The Last Time We Spoke Read Online Free

lounge. ‘You might be lucky to find one in the garage.’
    For a moment, mother and son stood staring at each other in the ice-blue light of the refrigerator.
    ‘He means the beer,’ she said. Then quickly, ‘Jack, I’m sorry.’ But he had already turned and was walking away down the hall.
     
    The moon hung like a Christmas bauble in the sky, silvering the barn’s corrugated iron roof and transforming the drooping branches of willow into lametta. Carla sank into the slack of a canvas deckchair and sighed. Kevin handed her a drink and pulled up the chair opposite. He’d brought a pack of Peter Stuyvesant outside with him. They sat in silence, the still night interrupted only by the haunting cry of a morepork. There was a new intimacy between them, a shared loneliness the day had imported.
    ‘Twenty-seven years, Carl. A pretty good innings,’ he said, patting her thigh. ‘Remember that first dance at the Freemason’s hall? You arriving late. All eyes on this honey-skinned beauty.’
    ‘You didn’t look too bad yourself, Elvis,’ she said, forcing a laugh, ‘except for those awful gold bell-bottoms you kept having to hoist up!’
    ‘Bloody costume was too big,’ he said with a chortle ‘God, how come I got a look in? Reckon it was that disco ball … Blimmin’ hypnotised you.’
    Carla leant across and kissed him on the cheek.
    ‘Your poor dad,’ Kevin continued, shaking his head. ‘Must have thought he was selling his only daughter down the river. Mind you, this rugged Kiwi bloke with two left feet didn’t turn out so bad.’ He laughed, but it was a hollow laugh – a valiant effort to varnish his defeat.
    She placed a hand on his. ‘It’ll work out fine, Kev. You’ll see.’
    ‘Mind if I light up?’ he asked, rummaging in his pocket for matches.
    She didn’t begrudge him the occasional cigarette. ‘Just don’t go offering Jack one.’
    Kevin inhaled, the red tip glowing fiercely. He flung his head back and exhaled into the black. ‘Do you feel trapped here on the farm?’ he asked, staring at the night sky.
    ‘Now where did that come from?’
    ‘Maybe Jack’s right. I mean we’ve hardly travelled.’
    ‘Stop it, Kev! Our life is good. Really good. You know what our Jack’s like. Always full of crazy ideas. Where’s he got to, anyway?’
    Then she felt it, cold on her neck. She lunged forward, shrugging her shoulders to distance herself from it. ‘Jack, you silly boy, I’ll—’
    ‘Don’t fuckin’ move!’ The voice, rough and unfamiliar, split open the mellow night.
    Carla froze.
    Kevin’s face was a kaleidoscope of expression – surprise, melting into horror, then fury. Struggling to lever himself out of his chair, he bellowed, ‘Now look here, what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ His face was puce, his body trembling with rage. ‘Put that down!’ He lunged forward.
    Then there was a dull thwack and Kevin dropped heavily to the ground, his temple glancing off the corner of the patio table as he fell.
    ‘Kevin!’ Carla screamed, but before her voice could spread across the night, a hand had trapped it. The smell under her nostrils was strange and foreign. She had an overwhelming urge to vomit.
    ‘Shut it, bitch! Or the motherfucker won’t stand up no more.’
    Blood tracked over Kevin’s ear and collected in swollen red spheres on his chin before dripping onto the kwila decking.

CARLA
    ‘A one-eight-seven, bro. A fuckin’ one-eight-seven!’
    ‘No use if we don’t get no dough, man. Check out the rest of the joint.’ Furious footsteps disappeared down the corridor. Doors slammed. Glass shattered. Close to Carla, only inches away, a pair of sneakers with fraying red and black beading, circled, paced, lashed out. The laces were undone. Wiry black hairs thinned into smooth brown ankles.
    Carla lay face down on the entrance hall floor, the musty smell of the kilim rug filling her nostrils. Her skirt was riding high; she wanted to pull it down. Bubbles coursed