‘Must have been a year ago now.’
‘Yes, around that time.’
‘You don’t remember her name, do you?’ I asked.
‘Oh dear, I’m afraid that’s asking a bit too much of us these days.’ They chuckled again.
‘Not to worry, I thought I might know her, that’s all.’ We all chuckled one more time before I thanked them and left. I promised myself that I would buy a phone card by the end of the week, call the nursing home and check how my grandfather was.
CHAPTER FIVE
* * *
‘GET IN, WE’RE moving,’ said Scotty, gesturing to the back seat of the Holden with his thumb. I was surveying a house a couple of doors down from Norman and Barbara when they pulled up. Jim was in the driver’s seat with a map spread out over the steering wheel.
‘What’s the problem?’ I asked, hauling my folder into the boot.
‘Fuck’s sake, Scotty, this is really slack,’ Jim said, still examining the map.
‘Just move out the area, mate, then we’ll sort it out. Just hit some carpet for now.’ Scotty was serious for once, biting his nails and spitting pieces out of the window. The Danish were in the back seat talking manically to one another in their own language. They were excited, punctuating their dialogue with gasps and screeches.
Jim passed the map to Scotty and put his foot down.
‘What the fuck’s wrong?’ I was forced to talk to the Danish.
‘Oh my God,’ said the lighter-shade-of-blonde one. ‘You have no idea, Kerry, it was sooo funny but scary, you know?’
‘What?’
‘I was in a house and I brought out my folder to show the people the paintings and when I turned round one of the pictures the lady said, “Hey, wait a minute, I have this picture!”’ The other Danish laughed and shrieked at this point.
‘Then what?’
‘Then she goes into another room and brings out the same one, the Blue Mountains, and shows it to me.’ We all laughed.
‘What did you say then?’
‘I said, “Yeah of course,” and I thought, oh my God, what am I saying yeah of course for?’ We all laughed again.
‘Then I say, “Well, you know, the Blue Mountains are a very popular attraction and they are painted by many different artists.”’
I could see Jim shaking his head as he drove, his shoulders moving with laughter.
‘And I am thinking, yeah, well done, Karin, you got yourself out of that one all right.’ Both the Danish were in hysterics. ‘Then she says, “Oh yeah, they paint the Blue Mountains a lot, do they?” Then she brings in another picture and turns to me and says, “So how do you explain this, do they all paint the same boats as well?”’
‘She’s only got two fucking pieces already, eh, mate,’ said Scotty, with his feet back on the dash.
‘Oh fuck, what did you say?’ I said.
‘Well, I am looking at her and smiling, you can imagine.’
‘I can.’
‘I look at her and I say, “Yes, the boats are also very popular, I mean.”’ We all laughed.
Scotty beat the car roof with his hand. ‘The boats are also very popular, very fucking true, very fucking true,’ he laughed.
‘So how did you get out of the house?’
‘I just had to say that there was no point in showing her the rest because she had probably already seen it.’
‘You said that?’
‘Hey, after we were both standing there with the same two paintings, there was no point in any bullshit, you know?’
‘Well, that makes two of us,’ I said.
‘You’re having a laugh?’ said Jim, who’d only just composed himself.
‘Nope, mine had one already as well, but it wasn’t a big deal because they were very relaxed about it, as though they knew how it all worked. They seemed happy to buy another one from me, in exchange for a bit of company, I suppose.’
‘Yep, the olds are good once they let you in, once they trust you, they just like to chat away.’
I hated Scotty saying ‘olds’ and was on the verge of asking him to be more respectful, when Jim started some half-pint philosophising.
‘Listen, the trouble with Australians in general is they are too bloody trusting for their own good, don’t you think? I mean, there’s no way you could get away with this back home, they’d be out chasing you down the bloody street. Everything’s so bloody new and OK here. They’re not pissed off and cynical enough yet, so they get ripped off.’
‘Hey, I asked mine if they knew who sold them the other painting and when, and they thought she was Dutch, maybe,’ I said, hoping to help with the mystery.
