The Slap

  ‘You’re gonna be alright, Harry. You, Sandi, Rocco, you’re all normal. You got nothing to worry about. So, tell me what the fuck is really worrying you?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Andrew silently scrutinised Harry while rocking back and forth in the chair. Harry looked across to a table at the edge of the courtyard where three young women were finishing their lunch. The blonde one was a looker. She had long legs, nicely tanned under the thin, tight denim of her miniskirt. Rock and roll, thought Harry, rock and roll. He turned back to his friend. Andrew’s eyes had not moved off him.

  ‘Sandi’s scared that the television stations will find out.’ For one ludicrous moment he thought he was going to cry. Don’t you dare fucking cry, he threatened himself. He reached for his cigarettes and lit one quickly, inhaling deeply. He felt relieved. It was good to confess his anxieties to his friend. Sandi’s fear had become his, a seed that had sprouted, and slowly, obstinately, it had taken root and flowered in his imagination. All that they had created could be smeared and trashed by that animal manipulating and twisting what had happened to his kid to make out that Harry was some kind of monster.

  He had felt it when the cops had come around the day after the barbecue to interview him and Sandi. The female cop in particular. She was blonde, a looker. She despised him, he could tell. You could always tell with the pigs. He had tried to be polite, used all his charm but nothing worked. She had gone off separately with Sandi and left him alone with the male cop. He too had been unfriendly, young, barely out of cop diapers.

  ‘So you hit a kid?’ he had asked with an ugly sneer, as if Harry was some kind of pervert. ‘You do that often?’

  Harry had wanted to murder him. Instead, he laughed it off as a joke. The cunt cop didn’t return the laugh. Harry’s humiliation had deepened. Later, Sandi told him that the female copper had tried to get her to say that Harry beat her, beat Rocco, that he had a violent temper. Sandi politely denied that there was any violence or aggression in her husband’s character, that he’d only hit that child because he was scared that Hugo was going to hurt Rocco. He’s a saint, is he? the copper had taunted. Sandi’s lip curled in distaste as she told Harry about the encounter. Then a sly grin spread across her mouth. I took a chance, she said to Harry, I asked the bitch if she had children. Of course, she didn’t. It shut her up. No, it didn’t thought Harry, what had shut them up was asking to see Rocco. Their child had shut them up because it was obvious to anyone, even to some dim fuckwit copper, that Rocco was a wonderful, sane, normal, blessedly normal, good kid. Thank you, God, that he is normal, thank you, Panagia, that he is a good kid. That’s what shut them up.

  ‘This case is not going to get in the news.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Why would it?’

  ‘That loser, Hugo’s father, he told Sandi over the phone that he was going to A Current Affair with it.’

  Andrew started to chortle.

  ‘It’s not fucking funny.’

  ‘Being concerned about something as stupid and ridiculous as A Current Affair is funny. Who cares what A Current Affair or any of those crap shows say or do? That’s not news, that’s just moving pictures on a screen for morons.’

  ‘You may not care, but my neighbours care, Rocco’s friends’ parents care, my workers care, my thea cares. We’re the morons that watch that show.’

  Andrew’s tone softened, turned apologetic. ‘You’re not going to be on A Current Affair. You’re not a story. You’re not fucked-up enough. If you want to be on a show like that, next time send the kid to hospital.’

  ‘You know what happened after the cops came that day. None of the neighbours will look at us. Sandi and I and Rocco don’t exist for them. Just because they saw a cop car outside our place.’

  ‘Your neighbours are the kind of people who expect the police to be on call twenty-four/seven but otherwise don’t want to know they exist.’ The steel in Andrew’s tone returned. ‘I’m sure your neighbours weren’t shocked. I’m sure that’s what they expected to happen as soon as wogs moved into the neighbourhood.’

  You sarcastic lawyer cunt. I could do you, I could fucking do you now.

