A New Kind of Dreaming

by Anthony Eaton

  ‘Yeah, right mate. And I’m having a ball in here – the warden’s making me a cake for my birthday.’ He chuckled. That was the problem with Eddie – life was one big joke. Even getting stuck in prison, or packed off by the court to some shithole in the middle of the desert was good for a laugh.

  ‘Bugger off. I reckon I’ll probably like the place.’

  ‘Yeah? You don’t remember it then, do you?’ Eddie gave him a look.

  ‘Remember what?’

  ‘Port Barren. You’ve been there before, you know.’

  ‘Yeah. Right.’ Eddie – always trying to put one over you.

  ‘Nah, seriously mate. When you were a little tacker ’bout two or three years old. Mum took both of us up there one time.’

  Mum. Jamie didn’t remember much about her. She’d died when he was four. A long time ago.

  ‘Why’d she do that?’

  ‘Dunno. She never really told us. I musta been six or seven. We drove about four days solid just to get there.’ Eddie paused, recollecting faded memories. ‘Seem to remember Mum saying she had family up that way.’

  ‘Family?’ For as long as Jamie could recall, his family had been Eddie, who was locked away now for five to seven years, and their dad, usually too pissed to worry about anything, particularly the boys. ‘Don’t remember anyone sayin’ anything like that.’

  ‘You wouldn’t, would you? You were still too young when Mum . . .’ Eddie stopped. Their mother was a delicate issue for both of them.

  Every now and then Jamie tried to remember his mum but all he could ever come up with was this idea of a sad woman. That was about it – someone sad. There were a few vague memories, like shadows. He could remember her lugging boxes around during one of their many moves, and playing a singing game with them in the car on one of their country trips. What he couldn’t remember was her smell, what she felt like, being hugged. Anything like that. A few years ago it used to bother him, not being able to remember her, but nowadays he didn’t let it.

  It was different for Eddie though, Jamie thought. He could remember a lot about Mum. It meant he missed her. A lot more than he ever let on.

  He stared hard at his brother slouching in his chair on the other side of the glass and wondered if Eddie looked anything like their mum. He sure didn’t look much like Dad – that was one thing he could be glad about.

  The guard at the far end of the room coughed a little and glanced pointedly at his watch. Even through the thick glass Eddie caught the gesture.

  ‘Arsehole.’

  ‘Yeah. Anyway . . .’ Jamie trailed off. Suddenly he wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t really know when the two of them would see each other again. He and Eddie had never been particularly affectionate, but even so—

  ‘You better get a move on.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess.’

  ‘Don’t wanna miss the bus.’ Eddie grinned again.

  ‘That’s not a bad idea. You reckon I’d get away with it?’ Jamie tried to smile back.

  ‘Go on. Get lost then.’

  Jamie stood slowly. For a couple of seconds he stared at Ed. Rocking backwards on the old wooden school chair in his bloody ugly green prison uniform. Both of them were doing their best to appear as cool as possible. Finally, Jamie gave a small nod and turned to leave.

  ‘Hey, Jamie mate.’

  ‘Yeah?’ He stopped.

  ‘You take care, little brother. You hear me?’

  ‘Yeah, don’t worry, I will.’

  ‘Nah, I mean it – you stay out of trouble. When I get out we’ll do something straight.’

  ‘When’ll that be?’

  ‘Not sure exactly.’ Eddie swung slowly to his feet. ‘I’ll come and find you, okay?’

  ‘Sure mate.’ On impulse Jamie reached out and put his hand on the glass. The palms were sweaty, and the glass felt cold and solid. Eddie gave the partition a slap. A high-five through two centimetres of reinforced safety glass.

  ‘See ya.’

  ‘Be good.’

  And now here he was. Standing in a cloud of dust by the side of Highway One, five hundred kilometres the other side of anywhere.

  ‘Shit.’

