Addition by Toni Jordan

despite the horrible dreams of death, perhaps it didn’t take long for Nikola’s faith in his vision to return, and a sense of certainty about his future to fill him again. Nikola would have slept more soundly; resting like he was again a child. Like the man beside me.
    ‘Seamus,’ I mouth his name. I know he is awake, but his breathing is long and even and his eyes are closed.
    He is on his left side, against the wall, so close to me in my single bed that with my head turned towards him he takes up my entire field of vision. I am on my back, one of his arms under my neck and the other across my body below my breasts. His blondish hair looks darker now, pressed down against his scalp. His forehead is high and smooth. His eyebrows are unruly, and underneath his eyes are puffy bags. His nose is a fraction too big for his face, and between his nose and his lips the indentation is deep to match the dimple in his chin. His morning shadow is darker than his hair.
    I want to kiss every cell.
    Instead I take a deep breath in, and let it out in a sigh. ‘I need to tell you something.’
    ‘Hmmm?’ His eyes are still closed.
    ‘My name is Grace Lisa Vandenburg,’ I say, still staring at the ceiling. ‘I am 35 years old. My mother is Marjorie Anne, and my sister Jill Stella is 33. Jill is married to Harry Venables; he’s 40 on the second of May. They have three children: Harry junior is 11, Hilary is 10 and Bethany is 6. My father’s name was James Clay Vandenburg, and he died 17 years, 9 months and 13 days ago. I have a science degree and a Dip Ed. I lost my virginity in my first boyfriend’s car outside my mother’s house. I don’t like coriander. I don’t like realist paintings. Why don’t people take a photo if they want realism? I love abstract paintings. Once I went to the National Gallery in Canberra on a school trip and stared at Blue Poles for an hour.’
    I think for a moment, and then I say, ‘Lycra makes me look fat.’
    His eyelids jerk open. ‘Fat? Nonsense. Where?’
    I squeeze the triceps of my right arm, the saggy bit that looks like a raw pork sausage, with my left hand. ‘Here.’
    He raises himself and at the same time pulls me closer. He brings his face very close to my right arm. His nose almost touches my skin, like a scientist peering at an unusual bacterium with a microscope. He examines it, smoothing the skin with his fingers. Then he nips it with his front teeth.
    ‘I don’t think so.’
    ‘And here.’ I lift my shirt and squeeze my tummy between my fingers.
    He lowers his head, and this time his nip is slower.
    ‘Nope.’
    He trails his teeth down and my heart beats faster. He slips two fingers under the elastic of my pants and wriggles them lower. The bed is narrow so he rolls over on top of my leg. His lips are brushing the top of my pubic hair.
    I realise I am rubbing my hands together, threading my fingers through each other. I force my hands to my sides. ‘There’s more. There’s so much more I need to tell you.’ Nikola. Electricity. I hardly know where to begin.
    He stops and looks up at me. ‘I’m sure there is more. And it’s all good to know, Grace, especially about the coriander. You never know when I might decide to send you a bunch of long-stemmed Asian herbs. But don’t tell me right now. Later.’
    I grip the sheets with my hands. Now. It’s got to be now. God knows he can’t know everything—can’t even know the most important things. But I need for him to see at least part of me. And he can’t see me if he’s inside me.
    Besides, Nikola is staring right at us.
    But now his breath is hot on my inner thigh, and his hands reach around and slip under my pants to grab my bottom. If I don’t stop now… ‘Seamus?’
    ‘Hmmm?’
    ‘I’m worried I might have caught a communicable disease.’
    He rolls off my leg and sits on the bed beside me. ‘From me?’
    ‘No. From watching the late movie on SBS without a condom.’
    He laughs. ‘Isn’t it a bit late