Jeremiah called in the afternoon and asked if he could take me somewhere for dinner. I had heeded all the warnings in the fridge and I was starving, so I said yes.
‘What’s that?’ he asked when I got in the car.
I held up the zip-lock bag crammed with coins. ‘Isn’t it obvious? It’s money.’
‘I invited you. I’ll be paying for dinner,’ he said.
‘It’s not for that.’ I sat with my knees pressed together, the bag of coins on my lap. ‘Where are we going? And why are you smiling at me like that?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s just…you’re hanging on to that bag like it’s a rosary.’
‘I don’t even know what that is.’ I put up my hand. ‘Stop. Don’t tell me.’
‘I figured you wouldn’t want to go to the pub, so I thought we’d go to the Burt RSL. It’s Chinese night.’
‘Perfect,’ I said. ‘Do you mind waiting for a minute?’ I ran back inside the house, grabbed some old takeaway containers and swapped my tiny shoulder bag for a bigger one. I climbed back in. ‘Okay. And would you mind stopping at the supermarket on the way?’
Jeremiah waited patiently in the car park while I half-filled a trolley at the Burt supermarket; he obligingly packed the car’s tiny boot with four bags of premium dog biscuits and eight cans of dog food paid for with forty dollars in coins to a pissed-off checkout operator named Claire. He hardly touched his own plate at the RSL buffet. I filled mine three times and went back twice more to fill the containers, which I hid in my giant bag.
On the way home, the car reeked of combination Chinese buffet food. Sweet and sour sauce leaked from the bottom of my bag and seeped into the carpet under my feet.
‘Thanks for taking me to dinner,’ I said.
He nodded, still wearing the same amused expression, the one he’d tried to hide when he first spotted me shovelling food into my bag. I could do anything, I realised, and he would go along with it. I’d wanted to free the turtle in the tank just inside the RSL foyer and Jeremiah had rolled up his sleeve.
I watched his hands on the steering wheel. Now that I’d felt them, I liked them more; I liked him more, now that I’d felt him. It was simple, I thought, to switch from one kind of attraction to another. I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before: to be wanted was as powerful as wanting—more so, because I could take risks without getting hurt.
Jeremiah hesitated at the turn-off to his house and continued on. It wasn’t much, just an easing-off on the accelerator, but I noticed.
‘Are you taking me straight home?’
‘If that’s what you want?’ he said, not taking his eyes from the road.
‘What do you want?’ I put my hand on his thigh. ‘Do you want to go parking?’
He pulled over. The streetlights ended a kilometre behind us. Ahead, the road faded out. I leaned across him and switched off the headlights.
‘I parked,’ he said. ‘What now?’
‘Whatever you want.’
‘Do you want to just talk?’
‘God, no,’ I said. ‘Why waste time?’
Jeremiah smiled in the dark.
He was so easy to please it was almost better than pleasing myself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Jeremiah told me that Meredith was coming home on Monday. She was stable, he said. She looked good. She’d asked him to get rid of the eggs.
‘Are we going to pack them or destroy them?’ I asked.
‘We?’ he said, smiling.
Over the past week, I’d spent more nights in Jeremiah’s room than I had in my own. My bedroom window was left permanently open in the vain hope that the stench would vanish while I was gone; Trudy and Thom had slipped into the comfortable routine of an old married couple, and Thom had taken my corner of the couch. Mads was a floor-sitter and didn’t seem to mind.
There was no room for me.
In private, Jeremiah and I had created a space where nothing else mattered. Jeremiah didn’t know how to protect his heart and he handed it to me daily. Nobody had ever looked at me the way he did, like I was something he wasn’t allowed to touch, even though I gave him green lights all the way.
Between hanging out with Jeremiah, looking after Mr Broadbent, and traipsing up to the forest to feed Pope, I was busy and far enough away from my real life not to pick at the fraying edges. Since Jeremiah had few other interests in Mobius, I had him all to myself, in stark contrast to how much of Luke I had been allowed to keep. Jeremiah never asked where I went. He didn’t call too often or demand more than I was ready to give, but I knew he was waiting for something—and I knew how that felt.