  Slowly Jamie turned. He took in his first view of the place that would be his home for the next two years. It wasn’t much to look at. A few fibro bungalows scattered between thin patches of scrub and joined by red dirt roads. Everything was coated with dust, and in the early morning light the whole town took on a dirty pink glow.

  Opposite the bus stop crouched a larger building. A verandah ran along the side facing the highway, and as he stared a shape detached itself from the shade beneath it and started across the shoulder of the road towards him.

  It was a woman. He had to squint to make out the figure through the shimmering heat rising off the tarmac. She wore a long, patterned skirt that flicked around in the dust at her feet.

  She approached slowly, evenly, sizing him up as she paced across the hot tarmac.

  ‘You must be Jamie.’

  ‘Me? Nah, sorry. You must be lookin’ for someone else.’

  A momentary expression of concern flickered across her face. Spot the social worker. It had been one of Jamie’s favourite games back home. He’d been good at it too. On a Friday night he and his mates used to hang out around the central train station, waiting until either the cops or the social workers turned up. Either way there was entertainment to be had. He’d have spotted this one a mile away. She had that burnt-out hippie look they all seemed to pick up. He let her worry, enjoying the uneasy silence. When he’d had enough, he let her off.

  ‘Yeah. You got me – I’m Jamie Riley.’

  ‘Oh, right. I thought you must have been.’ A tight smile. ‘I’m Lorraine.’ She held out her hand. Jamie stared at it. The skin was clean and pink, the nails neatly trimmed. On the end of the sun-browned, weathered arm, it looked out of place. He made no attempt to take it and eventually the woman let it fall back to her side.

  ‘I’m the district officer for this area. I’ll be keeping an eye out for you during your stay.’

  He’d learnt the best way to deal with people like this long ago. Simply shut up, let them talk themselves out. Most people didn’t like silence, so if you let them try to fill in the gaps they’d give away more than they intended. This one turned out to be different. She let the silence hang in the air between them for a full minute while she looked him up and down, taking in the faded jeans and the stained Jim Beam tee-shirt. Under her level stare, Jamie found himself feeling uncomfortable, unconsciously shifting his weight from one foot to the other – a gesture of weakness he’d never usually permit himself to display, least of all to a social worker.

  Finally, without another word, she spun around and started back across the highway.

  ‘Well, come on.’

  Grabbing his backpack, which had been dumped in the dirt beside him when he got off the bus, Jamie slouched onto the road.

  Halfway across the highway, with the heat rising from the black tarmac like a physical presence, Jamie stopped dead. A feeling of cold gripped him, coming from right down inside, making him tremble. Something bad, something evil had reached out and touched him as he crossed the road. His shoulders felt tight and heavy, his breathing became shallow and forced, and he fought back a wave of nausea. He couldn’t explain it, but he had this instant, eerie feeling that something was very wrong with Port Barren.

  Lorraine had stopped on the far side of the highway.

  ‘You okay?’

  Jamie shook his head to start himself thinking again.

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

  He’d caught up to her by the time she reached the verandah of the long prefab, and they walked up the three steps together.

  ‘This is admin,’ said Lorraine. ‘It’s sor
t of the centre of town. The mining company has its offices down that end, and this half of the building is the council office. I keep a desk here too, for when I’m about.’

  ‘You’re not always here?’ She laughed.

  ‘In Port Barren? No way. This place isn’t big enough to warrant a full-time social worker. I drive across from Karratha two or three times a week, just to touch base.’

  ‘With who?’

  A sideways glance.

  ‘You for one.’

  Jamie went quiet again and followed Lorraine into the council offices. After the heat outside, the interior of the prefab was so cold it made him gasp. Lorraine noticed the goose bumps that prickled all over him.

  ‘They keep the air-con running all the time. Not a bad thing either – gets pretty warm this time of year.’

  ‘What’s it like in summer then?’ When Jamie had left the city, way down south, it had been freezing cold and pouring with rain – the dead of winter. If this was what winter was like in Port Barren, he couldn’t imagine it during the hot weather.

