The In-Between by Christos Tsiolkas

Author:Christos Tsiolkas [Christos Tsiolkas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2023-09-19T00:00:00+00:00

For the first kilometre or so of the walk, descending the gradual slope of Ruckers Hill, avoiding the high street and following the railway line along the back streets and alleys, Perry listens to Ivan chatter away. Once or twice now he has seen the heaviness when Ivan has drunk too much, the scowl that takes over his face, as if an enraged sculptor has manipulated it into a mask of hostility: that Ivan he certainly doesn’t want to be around—that heaviness is exhausting. But, thankfully, it is rare. He does, however, adore the tipsy Ivan, when he is playful and cheerful. As he is now, remarking on the pompous earnestness of the conversation at the table, the snide competition between the couples. Perry is taken by his lover’s acumen, the way Ivan—who doesn’t know the jargon, who has no experience of such codes—has recognised the self-consciousness of much of the evening’s political and moral posturing. He is listening intently, but he is also focused on the sombre bluestone of the cobbled lane they are walking down, the clanging of the boom gates announcing a train’s arrival, the autumnal colours of the restored Victorian and Edwardian houses, the slightly repellent sweetness of a thick lavender bush sprawling over a low picket fence. And he is marvelling at the startling ease with which they have declared their love for one another, the clear truth of the pronouncement. He had loved Gerard, passionately and completely, so much so that Gerard’s swift, cruel termination of their relationship had almost driven him mad. He sees that now. Yet even in its most intense, serene, moments there was never future in that love. With Ivan there is a future—such a future. Of course, he still dreams individual dreams. Was he not doing that earlier in the day? Fantasising about returning to Europe, alone? But they were fantasies, encouraged and fed by petty resentments and anxieties, such as his wariness of Cora, of the tedious constancy of work. Ivan is part of his calculations now, part of how he imagines the world to come. And he suspects that the kind of disloyal fantasising he had indulged in is part of the imaginary life even of those couples who have survived and loved for more than fifty years.

‘I never wanted children,’ he suddenly blurts out. ‘Never.’ Ivan slows his pace and Perry continues breathlessly, letting the words fall out. ‘I adore my niece and nephew. Cerise and Ilias are great kids.’ He stops, recollects. ‘They’re great young people. And I love my friends’ children. I love Nathan, and Hannah. My cousin Yana’s kids in Athens. You’ve got to meet her; she’s wonderful. I think I’m a good uncle, and I like the role.’ His voice rises. ‘That’s what I want to be for Kat, for Tash. I want to be a good uncle.’ He pauses, adds, ‘A good great-uncle.’

Ivan bumps into him gently, grabs his chin, rubbing his finger along the harshness of Perry’s grey stubble.

‘I wasn’t pissed off tonight because I was the only non-parent in the room.

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