Fidel - 7. Natural Fitness and a Blast From the Past

Before the doors opened to the public, the six new trainers who had never met each other before the audition, knew how to test a client’s level of fitness, allocate the correct plan, use all the equipment, speak politely, admit error, not contradict, praise every advancement no matter how small, be helpful, patient and well tempered. As important was learning how to enter a room, act, behave and conduct themselves as naturally as if they were fully dressed. Bart, Robert and Arnold sometimes wore clothes to simulate patrons and were constantly correcting conscious or unconscious mannerisms that indicated self-consciousness.

‘If someone even thinks you're embarrassed, the atmosphere will become uncomfortable, and they’ll start to wonder if it’s kinky to have naked trainers. But if you guys honestly think that wearing clothes unnecessarily is strange and pathetic, and are always totally relaxed, secure and efficient, they’ll forget you're naked. It’s up to you.’

Well before opening day, the behaviour of all six was virtually indistinguishable from their four employers and, thanks to the absence of professional jealousy and competition over body type, had become friends and ideal employees.

Meanwhile, the unsuccessful candidates had done their work brilliantly. If there was one fitness worker or gymnasium patron in the city who wasn’t aware that Natural Fitness employed naked trainers and handed out hundred-dollar notes to unsuccessful applicants, then he or she was blind and deaf.

Thus, at two o'clock on opening day the car park was half full and fifty-eight females of all ages, types and abilities were waiting in reception to obtain their free, three-session temporary membership cards, to be renewed if they liked the place. Arnold and Bart processed the applications rapidly, sending the eleven who ticked the box for the mixed gym through the correct door to meet Robert, and the remaining forty-seven to the main stairs and thus to the second floor to be greeted by the remaining staff members.

Everything went smoothly. There were lots of surreptitious glances of course for the first few minutes, then, as Arnold had predicted, everyone seemed to completely forget. Instead of personal comments, lewd jokes and untoward touches, the women treated the men with respect, almost as if they had to earn the right to be assisted by these polite, thoughtful, non-judgemental and helpful men. One buxom, perfumed and painted middle-aged lady whispered softly at the end of her session, ‘Thank you, Fidel, I feel honoured to be guided by you. Will you be here tomorrow?’

At five o'clock, males and females began arriving from work. Four staff were kept busy for nearly an hour registering and directing people to their preferred gymnasium. By eight o'clock there were forty-eight men upstairs, eighteen women on the second floor, and twenty-two couples in the mixed gym.

Being younger, the evening clients were slightly more boisterous at first, cracking jokes and making sly comments. When the only response was respectful assistance from men who were completely at ease in their skins and devoid of embarrassment, they soon settled and fifteen minutes later, fitness was their sole interest. Like the women earlier, they listened and followed instructions with almost exaggerated respect as if being imperturbably and professionally naked conferred an exalted, godlike status on the trainers. Of course Bart’s detailed fitness plans, plenty of equipment, and unstinting assistance was a major contributor to this success.

*****

Four weeks after opening, the merely curious ceased coming and numbers settled. Both male and female gyms operated afternoons, evenings and weekends at capacity, patronised by men and women who were serious about fitness, but didn’t want to be reminded of their ordinariness by seeing rooms full of straining body-builders. Most women wore the usual gym uniform of skin-tight brightly coloured Lycra; faces made up, necks and arms decorated with baubles, bangles and bright shining beads to impress their fellow gym bunnies.

The men were luckier. Within two weeks the absence of critical female eyes and tongues saw them dumping the standard male gym uniform of restrictive baggy shorts and sweat-inducing T-shirts in favour of Speedos and naked torsos. A few asked if they could emulate their trainers, but Arnold politely explained that while he could guarantee the personal hygiene, absence of disease and sanitary habits of the trainers, he had no such influence over the clients, so in the interests of everyone’s wellbeing the luxury of unconstrained bodies was to remain the preserve of trainers. Curiously, not one man or woman asked why there were no female trainers.

*****

Six weeks after opening, Arnold closed the unpopular first-floor mixed gym because all except two patrons had changed to the single sex gymnasiums. The men got sick of females flirting and offering unwanted personal comments, and the women felt pressured by the critical gazes of men. The space was converted into a for-hire venue for private parties and receptions, conferences, club socials, dances, or musical and other performances. Catering to be handled by contractors. With its large rest rooms, grand mirrored space, and small private rooms, it was ideal.