  ‘I’m trying to make you understand why Sandi is so scared, why we’re so nervous. I spent years building this house. And this arsehole, this nothing piece of Aussie yobbo shit is trying to destroy it all. Why do I have to go to court? Can’t you stop it? This isn’t fair.’

  ‘No, it isn’t.’ Andrew picked up his cigarettes and pocketed them. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ll ring you as soon as the court notice comes through. Tell Sandi not to worry about A Current Affair. That freak probably got on the phone while raving drunk and I doubt he got further than the receptionist. As for your neighbours, better learn to live with them. If you wanted friendly neighbours you shouldn’t have bought a big motherfucking block of land right across the road from Brighton Beach.’

  He was regretting the beer and the wine by the time he got home that evening. All afternoon he’d felt light-headed and by three he had developed a dull but steady headache. He’d lost his temper with the young Indian guy working the store in Moorabbin. The lazy bastard was always trying to change his roster and as soon as Harry walked in Sanjiv had come out from behind the counter and demanded Saturday off.

  ‘How about a fucking hello?’

  ‘Please, Mr Apostolou, I cannot work Saturday night.’

  There was a group of school boys in the back, probably shoplifting. A young tradie pushed through the doors. Harry nodded towards him. But Sanjiv ignored the customer and instead patiently waited for an answer from his boss.

  I wish I could fire you on the spot you butt-ugly Hindu cum-rag. ‘No,’ he said curtly. ‘I need more notice. I can’t get anyone to fill in for you Saturday. You’re just going to have to do the shift.’

  The boy’s expression did not change. He slowly nodded and turned and walked back to the counter. Harry touched his forehead, his eyes felt heavy and there was a distinct throbbing in his head. He passed the schoolboys and for a moment was tempted to grab one of their bags and tip the contents on the floor. He was sure they were lifting from him. There were four of them, two skips, two Asians, giggling, the tall white one speaking loudly about smut and sex, trying to impress the others. Harry had bitten his lip. He wished he could say to the little bastards, Hey, if you’re not going to buy anything, fuck off from my shop. But he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk one of the little fucks saying something smart-arse in return. The way he felt at the moment, Harry couldn’t risk his temper worsening. He felt horribly, inescapably trapped.

  The electric hum of the store, the air, the schoolboys’ voices were a fog around him. His hand was shaking as he fumbled with the key to open the storeroom. He crashed through the door, slammed it behind him, and rested his head on the cool metal of the shelf. He looked up at the clock on the storeroom wall and he shamelessly indulged in a little boy’s fantasy that he could turn back the time, to before the barbecue at his cousin’s, to before hitting that little cunt. He had been so happy. He lifted his head, shook away the world. You don’t deserve this shit, he told himself. You did nothing wrong.

  He did the wages, some bookkeeping and then locked up. In passing, he told Sanjiv he’d find someone to do the shift on Saturday night.

  ‘How about a massage?’

  It was the first thing she said to him when he walked into the house and her solicitude, her sensitivity to his mood, her care and her affection immediately routed his headache. He hugged her and Sandi relaxed into him. His grip tightened around her and she submitted easily, without anxiety or fear.

  After a few moments she gently pushed him back. She held on to his arms. ‘What’s up, lover?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m just tired and glad to be home.’

  ‘What did Andrew say?’

  ‘It’s all fine. There’s nothing to worry about.’ He felt the buzzing in his head return.

  Sandi was about to speak, but she st
opped herself. He saw that she was tense and he wished there was something he could say to eradicate all her worries, to take away every single one of her fears. It was at that moment he made up his mind to lie.

  ‘I tell you, he said there’s nothing to worry about. Some journo from a TV station did contact him but Andrew put him straight. The journo told him he thought that that was the case because the prick was pissed when he phoned up. He abused the receptionist and everyone he spoke to. No one is going to take the arsehole seriously.’ As his story unfolded he found himself enjoying the lie, almost believing it himself.

  His wife made no reply. She moved to the sink and began to dry dishes.

  He came up beside her and took the hand towel off her. ‘Let me do it.’

