‘That’s right.’ Evan makes no fuss. He adjusts his hat. ‘It might be going all the way across Australia.’
In the few seconds of silence that pass, it’s like we’re all thinking the same thing – that it would be good to be going on a long journey, an adventure, leaving Templeton behind. But we’re not. We’re here. And we might be here for quite a while yet.
Kaydie looks out the train window, letting the world come to her like a silent film. There’s the racecourse, wide and green, and on the brick wall of an old factory, a single word thirty metres long, AERO, graffitied in black block letters three metres high. Then there’s the Westgate Bridge, ships in the distance and Etihad Stadium, home ground of the mighty Bulldogs, too big and too round for your eyes to handle from the outside. Plus blocks of city buildings like rockets about to launch and smaller ones scattered in between like dropped boxes.
But what Kaydie seems to find most interesting is two old Vietnamese ladies who get on at North Melbourne and start talking. The kid looks totally baffled, as if she’s sure she must know what they’re saying, but can’t understand why she doesn’t. I watch her, Ariel against my side, warm and real, the best thing ever.
‘What d’you think they sounded like, Kaydie?’ Ariel asks when the old ladies stand up and move toward the doors.
Kaydie looks away. ‘Birds,’ she says, so close to the window I see a little patch of fog appear on the glass.
We’re in the city now, the train cutting through the rail yards, tracks branching away all over the place.
‘This is it,’ I say, as we go in under the Southern Cross roof, the dim railway-station light taking over from daylight, kind of restful but exciting, too. There are all sorts of trains at the platforms, growling as if they want to get going. ‘Stage one complete.’
Ariel picks up her backpack as people around us move. The warmth of her has got right in under my skin. Of course, I pretend not to notice, but I think she might know that I do.
We catch the tram, then hit the beach that is at the end of the line. One hundred metres away is a big red ship tied up to the wharf and the water is the colour of the Aussie flag – true bloody blue, mate! Kaydie walks down the stone steps and onto the sand as if in a dream. Beside me, Ariel smiles, looking out at the bay, the smell of it coming at us strong, salty and fishy, like old-fashioned medicine.
‘Well.’ She clears her throat, blinks, and opens her eyes wide. ‘The sea. Here I am. So, what do you think, Kayde?’
Kaydie isn’t listening. She’s heading for the water, her runners kicking up little spits of sand, kid-instincts kicking in. We plod along behind and watch.
‘She’s into it,’ I say.
Kaydie stops at the edge, looking down at little waves that run along the shore one after the other like magical folds in the sunny water. She listens to them break, with a sigh and a shoosh, before they pull back to do it all over again.
‘She’s trying to work it out,’ Ariel says. ‘Look at her.’
Kaydie reminds me of a puzzled dog, staring at something it doesn’t understand. She watches the ripples arrive, following them with her eyes as they race away along the beach. Beside me, Ariel suddenly sits on the sand, and hides her face in her arms. She’s crying, no doubt about that.
Evan moves away, leaving me with a few parting words. ‘I’ll keep an eye on Kaydie, all right?’
I nod, sit beside Ariel, and put my arm around her, feeling her shudder. I get it that she’s thinking everything’s fallen to bits, is still falling to bits, and might just keep on falling to bits until there’s nothing left to fall – with no one around but her to pick up the pieces. But it’s not like that anymore – I don’t think.
‘It’ll be okay, Ariel.’ I can feel her pain like a shiver. ‘Things’ll work out.’ I wish Jude was here, or Evan’s mum. They’d know how to handle this. ‘If you need anything,’ I add, ‘just tell me. Anything. Money, something, whatever. I can get it. We’re here to help.’ I smile, trying to lighten things up. ‘Like the fire brigade.’
She shakes her head, staring out across the blue bay, her face wet and streaky. Perhaps she’s seeing the future there, a flat emptiness, no matter how bright the colour of the water is.
‘I just want to know when things will start getting better.’ Her eyes are shiny, tears weighing down the lashes. ‘Look at Kaydie.’
I do look. Kaydie is watching the waves, holding handfuls of wet sand as if she is weighing up things. A few metres back, Evan sits on the beach in his black hat, black jeans and black shirt with fancy white cowboy stitching on the back. He looks like a sideshow dude – skinny, rock ‘n’ roll and tough.
