Elsewhere in Success by Iris Lavell Page A

no,’ says Lucy. ‘You need to try something else. You need to get a bit more angsty.’
    Angsty? What’s that? Grumpy? Angry? What has that ever achieved, Louisa wonders, but it’s too hard to explain. ‘Yes, I suppose,’ she says. ‘I guess so.’
    Just the same, Lucy’s comment precipitates something.
    Louisa finds the first occasion she can after her session to tell Harry more about Victor and how what he did to her made him feel powerful, which she thinks he must have needed, because underneath it all he was weak. Why else would he pick on a person half his size, not to mention his own children who he should have been protecting from harm? She tells Harry, with a little too much feeling, that it makes her sick, what he did to them all.
    Harry apparently takes her brief attempt to communicate as an oblique criticism of all of his sex, and gets moody for a while.
    â€˜Oh, for Pete’s sake,’ he says.
    He goes for a walk around the backyard, does some light pruning. He comes back inside, puts the secateurs down, and takes up where they left off.
    â€˜I’m not Victor!’ he says.
    â€˜I know.’
    â€˜For one thing, I actually care about you Louisa,’ he says. ‘Believe it or not.’
    This surprises her, the fact that he would say it in so many words.
    â€˜Do you?’ she says.
    â€˜Of course I do. I’m here, aren’t I?’ And he gives her an awkward squeeze. ‘It doesn’t have to be said.’ His voice breaks over the last word, suddenly uncertain. Her eyes fill.
    â€˜Sometimes it does need to be said,’ she says.
    A short silence, then:
    â€˜We could have sex more often I suppose,’ he suggests, hopefully.
    â€˜Could we?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜No time like the present,’ she retorts.
    Harry misses two beats, fixes her in the eye, strips off his gardening gloves, begins to hum the national anthem, and dances her towards the bedroom.
    â€˜What about the pruning?’ she says.
    â€˜Bugger the pruning!’
    As they make love, Louisa slows him down, luxuriating in the generous heat of his body and the ever-surprising tenderness of his touch. There is something subtle and new for her here, as if her body, even at this late stage, is still learning.
    Afterwards, when they are lying lazily on the bed, with his arms loosely holding her, and the late sun filtering in, she tells him, ‘You know, Harry, I do love you.’
    His arms tighten fractionally, before he lets her go. He rolls over, sits up on the side of the bed, and stares out of thewindow. A cloud must have slipped across the sun. The light in the room softens.
    â€˜I know,’ he says, ‘me too.’
    He stands with his back to her, naked, vulnerable, desirable. Her body aches for him, but he is gone, already moving on to the next thing. The end of the day is upon them, and tomorrow things will be as usual.
    He begins to dress. ‘It’s getting late,’ he says. ‘I’d better take the dog for a walk. Want to come?’

CHAPTER EIGHT
    Buddha cost seven dollars and ninety-five cents from a retail outlet that Louisa and Harry have difficulty categorising. The store sits near a south-of-the-river market and sells a range of goods including a substantial quantity of fruit and vegetables, lollies, cheap ornaments, antiques, bric-a-brac, multidenominational religious items of devotion, fairies, artificial flowers and pot plants.
    Buddha had originally been priced at fifteen dollars, but because he had a small chip on the big toe of his left foot, he was marked down. It was the bargain that drew Harry’s eye, and a love of imperfection that drew Louisa’s. Louisa held him and said no to the plastic bag, as Harry counted out eight dollars and told the shop assistant to keep the change because he was so pleased with the price. They drove straight home while Harry hummed along to Peggy Lee and