  ‘Summer?’ Lorraine laughed again. ‘This is the far north Jamie, there’s no summer. Only the wet and the dry.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘You’ll see. Right now though, we’re in the middle of the dry season.’

  ‘When’s the wet?’

  ‘Still about a month away. Hard to say exactly. Some years it seems to come earlier than others.’

  ‘Does it get a bit cooler then?’

  ‘Not much, just a lot more humid.’

  ‘Great.’

  While they talked she’d led him between three or four desks, past a couple of partitioned offices and into a cubbyhole tucked away at one end of the room. Jamie guessed there was a desk somewhere under the piles of books and paper that littered the tiny space.

  ‘Sorry about the mess.’ Lorraine eased herself into a chair on the other side of the biggest pile of books. ‘Take a seat.’

  An old wooden chair stood against the wall behind him. Jamie pulled it to the edge of the desk and sat down. Lorraine lifted the top books off the pile and dumped them on the floor where they kicked up a small cloud of red dust. Jamie watched the cloud gradually settle back to the floor.

  ‘That’s better. At least now I can see you.’

  Jamie didn’t reply and the social worker studied him again for a few more seconds before plucking a slim manila folder off the top of one pile.

  ‘Now, let’s see. James Riley, seventeen, father missing, mother deceased, one brother currently serving a maximum security sentence for armed robbery and theft.’

  Jamie yawned. There was nothing in that file that he didn’t already know, and he didn’t want to give this woman the impression that he cared in the slightest what she knew about him.

  Lorraine continued reading aloud.

  ‘Referred into custody of the Department for Social Services at age twelve after repeated shoplifting offences, five foster homes in the following five years. Arrested in August of this year in the passenger seat of a stolen car. Sentenced to two years in juvenile remand by the Children’s Court, but after an appeal by Ms Karen Kernol of the DSS, this sentence was commuted to two years isolated care.’

  Hearing the last six years of his life summed up so quickly and emotionlessly made Jamie feel a little uncomfortable, but he was careful not to let any expression into his face.

  Lorraine leaned back in her chair and looked at him.

  ‘You’re a pretty lucky guy.’

  ‘Lucky? Being sent to this dump?’

  ‘It’s better than remand.’

  ‘Dunno about that.’

  ‘Trust me, it is. You ever been inside a prison?’

  ‘Yeah, plenty of times. Visited my brother every couple of months.’

  ‘No, I mean really inside. Not just the visitor’s room.’

  ‘Nah. Eddie reckons it’s not too bad, though. Lots of free time, pool table, even cable TV.’

  Lorraine’s steady gaze held his for a few seconds, and then she said, ‘Eddie.’

  Calmly, she closed his file and dropped it back onto the desk. Without hesitation, she plucked another folder, identical to his own, from the top of a different pile. While she leafed through the pages, searching, Jamie took the opportunity to study her. He guessed she was somewhere in her forties. Long stringy brown hair hung right down to the middle of her back. A pair of thick reading glasses perched on the end of her nose and she wore an old, faded Greenpeace tee-shirt. Her skin had that look of someone who’s lived too long in a hot, dry climate – dark and kind of creased.

  Unlike a lot of the social workers he’d dealt with in the past, this one, despite the tired hippy façade, gave the impression that she shouldn’t be messed around. She seemed to have all the answers.

  ‘Did Eddie tell you about the fights?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘In the two years he’s been inside, your brother’s been admitted to the prison hospital five times.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘To get patched up. From beatings.’

  ‘Nah. He woulda told me.’

  ‘It’s all in here.’ She waved the folder.

  For the first time since sitting down, Jamie felt disconcerted. None of the other social workers had ever known any details about Eddie. They’d known he existed, of course, and that he was in prison, but as far as Jamie was aware that was about all they were ever told. He’d always assumed it was all they were allowed to know.

  ‘How’d you get that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Eddie’s file.’

