I do know I shouldn’t have done it.  It wasn’t even as if she wouldn’t find out.  I mean, it was obvious that I would have known she’d be at work.  She’d be mad at me.  But I couldn’t resist.  She’d get over it. 

It’s not every day that your daughter announces that she’s moved in a new bloke you’ve never even heard of.  A mysterious boyfriend who is apparently not well enough to do so much as call round to say g’day.  And when you’d all but given up hope of her ever dating again.  And here I was, in the city.  Just passing.  More or less. 

Look, he might be out himself, so no harm done. 

I’d made up my mind to go through with it before I’d even parked the car, so I just walked straight on up and rang the bell. 

The wait for the door to open seemed very long.   He must be out.  Or asleep?  Maybe he was really sick and I was disturbing him?  I did feel bad when that thought occurred to me, but it was too late by then.  So I waited. 

Finally I heard the sound of someone fumbling at the catch on the other side.  Then the door opened, not very far.  And there stood the latest addition to the family. 

My God!  He was gorgeous. You’ve fallen on your feet there, you lucky girl!   That was the first thing that popped into my head.  I know it might sound weird, but there it is.  Any breathing female would have thought the same.  Dark.  That was my initial impression.  Sort of dark and brooding; sharp, suspicious features, keeping the door mostly closed around himself.  Oddly familiar. 

I gave him a bright smile.  He didn’t smile back.

“Hello there!  Is Claire in?” 

His eyes narrowed. 

“Could I ask who might be lookin’ for her?” he asked.  Well.  Irish.  Accent to die for. 

“I’m Sally – Claire’s mum.”  I stuck out my hand.  “You must be…Joe?” 

He did smile then.  Bit of a rusty smile, but friendly enough.  Reached his eyes, although they stayed sort of haunted – or do I mean hunted? – looking.  He shook my hand. 

“Of course.  I can see the resemblance.  Pleased to meet you ma’am,” he said politely.  I don’t believe anyone had ever called me ma’am before.  Made me feel about sixty. 

“Claire’s not in. She’s…at work.” 

“Sally,” I repeated firmly to make sure we didn’t persevere with the ma’am thing. 

The corner of his lean-looking mouth twitched.  

“Sally,” he said, giving the ‘a’ a deep, rounded sound that made me want to ask him to repeat it.  Just to make sure. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have my watch on, so I’m not sure of the time,” I lied.  “Will she be long?” 

It looked like Joe didn’t have a watch either because he looked past my shoulder out of the big hallway window behind me, squinted a bit at the cloudy sky and said, 

“I reckon she’ll be about an hour.  Will you come in and wait?” 

Thought he’d never ask.  

He opened the door wider and I got a better look at him.  Very clean.  That struck me as strange.  Not that I’d expect him to be dirty, you understand, but like I said, there was a darkness about him that was at odds with these boiled-clean features.  Someone with black hair like that, of course there was a bit of a five o’clock shadow going on, but still his skin looked practically scraped bare with a recent razoring.  His clothes were immaculate – the way clothes look when you try them on in a store.  Shirt, buttoned up too high around the neck and with an ironing crease down each sleeve.  Baggy jeans.  Bare feet.  Actually, the feet weren’t very nice.  I don’t mean they were dirty or misshapen, just uncared for-looking.  Men can be like that sometimes though, can’t they?  Beautiful, silky black curls tumbled over his collar and across his forehead.  Sometimes curly hair looks dry or wiry, but his had plenty of what hairdressers call ‘definition’, though I couldn’t see him as the type to lurk about in front of a mirror with pots of wax and gel. 

He led the way into the lounge.  It was a bit stuffy in there, like he’d been holed up in it all day.   The TV was on, there were books and newspapers – The Age, he didn’t seem to be a tabloid fan - scattered about and an overflowing ashtray on the arm of the couch.  Not everything in the ashtray was entirely kosher, if you know what I mean, so I pretended I hadn’t seen it.  It was getting dark outside, but the blinds were up and there were no lights on. 

I put down my shopping bag which contained a peace offering for Claire, cleared a couple of the girls’ magazines off the nearest chair and sat down. 

Joe stayed standing and waited until I’d got comfortable. 

“Will I get you a cup of tea?” he asked. 

I don’t know, will you? I wanted to say.  Instead, I did the bright smile thing again. 

“Please”. 

Off he padded to the kitchen.  He had an interesting way of walking.  Sort of hunched over, ranging across the room with a long stride. 

I took a better look at that ashtray and then I got up and followed him.  He had filled a small saucepan with cold water and set it on the hob. 

“Isn’t the electric kettle working?” I asked. 

He turned around and gave me a slow, and frankly rather devastating, smile. 

