Free Salvage by Jason Nahrung

between her and Richard, not this morning. It had always been a no-go zone for him in the past. Last night had been a welcome revelation.
    The bed sagged a little as he kneeled and handed her a cup. His made a dull thunk on the side table. 
    Knocking.
    Melanie flinched. Coffee slopped but didn’t spill. She hadn’t heard anyone arrive. Richard scowled. She pulled her knees up, the sheet across her chest, and cradled her mug as he stood and walked to the door. A shadow hovered on the other side.
    ‘Jack,’ Richard said, loud enough for her to hear, and then lowered his voice to a mumble.
    She strained to hear their conversation as a blush burned her cheeks. Checking in on the patient? She didn’t need the reminder of her … misadventure … of Sunday night. A flash of yellow caught her eye: Helena’s dress, waiting to be washed. Helena . The brush of her lips. One hand felt the fly bite on her neck. Her heartbeat accelerated; a cramp pushed through her belly.
    ‘Bugger,’ Richard said, jerking her attention. The men were still at the door, Jack’s floppy fisherman’s cap just visible past Richard’s shoulder.
    ‘Hope he shows up … I’ll tell her … sleeping in.’ Louder: ‘See you later, Jack.’ He shut the door and walked back to sit on the side of the bed.
    ‘What did Jack want?’ she asked as he leaned over her.
    ‘Just seeing if we needed anything after the storm.’
    ‘And?’
    He nuzzled her cheek. ‘Wanted to know if we’d seen Friday. Ran off during the storm, apparently.’
    She pulled back a little so she could see his eyes, but his gaze was focused on her breasts under the sheet. ‘I saw Friday yesterday. He was acting strange, barking and what-have-you.’
    ‘He’ll turn up,’ Richard said as he homed in on her throat, his hands pawing at her shoulders.
    ‘Well, I hope so. Jack loves that dog.’
    ‘I’m sure he will. I mean, it’s an island. Where could he have gone?’
    Liquid heat burst across her stomach. Richard shouted, ‘Bloody hell,’ as she leapt up, throwing yet more of her coffee over them both. And then the cup by the bed was flying, spilling, taking the reading lamp with it.
    Richard stood by the bed, flinging coffee from his hands, his shirt and shorts muddy, as Melanie pushed at the sheets.
    ‘You got both cups: that must be some kind of record.’ She stretched across the bed to put her dripping mug on his bedside table.
    ‘It was an accident, Mel.’
    ‘I know, I know. I wasn’t blaming you.’
    ‘I just … fuck it. I need to clean up this mess.’
    ‘Here, I’ll help.’ She extricated herself as he went to the kitchen. She knotted a towel from last night around her chest. The lamp was intact, but the bedside table and floor were splattered with coffee. ‘The sheets needed a wash anyway.’
    ‘Yeah.’ He threw paper towel on the floor and dabbed it with his foot.
    ‘It’s okay, Richard. I’ll handle it. Put on a fresh batch, hey?’
     ‘Fine. Sorry. Thanks.’
    He stalked to the wardrobe for fresh clothes, then back to the kitchen. She mopped up, stripped the bed, showered.
    When she emerged, there was fresh coffee brewing, and a bunch of withered flowers on the pillow.
    ‘What are these?’ she asked.
    Richard, engrossed in his laptop, looked up and offered a goofy smile. ‘I found them with the groceries. I forgot about them in all the rush last night. For you,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, they didn’t have roses.’
    She buried her nose in the drooping blooms; the smell reminded her a little of Helena. ‘That’s really sweet, Richard. Thank you.’ She’d been getting it on with a stranger and he’d been buying her flowers. Great. ‘I’ll put them in water. Are you having a shower?’
    ‘Leanne’s sent through the revisions for Mackenzie.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘Damn dial up’s making it bloody annoying. It’s taking forever to download. But listen: once I’ve signed off on these, how about we go down to the village, maybe grab a