The True Story of Butterfish by Nick Earls

not selling cheap jewellery at Indooroopilly. But that sounds like you and washing one plate. It’s not a sad situation.’ She drank some beer. Her face had settled back into a more usual smile. ‘Anyway, life gets complicated in ways like that. I don’t think anyone can get to this end of their thirties – the middle end – without a few rough landings. Anyone, with the possible exception of a couple of my friends, who seem to lead a life that’s somewhere between Stepford and actually perfect. Damn them. I had a work Christmas party last year, just drinks at the Pig ’n’ Whistle, and there was a live band. Someone took a photo of me from about knee-high while I was dancing. I told one of my friends about it, and I told her I looked hideously drunk and haggard. And do you know what she said? She said, “I’m sure you weren’t hideously drunk.” So, there you go. Haggard and just regular drunk. That’s where she’d put me. That’s the kind of back-up you want when you’re thirty-seven – thirty-six then – and working hard to keep all the balls in the air.’
    â€˜I’ve just got a brother with six-pack abs who calls me Chubs. He doesn’t let up though.’
    â€˜Six-pack abs. Does he realise how nineties he is?’
    I couldn’t imagine a better thing she could have said.
    Inside, a door opened. Heavy feet came our way, and Mark’s broad unshaped shadow cast itself onto the verandah.
    â€˜I was just wondering...’ he said when he appeared. ‘Annaliese said you might need someone to mow your lawn. And if you did, I’d probably be available for hire. And I’d happily undercut most commercial contractors.’ Politeness felt wrong from a black-clad teenager with hair like a nest and a nail in his ear, but for Mark it seemed to be a tool that he could put to work whenever it might be useful. The tone was even coy, reserved.
    â€˜ Most commercial contractors?’ Kate said, picking a hole in the way a parent can. ‘Do you have the overheads of any commercial contractors? I assume you’re just planning to use our mower.’
    â€˜I’m in the neighbourhood,’ he said, more to me than to her. ‘And I pretty much guarantee a quick response time.’ The cracked glass smile was back. I wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be persuasive, or if he was just enjoying his politician’s non-answer to his mother’s questioning. I wondered if the smile was being pulled into its shape partly by the hot lumps of acne swelling near his mouth.
    â€˜That sounds good to me,’ I told him. My grass really needed cutting, and I had no inclination to get out there myself. ‘Of course I’d have to be indemnified against snake bite. Some of that grass is pretty long.’
    The smile persisted. ‘Well, we could talk some kind of danger money,’ he said. ‘Some kind of loading.’
    â€˜What?’ Kate was weighing in again. ‘Are you crazy? How good’s an extra few dollars going to feel if a taipan bites you?’
    â€˜That won’t be happening,’ he said dismissively. ‘You think snakes’ll hang around when the mower starts? This is just a commercial arrangement.’
    â€˜Right,’ she said. ‘And if the worst comes to the worst I’ve still got Liesie to look after me in my old age.’
    He gave a phlegmy unpractised laugh and said, ‘Thanks, Mum. Looks like we’re good to go, Curtis.’ I was sensing that, while giving as little away as possible, he had loved this game, that they both had.
    â€˜Okay, it’s a deal,’ I said. ‘I’ll pay you whatever’s reasonable. Come and get started as soon as you’re ready to.’
    â€˜Cool,’ he said, obviously fantasising about just how much he might be able to rip me off.
    He went back to his room, his shadow swaying and following him. His