by Scot Gardner
I opened the brew-room door in the silence that followed.
‘About time,’ Ricky said, and checked his watches.
‘It’s not even eight o’clock, you Nazi,’ Julian said. ‘Glad you’re not the boss. You’re worse than Joanie.’
‘You’re the Nazi,’ Ricky said.
‘Enough,’ I said, and held up my palm. ‘We’ll go back to the standard crews. Tef, you okay to drive the tractor?’
He nodded once and stared at the floor. I took the key from its hook and tossed it to him. He fumbled, but ultimately claimed the catch.
‘Sunscreen and hats?’ Ricky asked.
‘Looks like it, Ricky. Going to be a warm one.’
Near the supermarket entrance, a raven landed heavily on the side of a trolley. It scanned the area for threats, and then leapt into the trolley among the rubbish, emerging with a paper McDonald’s bag in its beak. It dropped the bag to the ground and landed beside it. With a foot on the bag, it pecked a hole through the paper and began dragging the contents out like a kid at Christmas until it uncovered its prize – half a cheeseburger. It flew off over the roof of the centre with the food in its beak.
I picked up some of the mess it had made and realised I’d been harsh on the humans who filled the trolleys and carpark with their refuse. Harsh on the people and guilty of underestimating the skills of the birds.
Later, when I sat down for lunch with Julian the hunter-gatherer, I reflected his behaviour was a bit raven-like. Without the mess.
‘It’s on,’ he said through a mouthful of someone else’s stir-fry.
‘What’s on?’
‘The girls are coming over tomorrow. I’ve given Nish some money for bourbon. We have the makings of a partay.’
‘Excellent,’ I said, but some part of me still felt like the cat under the bowling alley. My guts twisted for no obvious reason.
I carried that sense of wanting to fly away well into the afternoon, scanning for threats until I found one: the police car parked beside the brew room. I threw Julian the key and scarpered.
‘Just . . . going to the toilet,’ I said.
Julian frowned, then spotted the police car. ‘You’re paranoid,’ he said, ‘and when my Alfie mate is scared of the cops it makes me all jumpy. What have you done?’
‘What? Nothing,’ I said. ‘I just need to—’
‘Right,’ he said.
When I emerged from my tiled turtle shell, the police car had gone and laughter echoed from the brew room.
Joanie had returned with her right hand heavily bandaged. She gave me a smile and a thumbs-up.
‘Here he is,’ she said.
‘Ask her what ha—’ Doug said.
‘She was bitten by a seal,’ Ricky said. ‘Weren’t you, Joanie?’
Doug looked deflated.
‘Is this clown telling the truth?’ I asked him.
Doug’s eyes grew wide. He tapped Joanie’s sleeve with a hooked finger. ‘Tell him.’
Joanie raised her bandaged mitt. ‘Sea lion, actually. We were fishing and he musta thought I was a fish.’
‘Sounds nasty,’ I said. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Seventeen stitches,’ she said. ‘I’m fine. I’ll be back at work next week. I just came in to see how youse were going and do the pays.’
Ricky looked at his watches. ‘I’ll tell you how we’re going,’ he said. ‘We’re going home!’
Jelat honked a laugh and pushed Ricky’s shoulder. ‘Did you just make a joke?’
Ricky grinned and collected his backpack.
Doug followed him into the evening.
‘Would you be able to give me a hand with the pays?’ Joanie asked me.
‘Sure. I suppose,’ I said.
Julian yanked on the brim of my hat. ‘See you at home, boss,’ he said, and left.
Tefari stared at me. Jelat nudged him.
‘Could we talk?’ Tefari said. ‘Outside?’
I followed him and Jelat into the carpark.
‘The police were looking for me just now,’ Tefari said. He crossed his arms. ‘What did you tell them?’
‘Who?’
‘The cops.’
I shrugged. ‘What I knew of the truth,’ I said. ‘About the shit they’d been slinging at you.’
‘Yeah, well, they dropped the charges,’ Jelat said, and Tefari silenced him with a frown.
