‘Why don’t you come with me?’ I said.
‘Because one day you’d look at me the same way Mrs Booker looks at me,’ he said.
‘How does Mrs Booker look at you?’ I said.
He stared out the window and finished his drink.
‘Like I’m the last person on earth she wants to see,’ he said.
Mr Booker leaned over and kissed me on the lips then he left the bar, weaving his way through the tables like he was dancing, and not turning back to wave. The last I saw of him was his coat disappearing past a queue of Chinese travellers. His head was held high and his hand was smoothing down the hair on the back of his neck, and I think, although I can’t say what exactly gave me this impression, that he was crying.
Thank you to my editor Caro Cooper for seeing potential in the ragged story I first sent to her and for her faith ever since. Also to everyone else at Text.
Thank you to my mentors Barbara Masel, Benjamin Law, Janis Balodis and all my fellow writers at the Queensland Writers Centre.
Thank you to Shin Koyama who gave me the space and much more, and to Nat and Dan for playing along.