Enjoy Your Stay (7 page)

F
UCK, FUNERALS
are boring.

I mean, yes, it’s sad. The family member/friend/co-worker/acquaintance you used to know is lying in a box inside a church they more than likely only set foot in once. They’re painted up all creepy with colour in their cheeks, like at any moment they’ll sit up, and go, “I’m just shitting you, guys. How bout a drink at the pub?” And, yes, people are crying, and whispering half-hearted condolences, but they’re so fucking depressing you think you might just keel over if you have to endure it any longer.

I didn’t know Kerry that well. I mean, she seemed nice enough. It was clear she loved her family—even if she didn’t always show it in the best possible ways—but I don’t think we ever uttered more than a couple of sentences to one another since I moved here. She didn’t sound like a bad person. I know Ana wasn’t her biggest fan, but even my baby cousin shed a few tears today.

Poor little Sammy was heartbroken. He sat between Ana and Elijah, and quietly ran a toy car over the pew in front of him. And Bob hadn’t really uttered a word to anyone. He stood in the first pew in his leathers, sunnies firmly fixed over his bloodshot eyes. He hadn’t flinched when the empty coffin had been carried out, and he hadn’t cried when it was lowered into the ground, and the dirt had been shovelled over the top. He hadn’t said a word to anyone, just tore up the street on his Harley as soon as the service was over.

The wake is at the little hall adjoining the church, and Ana’s been left with the burden of running around like a blue-arsed fly, making sure everyone has enough to eat, and a full coffee cup in their hands. I tried offering my help, but she shooed me away with a terse, “Go find Holly, and see if you can help her.”

Looks like the whole town has turned up for the wake, but I gotta say, it’s a little odd seeing Bob’s biker friends in all their leather and tattoos beside little old ladies in pastels. There are a few other kids here, but Sammy hasn’t shown an interest in any of them. He sits on the hardwood floors, and stares into space while leaning up against Elijah’s leg.

“You seen Holly?” I ask Cade. He’s nursing a cup of coffee in one of those dainty little china cups that he could probably smash with his pinkie. He glances up, and points to the back of the room.

“Careful, those bitches are dangerous,” he mutters as he chews on a Tim Tam. “They practically bailed me up, and ran me right out of town when I first got here.”

I glance over a sea of faces I don’t recognise and find Hols cornered by a group of elderly women. Either they’re trying to convert her faith, or they’re trying to coax her into a foursome, because she looks more uncomfortable than I have ever seen her.

“Thanks for the warning, man.” I walk away, wondering how much damage three little old ladies can do.
Old ladies love me.

As I get closer, Holly spots me above their flower-patterned hats, and gives me these wild, crazy, rescue-me eyes. I grin, and make out like I’m about to keep walking, just to piss her off.

“Jackson,” she shouts so loudly that several groups turn to stare at her, including the priest, who clears his throat and shifts his focus back to the avid churchgoers in front of him.

“Hey Hols.” I smile snidely, as I stop beside her. “How you holding up?”

“I’m hanging in there,” she deadpans. “Wasn’t there something you needed to show me?”

“Show you?” I frown, and pretend like I’m really giving this serious thought. “Nope, nothing that I can think of.” While she’s silently fuming, and probably envisioning all the ways she could make me die a slow and painful death, I glance at the elderly women before me and hold out my hand. “Hi, I’m Jackson Rowe.”

The woman closest shakes my hand, and I give her a megawatt smile. The gorgeous old thing blushes so much I bet it travels right the way down from her cheeks to her giant granny knickers. “Celia Rose, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Jackson. We’re very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” I reply solemnly.

Celia introduces me to the two remaining ladies, and then launches right into a speech about the sanctity of marriage, and how important it is in this day and age. And then she stumps me by putting her hands on Hols’ flat belly, and says, “Are you the father of this beautiful gift from God?”

Jesus Christ. Does everyone know everything that goes on in this town? Holly’s not even showing yet. How the fuck does anyone that’s not immediate family know she’s pregnant? “Er … Well, yes ma’am. Yes I am.”

Shit.

Fuck.

Holly is going to spread my nuts on a cracker.

I can feel her searing gaze on me.
That crazy bitch is gonna flay me alive.
“He’s not—”

I put my arm around her shoulder, and pull her into my side. “Used to getting to tell people first. Happiest day of my life, though.”

I can feel the anger coming off Holly like waves of radiation. She’s about thirty seconds from hulking out on these nosy old hags, and it’s apparent that I’m gonna need to remove her from the room before someone loses an eye … or their junk, or both.

“Excuse us, ladies. I just remembered I did have something to show Holly, after all.” I steer her away from the purple-rinse mafia before she goes completely postal.

“Such a nice, young man,” Celia says.

“Yes. Shame that little whore has sunk her claws into him. He’d be perfect for my Alison.”

Holly’s shoulders stiffen, and as I steer her toward the exit she leans in and hisses, “I’m gonna gut them, and then I’m gonna gut you, and wear your testicles as a necklace.”

“Oookay, lady She-Hulk. Let’s just get you outside where you can cool off.”

“Cool off?”

A woman scowls at Holly, and makes a tsking sound as I lead her through the crowd of mourners.

“What?” Hols demands of her audience.

I realise she might explode before we can reach the other side of the hall, and the last thing anybody needs is a scary, pregnant ranga going postal and massacring a whole congregation. I lead her into the church so we can talk in private. She shrugs my arm off her shoulder as soon as we clear the door.