*****

Ten months later the fitness and health training programs were running like clockwork under Bart’s expert guidance and the gym was making a profit, overseen by Robert. Cleaning, staff rosters, day-to-day management of clients and staff and a thousand other things were safely under the expert control of Fidel. Arnold’s enthusiasm, good looks and charm kept everyone happy.

Bart’s 3Vs group was popular and, according to clients, of enormous psychological assistance, but he still made time to work in the gym several hours a day. The six no-longer-new staff members were very well liked and pleased with their jobs, especially as Arnold had decided that every cent of the profits would be divided into ten and distributed to the trainers as a bonus, with the predictable result that the trainers worked three times as hard now that their already generous salaries could be more than doubled.

The first-floor gym that had been converted into one of the most affordable yet elegant venues for small private functions in the city, and was constantly fully booked—adding to already substantial profits.

One afternoon when Fidel returned to the flat he shared with Arnold, he discovered him on the bed between the legs of one of the more attractive patrons. Fidel laughed to hide his embarrassment, shook hands with the guy, apologised for interrupting, found what he was looking for, and with a cheerful wave went back to work.

Later, he waved away Arnold’s apologies, confessing he was relieved to discover Arnold wasn’t in love with him, because although he loved Arnold as a wonderful man and friend, he wasn’t in love, but had said nothing because he didn’t want to hurt him.

Arnold was totally gutted. The fling with the client had meant nothing. He’d felt flattered, that was all. He loved Fidel desperately and now he’d ruined it. Swallowing his self-disgust, he concealed his misery behind banter and smiles, telling Fidel he’d guessed, after the incident with the stripper, that his love wasn’t fully reciprocated, and the adventure with the client had been a crude and stupid way of trying to force Fidel to admit the truth. He now wished he hadn't, because half a lover was better than none, but he hoped they could still be best friends.

They most certainly could. Fidel too was regretting what he’d said. Because it wasn’t strictly true. He was in love with Arnold, but the powerful memory of Hylas was always hovering at the back of his mind. He didn’t dare commit to loving someone until he’d sorted his feelings for his brother. And so they kissed and made up and continued to share a bed and caresses. But it wasn’t the same, so pleading a need to try being independent for a while, Fidel renovated a structure on the roof of the gymnasium and went to live up there.

Arnold remained in his apartment. Alone.

The winter school holidays had started and Fidel had just finished a strenuous evening session with five high-school students whose parents also came to the gym, when he was called to the phone. He listened attentively, grin slowly fading to concern as he nodded, then said softly, ‘I’ll be there as soon as possible. No, it’s no trouble, relax. Everything will be fine.’ He replaced the receiver thoughtfully and went to find Arnold.

‘You look shocked.’

‘I’ve just had a call from Hylas.’

‘Your brother?’

‘Yes. My father suicided a couple of weeks ago and today Mum walked out without any explanation, leaving him alone. The house is up for sale and he doesn't know what to do.’

‘How old is he?’

‘Sixteen.’

‘Then go and get him.’

‘What? Bring him back here? You wouldn’t mind?’

‘Don’t be a fuckwit. Of course I wouldn’t!’ Arnold took a card from the desk and tossed it at Fidel. ‘Take the car. Go on! And stop worrying.’

Fifteen minutes later Arnold’s Volt was zipping north on the Bruce highway. Inside, confused thoughts were zipping around the driver’s brain. ‘What if Hylas had changed? Would they still like each other? It was almost five years! Perhaps they had only felt so close because of the shared environment. Would he still feel the same or had he been fooling himself—imagining he was in love with the guy. How could he have been in love with an eleven year old? How should he behave?’ He decided to play it cool and see how his brother behaved before making a fool of himself. But if Hylas was also playing it cool, how would they ever find out what the other was thinking? But at least Hylas had phoned him and not someone else. But how did he know the phone number? Had he been receiving the letters and communication updates all the time and just not bothered to reply? It was all too complicated. He’d have to play it by ear.

An oncoming vehicle flashed its lights and Fidel swung the wheel with seconds to spare. Back on the correct side of the road he began to sweat. A fat lot of good he’d be to his brother in a coffin. He was more tired than he could remember. He yawned, stretched and pulled into the next service station for a coffee. Mustn't fall asleep.

*****

Hylas

A car door slammed.

Hylas peered into the darkness. ‘Is that you, Fidel?’

