The Aftermath Of You

Chapter Thirty

Jack was staring at my flat stomach; if you could call it flat it was so concave that I'm sure it would have made a great fruit bowl. "You have a body that could make Jessica Alba green with envy."

"I don't think she would be," I told him, crinkling my nose up. "My chest has disappeared."

"More than a handful is a waste," he told me nobly. Which it may be. But scoffing a whole chocolate cake when you could have eaten a slice is a waste - it still doesn't stop us from wanting it. And besides, Jack seemed to think I hadn't noticed him staring greedily at any bosoms wobbling his way recently. "There are so many calories in alcohol," he said . "I guess without them you've just thinned right out."

"Ya reckon?" I nearly snarled. "It's got nothing to do with everything else we've stopped eating?" I couldn't help it ... I get cranky when I'm hungry.

We had spent the previous night at Sophie's house for dinner. The three hours before had seen Jack and I sniping at each other angrily as we'd steamed the labels off a bottle of Moet and Chandon (which Jack had found at the dump) and stuck it to a bottle of sparkling grape juice. "Three dollars twenty five!" he told me proudly, lifting his masterpiece to the light. "That's like a saving of one hundred and twenty two dollars, and with an offering this big they won't expect anything else."

I had nearly ripped his head off right there. What was happening to me? Sophie never expected anything from me except honesty, and I was betraying that for Jack and his need to save on everything to the point of insanity. For the first time I started to see it for what it was – not saving, but compulsion.

The amazing thing was that Sophie got just as tipsy as she always did, and ended up slurring that she 'ruwly ruwly loved expunsuv chumpayne.'

"It's the placebo effect," Jack whispered in my ear.

I could have died of shame. I would have preferred to take the bottle without the labels swapped and looked like a tight ass, rather than duping anyone – especially my friend – with this deception.

*

Aw, hi!" Manu said, as Toni wandered in through the door.

"Hello, Manu." She smiled shyly. "I need some cream paint, for my lounge." Her cheeks flushed at the sight of his mussed-up hair do.

"Aw, aye?" he asked. "Lots of different shades of cream: there's cream with a bit of pink, or a bit of brown or even a bit of yellow or-"

"Oh dear!" she cut in "You choose, as long as it's cream."

He took his job seriously and fired her hundreds of questions about the colours (or lack of) in her house and the shades in the polished floor (which she had to take wild guesses at due to the fact she hadn't seen hide nor hair of the floor boards for years) and then Manu dashed off to dole out some paint.

She dashed home with equal gusto and started slapping the cream onto the walls. Once she'd started, it was hard to stop. Not till later – much later – did Danny intervene.

"It's nine o'clock," he told her, putting the lid firmly on the can of paint and moving it out onto the porch. The French doors were wide open to dry the walls more quickly; Jayden was wrapped up in blankets on the couch, fast asleep. "That kid can talk, can't he?" Danny motioned towards his son.

"Could talk the ears off a donkey." Toni smirked. "Sure has quite an imagination on him."

"I feel so bad for him at times. I wish he'd had a twin or something so he wouldn't be so bored." Danny scooped up the plates off the porch, and Toni folded the picnic blanket.