“What the fuck would possess you to say you were my baby-daddy, Jackson? Do you have any idea who the hell you were just speaking to?”

“Celia Rose?”

“No, Jackarse, Celia Rose is the devil. Her and her two henchmen back there are going to be spreading this news all over town. You mark my words: Before this wake is over, the entire town will think we’re settling down together.”

“I just thought things might be easier for you if you weren’t doing this alone. Or, at least if you didn’t have to justify your actions to prudes like those women in there.”

“I don’t have any actions to justify. Knocked up and left behind, remember?”

“I just thought I was making life easier for you.”

“Well, you weren’t,” she snaps, and plonks her sexy arse down in a pew. “Life’s never been easy with you around, Jack.”

Well, fuck. That stung.

“Hols,” I begin but she holds up a hand to stop me. She stares up at an enormous statue of Jesus nailed to the cross, and shudders. “I hate churches. They’re weird and depressing. And they always smell like incense and spunk.”

I let out a chuckle and sit down beside her, even though I’m still not sure she isn’t going to cut off my balls and wear them as jewellery. “Jesus, what kinda churches are you worshipping in? Because I’m so ready to convert.”

“It’s true. I used to be an alter-girl, and the first time I ever tasted a dude’s spunk brought me right back here, right back to receiving communion.”

“Gives new meaning to the phrase
take of the body of Christ
.”

She lets out a half-hearted laugh, and then scowls at me. “You do not get to make me laugh, mister. You are still in serious trouble.”

“Spanking kinda trouble, or just the ordinary kind?”

“Maybe both.”

“Come on. Let’s see if we can’t give you a better memory of church than some random dude’s spunk.” I take her hand in mine, and lead her over to the confessional booths.

Twenty minutes, later Holly and I are searching the confessional on our hands and knees, looking for her underwear when there’s a rap on the door.

“Pardon the interruption, but afternoon mass is due to start in another ten minutes, and we’ll need the room for those members of the congregation who come to confession to … er … talk to God … not shout at him.”

Holy shit. A priest with a sense of humour. What are the odds?
“Sorry mate, we’ll be right out.”

“I’ll give you a minute to make yourselves presentable.”

I’m laughing my arse off as I get to my feet in the confined space, but it’s clear Holly is not happy with me. If anything, I think I’m in even deeper shit than I was before. In fact, I think the only reason I’m not toast right now is because I fucked her into some sort of coma where her inner She-Hulk is too damn tired to come out and play.

I can’t ever fucking win with this woman.

“We are so going to hell for this,” Holly says, as she struggles to pull on her underwear in the confined space.

“Well, you know what they say about hell?’

“No, Jackson.” She sighs. “What is it they say about hell?”

"It’s like being fucked up the arse every which way from Sunday. You may as well grab the devil by the balls, and enjoy the bloody ride."

“Well I, for one, think you and Satan would be a match made in heaven. You both seem to love anal.”

Fuck, I love it when she talks dirty.

I
PULL
the last bag of groceries from the car. It contains a packet of Anzac Biscuits and a loaf of bread, because that’s all Ana thinks I’m able to carry in my “condition”. And even though she’s taking the majority of all the bags, it’d be nice if just one of the four strapping, young men living in our house could pull their fingers out of their arses and help us with the shopping.

I stuff another biscuit into my mouth, and lick the crumbs from my fingers. We walk inside, and as usual, the boys are nowhere to be seen. Sammy’s obviously watching a movie in the lounge room, because I can hear him laughing at the TV. I follow Ana into the kitchen, and lean against the bench while I open a packet of chilli chips and start tucking in.

“I don’t know how you can eat those things. Aren’t they burning the baby up from the inside?” Ana asks.

I shrug. “Beats me, but he seems to like them though. He starts kicking every time I eat them.”

“Probably because his umbilical cord is on fire.” Ana places the milk in the fridge, and pulls out an empty pie-case someone forgot to put away.
Men are such pigs
.

I shrug again, and then we hear a moan from the lounge room. “Sammy, what are you watching there, buddy?”

“Ana Cabanna, why ith Elijah jumping up and down on you?”

Ana’s eyes go wide, and all the blood drains from her face. No shit, I mean
all the blood
. She’s as white as a sheet, and then she sprints into action and dashes into the lounge room. I hurry in after her, and see our flat-screen lit up with Ana and Elijah going at it like bunnies. I burst out laughing, and Ana starts screaming because the remote she’s stabbing with her fist isn’t working. “Oh my God! What are you watching? Ohmygodohmygod. Cade, get your arse in here now!”

Elijah and Jackson come tearing in from out back, and Bob wanders in, bleary-eyed, from the guest room.

“Jesus Christ,” Jackson says, and covers his eyes. “Dude that’s my fucking cousin.”

“Why ith Ana Cabana threaming like that? Were you hurting her, Lighie?” Sammy looks up at Elijah, and Ana covers her kid brother’s eyes.

“Turn it off! Turn it off!” she yells at Elijah, who now has the remote, and is mashing his fist against it the way she was. I would point out that they could just pull the plug out of the wall, but I can’t, on account of the fact that I’m laughing so hard I feel like my bladder might burst.

“Christ, what’s all the yellin’ about?” Bob says as he stops rubbing his eyes, and stares at the screen.

“Oh my God, Dad, don’t look!” Ana screeches, which of course means that he does.

“Tell me you did not make a fucking sex tape with my daughter, Son?”