Honeybee

by Craig Silvey;

  The next day she got a phone call from the warehouse foreman telling her Steve had suffered a bad accident and he was being medevaced to a hospital in Perth. My mum sounded shocked and worried on the phone. She even started crying. The moment she hung up she took a deep breath and closed her eyes and she looked relieved.

  Steve was in hospital for a few days. He had all his scans and tests done and the doctors told him he had a compound fracture in his spine. A specialist looked at his X-rays and said if Steve rested his back and wore a special brace he would probably heal without needing surgery.

  When Steve got home, he called a lawyer who specialised in workplace compensation and injury claims. He got the number from a television advertisement which promised a No Win, No Fee guarantee.

  The lawyer visited. His name was Angelo DeAngelo. He wore a suit that was too small and his head was bald and shiny. He sat with Steve at the dining room table and went through his statements and financial paperwork. Steve said that his welding career was probably over, and he wanted to make sure Angelo would claim for future earnings. Steve also admitted he had fallen into a dark depression and his quality of life had suffered. Angelo DeAngelo nodded as he took notes.

  ‘That’s all good stuff,’ he said. ‘I’ll book you a psych evaluation and submit that with our medical reports.’

  Steve’s claim was for two and a half million dollars. Angelo DeAngelo said it was unlikely the whole amount would be paid out, but it was good practice to aim high. Steve called the lawyer every second day for an update. Angelo would tell him the case was still pending, because a claim of that size invited extra scrutiny.

  One afternoon an investigator from the insurance company came to the house. She was a young woman with a blonde ponytail and thick glasses. She carried a slim folder. She asked Steve a lot of questions about the accident and his injuries and she recorded his answers on her phone. She also wanted to know what Steve had been doing in the days before he had gone to work. Steve lied and said he had been at home. She asked if anyone could confirm his statements, so Steve had me and my mum answer some questions too. Steve stared at me while I spoke.

  Steve spoke to Angelo DeAngelo after the investigator had left. He said Steve shouldn’t have answered any of her questions without him there. Steve was annoyed and defensive and said he knew what he was doing.

  Three weeks later, two different, older investigators showed up, a woman and a man. The man opened a briefcase full of thick folders. The lady did all the talking. She wasn’t as cheerful as the last investigator. She told Steve they had reviewed his financial transactions for the week before his accident. They showed a purchase at a service station in Yanchep, which was where he had bought fuel and my apple juice. Later that day he had used the same credit card at a caravan park in Lancelin.

  While she spoke, the man pushed documents with highlighted parts across the table. Steve folded his arms and didn’t look at them.

  Then the lady mentioned a local dirt bike rider called Graeme Collins who had called an ambulance for a man who had crashed in the dunes the following day. Graeme had been sent the paramedic bill because the patient had left the hospital without giving his name or details. When the investigators met with Graeme, he identified Steve from a photograph. The attending paramedics and hospital staff had also recognised him, and they had all provided signed statements.

  Steve looked down at all the papers in front of him for a long time. He read through them and cleared his throat a lot and tapped his finger on the table. My mum looked worried. The investigator asked Steve to confirm that he had an accident prior to the incident at work. Steve said he wasn’t going to say any more until his lawyer was present.

  Everything went bad really fast.

  Steve’s claim was denied and he was charged with insurance fraud. Angelo DeAngelo dropped him as a client. He also told Steve that he had breached their contract by knowingly making false statements, which meant he was liable for fees. Angelo DeAngelo sent Steve a bill for thirty-five thousand dollars.

  Steve was fired. His boss called to tell him he would never be hired in the welding industry again, because he would personally contact any of his future employers to tell them what Steve had done.

  The more things went wrong, the more Steve pretended everything was going the way he wanted. He contested the charges and he planned to represent himself in court.