‘Who else are you expecting at two o'clock in the morning?’ A solid looking man jogged up the steps and stopped in surprise. ‘Fuck you’ve grown. Are you sure you're you?

Hylas laughed nervously. ‘I’d never have recognised you. You're… bigger.’

‘But just as stupid. You were still up?’

‘Of course! My big brother was coming. I couldn’t sleep. Come in.’ Hylas led the way into the house. ‘Where's your gear?’

‘I'm wearing it.’

Hylas stared in confusion. ‘But…’

‘I can’t stay. Have to get back tomorrow. Don’t worry; I'm not going to do a Mum on you and leave you high and dry. But I'm dead on my feet and stink. All I want is a shower and sleep. We can talk in the morning. Are there still two beds in our old room?’

Hylas nodded and led the way, determined to conceal his disappointment that Fidel wouldn’t be staying. But nervously hoping that what he meant by not leaving him high and dry meant he might be… No, better not to get his hopes up.

‘Feels funny being here again. Go to bed; I know where the bathroom is. Try to sleep. I won’t be long.’ Fidel peeled off his tracksuit pants and a tank top that looked several sizes too small, and draped them over the back of a chair, revealing a chunky, powerful, tanned and hairy body that set Hylas’s pulses racing.

‘Where are your shoes?’

‘In the car; I prefer driving in bare feet.’

Left alone, Hylas sighed, removed his shorts and shirt then curled up in bed, eyes wide, too worried to sleep.

Fidel returned, still wet. Taking Hylas’s towel from behind the door he dried himself energetically. ‘There’s no hot water! Cold showers may be refreshing but it’s hard to get dry afterwards. See you in the morning, Bro.’ He snuggled under his duvet and switched off the light. ‘Ha, I feel fourteen again.’

Hylas tried to remain calm. He was feeling eleven again and hating it. At least he wasn’t alone tonight, even if Fidel would be gone again tomorrow. He drifted into a troubled sleep only to be woken by a sudden scream. He sat up bathed in sweat and stared around wildly. The lights came on, blinding him, and something touched his shoulder. He jerked away.

‘‘It’s okay, it’s okay. Calm down. You were dreaming.’ Fidel gently stroked his brother’s shoulder.

Hylas shuddered violently. ‘I heard a scream.’

‘That was you.’

‘I’m sorry. I'm sorry. Really sorry, please don’t be cross but it, it was awful, I can’t stop my head, I...’

Fidel sat on the bed and wrapped his arms around his brother, staring at their reflection in the mirror while absentmindedly stroking Hylas’s neck with his thumb. ‘It’s fine. I understand. Bad thoughts always find a way out. Better through dreams than bad actions.’

‘But when will they stop. It’s over a week since it happened. I have them every night. I'm frightened to go to sleep in case…’

‘It’s okay, I understand.’

‘I'm sorry, Fidel, please don’t be mad at me.’

‘I’m not mad, but I do need my sleep, so shove over; I’ll bunk in with you then I won’t have to get out bed next time you throw a fit.’

Nervously, Hylas rolled over to face the wall while his brother climbed in behind, pulled up the sheet and duvet, draped an arm over his shoulders, softly stroked the skin behind his ear and whispered, ‘Sleep little brother. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.’

For what felt like the first time since Fidel had left, Hylas relaxed and ninety seconds later they were both in the arms of Morpheus, where they remained until daylight and a cool draught streamed through the open window.

They had turned over during the night and Hylas was now pressed against his brother’s back, arm draped over his chest. He scarcely dared breathe. How could he face Fidel after his weakness the previous night? He had no idea how to act. What to say. How to apologise. He knew nothing about Fidel really, except he went to Brisbane and disappeared for five years. He vividly remembered the day he left; abandoning him to an irritable, hate-filled mother. Bereft of hope, love and energy. For a long time he had been angry with him for going away, but finally forgave him, despite not receiving the promised letters. He was mortified at not recognising him last night.

Pretending to be still asleep, Hylas let Fidel lift his arm and slide quietly from the bed, then watched as he stood in front of the bucket on the seat under the window, held his erection down, relieved himself, shook off the drops, then began a series of exercises that began with arm swings and ended with squats and press ups. Slight grunts were the sole sounds.

