by Tim Winton
Kai? Who are we talking about? Who’s there? Who’s watching?
Can we go? said Kai.
Keely cupped the small head against him and swivelled to scan the street. The boy’s limbs snarled against his, almost tripping him. He felt impatience and alarm in equal measure. Just couldn’t get free enough to move properly. It was a crowded side street. Purring vehicles. Adult faces. Darting, chirping children. No one he could distinguish as a threat. And yet Kai clutched him, trod on his feet.
Please? said the kid.
The word resonated against Keely’s belly. He swept the boy up and hoisted him onto his back. Threaded the little bag onto his arm. And made for the station. The kid’s nose pressed hard to his neck, Keely broke into a shambling trot.
When they got to the platform the train doors were chiming. He bullocked his way aboard and nearly sat on the kid as he fell gasping onto an empty seat. Kai turned his head away from the window. The train pulled out of the terminus.
For a couple of minutes Keely let him be. He was too breathless anyway. They rolled along the quays, rode the giddy span of the bridge over sheep ships, car carriers, containers rising from the deck of something blocky and orange. And then they left the harbour behind. The derricks and funnels quickly gone.
Keely sat against the graffiti-clouded glass. The boy retained a fistful of his shirt, scanned the carriage again. The train smelt of feet and bubblegum. The aircon was freezing but the afternoon sun scalded everything it touched.
Kai, he said again. You can tell me.
Is this the way home?
This is it, mate. We’re on our way. We get off in a few stops and walk to Doris’s.
Is there a taxi?
No, mate. We’re walking. What is it? What’s bothering you?
Kai stared at the high-schoolers cavorting down the carriage, the raw-boned Christian Brothers boys poking and sledging each other. The sulky state-school chicks thumbing their phones, buds in their ears.
The sea flashed by in silver glimpses. Keely unpeeled the sweaty little hand from his shirt. Took it in his.
C’mon, Kai. Just say.
He’s watching.
Who?
At school.
Not a kid? A teacher?
No.
A stranger?
Clappy.
Clappy. That’s a man?
Kai dipped his head. Retrieved his hand. As if from habit he turned it palm up and scanned it.
Someone called Clappy, said Keely with a pulse in his throat. And he’s watching you.
The train slid into the station at North Fremantle. The boy nodded, stiffened as the doors opened, scoped the carriage while the train got under way again.
This only happened today?
Kai shook his head, gaze averted.
And not just after school?
The boy pressed his lips together.
Where does he watch from?
Across.
And you know him? You’ve seen him before?
Kai studied the grimy floor of the carriage.
It’s okay to be worried. And it’s okay to say it. I’m right here. Tell me, how do you know this bloke, what does he look like? Is he tall or short?
The train pulled up at Victoria Street. The boy blinked and dropped his head again, his face obscured by hair.
Just one thing at a time, said Keely, backtracking. Tell me how you know this fella.
The doors chimed. Rumbled shut.
Kai? This is the bloke who came to the flat. Isn’t it?
Kai took another fistful of Keely’s shirt.
Keely stared down into the pale blur of the kid’s hair. A cold feeling in his gut. Too familiar. And he knew. It had been coming. This carnage. Since before he even knew this child. It was this all along, not destiny but a chance.
The train stopped. Got going again.
No need to worry anymore, he said.
He tried to turn the kid’s head his way but Kai resisted.
They pulled into a station. Girls in straw boaters got on. Christ, this was Claremont. He’d missed their stop.
By the time Doris came in, Kai was sprawled before the TV, as closed off as he’d ever been. And Keely was finishing the Margaret River chardonnay he’d found in the fridge. He’d filched a couple of Panadeine Forte from his mother’s bedside table. Should have felt calm. But it was six already and there was still no sign of Gemma.
Well, said Doris, setting down her satchel and slipping off her jacket. Just help yourself.
He didn’t acknowledge her. Thought about Wally Butcher. Now there was a bloke who’d been handy in his day. No shortage of stories about him fighting his way out of a corner. But Wally was in his seventies, fat as a fart and in serious need of a hip replacement. Wal wasn’t going to be any use to him.
Have you eaten? asked Doris. Either of you?
Kai’s had a sandwich and some fruit juice.
That’s all?
He’s not hungry.
What about Gemma?
No idea.
And where did you go today?
Work, he said.
What work?
I wash dishes. At Bub’s. It’s very fulfilling.
And every day’s payday, by the looks of you.
Sorry, he said. I was planning to leave. Go home. But something’s come up.
You’ve had an argument?
Haven’t seen her. But I need to speak to her. Before I go.
Where did you get to last night?
Doesn’t matter where I went. I wasn’t drunk, okay?
But tonight’s another night.
So it seems.
Doris busied herself at the fridge and pantry. She brought out garlic, tomatoes, capers, anchovies. The makings of a puttanesca, from what he could see. She slid a pan onto the stovetop and drew a knife from the block.
You’ve got your work duds on, he murmured. Let me do it.
Pass me that apron, she said.
Mum, really.
You’ll end up taking a finger off.
He handed the apron across. You know anyone with a caravan somewhere? he said in little more than a whisper. Somewhere discreet?
