Treading Air Read Online Free Page B

door.
    â€˜Here, Joe, have mine.’ Lizzie hands him her glass, sees a U of lipstick on the rim. Wishes she could take it back.
    â€˜That’s disgusting, Lizzie,’ her dad says.
    She’s silenced. She turns her head away, swipes at her mouth.
    Joe stands there with the glass. ‘Don’t worry about it, peach. Nice gesture.’
    â€˜Shouldn’t encourage her.’ Her dad takes the glass out of Joe’s hand and tips it down the sink.
    â€˜Here, I was enjoying that.’ Anger lightnings through her. She turns her back to her dad, strides out of the kitchen and slams her hand against the doorframe. A man leaning in the passageway shuts his eyes at the sound but doesn’t move. She gives him a look.
    â€˜Aren’t you too old for tantrums?’ he says.
    â€˜Fuck you.’ She frightens herself saying it, not sure how he’ll react, this stranger, and hurries away from him. The sides of the house close in on her. Everything is too small, the roof too low, the stain on the timber too dark. As a child she imagined the wood came from the black forests of fairytales.
    Her father is still in the kitchen, talking to Joe. ‘She used to be so clever. Got in with a bad crowd.’
    What does he expect from her? It’s unfair of him to tell Joe these things. She needs to get outside, shoves the door open. The night air cools her face. The house traps the heat of all those bodies, drinking and sweating. She stands on the top step, wishing for her drink. A hand on her elbow – Joe. She leans into him, relieved her dad hasn’t frightened him off. He says, ‘How can you see anything out here?’
    Lizzie wants to explain her dad’s talent of shrinking her to a little girl. Never grew much anyway, he’s told her more than once. It makes her so angry she can barely think.
    â€˜Want to make a fire?’ Joe asks.
    â€˜Alright.’
    He ducks back inside and returns with a gas lamp, shaking a box of matches like castanets. He holds on to the railings, and Lizzie holds on to him. She likes the feel of his arm beneath his jacket. Curls her fingers around the crook of his elbow and tries to ignore the throb between her legs. They take the steps one at a time, the lantern blinding them to everything but the tread in front of them.
    She sends him under the house, and he comes out rolling a barrel, barely keeping a hold of the thing. He up-ends the barrel, grabs it as it teeters. He asks her for newspapers, and she goes upstairs to find them. When she’s at the top step he hails her, so she waves the papers above her head in mock triumph. Back down with him, she pulls them apart, wadding up the single sheets and flinging them in the barrel. He throws a match in, and the flame curls around the paper.
    Lizzie hears Grace and turns towards her. She’s still with Frank, who’s carrying a fresh supply of rum. Maybe that’s his appeal. They pass the bottle around, stare at the flames. Lizzie can’t keep the thread of conversation. She watches Joe bring the bottle to his mouth, then suck in the air at the top as he pulls it away.
    They finish off the rum. Lizzie is caught in the upward swell of drink. Joe and Frank talk boxing, sizing each other up. Frank stands and grabs Joe’s elbow. ‘Show me what you can do.’
    They move beyond the fire.
    Grace says, ‘Hope Frank wins.’ She might be joking, but Lizzie doesn’t like the edge in her voice. Frank pushes Joe to the ground, and they both turn in the dry grass. ‘Give ’im one, Frank,’ Grace calls out.
    â€˜Shut up,’ Lizzie says. Her body fizzes.
    Joe scrambles up from underneath.
    â€˜It’s just a bit of fun.’ Grace puts her hand out, misses connecting with Lizzie.
    Frank brings his fist up into Joe’s face with a funny popping noise. Joe sinks down, and Lizzie feels sick. Recalls the track, the horse falling and the voice of the woman next to