the good-looking policeman then?’ Ned asked, waggling his un-eye-patched eyebrow at me.
    ‘Robbie,’ I said, holding my hand out for the phone.
    ‘You’re in no condition, girl,’ he said, pocketing it. ‘Best call him back in the morning.’
    The image of Robbie disappeared into his breast pocket. There was definitely something proprietorial about the way Ned took possession of my phone. The way he spoke of the morning was as if it was going to be a shared morning, a morning after. My panic button was activated. Without making a big deal about it, I knocked back three glasses of expensive water, ordered goat’s cheese and rock melon dessert, slipped the phone out of his pocket while he was engaged in a conversation with the table of women next to us and sauntered a little unsteadily to the ladies where I peed and texted (multi-tasking at its best). Sorry I missed yr call. Goodnight xxx , I wrote. I pulled up my knickers, washed my hands, slapped cold water on my bruised neck, checked for twenty-dollar lettuce in my teeth and finally Robbie texted back, U2 x .
    I stared at the message for a long time, thinking of all the different interpretations I could read into that truncated little message. In the end I decided to accept it at face value. I owed Robbie that much. I signed the bill without looking at the total. We ambled the two hundred metres back to the townhouse. We slept in separate rooms. Eventually.

Chapter 10
    S ATURDAY 24 N OVEMBER 2012
    N ed’s bedroom door was shut, his jacket draped on the door handle.