Animal People by Charlotte Wood Read Free Book Online Page A

and called over the music, ‘Still workin’ same place, mate?’ as he held out his hand for money, still boogying. The circus tickets now lay on the counter.
    â€˜Huh?’ said Stephen. They had never discussed Stephen’s job, but Irving jerked his head towards the cafe across the food court, his collegiate tone indicating he mistook Stephen for a fellow Plaza worker.
    â€˜La Villagio, isn’t it?’ said Irving.
    Stephen was confused. ‘No,’ he said, sliding the tickets into his wallet and reaching for the coffee. He didn’t like friendly chat with shopkeepers. ‘I work at the zoo.’
    â€˜Oh, sorry,’ Irving chirped. ‘Thought you were a chef.’
    Stephen realised Irving was looking at his trousers. This had happened before.
    â€˜Ah. They’re not chef’s pants. They’re just pants, with checks,’ he said. ‘I got them at Aldi.’
    Irving looked doubtful for a second, but he said, ‘All right,’ and beamed past Stephen at the next customer.
    Near the exit a gaggle of old people sat in food court chairs waiting, vigilant, for the Aldi doors to open. Stephen liked the lucky-dip nature of the German supermarket’s layout. One day you might find a basket of children’s lifejackets, and the next day, in its place would be a high stack of office binding machines, or men’s sequinned waistcoats. The pants had appealed to Stephen—clean black and white checks, with a wide band of elastic at the waist. They were eleven dollars; he bought two pairs. They were not chef’s pants.
    Stephen realised now that back in the street Jill had also given his pants a suspicious once-over. But they were just pants. He tugged his t-shirt further down below his waistline and sucked at the teat on the coffee lid.
    His path was suddenly blocked by a young woman with ginger dreadlocks, wearing green army pants and boots and holding a clipboard. ‘Do you care about animals, sir?’ she asked sweetly. He half-nodded at the floor, trying to scoot past her. But unlike the Save the Children people who’d call ‘Thank you have a nice day’ to your back when you ignored them, this woman was not to be deterred. She sidestepped; he had to stop walking or plough into her.
    â€˜We’re trying to stop the exploitation and degradation of animals in our society.’ Friendly, challenging. ‘And we need your help.’
    â€˜Ah, right,’ he said. ‘Trouble is, I’m late for work.’ A man scurried by, visibly gleeful at his own escape.
    â€˜Oh, I totally know, and I won’t hold you up for more than a second.’ She gave him a wide, sensuous smile. Her name was Savannah. She shook his hand as if they were meeting at a party. Stephen sighed, and told her his name.
    â€˜Do you care about animals, Stephen?’ Savannah asked again in an interested way, as if she were asking did he eat almonds, or what was his favourite movie; as if it were possible for Stephen to answer no, he did not, and be on his way.
    She smiled up at him in calm contemplation. Her dull reddish hair poked in matted strands from her head. An ugly brown rock hung from a fine silver circle around her neck, and below the rock Stephen noticed the pleasant, natural press of her breasts against her black singlet top. He quickly looked back to her face. Her nose was pierced with a green stone, and she wore big silver loops in her ears. She was freckled and small, but strong. Something in her stance—her optimism, her apparent belief in him, held him there. Even as he began rummaging in his mind for an excuse for not giving her money, he found he was glad of Savannah and her youth, that the world had people like her in it.
    Just then she began flipping the laminated pages of a terrible book in her hands. Stephen’s goodwill evaporated. He did not want to see them, the foggy images of trapped and tortured beasts. He had never