  ‘He’s just going to go somewhere else.’

  Jesus Christ, I’m so fucking tired.

  ‘He’ll get the same response everywhere he goes. Don’t you get it, Sandi, the arsehole’s a loser.’

  ‘You can’t be sure. Someone’s going to listen to him, someone can smell the story.’

  He threw the towel onto the bench. ‘What fucking story, Sandi, what fucking story? I slapped a kid. That’s all. No one’s interested. ’

  She was standing very still. It was like an advertisement: his wife in the middle of the expensive, perfect, modern kitchen he had built for her.

  He touched her hair, kissed her softly on the lips. ‘I’m not going to let the bastard hurt you.’

  She grabbed the towel. When she spoke her voice was small. ‘I don’t care about me. It’s you I care about. It’s what he’s doing to you that hurts.’ She began to sob. He felt paralysed and was suddenly aware that Rocco must be somewhere in the house, in his room. Her sobs were loud, and he didn’t want his son to hear them. He pulled her into his body and held her.

  ‘Shh,’ he whispered. ‘We are going to be alright.’

  Her body gradually relaxed, her sobbing stopped. She kept holding on to him.

  ‘I could kill him,’ she mumbled into his chest. ‘I could kill him and that arrogant bitch.’

  And that stupid cunt of a kid. I could fucking kill him.

  ‘I’ll put the dishes away. Go say hello to Rocco.’

  His son was in his room, on PlayStation. Harry sat cross-legged next to him on the floor.

  ‘Want to play?’

  ‘Sure.’ He leaned over and hugged Rocco. ‘How was school?’

  ‘Same.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘We watched a video.’

  ‘What kind of video?’

  ‘On Eskimos but they called them another name.’

  ‘Was it good?’

  ‘It was okay. A bit boring.’ Rocco was setting up another game and his eyes were fixed on the television screen. ‘It looked really really cold. There was this family and they had to live in an ice house under the ground for months and months and ages and all they had to eat was seal blubber. It looked gross.’

  ‘Did they have PlayStation?’

  Rocco glanced at his father and then grinned. ‘Nah, but they have the internet. How amazing is that?’

  As he played the computer game with his son, both their backs resting against Rocco’s single bed, as he chuckled over the boy’s competitive streak, Harry felt his headache fade. He didn’t feel like a drink, a pill, even a smoke. By dinner time he was ravenous. Sandi had cooked steaks and served them with mashed potato and the simplicity and heartiness of the meal was gratifying. As she washed up, he slipped the music box into the bathroom cabinet, next to her toothbrush. He showered, jumped into bed naked and waited. He heard her squeal of delight from the ensuite bathroom. She jumped into bed and straddled him.

  ‘I love you.’ She was holding the music box, opening and shutting the lid, the tinny oriental music kept starting and stopping. He unhooked her bra and drew circles around her left nipple. Sandi was still playing with her gift, but with her right hand she reached back and softly cupped his balls. She placed the music box on the windowsill and she moved down his body, kissing his chest, licking his belly, teasing him. Her lips brushed his cock and she had him in her mouth. He closed his eyes, and tried to think of nothing but what his wife was doing to him. But suddenly he returned to the moment earlier in the day when Kelly had aroused him in her kitchen. He opened his eyes and raised his head to look at his wife. He tried to pull her up.

  ‘No,’ Sandi whispered. ‘I want you to come in my mouth. I want you to fuck my mouth.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  The pornographic words excited him.

  ‘Fuck my mouth,’ she urged and took his cock once more inside her. He closed his eyes again and this time he thrust his body into her mouth. ‘That’s it, honey, that’s beautiful.’ Silently, not wishing to offend her, he mouthed words to Kelly. Suck me, bitch. Come on, bitch, suck me off. He lifted himself on the bedhead, got onto his knees. He continued fucking his wife in the mouth. He could see her gagging but when he stopped his thrusting she clutched his arse and pushed him deep into her. He blew his cheeks out, stifled his shout and came with savage force. Sandi refused to release him. He spasmed and fell against the bedhead. He didn’t look at Sandi as she went to the bathroom. He heard the tap run and he knew she would be cleaning her teeth again. He smiled sheepishly at her when she returned to bed. She picked up her gift again and lay in bed looking at it. He rolled over and spooned her into his body.