‘Somebody paid to have his car repaired,’ Tefari said. ‘It must have been you.’
He regarded me, unblinking, for a few seconds, then he held out his hand and we shook. He hugged me and punched my back.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘But I could have handled it.’
‘I know that,’ I said. ‘I was just trying to help.’
‘I appreciate it, but next time . . .’
His hand became a nagging sock puppet in my face, minus the sock.
‘Next time we talk about it.’
I nodded. ‘Sure.’
‘I’ll pay you back,’ he said.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘No hurry.’
Jelat shook my hand too, and they left.
‘You bailed him out?’ Julian said, and I jumped.
‘Well . . . it turns out he—’
‘You’re a strange unit, Will Rushton.’
‘You think?’
‘Well, you’d walk right in the front door of a police station to hand over cash for Tef, but the cops turn up here and you hide in the toilets. I don’t get it.’
I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t form.
Julian stared.
‘I . . .’ I managed, and pointed at the brew room.
‘You have to go?’ he said. ‘Of course. Off you go then.’
I dug my hands into my pockets. ‘It was a calculated risk. There are people looking for me. Cops and others.’
‘For headbutting Mr No Nuts with the noodles on his face from the other day?’
‘Among other things.’
His eyebrows shot up.
‘Tef needed help.’
He regarded me quizzically, then turned on his heel. ‘Food hits the table at seven, so be there. I don’t want to eat your dinner for you again tonight.’
Inside the brew room, Joanie had arranged our timesheets on a table.
‘Why me?’ I asked.
‘Hey?’
‘Why do I get the key? Why do I help you with the pays? Why not one of the other boys?’
She shrugged. ‘You take everything so seriously.’
‘Do I?’
She looked in my eyes. ‘Yeah, you do.’
‘Bernie from Centre Management said you’d had a family crisis,’ I said. ‘Didn’t mention anything about a seal.’
She reddened and held up her bandaged hand. ‘I needed something to tell youse boys,’ she said. ‘My daughter stabbed me.’
I swore and covered my mouth. ‘Accident?’
Joanie sighed. Her eyes glossed with tears.
‘I . . . I’m sorry,’ I said.
She rubbed her face and straightened in her chair.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Pay sheets.’
On my way to West Tennant that evening, as the sun rolled out of sight over the edge of the suburbs, my jitters about being seen faded. I’d done stupid things. I knew that. I’d have to make them right, and I would, but not that night. That night, I felt light on my feet. Helping Tef and lending a hand with the pays seemed to be the antidote to my paranoia. That and the promise of a partay.
PARTAY
ON FRIDAY NIGHT, Julian greeted me with a drawn-out raspberry blown from bourbon-wet lips. Jenny and Nishi were on the lounge floor in the big house, playing fetch with Booboo and a red sock. If the dog heard me, she didn’t make a fuss, just pelted around with her claws snagging on the carpet and snapping at the girls and the sock.
Jenny glanced at me and smiled.
‘There’s barbecue meat and salads in the fridge,’ Mandy said.
‘I’m starving,’ said Nishi.
> ‘You waited for me?’ I said.
‘Of course,’ said Nishi. ‘Let’s eat.’
Julian washed his hands twice – once with soap, then with disinfectant gel – before lighting the barbecue in the yard. He adjusted the gas just so, donned a bright orange apron and arranged the sausages, chops and burgers in tidy lines and rows on the grill.
Jenny and Nishi cranked up the music in the bungalow. They whispered as they crafted drinks – tall glasses with iceblocks and Coke. And bourbon. Nishi hurriedly proposed a toast to the weekend. The bubbles tickled my nostrils as I swigged, the unfamiliar spirits a balm to my empty stomach. Alcohol in the boarding house had meant expulsion, though some of the guys had still risked it. The bourbon tasted like sticking it to the man.
I collected the camp chairs from beneath the clothesline, found more in the laundry cupboard as Julian suggested, and arranged them around the celebrity chef. He wielded tongs with an easy dexterity, balancing his drink in his other hand.