Together, we wrapped the eggs inside old dusting cloths and entombed them in boxes, which Jeremiah then stacked inside the roof space.
‘So, four more days,’ I said. ‘I guess your mother won’t want me hanging around when she comes home.’
I hadn’t been to visit Meredith. Jeremiah went alone most afternoons, while I sat with Mr Broadbent and Alby tried to get his affairs in order.
‘She likes you,’ he said. ‘She says you remind her of herself.’ He was taking down some of the shelving from the walls and patching up the holes. ‘It’s a dubious compliment, I know.’
‘When will you go back to Melbourne?’ I hadn’t really thought about him leaving. Now that Meredith was being discharged the day was getting closer, and I needed to analyse why I felt so numb.
‘I would say that it depends on you, but that would hardly be fair,’ he said. ‘I don’t need to be back in class until early February.’
‘Oh.’
‘You sound disappointed. Is February too close, or too far away?’ He said it lightly, without taking his attention from the screw holes in the wall.
‘I don’t want to think about it,’ I said, which was true, but not in the way I think he hoped. ‘We’re out of milk and bread. I’ll go and get some.’
I hadn’t been inside Bent Bowl Spoon since I’d left. Astrid was nowhere to be seen and the place was a mess: only one till standing and piles of stock, still in boxes, stacked up near the door. The fruit and veg crates were mostly empty apart from a few staples with long lives. I shook my head and gave the bells above the door another jangle.
Astrid really sucked at this.
I grabbed a loaf of bread and a two-litre carton of milk from the fridge. Of all the changes, one major difference caught my eye: a patch of bare, dirty floorboards in aisle one. A whole section of diamonds had been ripped up.
‘Great,’ I said. ‘That’s just great.’
It was as if all my secrets and obsessions weren’t secret at all, but items on the universe’s to-do list, written in the sky. Anyone could play. Bonus points for making me swear or cry.
Astrid came up behind me. ‘What’s great? Sorry, I’m on my lunchbreak.’ She swallowed her mouthful dramatically.
‘I can ring it up if you want,’ I offered. ‘Finish your sandwich.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m here now, anyway.’ She followed my stare. ‘Oh, that. We’re pulling them up. They’re a hazard, people tripping over all the time. We’re modernising.’
We.
‘Will it be just the bread and milk?’
‘Yes.’ I dug into my pockets for money and remembered I didn’t have any. And I didn’t have a staff tab anymore.
Astrid watched me fumble, clearly enjoying herself.
‘Alby still owes me.’
She nodded graciously but made me sign a handwritten IOU for four dollars ten, ‘Just in case,’ she said, ‘you know, Alby thinks I’m giving you stuff for free.’
‘Very responsible,’ I said. ‘Hey, I don’t suppose there are any cracked eggs?’
She gave me a blank stare.
‘Modernising.’ I sniffed.
On Saturday morning, Trudy and I had a screaming argument about my absences and my lack of contribution and my general ineptitude as a human being. Mads sat wide-eyed at the kitchen table, grippi
ng her coffee mug with both hands, but stayed out of it. Gypsy huddled under the table with her ears back.
‘God, I wish I never bothered coming back here,’ was Trudy’s parting shot. ‘You are so not worth the grief.’ Through the window, I saw her kick my bike before getting into her car and reversing out onto the main road without looking.
To make it up to Mads, I did the dishes and threw a load of her washing in with mine. She told me to help myself to cereal, but not to tell Trudy.
‘Do you want to sell that thing?’ Mads asked, pointing to the bike. ‘Trent Matthews was asking around for a second-hand bike yesterday.’
‘Tell him five hundred,’ I said. ‘But just quietly, I’d take four.’ It wouldn’t be enough to pay off my debts, but at least I could clear things with the collection agency. The letters were piling up now. I’d stopped opening them.
‘Your room stinks,’ Mads said.
‘Tell me about it. Why do you think I don’t sleep in there?’
She smirked. ‘I didn’t think it was the smell keeping you away.’
‘You mean Trudy?’
‘No, I mean I thought you’d found somewhere else to sleep.’
I didn’t feel like going into the details. ‘Mads? You and Trudy have been friends for a long time, right?’
