Page 32 of Rafferty's Rules
‘Jesus, you’re like an old woman. Just tell the story without your own personal embellishments, would you?’
‘You’re just jealous you can’t tell a story like I can. Anyway,’ he says, turning his attention to his avid audience of one, ‘Mum ended up pregnant. Her olds werenothappy, but they still made her marry Dad. And they came around once the bouncing baby Byron was passed into their arms—good alliteration there, too, eh? Anyway, just as well they did, or I wouldn’t be able to afford my career.’
‘What old shitty Shakespeare here means to say is that Mum’s parents were pretty wealthy and that Flynn’s not the only one who doesn’t know the meaning of hard work.’
‘Unless he’s working for Chastity.’ Roman cackles dirtily.
‘That’s a whole other story,’ I say with a sigh. ‘I’ll tell you later.’ If she remembers to ask. If not, great! It’s not a tale I particularly want to retell.
‘Where was I? Ah, the much doted on Byron. I reckon it’s just as well his grandparents didn’t know he was named after the place he was conceived, the place they did the dirty deed; the beachside town of Byron Bay. Can’t see them being all that impressed.’
‘You mean... you’re all named after the place you were conceived?’ Roman affirms this with one nod of his head as she begins to titter, clutching her wine glass to her chest. Like I need the reminder she’s not wearing a bra...
‘He’s pretty prosaic about it all, saying it could’ve been much worse. And by that I think he means they might have gone camping in Humpty Doo or Chinaman’s Knob.’
‘Thosearen’treal places,’ she protests with an indelicate snort.
‘They most certainly are, darl. Along with Mount Great Groaner, Balls Head, Pleasure Point, and my favourite, Rooty Hill.’
‘Rooty hill.’ She mouths the unfamiliar words as we stare at her. ‘Oh my goodness.’ She giggles, recognition dawning. ‘But isn’t root slang for—’
‘Doing the naughty,’ Roman confirms.
Fucking Hill, I mean fucking hell.
‘I think Rooty Hill and Mount Great Groaner should be situated adjacent. Who’s next?’ She claps her hands like a seal expecting a fishy treat.
‘Flynn was said to have been conceived in a tent at Flynn’s Beach, which is up near Port Macquarie. And Rafferty was conceived at some beach resort of the same name, on an island somewhere off the Barrier Reef.’
‘Oh, fancy,’ she says, reaching out to squeeze my bicep, her eyes sparkling from more than just the effects of the wine.Maybe.
‘Not as fancy as yours truly,’ he continues, poking a thumb into his own breastbone. ‘I’m the product of our first family holiday overseas. No prizes for guessing where.’
‘A Roman holiday! I just love this story. In fact, I think all parents should be encouraged to tell their children the origin of their name.’
‘What would your parents say about your name?’ I ask, brushing away a lock of hair that’s stuck to her cheek.
‘That they liked it,’ she says with an unimpressed shrug. ‘And they certainly wouldn’t admit to havingcopulated.’ At this, she lets out an unimpressed huff.
‘Were you found in the pumpkin patch too?’
‘No, I’m a gift from the Lord. And I don’t think I told you my name is actually Alyssa.’
‘That’s a beautiful name.’
We have what I’d like to think of as a moment, leaning close and staring into the others’ eyes, the night quiet around us. At least until Roman clears his throat and adds, ‘For a beautiful lady.’ The fucker doesn’t even flinch when I send him a pissed off look.
‘Where are you staying tonight?’ Hint: not here.
‘Yeah,’ he says, stretching in the chair again. ‘I suppose I should hit the road.’
And what do you know? It looks like it’s bedtime.
Chapter 8
ALYSSA
The atmosphere was different after Roman left. It was almost as if we’d become strangers again. We cleared the table in near silence, though I was a little surprised to find there was a concealed dishwasher along with a fridge out on the deck. Rafferty just shrugged when I asked how the outside entertaining area was fully equipped but that he’d yet to own furniture beyond the French door, muttering something about outdoor living spaces were probably more common in Australia. Back home in Charlotte, the weather goes from one extreme to the other, and I sometimes feel like we can get four seasons in any one week. But when summer comes, and the bugs come out, and my hair begins to claim a life of its own, you wouldn’t find me washing dishes outdoors. But then again, my place doesn’t have a view of the Sydney Opera House.