“Habit to do it this way…Sally.” 

I fetched the mugs and the teabags and got milk out the fridge  – after all this was my daughter’s kitchen and as far as I was concerned, the jury was still out on who was the guest here. 

We sat down again in the gloomy lounge.  I looked at the television.  Thought we might start a conversation about whatever he had been watching.  The picture was really strange –the contrast and the brightness were turned down so far it was almost black and white. 

I nodded towards it. 

“Is there a problem with the telly then Joe? The picture’s not right.” 

Joe glanced at the screen as if he’d forgotten it was on. 

“Oh, no.  I just prefer it that way so I adjusted it.” 

The penny dropped.  What with that and the dark room and Claire saying he was sick, and the studied way he had of looking at a person. 

“You have a problem with your eyesight?” I asked sympathetically. 

He looked startled. 

“My eyesight?” he repeated incredulously, except that the way he said it, it came out like ‘Me oi-soight?’ “No, I can see fine.  Why would ye think that?” 

“The telly turned right down and no lights on in here” I explained, waving my hands as if wafting away the statement to distance myself from it. “Claire mentioned you weren’t well. I thought maybe you couldn’t tolerate bright lights.  Photophobia?  Or maybe er…glaucoma?” 

To be honest, I hadn’t the faintest idea if people with glaucoma sat about in the dark feeling rough. I was just blathering on, because his eyes were fixed intently on me now and suddenly there didn’t seem to be a lot wrong with them at all.  In fact it was like he was quietly seeing a lot of things about me that I might hope weren’t on show.  

He looked down and frowned. 

“I don’t much like a lot of bright lights, but I didn’t notice it had got dark.”  

He got up, the couch creaking as he rose, and flipped the switch on the wall, illuminating the room with a harsh glare.  Then he sat down again, or rather lay stretched out on the couch, thought better of it and sat up, leaning towards me, elbows on his knees, one palm rubbing his chin thoughtfully. 

“I don’t know what Claire told ye, but I’m not ill exactly.  I just haven’t felt much like going out since I got here.  What was it Claire said?  Ah yes, that’s it.”  He nodded to himself and pronounced the words carefully, with just the faintest hint of underlying amusement.  “I’ve been traumatised and I have anxieties.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that Joe,” I said sincerely, wondering what might have traumatised him, or rather, trahma-toyzed him, and if he’d tell me.  Also when Claire had acquired a degree in psychotherapy. 

“Ah, it’s nothin’.  To be honest with ye Sally, I don’t entirely know what she means.  I’ve been anxious about the weather and where me next dinner’s comin’ from before now, but I don’t know as it ever stopped me doing anything I wanted.” 

“Well, I hope you feel better soon.”

He nodded an acknowledgement. 

There was an awkward silence.  

I wondered what else I could say.  Other than another inane remark about a broken appliance, that is.   There was something though.  I’d been trying to put my finger on it from the moment he’d opened the door and now I realised.  

“You must get this all time,” I said with a half-laugh in case I was going to put my foot in it again, “But you look exactly like him don’t you?” 

Joe leaned sideways to fumble in his back pocket and brought out a small, rectangular tobacco tin. 

“Like who?” He was prising off the lid and taking out a roll-up and frowning at it.  He seemed to frown a lot. 

“Orlando Bloom.” 

“I don’t know him, never met the fella.” 

I saw him hesitate, then he selected a second roll-up and offered it to me with an eyebrow raised in question. 

“No thanks,” I said, and watched him carefully replace it in the tin, put on the lid and then do that leaning thing again to get it back in his pocket.  

“Well, no, I don’t suppose you would know him of course, but you must have seen him, people must have pointed it out.  The actor.  Pirates of the Caribbean.  Lord of the Rings.” 

“I don’t go to the theatre much.  Claire might know of him.”  He struck a match and lit the cigarette. 

Too right she does, I thought. 

“Not theatre.  Films.” 

“Oh, right.  I…don’t watch fillums.”  That’s how he said it – ‘fillums’. 

“Ah well, if you ever see him, you’ll know what I meant.” 

I sipped my tea.  He was very beautiful and brooding but he was bloody hard work. 

“So have you lived here long?” I ventured.  If I didn’t keep asking questions, we’d never get a conversation going, but it was beginning to feel like I was interviewing him. 

He blew smoke into the air. 

“About a fortnight.” 

“No, I meant, in Australia.  You’re Irish, right?” 

“Yes I’m Irish,” he said, smiling good-naturedly again, like he’d done in the kitchen.  “But I’ve lived in Australia,” he paused.  “A good while now.  Out in the country, up near Beechworth, if you know it?” 

“Oh yes, I’ve an aunt who lives in Wangaratta.” 