‘Since pigtails. Since forever.’
‘But what about after…She stayed in touch with you while she was away, didn’t she?’
‘As much as Trudy stayed in touch with anybody, I guess,’ Mads said warily. ‘Why?’
‘It’s just…she makes such a point about how she came back for me, but she never kept in touch. It’s like she didn’t care what happened to me while she was gone, and now she cares too much. We fight all the time. I don’t know why she bothered coming back, either.’
‘That’s her business.’ Mads cut me off. ‘I’m not the one you should ask.’
‘Did she ever tell you about it? Tell me the truth,’ I pressed.
‘Some truths aren’t mine to tell.’ Mads put her cup in the sink and rinsed it. ‘You’re asking the wrong questions,’ she said. ‘When Trudy makes it all about you, it probably isn’t.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘God, why can’t anyone say what they really mean?’
‘Exactly, Jack,’ Mads said. ‘You’re onto something.’
Jeremiah tried for over three hours to make the projector work. The individual parts seemed to be rolling smoothly but, even in daylight, we could tell there would be no picture on the screen.
‘I don’t understand,’ he said, scratching his head. ‘I’ve checked everything. This shouldn’t be difficult at all.’
I sat facing backwards on an old kiosk chair, chin on my hands, watching him fiddle. I was tired. Bored.
‘I’m telling you,’ I said, sighing. ‘He knows.’
‘Give me another few minutes.’
‘You said that an hour ago,’ I reminded him.
‘You can’t kidnap a sick old man. It isn’t right.’ He jammed his finger in a hinge and swore. ‘I won’t be a part of it,’ he said. ‘I’ll figure this out.’
‘What about Roly? Has he forgiven you yet?’
‘For what?’
‘For thinking in your pants,’ I goaded. He would have to kiss me to shut me up.
Right on cue, he threw down the tool he was holding and brushed off his hands. We were getting very, very good at this.
Mr Broadbent perched on the back seat, both hands folded in his lap as if he was in church. I sat next to him. Jeremiah, still shocked that he was going along with it, muttered to himself in the driver’s seat.
‘Alby won’t be back until six,’ I said. ‘Think of it as community service. Or an excursion.’
‘Why do I have the feeling I’ve been manipulated?’ He shook his head.
Mr Broadbent gurgled and drooled. I put my jacket over his face as we drove past the pub. Surprisingly, he left it there.
‘You’ll have to hurry up. It’s quarter past four.’ The sun was going down already but, so far, Mr Broadbent remained calm. ‘I took a few more tapes as well. I got E.T. and Close Encounters.’
Jeremiah smacked his hands on the steering wheel. ‘But of course! Theft, kidnapping, trespass and destruction of private property.’ He counted them off on his fingers. ‘Have I missed anything?’
‘You love it,’ I said. ‘Right now you feel more alive than you’ve ever felt before.’
‘We’re going to need a defibrillator when he,’ he jerked his thumb, ‘keels over. Oh, the irony.’
Jeremiah parked beside the projector room.
I took the jacket off Mr Broadbent’s head and rummaged in my bag for a tissue to wipe his chin. I found the crumpled party hat from New Year’s Eve and slipped it on him, careful not to snap the elastic under his chin. He blinked. His hand curled into a claw and he pawed at the window.
‘See?’ I said. ‘He knows.’
I got out and opened the door for him, but he sat staring at his legs as if they wouldn’t work.
‘You’ll have to lift him out,’ I told Jeremiah.
‘I will not,’ he said. ‘Jesus, what have you put on him? What’s he doing now? What’s he doing with his hands?’
‘Quick! Before he runs out!’
‘Runs out of what?’
‘Memory! Hurry up, before he forgets again.’ I tried to lift Mr Broadbent myself but he lashed out with his feet.
‘You’re mad,’ Jeremiah said calmly. ‘You. Are. Mad. ’
We squared off.
‘What was the point of bringing him here then?’ I put my hands on my hips.
‘I wasn’t thinking,’ Jeremiah said. ‘It’s not something I’m proud of and you shouldn’t be, either. We have to take him home.’