No one in this town has a caravan anymore. And if they did they wouldn’t take it anywhere discreet. Where’ve you been the last ten years?
What about a beach house?
I’ve already asked, she said. Stephanie gave me the keys.
Stephanie who?
Does it matter?
You’ve organized this? He heard how stupid he sounded. Where is it?
Eagle Bay.
Legal Bay, he said before he could catch himself.
The heavy knife thudded against the bulb of garlic, perhaps a little harder than strictly necessary.
That’s good of her. Good of you. Thank you. It’s the best we can do. I wonder if I could do it tonight?
Do what? asked Doris, chopping, filling the kitchen with the heady reek of garlic. Drive three hours in your condition?
I wouldn’t have to drive.
But you’d need to be competent.
So, maybe I’ll wait till morning, he said, colouring. I’ll be right in the morning.
Provided Gemma agrees, said Doris, lighting the hob. After a few moments the smell of caramelizing anchovies rose about them. She should be calling the police, she said in a fierce whisper.
I know, but she won’t. Could you do it?
And tell them what, a story at third hand? I haven’t seen anything.
You know cops, people from agencies.
There aren’t any signs of physical injury. I don’t have any evidence, Tom, there’s nothing I can tell them except a few things unlikely to go in Gemma’s favour.
What about – I don’t know – something more informal?
Send the boys around, you mean? Illegal, and it doesn’t work, believe me.
I don’t mean the local cops.
I’m not paying to have anyone kneecapped. Forget it.
Of c
ourse not. I understand.
What do you think I’ve become, the sort who’d write a cheque to make this poor girl, this whole thing, go away?
No. No.
Tom, I’m not that person.
I know. I see that.
I doubt it.
So, I’ll just report it myself.
Yeah, go in drunk. That’ll really help.
Okay, okay.
Besides, said Doris, as if she needed to say it for her own reminding, Gemma has to make this decision herself. And hard as it is to resist overstepping, it’s her call to make. We can’t just wade in uninvited.
Not even for Kai’s sake?
Doris said nothing. He could feel the torment in her silence.
The beach house, he said at length. It’ll do for the moment. It’s good. It’s a start. But where the hell is she?
Kai needs to shower, said Doris. And you need to calm down.
I’m fine, he said.
I’ll have this ready when he’s out. And you might want to think about freshening up yourself.
Doris, dear, I think that’s a case of overstepping.
Yes, she said, slipping capers into the pan. I’m sorry. Somehow I keep forgetting you’re a grownup.
They were eating when Gemma came in. She tossed keys on the bench, dumped her bag on the floor like a high-schooler and lifted lids from pots on the stove. Keely noted Kai’s watchful gaze. He saw his mother follow Gemma’s movements without actually turning to look. Doris jangled, lifting her glass, sipping soda water.
Looks good, said Gemma, as if saying so cost her something.
Plenty there, love, said Doris, glancing at Kai.
Gemma wore the little black dress she’d confronted Stewie in, the day they seized the car. Her hair was in a chignon that had gone awry and been flattened with sweat. Still in her heels, she dredged some pasta into a bowl, pulled a fork from the drawer and began to eat listlessly at the sink, her back almost completely turned. Keely saw her reflected face in the kitchen window and knew there was trouble.
He picked at his food. Felt the crackling energy in the room. After a long pause the boy spoke up.
Where’d you go?
Out, said Gemma.
Shoulda said.
What? Are you the boss now?
The boy glowered at his plate. Gemma turned. Her eyes were red, her face looked boiled.
You don’t need to know everythin.
Doris laid a hand on the boy’s arm and the gesture seemed to inflame Gemma.
Let him be, she said fiercely. You’ll make him soft.
Soft isn’t so bad, love.
Look where it gets you, she said, hitching her chin towards Keely.
He felt his mother’s indignation before the insult even registered. He looked at his food, glanced at Kai’s clouded face.
What say we finish our meal and have a talk afterwards? said Doris with a steely lightness.
What say we all mind our own beeswax, said Gemma, shoving her bowl along the bench.
Gemma, he said. I need to talk to you.
Talk? That’s all you’re good for.
Has something happened, love? asked Doris.
That’s my business.
Kai, said Doris brightly. Maybe you and I could finish our dinner out on the deck.
Instantly there was fear in the boy’s face.
He can stay where he is, said Gemma. I’m sick of being told what to do.
Sweetie, I’m not telling you what to do. That was a suggestion.
Pig’s arse.
You’re upset. Kai and I could leave you two to talk things over, that’s all I’m saying.
You make it sound like butter wouldn’t melt in ya mouth, Doris, but you’re still telling me what to do. Kai, get ya stuff.
Don’t be ridiculous, said Keely. Just settle down, will you?
Kai!
Kai, maybe you should tell your nan about Clappy, said Keely.
But the boy shook his head. There was tomato sauce on his chin and then tears on his cheeks.
Who’s Clappy? said Doris.
Jesus Christ, said Gemma. I’ll fuckin kill him.
