Salvage by Jason Nahrung Page B

cologne that she found pleasant, almost heady. Like freshly cut lawn or newly dug earth. His stubble scratched deliciously, leaving her skin tingling after he’d pulled away.
    ‘A delight to see you again,’ he said. ‘Helena has been looking forward to this all afternoon.’
    Richard extended his hand to Helena, who ignored it, and pressed herself against him to kiss his cheeks. 
    ‘You are so tall,’ she said with a giggle. ‘I must stand on my toes to reach you.’
    She faced Melanie. ‘I hope we have not kept you waiting.’ She pushed herself into Melanie, kissing her chastely on the lips, her hand lingering on her waist. Her perfume wrapped around Melanie’s senses, stronger than Paul’s cologne and intoxicating.
    ‘I almost didn’t recognise you without your hat,’ Melanie stammered.
    ‘I feel very good tonight. Without the sun, I can dress like a woman again. You look beautiful, Melanie. I like your clothing.’
    ‘Oh, speaking of which, I washed yours today, thank you.’ She held up a grocery bag, yellow splotches showing sickly through the grey plastic.
    ‘Please, keep it.’
    ‘It doesn’t really fit me that well. Please, take it.’
    Helena pouted. ‘I will have to find another gift for you. Something you will like to keep.’ Her eyes glittered.
    ‘A drink before dinner?’ Richard asked, and Melanie noticed how much effort it took him to drag his eyes from Helena. ‘Melanie seems to be up for one.’
    His laugh made her feel as if she was back in high school, being teased, and as had been the case too frequently back then, she found herself without a comeback other than to grin and bear it.
    Paul regarded her with what might have been sympathy. ‘We’d be happy to eat now. I’m starving. Must be the sea air.’
    ‘It does wonders for your appetite, doesn’t it?’ Richard said.
    ‘Apparently.’ Melanie snared Richard’s arm. ‘Lead the way, darling.’
    The hotel’s bistro was closed off-season except for Fridays to Sundays, so they ordered meals at the bar and asked for them to be served outside.
    ‘You won’t be cold, will you, Helena?’ Melanie eyed the woman’s dress, the way it showed off her flat stomach and the small of her back. Melanie was wearing long sleeves and had a jumper in case the wind picked up. Helena made her feel cold—cold and fat.
    ‘It will be fine. I am used to the cold, I think.’
    Richard said, ‘I always think of Greece, or at least the islands, as a hot place.’
    ‘In the summer, yes, but our island has high mountains. During the winter, not often, we can even get snow.’
    They bought a round of drinks—cab sav for Paul and Helena, a lemon, lime and bitters for Melanie and another bourbon for Richard—and walked out to the verandah. Only two tables were occupied: a weathered older couple Melanie recognised as locals and a young couple with wild dreadlocked hair, hers pulled back in a purple bandana, and faded t-shirts, his showing Bob Marley. They were tucking into plates of steamed vegetables and chips as they divided their attention between a nearby television set and a tie-dye clad infant squirming in a high chair.
    Richard selected a table near the rail with a clear view of the passage, the water blacker than the night sky, the silhouette of Moreton Island barely visible on the horizon. Melanie headed for the chair with its back to the hippie family, but Paul beat her to it, leaving her to sit side-on to them.
    ‘Do you come here often?’ Paul asked Richard as they settled in.
    ‘Whenever we can. Getting away when we’re both busy … you know how it is.’
    ‘Ah, that’s the beauty of being on extended holiday. We’ve got all the time in the world, haven’t we, darling.’ He added ‘darling’ as though he’d never used the word before. Maybe he hadn’t. What was the Greek equivalent, Melanie wondered. Babushka, as in the Kate Bush song? No, that was Russian.
    ‘We liked Brisbane,’ Helena said. ‘I liked the people,