Hylas was used to seeing other guys in the changing room at school, but Fidel was a revelation. So healthy, fit and powerful but natural, not like one of those over developed shaven guys in the ridiculous underpants advertisements. Evenly tanned, and despite being thicker in the waist than the bodies Hylas wanked over on Internet sites, he looked sexier. He was nearly close enough to touch and smell. How he longed to touch. But what was Fidel like inside his head? His mother had insisted he was evil. A hardened criminal. A no-good wastrel. His father only shook his head and sighed when he heard Fidel’s name, telling Hylas it'd be best to try and forget he had a brother.

But he couldn’t! He had loved him too much. And he still did, he realised. But did Fidel still love him? He looked neither dangerous nor criminal. He was tough, that was obvious, but last night he’d been so gentle. He touched his neck where Fidel had stroked it and fought back tears. He wondered why. The soft ache in his chest felt like sadness. Perhaps because it was the first gentle touch by another person he could remember. In books kids were cuddled by parents, kissed, made a fuss of; stroked and calmed when upset. He knew he’d been lucky to have a home, plenty of food, a dry bed, schooling and all the things kids take for granted, but why hadn't he been kissed and stroked even once? Was he unlovable? At school he wasn’t disliked, but was he liked? He had no idea. He had no close friends. All the other guys had girlfriends but no girl had shown much interest in him. He didn’t want them to. But still… He shook his head to stop the thoughts. He was dying for a pee but didn’t want to get out of bed with a hard-on. He’d look ridiculous.

Fidel was on his twentieth squat, staring blankly at the wall. Hylas thought his heavy dark eyebrows and deep-set expressionless eyes made him look a bit dumb, and that made him like him even more. His nose had been broken at least once. His upper teeth were just visible between slightly parted lips drawn back with the effort, giving him a sort of feral look, enhanced by a square jaw covered in stubble so thick and dark it looked as if it had been painted on.

Fidel looked up and grinned, exposing even more of his large front teeth. Was it a snarl or a smile? Alarmed, Hylas looked into amused eyes and relaxed. Fidel was powerful and potentially dangerous, but not to Hylas. Inside he was… a nice guy. The realisation triggered a surge of relief and admiration. His brother was someone he could like and admire! Perhaps, if he was lucky, Fidel might even like him. Might even stay and… Then he remembered. He was only here for a few hours. Then what? Hylas didn’t want another parent. He couldn’t pretend he was sorry he’d lost the two he had. But he would like someone to share things with and to… to…

He thrust the pathetic thought from his head, returned the smile with interest and blurted, ‘You’ve a fantastic body! I hope I’ll look as good as you one day.’

Fidel grunted a laugh. ‘You’ll look better. I'm already starting to look like a brick shithouse. You’ll be more like Dad used to be in photos, strong, lean and flexible. You saw me just now, couldn’t touch my toes without a warm up.’

‘How’d you get so strong?’

‘The usual way, but we can talk later—we have to, but first things first. I need to freshen up and eat, then we can talk and make decisions. So, up you get!’

‘Don’t look.’

‘You’ve been looking at me for the last ten minutes. It’s okay, I know you’ve got a hard on, you’ve been shoving it against me half the night.’

‘I didn’t know, sorry, and it’s not only that. It’s…’

‘What?’

‘I'm ashamed because they're black.’

‘What are?’

‘My cock and balls. And my bum’s also darker than other kids. I hate it. At school they reckon I must have black shit and smear it around. But the rest of me isn't any darker than you. Why am I different?’

‘That, brother mine, we will never know. Both our mother and our grandmother never knew who their fathers were, and considering how different we both are from Dad, apart from you being skinny, it wouldn’t surprise me if she was no different from her mother.’

‘You mean?’

‘Do either of us bear the slightest resemblance to Dad?’

Hylas was silent for several long seconds. ‘On the day he topped himself they were arguing. Shouting. Worse than usual, and he said something about having paid for her two bastards, but she wasn’t going to get another cent. I didn’t understand it. But now I get it. We’re the two bastards.’

‘Most likely. Does it worry you?’

‘Not really. It would explain why he wasn’t more protective of you, wouldn’t it? I never felt close to him, but I'm sorry he’s dead. He wasn’t a bad man—not like Mum.’

‘But why the heck would he suicide? Why didn’t he just clear out? Meanwhile, I'm going nowhere, so stop being such a girl and go and piss!’

Secretly relieved to be ordered to do what he desperately needed, Hylas did.