  Then one day Steve was supervising me as I washed his car, and Rosso pulled into the driveway. I could see Snags poking his nose through a gap in the back window. I went over to pat him. Rosso got out and handed Steve a piece of paper. Steve stood up from his deckchair.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘I’ve been subpoenaed.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘To appear as a witness at your trial.’

  Steve looked at the document again.

  ‘And what are you gonna say?’

  ‘That’s why I’m here. Mate, I can’t risk it. I can’t lie about all this. Me and Susie are trying for a baby, and I’ve just moved into the new house.’

  Snags licked the soap off my hands. I could see Steve was getting angry.

  ‘Then stay at home.’

  ‘Steve, it’s a subpoena. If I don’t rock up, they’ll just come and arrest me. I could get done for contempt of court.’

  ‘So you’d rather just sell me out.’

  ‘I’d rather not have anything to do with this shit.’

  ‘So why are you getting involved? Stay the fuck out of it if you can’t man up and do the right thing.’

  ‘You don’t get it. They came to me. Mick and Wayno got the call-up too.’

  ‘And what are they gonna do?’

  ‘I have no idea. You’ll have to ask them.’

  Steve raised his voice.

  ‘So they’ll be playing ball, but it won’t mean shit, because you’ll be backing up the bosses. You just need to shut your fucking mouth. It’s simple. Anything they ask up there, your answer is I don’t remember. And let me tell you this once: I can do a lot worse than a contempt of court charge.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You heard what I said.’

  Steve was standing over him, but Rosso didn’t look scared.

  ‘Mate, you’ve got to let this go. They’ve got you bang to rights.’

  Steve grabbed Rosso by the throat and walked him back.

  ‘They’ve got fuck all except for you. Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.’

  Rosso slapped Steve’s hand off his throat and pushed him hard in the chest. Steve staggered back and fell, but he snatched at Rosso’s shirt and brought him down too. Steve was on his back. He got Rosso in a tight headlock and punched at his ribs.

  My mum must have heard the shouting, because she ran outside.

  ‘Stop! Steve! No! Stop it!’

  She tried to pull them apart. Snags was barking and pawing at the window. Without thinking, I opened the car door. Snags leaped out and ran across the driveway. He bit Steve on the forearm and wouldn’t let go, even after Rosso got free. Snags was snarling like a wild animal. There was blood on Steve’s arm and neck. Steve tried to push Snags off.

  ‘Get your fuckin’ dog off me!’

  His voice was high. He sounded afraid. Rosso was winded. He rolled onto his knees and tried to get his breath back.

  My mum screamed and rushed forwards and kicked Snags hard in the ribs, but Snags just growled and held on tighter. She kicked him again and again, until Rosso got to his feet and grabbed Snags by the collar and forced his hand between the dog’s jaw and Steve’s arm. Snags finally let go. His fur was covered in blood. Rosso lifted him up and held him against his chest.

  Steve tried to sit up. There were flaps of skin hanging from his arm and blood dripped onto the lawn. Snags kept barking and growling so Rosso held his mouth shut.

  ‘Get the fuck off my property,’ said Steve.

  Rosso shook his head.

  ‘You’re a disgrace.’

  He put Snags i
n the car and walked around to the driver’s seat. Steve called out to him.

  ‘I got security cameras set up out here. One phone call, I can have that dog killed. Keep that in mind.’

  ‘Do what you want, mate. But I’m not lying for you.’

  Rosso reversed out of the driveway and drove away fast.

  My mum tried to help Steve stand, but he was too heavy and in too much pain. I walked over and held my hand out to help but Steve slapped it away.

  ‘I saw what you fucking did,’ he said.

  Rosso didn’t have to testify.

  Steve was sent a brief of evidence. It was in a black binder that was an inch thick. He realised that he was going to lose, so he settled privately with the insurance company. They ordered him to pay two hundred thousand dollars. He had six months to raise the money, or they would take the case back to court. I was disappointed that Steve settled, because otherwise he might have been sent to prison. Then it would have been me and my mum again.

