“You don’t know what that would do to her. I can’t do it. Anyway, I know enough about Wilson. He’s really sweet. He gives me all the dough I need.”
“Look”—I pulled a pen and notebook from my handbag and scribbled down my phone number and address—“if you get into trouble, give me a call. Or if you need somewhere to stay in a hurry . . .”
“Thanks. But I’m okay. Like I said. These guys, money is nothing to them. I know another girl who got all her credit card debt paid off. Twenty thousand. They’re nice guys.”
Twenty thousand. Paid off. Those words seemed like some kind of fairy tale told in fairyland.
Taking my pen, she tore off a strip at the bottom of my note and jotted down the address of the companions website that she’d told me about. “You should think about doing what I do. It’s easy. They just want your company, like I said.” She handed it to me.
“Hey . . . thanks for trying to help. Really.” I gave her arm a light squeeze. “See you. And . . . be careful.”
In my mind, I was already walking towards the restroom door, beginning to make my way out of the casino and through the cold night to the train station. Thoughts of having to admit to Gray what I’d done seeped in like a caustic substance. But my body hadn’t moved. I was still standing there in the exact same position.
Twenty thousand dollars. That was how much Kara had said the guy had given a girl. Twenty thousand.
God, why was that thought sticking in my head? I’d never do what Kara was doing. Not in a million years.
She looked at me slightly askance, and I guessed that she knew what I was thinking. A deep crease appeared on her forehead then, and she shook her head. “No, forget it. You’re not cut out for this. Forget I ever spoke to you.” There was a clatter of high heels as she ran from the rest room.
It was midnight when I returned home to my house in the outer Sydney suburbs.
Something was wrong. All the lights were on. It was way too late for all the lights to be on. I rushed inside, forgetting for a moment the terrible thing that I had to tell Gray.
Muffled noises and voices came from behind the closed bathroom door. Thick steam wet my face as I opened the door. All three of them were in there—Gray, Willow and Lilly—all in damp pyjamas. Gray had the shower running hot. He was sitting on the side of the bath, Lilly lying across his lap while he patted her firmly on the back. Willow was kneeling beside him on the bathroom mat, brushing back her sister’s hair. Lilly was coughing—in that deep, croupy cough that she got too often.
The three of them stared at me through the mist.
Gray had work tomorrow. It should be me here with Lilly, or at least caring for her alongside Gray. I had nothing to show for my six hours away from home. I wasn’t marching in there with a home deposit in my fist and the promise of a better life. All I’d done was to make things a thousand times harder for all of us.
Gray only said one thing to me as I took Lilly from him: You didn’t answer your phone.
“Things were hectic at work,” I muttered, holding Lilly close, feeling her clammy arms and legs against me, her damp clothing and hair. I turned my head away from Gray, kissing Lilly’s cheek.
Uncried tears burned in my eyes. I didn’t deserve to cry. Tears were for the suffering. Not for the one who was about to make her own family suffer.
I told Gray to go back to bed.
Willow watched her father leave the bathroom and then silently turned back to me, her dark eyes round and questioning. What was she thinking? Did I look guilty? Even at age four, she would come out with the most astute observations. I couldn’t even imagine what she’d be like as a teenager.
“Go pick out a book to read, sweetie,” I said. “I’ll read it to you and your sister. We’ll get you two into dry pyjamas, and then we’ll all get some sleep.”
That night, I got the girls off to sleep, but I didn’t sleep at all.
The entire house seemed to smell of steam and mould. Lilly was sick yet again. My dream of a new house that didn’t let in the rain and mould stretched further and further away.
Sometime between three and four a.m., I moved my last possible thing on my list of job descriptions to the top.
1. Cooking
2. Warcraft
3. Talking 4. Poker
5. Self-loathing
I was a good listener, and I found small talk easy.
Kara had told me that sugar babying didn’t have to involve sex. It could just be dinner and conversation. At the back of my mind, I knew that it was a slippery slide, but I was beyond the point where I could think rationally.