“Nice place.” 

He smoked a bit more.  I wondered if Claire and Becky minded him stinking out the place like that. 

“You…smoke a lot?” I enquired, eyeing the ashtray and its heaped jumble of white butts. 

He inhaled so deeply that the cigarette visibly burned down before my eyes.  He took it out of his mouth, examined the end and carefully tapped away the excess ash. 

“Well, that’s what your daughter tells me, so I reckon I probably do.  Mind you, she did buy me some cannabis when I asked her, so I don’t suppose she minds overmuch.” 

I could feel my eyes bulging.  I was utterly lost for words.  I mean, I’m not naïve about that sort of thing; we’ve probably all tried it at some time or other.  It was the matter of fact way he told me, without the slightest trace of shame, and without even needing to mention it at all, that he’d asked my daughter to buy him drugs and that she’d gone and done it.  Christ, what kind of family did he think she’d come from?  What kind of family did he come from? 

I have to be fair to him, he saw my face and he realised he’d said something wrong.  He hastily stubbed out his cigarette, and to hide his embarrassment leaped up and took the ashtray away into the kitchen to empty it. 

When he returned, he was different.  He still sort of smouldered there on the couch, but he was definitely making more of an effort.  Asked where I lived, talked about Becky and how she was away right now on holiday up in Cairns, that kind of thing. 

“And Claire’s father, he’s not with you today?” 

“Gerry?  Hardly love.  He didn’t come shopping with me when we were married, so he’s certainly not going to come now we’re divorced.  Not even to visit his daughter.” 

Joe’s face assumed the grave expression of someone offering condolences for a recent bereavement. 

“Aye, now I remember.  Claire did mention that.  I hope you didn’t mind her tellin’ me.  I’m really sorry.” 

“Don’t be love, I’m not.  Your parents, where are they?” 

He was twiddling a biro in his fingers.  He seemed like one of those people who were never settled unless they had something to fiddle with.  He clicked the button at the top that makes the point come out, marking his palm with a dot of blue ink, then he examined the point carefully like he’d never seen one before.  I guessed he was choosing his words carefully. 

“They’ve both passed on now.  I don’t have family here.” 

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that Joe.  So you’ve come to live in the city.  What is it you do?” 

“What is it I do?” 

He seemed to have a habit of repeating my questions as if translating from a foreign language.  Maybe he spoke Gaelic at home?  Or maybe he thought I was asking about his prospects, like Gerry would have done.  I suppose I was in a way.  I know he was meant to be ill, but there wasn’t a lot of get-up-and-go about him. 

“Your job.  What is it you do?” 

He smiled.  Not at me, but kind of to himself.  Then he gave a sniff. 

“Horses,” he said.  “Mostly I’ve worked with horses. Livestock.  That type of thing.  I’ve done a couple of bank jobs too.” 

“Well, there are certainly plenty of banks here in Melbourne.  Not so much in the way of horses I don’t suppose.  Mind you, Claire likes riding.  But maybe you know that?” 

“That’s how I met her ye know.”  He leaned back on the couch and ran his arms along the back of it.  There was a fondness in the way he said that which I liked. 

“She fell off her horse and I found her.” 

“I didn’t realise you were there then!  That was ages ago!  Fancy that.  She didn’t…mention you at the time.  Were you the one that called the ambulance?” 

He bounded to his feet and began to pace around the room.  For some reason the question appeared to have agitated him. 

“I looked after her,” he said shortly.  “I made sure she was safe.” 

In the corner of the room was a small desk with a computer on it and a chair in front.  One of those fifties-type designs made from a single curved piece of laminated plywood, chrome legs with round feet on the end.  Joe picked it up with one hand and swung it in front of him with the seat facing towards him.  He sat astride it, resting his arms on the back.  He seemed quite troubled, I noticed.  The other thing I noticed was that he had very muscular thighs.  Must be all that riding.  

“The thing is Sally, may I speak frankly?” 

After his remark about the cannabis I was surprised he was asking my permission, but I put on my best surrogate-mother warm smile. 

“Course you can love, what is it?” 

“If I had a daughter and some larrikin with no job moved in and was livin’ off her an’ all, I’d not be very happy about it. I’d be wantin’ at the very least to know what his intentions were.”  He paused.  “Check up on him.” 

I was about to tell him not to be silly, then I caught his eye.  The rest of his face was a picture of bland innocence.  I opened my mouth and then I shut it again and hoped I wasn’t blushing. 

Joe cleared his throat and continued more earnestly. 

“I know full well what me duties are to Claire, and I want ye to know that I intend to provide for her as soon as I’m better.  She shouldn’t have to work for someone else like that.” 

Now it was my turn to look surprised. 