  Lorraine threw him a strange smile. ‘I’ve got my contacts.’

  She didn’t elaborate and Jamie retreated back into silence. After a second or two she returned her attention to the folder.

  ‘They broke his nose last time.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘He won’t say. One of the gangs probably. Prison’s full of men with grudges.’

  ‘He didn’t tell me.’

  ‘He wouldn’t, would he? You’re his little brother. You look up to him.’

  ‘Eddie’s not like that.’ And neither am I, he almost added.

  ‘You’d be surprised, Jamie. Things like respect and family become pretty important to guys once they’re locked up. Particularly for men like Eddie. It’s all they’ve got left to hold on to.’

  Lorraine pulled something from the file and passed it to Jamie. She had to rise slightly to reach across the mess without starting an avalanche. It was a photo. Of Eddie. That in itself was strange – Ed had always had a thing about photos, he hated being in them. He’d never let anyone take a snapshot of him if he could help it. For a few seconds Jamie studied the image – the black eyes, the twisted nose and the bloodstained prison tee-shirt. Lorraine watched him closely, looking to see his reaction.

  ‘Oh man.’ Jamie was quiet, taking it in. ‘Why didn’t he say something?’

  ‘What could you have done?’

  Another pause.

  ‘Do you see why I say you’re lucky?’

  Jamie shook his head. His mind was reeling with shock and anger and fear for his brother. He barely heard Lorraine speaking, but forced himself back to her words – it was the best way to keep the emotions from taking over.

  ‘Jamie, you’re seventeen now. With your record you could easily have been in there with your brother. A two-year term now would have meant at least twelve months in the adult prison.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So you’re incredibly lucky that your case worker managed to talk the judge into releasing you to isolated care. You mess up again and it’s prison for you. Not just juvenile remand, but full-on prison. You think about that. I don’t know Eddie but I’m guessing he’s no pushover, and ev
en so they’ve managed to put him in hospital five times. Imagine what would happen to a seventeen-year-old.’ She paused. ‘This is it, Jamie. This is your last chance.’

  Silence filled the space between them. Jamie tried to shrug off what she’d just said. All his life social workers had been telling him that this was his last chance, and so far he’d proved them wrong every time. Deep inside him, however, a tight little bundle of nerves told him that in this case what Lorraine was saying was really true. He listened as Lorraine kept talking.

  ‘What I’m saying is this – don’t mess up here. Go to school, meet me every week, don’t play up on Archie . . .’

  ‘Archie?’ Jamie interrupted.

  ‘You’ll meet him in a few minutes. You’ll be staying with him. Give him a chance and I think you’ll like him. You actually remind me of him a little.’

  The hum of the air conditioners filled the break in the conversation. Jamie’s mind was turning over what Lorraine had said. She has no idea about Eddie, he thought. She believed she knew everything about everybody. Jamie reckoned he knew his brother pretty well. Still, he remembered that last meeting. Eddie had been different, sort of tired and sad. Not the old Ed at all.

  Jamie broke the silence. ‘Is that it?’

  The social worker looked up. ‘Is what it?’

  ‘This interview.’

  Lorraine stared. ‘I’d like to know what your plans are for your stay.’

  ‘Plans?’

  ‘You need to have some sort of goals.’

  Jamie gave a hollow laugh.

  ‘What’s the point? I’m not goin’ anywhere in a hurry, am I?’

  ‘Even so—’ She broke off, looking up. ‘Archie, come on in.’

  two

  Jamie twisted in his seat to get a good look at the person who was going to be his host for the foreseeable future. He expected to see someone like the foster parents they’d always dumped him with back in the city – some well-meaning, church-going, middle-class do-gooder. He’d hated them all: people who thought they could change the world by changing him. That was what the social services people never understood – that for the foster parents it was always some kind of mission, a competition, with them on the side of good and Jamie being the forces of darkness and evil. It was a competition Jamie had become very good at winning.