Fidel laughed. ‘Yeah, you're a bit darker there than me, but nowhere near black. I read somewhere that over-sexed people have darker cods because of the extra blood flowing to them. Maybe that's your problem. How often do you wank?’

Hylas blushed but decided to tell the truth. ‘Every chance I get.’

‘Yeah, me too. Still do. As for your sexy bits, it’s not the colour that’s interesting, it’s what you do with them.’

‘I don’t do anything except wank.’

‘Come here.’

Nervously, Hylas approached his brother who placed both hands on his shoulders and gazed down as if considering an interesting artefact. ‘Brother mine, you’ve a work of art between your legs.’ He laughed as if delighted. ‘It looks like carved mahogany. I wish it was mine!’

‘Really?’

‘Honestly. You're a fine looking young man. I can’t believe you're only sixteen. You're already as tall as me and looking fitter than I was at your age.’

Hylas grinned his pleasure. ‘Thanks.’

‘A pleasure.’ Fidel lifted his own arm and sniffed. ‘Whew I stink but I'm not having another cold shower. What’s to eat?’

‘There's no food in the house. And in a few hours there’ll be no furniture. Mum arranged it all with the auctioneer a week ago. I can’t get over it. She’d been planning to leave ever since Dad died, but told me nothing! We’ll have to buy breakfast.’

‘First a crap, then a swim, then breakfast.’

‘A swim! Brilliant!

Their bowels voided, Hylas pulled on a speedo while Fidel took what looked like a pale blue scrap of material from his wallet. He shook it and two circles of string dropped out. He stepped into them, then stretched the fabric till it covered the important bits.

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s what I swim in if there are people around. It’s a pouch, or as the French say, le minimum. Surely you’ve seen one before?’

‘Only on porn sites. You… you're not going out like that?’

‘There's no point in wearing anything more if I'm only going to get it wet. You aren't covering much more than me.’

‘My bum, for a start.’

‘Why should we cover the most important muscle we have? The one that allows us to stand upright? Does it embarrass you?’

Hylas thought, then giggled. ‘No, it’s sexy, but I wouldn’t dare. And if we’re going to Main Beach we’ll have to walk a bit.’

‘That’s okay. My legs still work. If you get embarrassed you can put your hand over my crack or pretend you don’t know me.’

‘I’m not embarrassed, it’s just…’

‘You're worried some fuckwit will take offence and bash me up?’

‘More or less.’

‘Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried, but they’ve always regretted it.’

‘I can imagine.’ Hylas took a deep breath, laughed in delight and raced out to the car. ‘Hey… a Volt. I’ve always wanted to drive in an electric car. Is it any good?’

‘It’s brilliant; but I borrowed it.’

‘He must like you.’

‘We like each other.’

Hylas’s heart flipped and he suddenly didn’t want to know any more.

The Surf Club car park was already full, so they parked a couple of hundred metres along Hastings Street and jogged back.

‘I'm losing my touch. Only one wolf whistle.’

‘But plenty of looks and a couple of cheers.’

‘Race you!’ Fidel jumped the barrier, scrambled down the rocks, raced into the surf, dived under a wave and surfaced ten metres further out. Hylas was close behind. They swam a few hundred metres parallel to the beach, body surfed for twenty minutes, rinsed off salt and sand under the showers in front of the surf club, then, to the delight of a gaggle of tourists, jumped up and down to shake off the drops.

‘That’s the only thing I miss in Brisbane, the surf. But my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut. Food! Gimme food!’

Hylas failed to suppress a giggle. ‘Calm down you great baby, everyone’s looking at us. There's a kebab place over there.’

‘How much money have you got?’

‘None. I never thought… have you any in the car?’

‘Luckily for you this remarkably fine bulge those girls are admiring is enhanced slightly by this.’ Making no attempt to conceal his action, Fidel slipped two fingers into his pouch and brought out a fifty-dollar note wrapped in plastic. ‘Let’s see how much it’s going to cost us to partake of breakfast on the most famous tourist strip in the land.’

‘Heaps. What else have you got hidden down there?’

‘Apart from the family jewels you mean?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Only the car card.’

They wandered across, joining early walkers, joggers and board-short-clad swimmers in front of the outside menu.

‘Nice bum,’ someone shouted from across the road.

Fidel waved and grinned then returned his attention to the selection. ‘What do you want?’

Hylas listed his choice.