We were on our third round by the time the meat was ready.
I emptied two plates in quick succession. The meat was cooked to perfection, but for me the highlights were the cherry tomatoes from the green salad – little explosions of liquid bliss. This was the sort of food I couldn’t keep under the bowling alley.
Julian stood to remove his apron at the end of the meal, and I levered myself from the camp chair to shake his hand.
‘Magnificent work, chef.’
He took my fingers and flapped them about. ‘Thank you. Come again. Bring your friends. Oh, hang on, they’re all here.’
I looked at my hand. ‘That was not a handshake.’
‘Of course it was a handshake. I’m proud of my—’
‘Feels like you’re shaking the last drops off your . . .’
Julian scoffed.
‘Obviously it’s no indicator of what sort of lover you are,’ Nishi said.
‘Obviously,’ Julian said. He breathed on his nails and polished them on his work shirt.
‘Here,’ I said, and took his hand again. ‘Tighten your elbow a bit. Grip. Better. Straighten your back. Eye contact.’
‘This is stupid,’ he said.
‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘But it’s important.’
His voice dropped an octave. ‘Welcome,’ he said. ‘Great that you could make it.’
‘Better,’ I said.
His shoulders dropped. ‘Man, I’m a hugger. Shaking hands is for stiff-arsed suits. And Alfies. Come on, give us a hug.’
He hauled me into an embrace and I could smell his sweat and the barbecue smoke.
‘See!’ he screeched. ‘You hug like a door. Have a go, girls.’
Nishi sprang to her feet and threw her arms around me, smelling of salty skin and shampoo. I patted her back. She let go and Jenny was there, breasts in my chest and breath on my neck.
‘Relax,’ she whispered.
‘I am relaxed,’ I said.
She giggled and let go.
‘Well?’
Nishi had her arm on Julian’s shoulder. She screwed up her face. ‘Door,’ she said.
‘He’s just out of practice,’ Jenny said.
Julian put his arms around me again. ‘Bend your knees. Better. Loosen your arms. You’re not trying to stop me from falling. There you go.’
He licked my cheek.
I recoiled and rubbed my face. ‘What was that?’
‘Mmm, salty,’ he said. ‘And prickly.’
I shoved him. He hopped and regained his balance, face split with a smile.
I collected the plates and the leftover food and transferred them to the kitchen while the girls made another round of drinks.
I washed the dishes. Jenny dried.
‘Nish said you moved out of home when you were little,’ she said.
I nodded. ‘I was five.’ ‘That’s sad,’ she said.
I shrugged. ‘Didn’t have much choice in the matter.’
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘That’s the sad part. You’re not well hugged, are you?’
‘Is it that obvious?’
She nodded. ‘We can work on that.’
She pressed her knee into the back of mine and I splashed us both trying to stay upright.
I liked her crooked smile. It was infectious.
They’d moved the chairs to beside the bungalow when Jenny and I returned. The music was just a bass line now, and our drinking glasses were chilled and brimming anew.
‘Which one’s which?’ I asked.
Jenny grabbed one and handed it to me. ‘Doesn’t matter, does it?’
‘Not to me,’ I said.
We clinked them together and drank as though we’d finished a marathon.
Jenny’s parents both worked in IT. They’d emigrated from China on the same flight, but didn’t officially meet for another year. They met at work, got married on a beach in Thailand and had her and her twin brother three years later.
‘The original happy family,’ I said. ‘What are you doing drinking with the Westies?’
‘I like getting messy with all the comforts of home.’ ‘On that note,’ Julian said, and handed me the packed bong, ‘let the messiness begin.’
I took it, and smoked and coughed and hawked while the others laughed. As the pipe passed around, I could see that I’d marked myself as the rank amateur in the group, but nobody cared. Not even me.
My chair got deeper with the conversation and the stars grew brighter.
‘Do you miss your mum?’ Jenny asked.
‘What? Never really thought about it,’ I said.
‘Well, think about it now.’
‘I’m not sure my brain is in the—’
‘Your brain is in the perfect state to be considering that stuff, believe me.’