Scotty slapped his hand repeatedly on his forehead, and then looked at Jim. ‘Dutch, my arse, bloody German more like, and probably called Anaya!’ he said, in an entertaining fashion for all our benefit.
‘Guys, guys, I’m innocent!’ said Anaya, joking around and holding her hands up. She was sitting on a bar stool in the Honest Irishman back in the city, smoking.
‘Like hell you are, you crafty little minx.’ Scotty had it bad for Anaya, and I suspected that it had been that way for a long time.
‘It was a bit of a wasted trip, Anaya,’ said Jim, trying to make the tone more serious.
‘Listen, guys, mistakes happen. Anaya was supervising that area a year ago maybe, and she should have remembered.’ Greg glanced over at her and she shrugged. ‘Sometimes the logbook doesn’t get filled in for whatever reason, and when it doesn’t, it’s bad, I know. Shit happens, you guys, really sorry,’ he said. ‘Won’t happen again. Now let me make it up to you and buy you all a beer.’
‘Not for me, thanks,’ said Jim. ‘I’m going to hit the sack. Got some letters to write.’ He stretched and rolled his head round. ‘No bloody waking me up, you lot, OK?’ he said jokily to me and the Danes, and then left looking worn out.
‘Sorry, guys, I really fucked up with the area, yeah,’ said Anaya, swinging her legs around on her stool and catching my eye every so often.
‘So how long were you supervisor, Anaya?’ I asked, just wanting to say something to her but not knowing what. Greg began talking to Scotty and the Danish, leaving Anaya and me to ourselves.
‘Why? You after the job, Kerry?’
‘Might be. We’ll see. Only just got here.’
‘You have to sell a few more first.’ She stared right at me, blowing out smoke and picking her little finger with her thumbnail.
I reapplied my lipstick to cover up my unease, thinking that it would be easier to talk to her when I was drunk. I was apprehensive about being around her and the others too much in the daytime, now that I had moved into the ART house. I had problems with the day in general, much preferring to be alone until the evening, that brought with it music and drink to ease my discomfort. I had left Glebe that afternoon, packing up the few items I had with me into my rucksack and heading downtown to the flat in William Street. Greg had offered me the smallest room, next to Jim’s; it was barely big enough for the single bed and small chest of drawers, but it was fine, especially as I didn’t know if I’d be stopping long, and cheap. He and Anaya had the room next to the office, in the basement directly underneath me. The Danish were in a room with a pair of single beds, two rooms down to my left, next to the bathroom. There were two other spare rooms with two bunk beds each. Scotty lived at home with his mother in another suburb. So for now it was just the six of us, and I wanted it to stay that way.
‘So, you settling in OK, Kerry?’ Anaya asked, with her head tilted to one side. I was very good at reading other people’s gestures, and from where I was sitting Anaya’s was very obvious. She liked me. And the overuse of my name was also a dead giveaway.
‘Yeah, it’s fine, thanks, it’s good.’ The Danish, Greg and Scotty faded into the background for now. ‘How long you lived there, Anaya?’ I thought I’d start to use her name more; my drink was kicking in slightly and loosening me up.
‘Mmm, let me see, about maybe a year.’ She
put out her cigarette, while still holding my gaze. I looked for signs of anything I could interpret in everything she did.
‘Not long then, uh?’
‘No, not long.’ She laughed a little, confusing me as to what amused her. Perhaps she was laughing at my dumb questions, which would get better and longer the more I drank.
‘Well, I hope you will like it with us.’ She smiled warmly for once. ‘I’m sure we will all have some real fun.’ She finished off her drink and checked the time on her watch. I looked down into my glass, giggling slightly at her use of the word ‘fun’ in her drawn-out, flat Germanic accent.
‘Would you like another drink, Anaya?’ I hoped she would stay and see me looser and more entertaining, but she declined and left, saying very little except a goodnight to us all with an open-hand circular gesture, to which I stupidly did the same back. After I watched her leave, I thought about walking back to the flat with her, but decided against it this time. After all, there there would be plenty of other nights, and besides, I didn’t want to go to bed yet.
