The Fall Ch. 02

That got him into action. He was dressed and down in the living area within a minute, his eyes filled with rage. She cocked her eyebrows in the direction of the bra and gave him a withering look. She knew he couldn't say anything. He was still at the stage where he needed to impress the girl. He couldn't let her see him losing his temper.

He gestured for her to go outside. She went, Dylan followed. Ben watched them go. The girl, still upstairs, remained silent. Michelle wondered she realised her car was outside, and her bra was on the couch and, most tellingly, that Michelle had just overheard their little romp.

'What the fuck are you playing at?' he hissed.

'I came to speak to you about the property settlement. We've decided to offer you another ten thousand. The offer expires at midnight.'

'We?'

'Jessica and I.'

Dylan looked around the property. Michelle did, too. It was an amazing piece of land. Flat, great soil, a good combination of paddocks, cultivated fields and wooded areas. The area by the creek was incredible. Dylan had once taken her swimming with him there. It was one of the few moments she'd felt happy to be with him.

Now, he'd no doubt want to take the new woman there, for the same reasons she wanted to take Jessica there. At the moment, Michelle couldn't take Jessica there. The agreement had been that she stay off this parcel of land unless it was to speak to him.

'Do you have any inkling how much work went into clearing this place? Fencing it? Getting the irrigation set up? Planting crops, spraying them, harvesting them?' he demanded.

'We're offering you well above market value.'

'That doesn't change a fucking thing, does it? You didn't buy it, you didn't do the work on it, but now you feel entitled to it because you and your fucking dyke bitch of a girlfriend think you're fucking farmers.'

There was a strong correlation between Dylan's use of the word 'fuck' and how angry he was. He was steaming.

Michelle grew indignant. 'Maybe I look at it as compensation for being with you. I stuck by you. I even had sex with you even thought it was practically rape, the way you wouldn't let up unless I gave in.'

'Practically rape? Are you kidding me? Jesus, Michelle, it never would have fucking happened if I didn't ask for it. Heaven forbid I wanted to get laid. I couldn't have sex with my wife, couldn't wank, couldn't go out with my mates, couldn't fucking do anything, could I? And it's still not enough for you, is it? You have to keep going and going and going until you've completely fucked me over.'

'You're the one who left.'

'Oh, fuck you, Chelle.' He spat on the ground in disgust. 'Get out of here. I'm not signing it over. I don't care what you're offering.'

'I'll speak to you when you're being reasonable,' she sneered. 'Go back to trying to satisfy whatever cheap slut you've managed to drag home. I'm sure she enjoys being satisfied by your tiny little dick.'

Finally, she scored a blow. She saw the uncertainty cross his face. He was wondering about the accuracy of her comment. Sexual ability had always been a sensitive point for Dylan and like most men, he worried about size. Frankly, Michelle had no idea whether he had a small penis or not. The only dick she'd seen was his.

'Or maybe she won't have the chance to be disappointed. Maybe it'll all be over in minutes. You're consistent with that,' she added, twisting the knife.

'Get the fuck out of here.'