‘She’s goin’ along.’ That’s all I can think of to say about Kaydie. ‘She’ll get through it. She’s got you and her mum. And you’ve got us. And our families.’
Surely that’s got to count for something?
Ariel might not have heard. She looks at the sea. ‘I can’t believe you can lose so much so quickly. Like, not only things, but how we lived. Like school, and what we did, and where we went. Stuff that had taken us our whole lives to put together. Pulled apart and trashed in two days flat.’
I can believe it. There are wooden crosses and plastic flowers out on the Western Highway that tell you the truth of that. Every few kilometres you see them, where cars have rolled, hit, or hammered themselves into trees. People and things can disappear, all right. A kid from school, Mark Apsley, got killed fifteen kilometres up that very road, and he is not coming back, no way.
‘When we go home tonight,’ I say, hoping this is a reasonable idea, ‘I want you to come to my place. With Kaydie. To meet my folks. Because they’re all right.’
‘I can’t do that.’ Ariel speaks as though I’ve asked her to go to Las Vegas with a stopover in Hawaii.
I laugh. ‘Oh yes, you can.’ Sometimes, not often, you know you’re right. ‘It’s called a visit, Ariel. You can’t say no.’
She takes a tissue from her sleeve and wipes her eyes. A little way down the beach Evan and Kaydie hang at the edge, looking at the water that comes and goes.
‘So that’s the sea.’ Ariel looks at it. ‘I got here.’
‘You’ll get to other places, too.’ Sometimes you just know the truth about other people – that they’re set for big things. ‘I guarantee it. Things will get better. Kaydie’s doin’ okay. Jill’s doin’ okay. You’re doin’ a great job.’
Ariel watches Kaydie making a little dam.
‘She doesn’t even cry, you know. It’s too much for her. She hasn’t even got started on it. She’s still in shock.’
I nod, seeing a ship in the distance, like a distant memory.
‘She’ll make it,’ I say. ‘You just keep on doin’ what you’re doin’. One hundred per cent.’
Ariel sifts sand. Funny how everyone does that. She drops a handful on my hand to get my attention.
‘I don’t know where to put you in my life, Ryan.’ She looks at me like I asked. ‘I don’t know what to think about you.’
I search for the ship, and see it, nothing but a faint shimmer now.
‘Oh, put me anywhere.’ I smack sand off my hands. ‘And think what you like.’ I grin, happy with that.
Ariel smiles, but it’s less than convincing. ‘That’s not so easy. It changes.’ She puts down a handful of sand carefully, as if it has to go back exactly where she took it from. ‘Like all things.’
Well, she’s right about that.
Ariel and Kaydie come back to my place. Bobby-boy looks up from the couch, happily surprised, and Jude stops on her way to the fridge, holding a carton of milk. Time has stopped, apparently.
‘Oh, hello there.’ Jude smiles at Ariel, then at Kaydie. She dumps the milk and shuts the fridge. ‘Come in, everyone.’ She wipes her hands on her jeans. ‘Quick. It’s cold out there.’
I get the introductions over and done with, keeping it on a first-name basis.
‘Ariel and Kaydie live down Raleigh Road,’ I add, to p
ut Jude in the picture. ‘Opposite the playground, just about.’
A change has come over the room, and it’s mostly to do with Kaydie, because we hardly ever have little kids in the house. Bobby gets up, heading for the kitchen and a fresh stubby, in honour of the occasion. Jude revisits the fridge, throwing open the door, looking for something a kid might like to eat or drink.
‘Righto,’ says the old man, now that he’s organised a beer. ‘Who’s hungry?’ Meaning Jude’ll make and deliver it.
Kaydie looks away, clutching her rabbit, staying close to Ariel until she spots Dee Dee in her cane basket on the mat. Then she quietly slips in between a chair and the coffee table, and kneels on the floor, her hands on her knees, watching Dee Dee, who sits like a black-and-gold panther.
‘She’s fine,’ I say to Ariel, meaning Deed, but I head on over because kids and dogs don’t always mix, despite what people think. ‘She’s a good dog.’
Deed sees me coming, and wags her little tail like the flipper on a pinball machine. I squat, patting her shoulder, feeling solid muscle and strong bone.