The old guy playing pool, who’d bought Jim and me a drink the first night I came here, caught my eye again. He was chalking a cue when he winked at me; I winked back, which made him laugh. He took his dollar off the edge of the table and gestured for me to join him. I went over and picked up the other cue.
‘All right?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, kiddo, all right. Drink?’
‘Go on, then.’
He clicked his fingers at the barmaid who opened two bottles of VB, a local lager I was starting to enjoy. He didn’t pay – which meant he kept a tab, which meant he drank there all the time, which I liked. He set up the balls in the triangle, spinning the black before breaking. We kept silent for a while. His hair was greying and he had a moustache. He was clean in his appearance and I would have put him in his mid-fifties.
‘So,’ he said, after potting a stripe.
‘So looks like I’m on coloureds, then?’
He smiled. He liked me. He was attractive for an older man, in a Sean Connery in The Man Who Would Be King way. Just below the neckline of his T-shirt I could see the top of a tattoo.
‘So you with the art company lot, then, are you?’ He smoked constantly and spoke through squinting eyes from the cigarette smoke permanently coming out of his mouth. It was hard to make out his accent at first. It was all mixed up, transatlantic, maybe Canadian or Anglo-American, but as I heard more, I figured he was originally Scottish.
‘My name’s Kerry, and yeah, I’ve started selling for them.’
‘Have you now?’ He was playing around with me, and I knew enough to know that most of what he found amusing was down to his evident drunkenness. ‘Offloading Greg’s works of art on the endearing Australian public, are you?’
‘Yip. What’s your name?’
‘Mac.’
I put my hand out to shake his. He stubbed out his cigarette before shaking mine, making me wait with mine outstretched.
‘Mac. You Scottish, then? I’m working with a guy called Scotty.’
‘Well, I was certainly born there, but that’s going back a bit.’
‘What part?’
‘Dundee. Why? Think we might know the same people, do you?’ He laughed unnecessarily again.
‘No, I’m from Edinburgh. Only been here and there.’
‘This is some journey here, is it not? Doing the backpacking bit, are you?’
I could hear much more of his Scottishness now. ‘Not exactly. I’m on a young person’s work visa because I’m under twenty-five, so I wanted to make the most of that while I could.’ I’d almost finished my beer and shook the bottle to ask him if he wanted another.
‘Val will get us another.’ He finished his beer. ‘Val!’ He clicked again. The barmaid turned round, rolled her eyes and brought us a refill. I had potted two, he was on his last ball; Mac had put aside some serious pool practice in his time. With another cigarette in his mouth, he slammed the ball off the top end of the table and doubled it back to knock it into the bottom left-hand corner pocket, just where I was leaning.
‘Oh yes, got to make the most of things, very important,’ he drawled.
‘So what do you do then, Mac?’
‘I play pool a lot.’
‘What, professionally?’
‘No, not professionally, for fuck’s sake. Among other things.’
‘Such as?’
‘I have a job.’ He set up another game, intermittently looking me up and down. I felt good; I was getting a tan and my legs looked good in my denim skirt.
‘Well, what do you do?’ I persisted.
He stopped before he hit the ball and looked up at me; he made me wait for everything. ‘Well, I’m a sports journalist for the Sydney Morning Herald.’
‘You don’t strike me as very sporty.’ Now it was my turn to laugh.
‘I cover the horses, the track. Have you ever been to Harold Park?’
‘No.’
‘Well, maybe I’ll take you one time.’
‘What, if I’m good?’ I felt like playing around with him now that my beer was kicking in.
‘That’s right, if you’re good.’
‘And what if I’m bad?’
He was leaning over the table; he dropped his head onto it and laid it there for a moment. Then he looked up and belted another ball, which slammed off the end of the table and bounced up in the air, landing on the floor, causing the barmaid to shout over, ‘Mac. I’m warning you!’
‘Well, answer my question. What if I’m bad?’
‘Then you’ll be sent to Dundee, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.’ He took a packet out of his pocket and lit up his last cigarette.