She turned away, flipping him the bird as she went. 'This will be mine one day, dickhead. We've already chosen a house plan.'

~~~~~~~~~

Cyril looked at his niece, looked at the Charger, and looked at his niece again.

It was late Saturday afternoon and Lydia had just driven home in it. She said Dylan had refused to let her drive her car. The brakes were non-existent, the steering column and front bushes needed urgent replacing, and she was leaking transmission fluid.

'There were a few more things, but I stopped listening,' she finished. 'He told me to use your ute, but I told him it was manual transmission, and I only have an automatic license, so he let me borrow the Charger. It's an auto.'

'I asked him if he was sleeping with you, and he said he wasn't.'

'He's not. And it's pretty insulting to suggest he'd only lend me his car if I was.'

It had been a long time since Cyril had had a good laugh. God bless Lydia. Despite being a divorcee, she was still bloody naive. If she wanted to announce to the world that she as knocking boots with Dylan McGarvey, driving around town in his car was a bloody good way to do it. Then again, this was Lydia. She probably thought the car was a bomb.

'You can stop with the laughing,' she said, her face bright red, as she walked inside.

He had no idea why she was lying to him. Why would he care if she was hooking up with Dylan? He'd be dead and gone in the next few months and she'd move back to her flat. In the meantime, why not enjoy what country life had to offer? Personally, he thought they were a good couple. They were well matched. She was wild enough to show him a good time, and he was stable enough not to let it get too out of hand.

Cyril went inside and apologised. 'I'm sorry love.'

'It's okay.' She was pouring a glass of water from the tap. 'You'll be pleased to know I've promised him I won't drive and drive. I've also promised to take it to him to be looked over if it makes any funny noises, drives differently, or just plain looks sad and lonely and in need of a hug.'

'You should be flattered. That car's his baby.'

'Why are you so sympathetic to him over the car?' she asked. 'It's an automatic, you know. You always turn your nose up at autos.'

'That one's a classic.'

'That one's a heap of shit,' she corrected. 'I can't believe he thinks my Hyundai is bad.'

Cyril tried to reply, but was wracked with pain. His body was riddled with cancer. The drugs helped most of the time, but sometimes it was too much. Besides, he hated the morphine. It made him feel sick, which meant taking more drugs to stop the nausea. He limited himself to no more than was absolutely necessary.

He made his way outside and took a seat on the veranda. Time was closing in on him. He was going to die and leave this world forever. No more routines. No more marking off days with a frightening, increasing frequency. No more wheat to sow, no more calves to see born, no more taking a B Double over the range. He was adding to the 'lasts' with every month, week and day.

Cyril was preparing for death. The funeral had been planned and paid for. His will had been updated. There was nothing left to do now but to wait.

Lydia came out to check on him. He was glad she was here, helping him out. She had a very no-fuss way about assisting him, which was appreciated after the martyrish ways of his sister.

'I'm fine. Just enjoying the sunset,' he lied.

She took a chair and sat down. They watched the sun sink over the horizon.

'How bad are you hurting?' she repeated.

'It's not good. Can you roll me a cigarette?'

She went back inside for a few minutes. She returned with a handful of rolled cigarettes, her own smokes, and a gin and tonic. He'd never been able to establish where she'd acquired an appreciation for Bombay Sapphire, but he was nonetheless impressed.

'These aren't normal cigarettes, are they?' he asked suspiciously as he lit up.

'No.'

'Where are you getting it?'

'The internet.'

'The internet?' he was bemused. 'You really can buy anything there, can't you?'

Lydia lit one of his special cigarettes. 'Indeed.'

They smoked in contemplative silence. The sky darkened and the air cooled, and Lydia got up to light a citronella candle. She was always complaining about the mosquitoes. Cyril had no idea what she was talking about. He never got bitten.

It was funny how things worked out. Lydia had always been his favourite niece, and as for his nephews, well, not one of them rated a mention. He'd always liked Lydia and was chuffed to find out she actually liked him.

If you'd asked him twenty years ago if he'd sit here getting baked with here while waiting to die, he wouldn't have believed it. But here it was, and he was glad.

Lydia knew where his will specified his money was going, and she didn't give two shits about it. When they'd organised for here to come out here, he'd offered her a wage. She only wanted a quarter of what he offered, which he felt was unfair on his part, given she spent the better part of the stipend each week on petrol. Her fuel bill was going to skyrocket now she was driving the Charger.

'How long have you got Dylan's car for?' Cyril asked.

'A few weeks, I think.'

'Do you have the money to pay him?'

'I should, by the time he's finished.'

Cyril shook his head. 'I'll pay him.'

'No.' She was resolute. 'I'll take care of it. My car was a wreck before I moved out here. It's not your fault.'

He lit another of the cigarettes she'd rolled. It was doing the trick and then some. He went inside and put a couple of meat pies in the oven. He didn't want to have to put Lydia to the trouble of cooking tonight.

Cyril made them each a drink and went outside again. There was music playing. He listened carefully, enjoying the sound. The combination of marijuana, morphine and alcohol was doing the trick. He was happy.

'I did end up sleeping with him,' Lydia confessed. 'Are you disappointed?'

'Why would I be disappointed? Feminism gave women the right to act like men. Enjoy it.'

She smiled softly but didn't argue. He liked to give her a bit of stick about women's rights. Frankly, he was all for them.

'I kind of met his ex-wife,' she confessed. 'I didn't really meet her, but I heard them arguing.'

'I don't reckon they get on too well anymore.'

'They're fighting over the financial settlement.'

'Over a piece of land,' Cyril agreed. 'But I suppose you've seen it, haven't you? So you know why there's so much angst.'

'Who do you think should get it?'

'He should. He bought it before they were married. '

She sipped her drink. Lit a cigarette. 'I agree. But the argument was vicious, Cyril. They hate each other. If this lady sees me, she's going to knife me in the back. I know it.'

'She will if she finds out you have the Charger.'

'Is it that much of a statement?'

Cyril laughed. 'Yes.'

Chapter Twelve