I rested my head on the back of the chair and stared into the heavens until I found the newly discovered constellation of Mum.
She was breathtaking.
The diamonds she wore sparkled and the sparkles grew bigger until she was made entirely of diamonds and I realised I was watching her through my tears.
I’m five years old. Hospital machines surround her and I can’t bear to look at her anymore, so I leave. Sofie has my hand and she’s telling me everything will be all right, but her eyes are red and I don’t believe her. I can’t let go of her hand. I never want to let go of her hand.
‘Sofie?’
Then I can’t see the stars anymore and the tears are hot on my cheeks. Jenny’s standing in front of me, my hand in hers.
‘Up you get,’ she said. ‘Hugging practice.’
I bent my knees, made my elbows loose and melted into her. She smelled of dinner and soap and dope and body.
She kissed my cheek as we separated and I thanked her.
‘I guess that’s a yes?’ she asked.
‘Pardon?’
‘You do miss your mum.’
I rubbed my face. ‘So it seems.’
‘Was that her name? Sofie?’
‘Angela. Sofie’s my sister.’
Her head tilted. ‘Oh.’
‘Thanks,’ I eventually said.
‘For what?’
‘The . . . hugging practice. I need all the help I can get.’
She smiled. ‘My pleasure. As it happens, I have one space left in the full diploma course.’
I laughed a bit louder than I should have. ‘Sign me up.’
‘Great! I think you have huge untapped potential there, Will.’
I thanked her and excused myself. I stumbled to the corner of the yard. Julian appeared at my elbow and we watered the neighbour’s fence together. He bent slightly and released a high-pitched squeal of fart that held a single note for more than a second before descending into bubbling chaos.
‘Don’t tell me . . . that was a magpie call?’ I asked. ‘Close,’ he said. ‘That one’s called kitten in a bag.’ That’s the last thing I remember.
NAKED
BIRDSONG. NOT THE raucous break-of-day chorus, but something mor
e conversational and late morning. I stretched and felt the sheets clammy on my skin. I threw them off and found I was naked.
I had no memory of the transition from clothed to unclothed and as I strained to remember, I touched skin. Jenny. She lay on her side facing the wall with her hair spilling from the pillow onto the sheet as if an artist had arranged it. In throwing the sheets off, I’d uncovered an entire landscape of smooth, flawless skin.
She looked like Claire.
She snuffled and I drew the sheet back over her. In the jigsaw puzzle of the last eight hours there were edge pieces and nothing else.
Mark. I discovered a mark on my shoulder. Marks. My skin was battle-scarred with lovebites.
Jenny purred and rolled. Her fingers were sleep-dead at first, but as the spirit returned they became explorers, stroking, squeezing and teasing me until—
She shrieked and sat up, dragging the sheets around her.
It wasn’t Jenny staring at me – it was Nishi.
‘Fuck,’ we said together.
I covered myself with a pillow and leapt out of bed. I dressed in jeans and a dirty work shirt and stuffed my things into my backpack.
‘Fuck,’ Nishi said again, and I clipped the doorframe as I left.
Betraying someone and being betrayed made the same noise in my head. It was mosquitoes and kids on violins so loud that the rest of the world disappeared and I had to fight to fill my lungs. And it had been so easy. Turns out I could betray my only friend in the world while I was lost in some drug-fucked stupor. My autopilot was a monster. My moral compass was broken.
Maybe these things are genetic after all.
I couldn’t find my shoes, but leaving the mess behind seemed more important.
Julian snored. The girls sat on the couch in silence. They wore the expressions of people pulled from a car wreck.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, and left.
‘Will, wait,’ Jenny called, but it only spurred me on.
With my bare feet drumming on the driveway, and the mosquito violins in my head, I knew I’d be running for the rest of the day. The rest of my life.
If I hadn’t run into Duane. Literally.
He turned into the driveway as I ran out. Our heads collided – bowling balls – and we both went down. My pack cushioned the impact but pinned me to the ground.
Bare feet on the driveway.