‘If I get the same as you we’ll have splurged thirty-eight dollars and eighty-five cents. We can do better than that. Come on!’ They raced back to the car, drove up to the Junction and parked.

‘There’s no fast food place here.’

‘But there’s a supermarket.’

‘Can we go in like this?’

‘We can only try.’

Hylas followed a few metres behind to see what other people saw, and began to panic. ‘Fidel, from behind you look totally naked! I can’t even see the string round your waist! You’ll be run in!’

‘Stop worrying. It’s fun. Next time we’ll both wear them. Grab a basket when we get inside and hold it in front of the rude bits.’

‘They aren't rude. They're sexy but…’

Fidel had run ahead and was already inside. Their tour of the aisles was uneventful until the checkout when they were accorded a soft wolf whistle and several appreciative grins.

‘Where to?’

‘The park at the back.’

On the grassy bank of a shallow lake edged by reeds, with birds abusing each other in the eucalypts, lizards scurrying from cover to cover and brush turkeys already queuing for handouts, they unpacked a dozen bread rolls, a bottle of olives, a packet of gruyere cheese, two slices of ham, four tomatoes and a small red papaya.

‘Eighteen dollars and fifty-five cents. We've just saved twenty dollars and thirty cents, and will have a larger and healthier meal into the bargain.’

‘We forgot drinks.’

‘Tap water is clean, and healthier than sugar water.’

‘Is this the way you live?’

‘Yes, and the way you’ll be living from now on.’

‘With you?’

‘If you want to. Hey, it won’t be that bad, there's no need for tears.’

Hylas sniffed. ‘They're tears of relief. I had no idea what to do and didn’t dare ask if I could stay with you.’

Why not?’

‘You seem so secure. So successful. I can’t imagine you'd want to be burdened by a school kid. And the few times Mum mentioned you she gave the impression you had turned into an evil monster. I never even knew you had written till after she left. I’d got used to thinking you'd forgotten all about me. I imagined you had changed and become… and didn’t love me any more. But you're not bad. You're the nicest person I know.’

‘You obviously don’t know many people. As for not loving you any more, I’ve never stopped. It was thinking about you that kept me alive when I thought I was going to die. Of all the horrible things our mother has done, by far the worst is hiding my letters so we both thought we’d abandoned each other. But, it’s no use crying about it; we’re together again and have to get back home before that second-hand dealer arrives. There's something I want to salvage.’

They quenched their thirsts at a nearby tap and jogged to the car.

‘I could do with the sheets, duvets and those sorts of things at my place, so bundle them up and shove them in the car. Have you packed everything you want to keep?’

Hylas indicated two large plastic holdalls. I did it as soon as Mum took off and I learned I’d have to leave.’

‘Good. Stow everything in the car while I take a look around.’

Ten minutes later he returned frowning. ‘Did Dad ever mention an amulet?’

‘I don’t even know what it is. Why?’

‘It’s something that's supposed to give protection against evil. This one’s a small, carved bone attached to a fragment of plaited reed. According to Dad it belonged to his great grandfather. When he got badly burned and I looked after him he promised to leave it to me; but it’s not there. He hid it in a small wooden box glued behind the lip of his wardrobe. He reckoned Mum didn’t know about it, but it’s not there now so she must have found it and taken it. What a bitch.’

‘She is. Are you sure you’ve looked everywhere? Maybe I've better eyes. Come on.’

They turned over everything that could be turned over, searched in improbable as well as probable places, but found nothing.

‘Any idea where she’s gone?’

‘None.’

‘Have you still got the note?’

Hylas took it from his pocket and passed it across.

‘Ugh. That creepy spidery handwriting. She doesn't waste words or endearments. Not even a Dear. Just, Hylas I'm going away. You're old enough to look after yourself. The furniture will be cleared on Friday and the house sold next week. Your brother’s phone number is…’ Fidel looked at Hylas. ‘That’s it? She up and left her sixteen-year-old son to fend for himself? How did you feel?’

‘Relieved for five minutes, then panic arrived and never left till you got into bed with me last night.’

‘And now?’

‘I’m the happiest guy in Noosa. Or would be if she hadn't stolen your amulet.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I want to be gone when the dealers arrive. We can talk in the car. I can’t get away from this place quick enough.’

‘Quickly.’

‘What?’

‘Get is a verb, so it requires an adverb. You can’t get away quickly enough.’

‘You pompous prick! Any more of that and you can stay here.’