  Steve blamed Rosso for everything falling apart. He talked about him all the time. He said that Rosso had always been jealous because Steve had more money and a bigger house and my mum was pretty and Rosso’s wife was plain-looking. He said Rosso must have called their boss and told him about the accident. He said one day he would get him back for what he had done.

  Steve couldn’t afford the physical therapy for his back. It was painful for him to walk or bend over, so he didn’t move much. Whippy brought over more Fentanyl at least once a week. I could tell when Steve had run out. He went from being tired and quiet to bitter and short-tempered.

  None of his friends came to see him. He called around looking for work, but nobody was hiring. Steve fell behind on his mortgage and his car and boat payments. He had credit card debts, and the insurance company fine, and Angelo DeAngelo’s fee. All his medical bills had diverted back to him, and he had to pay for the medivac flight and the ambulance trip from Lancelin.

  One night my mum suggested that he file for bankruptcy, just like he had told her to do. Steve grabbed her hair and wrenched her neck back and told her if she ever said that again she would be out on the street where she belonged. Then he let her go. I waited for my mum to take my hand and tell him we were leaving, but she just said she was sorry.

  Within four months, Steve had sold everything. His guitars, his jetski, his boat, his ute, his dirt bike and most of his furniture. He sold the computer he bought me. And, finally, he sold the house.

  We packed what was left and moved into a place in Hamilton Hill, near where Steve grew up. The house was owned by his cousin, Gavin, who was a lot older than Steve. Gavin was a member of the Devil’s Army Motorcycle Club. He had short grey hair and a goatee and tanned leathery skin and he only wore black clothes.

  Steve said the house was Gavin’s investment property, but it didn’t seem worth much. Half the houses in the cul-de-sac were empty. They all had weeds and cracked cement paving out the front, and they were divided by broken asbestos fences. Most of the front windows had bedsheets for curtains, and our place was no different. Steve said we would only be there for a few weeks while he got back on his feet.

  I had my own room at least. Part of the wall was caved in and it smelled like cigarettes and old vomit. The carpet had dark patches and lumps of candle wax and bits of broken glass everywhere. I picked up all the shards I could find and put sheets of cardboard over the floor and then I laid towels over the top. My clothes were back in black plastic bags again. I still had my bed and my old iPad and my phone.

  For the first two weeks we had no power or hot water. The kitchen was small and dirty and dark and there were ants everywhere. The oven didn’t work and only one burner on the stove would ignite.

  Nobody had lived there in over a year, but the door of the small storage cupboard in the hallway had a slide bolt and padlock that looked shiny and new. I asked Steve what was in there, and he told me to mind my own business.

  Steve’s old friends started visiting. One of them was his younger brother Mark. He was a foot shorter than Steve. He had tattoos down both his arms and across his chest, and he smoked all the time. Mark had just been in prison for grievous bodily harm. He had beaten someone up outside a nightclub because they had spoken to his girlfriend.

  Steve had another old friend called Dane. He had big muscles and a buzz cut and he was in the army. He complained a lot about his ex-wife because while he was away on his last tour she had got an injunction from the family court to stop him from seeing his son. He said that even though Afghanistan was a shithole, at least women there knew how to respect men. He planned to take his son and move to Tasmania and go off grid. Both Steve and Mark said that they would help. Whippy was over all the time too. His real name was Ricky Wragg. He used to live across the road from Steve and Mark when they were growing up. Most days they all sat in the lounge room and smoked and drank and played video games and watched sport or action movies.

  Steve had stopped taking Fentanyl by this time. He was still stiff and sore, but his back had healed enough for him to move around without the brace. He kept buying it from Whippy, though, because my mum had started taking it.

  I don’t know when or why she started, but she had it every day. Steve kept the pills in his pocket, so when she wanted more she had to ask him. Sometimes he refused. She would beg or complain or argue with him, but once Steve made up his mind, he never gave in. He told her she was weak and she needed him to be strong for her.