‘I’ll have one, thanks.’ I said, putting out my hand. He slammed some coins onto the table; Val threw him a new packet from behind the bar.
‘Tired of pool,’ he said, drawing up two barstools. I joined him, lighting up the cigarette he gave me. I looked over at the others and waved to them. Scotty waved back.
‘Is that your boyfriend?’ Mac sniggered.
‘No, it is fucking not!’ I was embarrassed, quickly turning the questioning back towards him. ‘Where do you live?’
He pointed to the ceiling.
‘Here?’
‘Yep, upstairs.’
‘Why do you live here?’
‘What do you mean, why do I live here? Because it has everything I need, and I don’t have to go far to get here, do I?’ He tapped the bar. I liked him; I didn’t know why because he wasn’t exactly friendly. I knew he was dangerous and slightly attractive, if beat-up looking around his face now that I examined him closely. I also knew that his difficult and evasive manner was down to years of boozing and being alone.
‘Are you married?’ A predictable question, I thought, just as I’d asked it.
‘What do you think?’
‘I think you were and now you’re divorced, and you spent so much time in this bar during your marriage that after you left it, you thought you may as well move in. Am I right?’
‘What are you, a fuckin’ detective?’
‘I love the idea of being a detective. Can I see your room? If you showed me it, I could tell you things about yourself by looking around at the things you own. I’m good at that.’
‘You won’t tell me anything I don’t know already, and I don’t have much stuff.’
‘I could still tell you things.’
‘OK, one time I’ll show, but it’ll be a warning to you.’
‘What?’
He didn’t answer. He just looked at me again for long enough to make me feel uncomfortable. I decided that then would be a good time to show off my trick. I jumped down from my seat and went to the pool table. I put my hands on the end of it, gripping the edge, and leant forward taking my weight on my arms and chest, and lifted my legs slowly up until my body was perfectly horizontal.
‘Look!’ I shouted, getting the attention of almost everyone at the bar.
&n
bsp; ‘Very impressive,’ said Mac sarcastically.
‘I’m strong, you know?’ I said, pleased with myself.
‘I don’t doubt it,’ he said.
I lowered myself back down, winked at him and headed to the toilets. I felt buzzy and warm and fairly happy. I was carving out a life in Sydney, having only landed a few weeks before, and felt pretty pleased with myself. I had a way of making cash with no need for an alarm clock (one of my main aims in life) and some people to drink with, plus my interest in Anaya to keep me from getting bored. I could perhaps settle in Sydney, making trips away every once in a while to continue with my investigation. Who knows, maybe I’d stay for ever. I could marry someone and get a passport. Fate had led me here and it would all take shape eventually. I felt confident and relaxed about my journey, untouchable, unreachable and numbed by the drink.
I sat on the toilet wondering about things, and whether I wanted to have sex with Mac or not, and what he was to me. I had only just met him, but had those feelings I’d had before with various others, of accelerated intimacy despite very little conversation or time together. I had been close to an older man in the past; he was a newsagent I had worked for as a teenager. At the time he’d acted as a bit of everything for me, particularly when my useless father was absent from our lives. But it hadn’t lasted long.
Was I going to have sex with Mac? I wondered. I wasn’t sure but thought it was inevitable at one point. Then I thought about the group and put them in order of shagability. That fucking annoying Anaya would be up the top for some reason that I couldn’t work out, and Scotty down the bottom. I put Jim in second place, but knew I felt something different for him than the others. I flushed and left the cubicle.
Tonight I wanted to get absolutely bladdered. I wished Anaya had stayed and drank with me. Perhaps I could have told her why I was here, though why she would possibly be interested, I had no idea. But I just felt warmth for everyone when I had a drink in me. Warmth and hope. It was, after all, hope that I’d find the answers that I was looking for that kept me going. If I thought about it too much, I would sink down, and I didn’t want that. I was in a world full of strangers, so I would take what I could get, and right now I wanted to get shit-faced with someone interesting and willing. Money was tight, but it had never stopped me before.
The Naked Drinking Club Page 5