Doris stroked the boy’s hair but he slipped from his chair and ran to the spare room. Tom, she said, there’s a key and a map on the sideboard. I’ll go and sit with Kai a minute.
What the fuck? said Gemma when Doris was gone.
Keep your voice down. Please.
Tell me.
He says Clappy’s watching him, said Keely.
Shithead! What’d he do?
Nothing. He’s just there. Stands across the street from school, out in the open. Like he wants to be seen. Gemma, you have to go to the cops.
I told you.
Then there’s a place down south. Doris made some calls.
Fuck Doris!
You have to protect him, Gem, he said despite his fury. You have to think of him.
They’ll take him off me – that’s what’s gunna happen. I am thinking of him – you haven’t got a clue.
No one’s going to take him off you, mate. You’re just rattled, that’s all.
They’re crazy, she said, picking up her bag and heading through to the living room. Fuckin mad dogs, that’s what.
Keely followed as she collected things he hadn’t even noticed – folded laundry, celebrity magazines. She pitched them into a plastic washbasket.
They’ve got debts. And now they’re jumpin out of their skin cause some other joker’s movin in on their business. Like someone’s declared war. They want the money right now.
So tell the cops, he said, reeling.
Stop sayin that! Fuckin look at you.
Then go tonight. The key’s here. You heard Doris. Go away for a bit.
There’s no goin away, don’t you understand? No one’s gunna pull these pricks in. Even if they do and some copper gets lucky or fits em up with a bit of gear, they’re out on bail. Just down the road there. Even if a charge sticks there’s only jail.
Then at least they’re locked up.
What planet are you on? Nothin stops em from in there.
Keely felt for the couch, braced his knees against the frame, pressed his hands on the curve of its back to keep himself upright.
So what are you saying?
We have to find money, she hissed.
But this’ll just go on, Gem.
Not for them. They won’t get a cent.
I’m not following.
We need money to pay someone else. To fix this, stop em.
He took her arm, led her out to the deck. Slid the door to behind them. She shrugged him away, scowling.
Gemma. Paying someone else. What’re you talking about?
You gunna stop em? You’re a fuckin softcock, mate.
Well, thanks a lot. But Keely knew she was right. All he’d done was make it worse. He’d indulged himself, thinking he was so bloody clever.
I don’t need your pissfartin about, I need this sorted. And it costs money.
What, like some kind of standover man? This is insane.
Properly. Professional.
No.
No choice.
It’s wrong, Gem. It’s his father.
I don’t care. I’ve made me mind up.
Jesus, Gemma. You can’t pay.
I’ll pay.
How.
She looked at him. In the light her face was cold with resignation. He’d seen that look before. Just seeing it made him ashamed to be a man.
And then Doris was approaching from inside the house. Her heels thudding on the floorboards. She slid the door open.
Tom, can we speak for a moment?
I’ll go pack, said Gemma.
You’ll do it, then? asked Doris. You’ll go south?
No, she said. We’re goin home. Thanks for havin us. Sorry it’s such a bloody mess.
You’re always welcome, love, said Doris sorrowfully, stepping aside to let her pass. Catching the kiss on the cheek she wasn’t expecting.
I wish she’d go to Stephanie’s.
Me too.
Look after them, Tom. And yourself. Please.
I will, he said hopelessly.
We’ll talk.
We will.
In the Mirador car park he tried to jolly the kid along a little but Kai was unresponsive.
I shoulda stayed, said Gemma in the lift.
You’re here now.
He looked at their things stuffed into shopping bags, a plastic laundry basket. The kid’s schoolbag.
The door cranked back at the tenth floor. There was no one on the gallery. No sign of anything wrong at either flat.
I can sleep on your couch, he said in her doorway. Kai went straight in to bed.
No, she said. No need.
Really.
I’m late for work.
You’re going?
Of course I’m goin.
What about him?
He’s got your number. He’ll stay here now.
What about school?
Not until it’s over.
She shut the door on him.
His flat smelt stagnant. He flopped into his armchair and thought of Kai. Heard Gemma leave for work a little before nine. Sat up. Waiting. He’d do it all night, stay awake until she was safely home.
* * *
But somebody was pounding at his door. And it was dark. Well, half dark. And when he groped on the floor beside the chair there was no plausible weapon to hand.
He snapped to his feet and felt the sickening lag as if half of him hadn’t made it there yet. Thumping at the door.
His name.
They were yelling his name.
Clawed the wall. He was bare-chested. Lurched to the bedroom. For a shirt. Absurd, but he needed a shirt. To do this, confront what awaited him. Wondered if he had the balls to do anything more than cower behind the door. The room was dim. He groped for the cupboard. And almost trampled the kid. Curled in his jarmies. On the carpet, at the foot of the bed. Stirring now as Keely stumbled around him.
Open the fuckin door, Tom!
Keely wheeled back into the living room at the sound of Gemma’s voice. Only Gemma. He was fine. Everything was fine. He plucked at the door-chain.
Right now!
He leant against the fridge a moment. Things were blurry.
You hear me?
The door jumped in its frame; she was kicking it. He turned the lock. Hauled it open. And she had the force of dawn behind her. It was like having his head staved in.