  ‘That couldn’t have been much fun for you.’

  She was examining the music box.

  ‘I enjoy making love to you. You don’t have to thank me. You’re my husband.’

  ‘My cock thanks you.’

  She was still opening and shutting the music box. He tightened his arms around her.

  ‘Tell me about your day.’

  He stroked her hair as he told her about his warning to Con, told her about Sanjiv breaking his balls, the loan to Van. He told her about the car he started work on in Hawthorn, a late-sixties Valiant that the owner wanted to restore back to its original condition. Sandi listened till he finished.

  ‘I want to get the girls around on Saturday, look through some DVDs. Do you want to ask Van?’

  He murmured an assent. He was falling asleep.

  ‘And ask Hector. We haven’t seen Aish and Hector for ages.’

  He froze, waiting. They hadn’t seen his cousin since the barbecue. But Sandi seemed relaxed, unconcerned. He hugged her close to him.

  ‘I’ll call them.’

  The lie seemed to work. Sandi came into Moorabbin with him on the Wednesday and she was cheerful, laughing and joking with the customers and the staff. Harry watched the appreciative glances the Indian boys threw at her and he was pleased. Seeing her happy, calm, he relished the lie and became seduced with it himself. There was nothing that anyone could do to them. They would be fine—they were protected. Delighted with the return of normality he phoned Kelly and cancelled a dinner he had promised her. She was, as always, unperturbed.

  ‘Cool. So when will I see you?’

  ‘Not sure.’

  ‘Call me when you’re lonely.’

  ‘I call you when I’m horny.’ He was excited by her giggling on the phone.

  ‘I hear you’ve got Van coming around on Saturday.’

  He was pissed off that she knew. But he was not surprised. Van was the only other person who knew about their affair. He knew the Vietnamese cocksucker would never say a thing to Sandi but he hated that there was a witness to his infidelity. He wished that Kelly was a pure whore, that the transactions were only financial, uncomplicated. He was learning a lesson. Once it was over he’d not repeat the same mistake. He’d find a beautiful hooker, see her once a fortnight and pay his way. Christ, it would probably work out cheaper.

  Kelly judged his silence correctly. ‘You can trust Van.’

  You can only trust family. Period. And even that can be a risk.

  ‘Sure, I know.’

  He rang his cousin straight after.


  ‘Yia sou, Ecttora, it’s your cousin.’

  ‘How are you going, matey? How’s Sandi, how’s the kid?’

  Fine, fucking fine, do we always have to go through this bullshit?

  ‘All good. Everyone’s good. How’s Aish, and Adam and Lissie?’

  ‘No complaints.’

  Harry realised he felt self-conscious speaking to Hector. He knew his cousin supported him but he could not forget the clenched, disapproving face of that Indian bitch that night of the barbecue. She should be ashamed of herself. She wasn’t a fucking witless Aussie, she was Indian, a wog. She should know about family.

  ‘We’re having our mate over on Saturday arvo, he’s got a heap of new DVDs. Why don’t you, Aish and the kids come over?’

  Harry registered the moment of hesitation.

  ‘Sure, Adam would love to see Rocco. But Aish is working at the Clinic this Saturday. I’ll bring the kids.’

  ‘No worries, we’ll catch up with her soon.’

  Harry waited for his cousin to switch off the mobile then he banged his phone hard on the desk. He lit a cigarette and walked out to the yard. The guys were busy working and paid him no attention. Harry walked to the end of the garage, looked up and down at the unrelenting drone and rush of the highway. He knew exactly what he was dreading, telling Sandi, telling Sandi that Aisha wasn’t coming over.