“Oh.  Right.  Well, that’s good to know Joe.  Umm…does Claire know this?” 

“Course she does.” 

“Well, obviously I don’t know what goes on between you, and that’s up to you, but I don’t think Claire would want anyone feeling they were with her out of a sense of duty.  Pitching in with the rent and groceries is one thing, but I’d be surprised if she expects you to keep her.  And she’s – well, you’re both - very young to rush into anything.”  

He stared hard at me as if he didn’t quite follow my argument.  I don’t know what it is with young people today.  When I was Claire’s age, I’d have been furious if some bloke thought he had to pay for me as well as himself, but perhaps she liked the idea.  Was this what we fought for in the seventies and eighties?  The right to be treated like dependent possessions, but on our own terms? 

“And another thing,” Joe was saying when I returned my attention to him. “I want ye to know that yer daughter’s honour is safe with me.  I’d not…take advantage of her hospitality by suggesting an improper relationship.” 

I stared back at him to see if he was joking.  Maybe I needed to put my reading glasses on to get a better look.  Or perhaps I’d just heard wrong. 

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if Claire agreed with him on that one too, but I just managed to stop myself in time.  Nobody wants to dwell on their kids’ sex lives, but even if Claire liked the idea of being a kept woman, somehow I couldn’t see her welcoming what was, to be honest, the sexiest-looking bloke I’d ever clapped eyes on, bunking down in the spare room to safeguard her chastity. Not that Claire and Becky actually had a spare room anyway.  It crossed my mind he might be lying, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why on earth he would bother. 

“Look Joe,” I said eventually, spreading my palms helplessly.  “Thank you for your reassurances.  But Claire’s a grown woman.  What she does is none of my business.” 

“Well, if it would help, I don’t mind explainin’ meself to Claire’s da. or her brother.” 

“No, no, there’s no need for that,” I said hastily, picturing the confusion on Drew’s face.  As for Gerry, my imagination failed me entirely. 

“I don’t get involved in my children’s relationships, but since you brought it up, all I ask is that you treat my daughter with respect, try your best not to break her heart, and…” Now it was my turn to hesitate.  Was I pushing it a bit?  Oh sod it.  “Don’t make babies you don’t intend to hang around to bring up.” 

To my relief, but also rather to my surprise, Joe laughed out loud.  He swung his leg off the chair and grasped it by the seat to return it to its place. 

“Ah now Sally, I think we understand each other fine.  I reckon I can give ye my word on all of that.”  He lifted the chair effortlessly and then added as an afterthought, “I also think ye know full well that if Claire heard us havin’ this conversation, she’d tear into the pair of us.” 

I had to laugh at that too. 

“Fair point, Joe.  She’s not one for holding back, is she?  When she was little, she always….” 

If Joe was interested to hear this fascinating tale of his girlfriend’s childhood, he was out of luck. For at that moment we both heard the sound of a key jiggling in the lock.  We exchanged guilty glances.  Joe pushed the chair back under the desk and bounded back onto the couch.  As she walked in he was sitting there as if butter wouldn’t melt.  

She walked straight over to him – didn’t see me, didn’t apparently see anything else at all.  The rest of the flat, if not the whole world could have disappeared for all the attention she paid it. He stood up to greet her, one arm around her waist, hers entwined around his neck as they exchanged a kiss.  ‘Exchanged a kiss’ doesn’t really do justice to it.  Let’s just say that even from where I was sitting, the temperature in the room rose a degree or two, and  if they weren’t sleeping together, I was Dame Nellie Melba. 

“How was your day?” I heard her ask. 

“Claire,” said Joe, good humouredly disentangling himself, “We’ve a visitor.  Yer mother’s here.” 

Claire spun round to face me. 

“Mum!” she said in a shocked, barely civil tone.  “What are you doing here?” 

“Just popped around to see you love,” I told her, smiling pleasantly and waiting for the situation to detonate.  I didn’t have to wait long. 

“Spy on us more like!  You knew I’d be at work.  You were just being nosey!” 

“Claire, don’t be rude to yer ma,” said Joe, apparently unflustered by her outburst.  He spoke so softly that I nearly didn’t catch the words, but as he did so, he wrapped his arm around her again, this time across her front, pulling her back into him in an affectionate restraint.  She eyed me resentfully, but the anger faded from her face. 

“She only just got here, brought ye a present an’ all, barely had time for a quick cup of tea.  Isn’t that right Sally?” 

I glanced at him in surprised gratitude. He looked as if he was finding it difficult not to laugh.  

“That’s right love,” I agreed.  “Only been here ten minutes.  Joe and I were just getting acquainted.” 

Over my daughter’s head, her boyfriend winked at me.