WHICH FACE

thirteen at a table
Francis the last
no-one to kiss
left with the glass

page 30

port passed round
not immune
towards the star
right through moon

here Francis
have this mask
heart sees face
this your task

have an answer
have some air
from this distance
you’re so fair

*

Francis has woken up too early. He pulls a jersey on over his pyjamas and shivers. The sky is milky blue. He traces a line curving up and around in the condensation on the window. He worries that the shape he’s drawn is too phallic. He worries that he worries too much.

In the kitchen he tries to make coffee without disturbing Cody. She’d probably sleep through a siren anyway, he thinks as the percolator hisses over onto the gas flame. He searches the bench for a teaspoon. Old teabags, dirty knives, crumbs. Standards are slipping. On the table he finds a teaspoon under a piece of paper with writing on it.

Mark called twice
sorry forgot to tell you
We need soap!
C.

He wonders how long the note’s been there. He thinks about what he has to do at work today. He’s trying to make some changes to the bookshop. Get rid of some of the trash and concentrate on the upmarket, cerebral and quirky. He has a sudden vision of himself as a turn-of-the-century shop clerk, tight collar and pinched brow, pushing pieces of paper around on a desk. He wishes he were back overseas. Maybe he’ll get drunk tonight.

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He stops outside Cody’s door. Without thinking, he opens it and slowly steps into her room. She’s almost hidden underneath her blankets, face buried in a pillow. He can’t see her breathing. He imagines going to shake her, giving her a fright, seeing her uncomposed morning face open in alarm. He doesn’t do it. He doesn’t do that sort of thing. But he thinks it, which makes him feel guilty enough.

He sits gently on the end of Cody’s bed and watches her sleep. She moves her feet a little bit. Nothing much happens. He leaves her room, forgetting on purpose to close the door. On his way to work, he smiles when he imagines her waking up.

*

A black and white photograph of two schoolgirls on a road.

Cody

Anyone would think you’d disappeared off the face of the earth. I called your machine, your voice is still on the tape. Is that guy hiding you under the floorboards? or boiling you up on the stove? 99% of women are murdered in their own homes. Or something like that.

Thea.

*