Mr Broadbent had other ideas. Like a sleepwalker, he got out of the car and walked stiffly into the projection room. He negotiated the step without looking, as if he was pre-programmed.
We followed him and stood near the doorway, careful not to make any sound that might snap him out of his trance. He sat down and touched the equipment, and his fingers started dancing, except this time he had all the props. He grunted, discarding the tape Jeremiah had tried to feed into the projector. He chose another tape from the pile and his hands worked for several minutes without stopping.
The light was fading. Our shadows grew longer; the mushroom lights glowed. Jeremiah’s misgivings had vanished.
Suddenly Mr Broadbent stood and stepped out of the projection room ahead of us. His stare was fixed on the screen as though he could see something we couldn’t.
I went back in to see what he’d done differently, but the set-up appeared to be exactly the same as Jeremiah’s earlier efforts.
I flicked the main switch a couple of times but nothing happened. Obviously the projector had been damaged somehow.
‘No way,’ Jeremiah said outside the door.
‘What is it?’
‘He spoke,’ he whispered. ‘Come here. Listen.’
‘He can’t speak,’ I hissed, but I went outside to see for myself. Mr Broadbent’s mouth was moving, soundlessly, like he was chewing gum. ‘What did he say?’
Jeremiah’s eyes were big. ‘He said…he said…’
‘What did he say?’ I leaned closer.
Jeremiah pressed his lips to my ear. His breath made me shiver. ‘He said, “Showtime!”’ He gave me spirit fingers and danced a jig.
‘You arse!’ I yelled.
Mr Broadbent jumped and started rocking.
‘You complete arse.’ I put my arm around the old man’s narrow shoulders and tried to lead him back to the car. He made it harder by sitting on the ground in protest. I grabbed him under the armpits and tried to haul him up. ‘Help me,’ I growled at Jeremiah.
Jeremiah folded his arms across his chest. He wasn’t smiling and he wouldn’t budge. ‘We’re busted,’ he said, nodding. ‘I can see headlights coming up the road. I told you this was a bad idea.’
Minutes later, a
car turned into the drive-in entry. Alby’s silver hatchback cruised into view.
‘Oh, no.’ I groaned and sank down next to Mr Broadbent. ‘I’m done for.’
Alby took his time getting out of the car. He left the engine running and the headlights on as he gave Mr Broadbent the once-over. He grimaced when he saw the party hat, but he ignored me.
‘Have you checked the cable?’ Alby asked Jeremiah. ‘It’s under the console. Right underneath.’ He went into the projector room and slid his hand beneath the counter. ‘Come here and have a look. It’s always been a bit dodgy.’
I heard a click and Jeremiah said, ‘Oh.’
The top left corner of the screen flickered and lit up.
Alby came back out. He rubbed his chin and pondered the screen. ‘It needs calibrating.’
‘How did you know?’ I asked him.
Alby thrust his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. ‘I know because I must have spent a thousand nights here when I was a kid. My father owned it. I still own it. I own half of bloody Mobius and all of it is worth zilch less unpaid taxes.’
‘I meant how did you know where we were?’ I said, feeling sheepish.
He snorted. ‘Some of my tapes are gone. My father was missing. And from down there it looks like a bad trip up here.’ He waved at the town below us.
‘You can see the mushrooms,’ I said.
‘The whole town can see the mushrooms. You only had to ask, Jack,’ Alby said. ‘I don’t know why you have to do everything the hard way. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll drive my father home and thank you not to keep taking him. He’s a sick, old man.’
Jeremiah sighed. ‘Do you want us to shut it down?’
I threw him a filthy look.
‘Keep it going if you want. It can’t hurt,’ Alby mused, stroking his chin again. ‘As long as you don’t blow the place up—and look after the tapes. People won’t come, though. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Why not?’ I said. ‘Why won’t they come?’
Alby pulled out his car keys. ‘Because some things are too far gone to bring them back.’
Mr Broadbent got up and started swaying, transfixed by the light on the screen.
I tried to explain. ‘I thought he would show us…you know, that thing he does with his hands. He loves it up here. Look at him. This is where he tries to run…’
Inbetween Days Page 17