‘You can pat her, Kaydie.’ I show her how and she creeps forward, landing a hand on Dee Dee’s side like a pale starfish on a black beach. With her fingers spread, she gives Deed the lightest of pats, as if she’s interested in what she feels like. ‘She’s a good dog,’ I add. ‘She’s only two years old.’
Jude tells Ariel to sit down, and she does, on the couch. The vibe calms, I think. Ariel realises it’s pretty down-to-earth here. You only have to see the shoes by the door, the overflowing laundry baskets and the empty stubbies on the coffee table to realise that.
‘Does everyone like cheese on toast?’ Jude holds up a block of cheese like a brick. ‘And Milo and milk?’
Ariel’s embarrassed, but she’s kind of trapped by my family – there’s no way out until she’s eaten and had something to drink, because that’s the way we roll.
‘Yes, thanks. That’d be wonderful.’ Ariel nods at Jude and doesn’t look away. ‘That would be very nice.’
Bobby-boy’s ready to talk. He turns the TV down, a program with a girl in a black bikini on a white catamaran going past a sandy island. A place I would not mind being with Ariel, just quietly.
‘How was the good old bay?’ Bobby cranks the cap off his beer, takes a sip and settles back. ‘Not the flashest bit of water you’ll ever see. But not bad.’
‘It was nice,’ says Ariel. ‘Kaydie was amazed. She’s never been to the beach before. And neither have I. We’re from the country.’
Kaydie strokes Deed like she’s painting a wall, studying her, and patting, patting, patting.
‘She’s a nice dog, isn’t she, Kaydie?’
Ariel talks gently, watching closely, not quite able to relax. ‘She’s sleepy.’
Kaydie doesn’t answer but you can tell she’s making up her own mind about Dee Dee, and she likes her. I see her move forward, just a few centimetres, to rub Deed’s side as if she was cleaning a little window. From the hallway, Slate appears, bringing a rush of cold air. He’s carrying his bouncer’s jacket, plastic tag dangling like bait, his bristly hair catching the light.
‘Hey, everyone.’ He nods. ‘I’m Slate. Full house. Very good.’ His shoulders loosen and he smiles, quick and bright, the old Slate, before heading slowly to the door, as if he’s having second thoughts. ‘Anyway, see yers later. Work to do.’
Mum gives Slate his keys and he’s gone.
‘He works part-time at the Bonnyview pub,’ Bobby tells Ariel. ‘Security work. I don’t like it. But . . .’ He looks at the TV, as if the tropical holiday they’re talking about might turn into instant reality. ‘What can you do?’
Not a lot with a guy like Slate.
He’s the one calling the shots.
After tea, which turned out to be more than cheese on toast, Kaydie falls asleep next to Ariel on the couch. I can see this pleases Jude, like she’s wound back the clock fifteen years and has someone little to look after rather than a great big dangerous piece of equipment like Slate, or a slippery, slack dude like me.
‘We’d better go.’ Ariel sits forward. ‘Jill will be wondering.’ She turns to wake Kaydie, and I can see the tiredness in her, like lead in your bones. ‘Come on, Kayd. Time to go home for bed.’
‘Bob’ll drive you,’ Jude announces, no argument allowed. ‘It’s too dark and cold to walk now. And what with that idiot on the loose out in the paddocks. Bob, get your keys.’
‘Better than the dishes.’ Bobby gets up with a groan, wanders past the bench, finds his keys and tosses them to me. ‘Open the car, Ryan, and start it up. I’ll carry the little tyke.’ He looks at Ariel. ‘She won’t die of fright, will she?’
Ariel hesitates, but once again she’s caught in the Lanyon family grip, blindsided but knowing she’s among friends. She sweeps her hair to one side. I remember Naomi used to do that, an older girl’s thing, maybe. Then she nods, looking at Kaydie, something soft in her eyes you don’t see too often.
‘No. Once she sleeps, she sleeps. She’ll be fine.’
Ariel knows things are all right here; perhaps they’re not always all right for us, but they’ll always be right for her and Kaydie to visit. I think it might have something to do with Slate, too, as if it’s a chance for us to look after someone else in the hope it might put some protection in the karma bank for him. You can only hope.
Pulling up at Ariel’s place throws up another What-would-Matty-Boyd-do? situation. How does Kaydie get from the car into the house? Well, I just scoop her up and head for the front door, blushing like crazy but luckily it’s dark.