  Sometimes my mum went to pubs and clubs with Steve and his friends, but she never left the house by herself anymore. Some days she was full of energy and she would tell me she had a job interview or had applied to a design and dressmaking course, but she never went to them.

  She bought a cheap second-hand sewing machine and some fabric and used it twice before putting it back in its box. I took it to my room and taught myself how to sew curtains and I hung them up. Then I made a pillowcase. Then one night I made a shift dress out of grey heather cotton. It didn’t fit very well, but it felt light and soft. I hid it under my mattress.

  I hated our new house. Being back in his old neighbourhood made Steve meaner and rougher. His temper was worse. I was tense all the time. He looked for any excuse to single me out. He blamed me for making a mess or leaving doors open or anything that annoyed him. Denying it made him angrier, so I just apologised and I started cleaning up after everyone.

  Sometimes I would catch him staring at me. He wouldn’t blink. It was like he could look straight through me, like he knew my secrets. If there was nobody else around he would shoulder bump me down the hallway or pin me against a wall and try to bait me.

  ‘Stand up for yourself. Be a fuckin’ man. Do you even know what that means? It means sorting your shit out and taking some fucking responsibility. All you do is fucking sulk about around here living off my good graces. All I fucking do is give. You’re an ungrateful, lazy little cunt. Well you’re not suckin’ on my tit any longer. You need to grow the fuck up. No more moping around looking miserable. Buy your own food. Get your own shit. Get a fucking haircut. I’m sick of telling you. I’ve given you enough. If you don’t like it here, fuck off and find somewhere else to live. Then you’ll see how hard life really is. You’ve got no idea. You think you’re better than me, don’t you? So prove it. Get your hands up, defend yourself. I might even fucking respect you. Come on.’

  I would just look down and wait until he left me alone.

  I hadn’t enrolled at a new school since we moved and I had missed the first three terms of year nine. During the day I kicked around Fremantle or took the train into the city. At home I spent time in the backyard because Steve never went out there. There were three stray cats that I talked to. I stole tins of tuna for them. There was a tabby that had a scar across its mouth that sometimes left a dead mouse for me on our back step.

  Mostly I stayed in my room. I didn’t have a lock but I wedged a piece of wood under the door so I felt safe. I always had headphones on because
Steve and his friends were so loud.

  One night, Gavin came over while everyone else was out. He was with another man I had never seen before. Gavin unlocked the storage cupboard in the hallway. It was lined with shelves. I peeked through a gap in my bedroom door and watched him take out a shotgun and a pistol and a small canvas bag. He handed the shotgun to the other man then locked the door and they left. Four hours later he returned and put everything back in the cupboard.

  I missed cooking, but the kitchen was terrible and I was never hungry anymore. Sometimes I went days without eating. I was getting really thin but I felt so heavy. I was really unhappy. Food didn’t taste the same. Colours weren’t as bright. Sounds were dull and far away. Time went really slow. It was like I was fading into a ghost. There were only two things that made me feel better: burning myself with a lighter, and dressing up.

  I was stealing clothes and cosmetics again, and I was taking stupid risks because I didn’t care anymore if I got caught. I didn’t have a mirror in my bedroom, so I used the camera on my iPad to apply my make-up. I didn’t just pose for myself either. I started going on random webcam sites where strangers could see me.

  I wore sunglasses and brushed my hair over my face. I was shy and nervous and I never spoke to anyone, I just wanted to see their reactions. It was usually older men. Some of them clocked me and laughed or frowned and left the chat session. Mostly they thought I was a girl and they would say flattering things. A lot of the time they would touch themselves. They told me I was attractive and asked me to pose for them, and sometimes I did. I turned around and bent over and blew them kisses. Sometimes I took my sunglasses off and showed my face. They would ask me to take my clothes off, but I never did that, even when they offered me money.

  It made me feel even more dirty and ashamed, but it was an addiction. I hated myself afterwards, but like always, the next night I couldn’t wait to do it again.