Free As Far as You Can Go by Lesley Glaister Page B

scattering of moles like a constellation. He looks into her heavy-lidded eyes. That plait, it’s thick as a rope.
    ‘Would you paint me?’ Mara says.
    ‘Don’t do portraits as such.’
    ‘As such!’
    ‘Could you pass me the water, please?’ Cassie says. She nudges him under the table with her knee. He looks down. Her shorts have ridden up to reveal the very white skin there above the blurry edge of tan. Rightio then, he thinks, after lunch on that old bed.
    Larry pushes the jug towards Cassie. She pours water and drinks, eyes closed with the pleasure of it. Graham watches the smooth swallowing motion in her throat.
    ‘What do you do?’ Mara says, suddenly jabbing her finger in Cassie’s direction. ‘He, he is a painter.’
    Cassie wipes her mouth. ‘I teach part-time, adults. Gardening and stuff.’
    ‘She does all kinds of things,’ Graham says. ‘Mind if I light up now?’ He flicks his lighter and inhales the smoke. ‘She’s a great cook.’ He breathes out smoke. He feels suddenly good. Happy,lazy, half-pissed. In the mood for sex. ‘A
great
cook.’ Great in bed, he thinks.
    ‘A terrifically useful person.’ Larry says.
    ‘Sounds like an obituary!’
    ‘But true,’ Graham says, putting his hand on her leg and squeezing. ‘A very practical person.’
    ‘And practically pissed too. Shall I make some coffee?’ She stands up and staggers a bit, catches her hip on the corner of the table. ‘Ouch.
Shouldn’t
drink at lunchtime.’ She begins to stack the plates.
    ‘Leave it for now,’ Larry says. ‘Go and lie down. I’m sure you’d like a lie-down.’
    ‘Well,’ she grins and holds on to the table as if for balance. ‘Yes.’
    Larry meets Graham’s eyes and smiles.

Nine
    Graham follows Larry’s eyes following Cassie down the steps and round the side of the house.
    ‘I wonder what it’s like to be blonde,’ Mara says. An iridescent green fly crawls at the corner of her lips. ‘I wonder if you see colour differently through different-coloured eyes? I’ve always wondered.’
    ‘There is no way of telling,’ Larry says.
    ‘No.’
    They sit for a moment, considering this. Flies drag their legs stickily over the plates, making Graham itch. Rubs his chin. Must shave. He should have got up when Cassie did. Feels stuck now. He rolls himself another fag.
    ‘Smoke?’ Larry says.
    ‘Sorry, want one?’
    ‘Got some nice grass –’
    ‘Yeah, sure.’ He conceals his surprise in a yawn. Cassie will want to sleep anyway. Maybe after a smoke Larry will mellow. He slaps away a fly. Doesn’t understand how they can be so indifferent to them – though it’s Mara they crawl on, not Larry. Impossible to imagine flies crawling on him. Mara eventually lifts her hand and flicks the fly off her lip and into the air where it buzzes dully and alights on Graham’s arm. He shakes it away, slapping the skin against the crawly sensation of its feet.
    ‘Won’t hurt you,’ Mara says, smiling at him. ‘Just a little fly.’
    Larry pinches a line of dried grass on to a brown cigarette-paper. His tongue flickers like a lizard’s at the paper.
    ‘Neat?’ Graham says.
    Larry nods and juts his head forward for a light. Graham flicks at it with his Zippo.
    Will he ever get used to it, flies or any of it? He lolls back in his chair, stretches out his legs, looks around him. A couple of lamps and many candles and candle ends are balanced on the wide veranda rail. Rusty wire implements, meant for God knows what – one a trap maybe? – hang from nails.
    Mara yawns. ‘Sleepy,’ she says. She stands up, steadying herself on the table, treading on the hem of her sheet so it tugs down to show the side of a breast.
    ‘Be with you shortly.’ Larry looks at his watch.
    ‘He’s wonderful to me.’ Mara puts a hot and heavy hand on Graham’s shoulder. ‘Where would I be?’ She fills a glass with water, gulps it greedily and fills it again, takes it with her down the steps, holding it with two hands like a