Ariel opens the door, switches on the light, and I follow her into the back room, Jill stands up in a fluster, hugging a cushion, not knowing which way to go or where to look.
‘She’s asleep,’ I explain, and bring Kaydie in for a three-point landing on the old couch. ‘My dad just drove us around from my place.’
Jill nods, won’t let go of the cushion. ‘Okay. Good. Good.’ She looks at Kaydie as if she wants to go straight over and check the kid’s pulse, to make sure I’m telling the truth.
‘She’s out like a light,’ Ariel says. ‘We’ll have to wake her in a minute to do her teeth and stuff anyway.’ She looks at me. ‘Thanks, Ryan. It was a good day.’
I back off, saying my goodbyes, Ariel coming out the door with me, grabbing my hand in the dark, giving me a quick kiss.
‘Thank your mum and dad, Ryan.’ She’s shadowy in the darkness, slipping back into her complicated life. ‘And Evan. Perhaps I’ll see you this week over at Sky Point.’
‘You will,’ I say, then jog for the car in case Bobby-boy thinks I’m not coming and heads for home.
He’s turned the beast around and is waiting, elbow out the window, red tail-lights glowing. I get in the front and he drives away slowly, Bobby-style, one hand on the wheel.
‘She’s nice,’ he says. ‘And the little kid.’
‘Yeah.’ I look out, houses passing, full of families of one sort or another. ‘They are.’
Bobby swings into our street. ‘Hard to know where it’ll all end up. Tough business, that. Best if they stick around. Now that they’re here. It’s the choppin’ and changin’ that stuffs things up.’
Funny, I never think about us going anywhere or doing anything much different, like moving house, or the oldies splitting up. It just seems that we won’t, that we’re solid where we are and how we are. But if Ariel went away, there’d be a hole in my life you could drive a truck through. It’s one thing to find a girl like that. It’d certainly be another to lose one.
Still no Elmore! How long can this last? It’s like three days of warm weather in the middle of winter. Kids look at each other and laugh, a feeling in the air that maybe he’s gone, that maybe all the Larkins have because Eden, his sister, isn’t here either. There’s a rumour floating around that there was a meltdown at their house, police and ambulance called, according to one kid who lives down that way.
&nbs
p; ‘Maybe their past caught up with them,’ Evan says, as we try to stay out of the freezing wind at recess. ‘Maybe they’ve taken off.’
It’s happened before. Around here whole families disappear overnight – kids, pets, couch, the lot. I can imagine it. Get in the car and don’t argue. Then they’re gone, pulling a tandem trailer with a blue tarp, pretty much dead certain that where they’re going will be as bad as where they were – still no money and the cops knocking on the door.
‘But,’ Evan adds, ‘I don’t think they’ve gone anywhere.’
‘Me neither.’ I look at kids kicking a yellow footy on the oval, see a teacher making the great Hyundai escape, tyres slapping through puddles in the staff car park. ‘We’d know it if they had.’
‘Did you hear that Kerry Daniels chick say some dude was in her backyard on Monday night?’ Evan puts his hood on, crosses his arms to fend off the wind. ‘She reckons she screamed and the idiot almost flew over the fence. Had to be the prowler, not that bear-sized guy. He’s not flyin’ over anything.’
I picture the dude we saw in the paddock – a giant in a long black coat with a sword, on the march. Could he be some sort of vigilante cat? A force for good rather than evil? It isn’t impossible. After all, in this world, there’s supposed to be more good people than bad.
I hope.
Other kids are now saying they’ve seen a small, quick guy in dark clothes in their yards and out in the paddocks. A Year Nine girl I was talking to at Sky Point told me her dad sprung a dude hiding near their back fence, and that’s definitely not good.
The open ground around here goes on forever. It’s just one empty place after the other – there’s creek land, bare paddocks, powerlines, a railway bridge, bulldozed factory sites and the old tip that’s now covered with weeds and blackberries. There’s also a hundred ways in on back roads and tracks. Anyone can come and go, day and night. The emptiness attracts law-breakers and that’s a fact.
Evan and me have found really eerie shit out here: once, a big box of women’s clothes; another time, skinned goat carcasses, streaky yellow and red; and the final straw was a black bin bag spilling out kids’ photos and sport trophies with no heads or arms. Man, that was enough for us. We got the hell out of there and did not look back.
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