by Scot Gardner
I nodded and spat.
‘Just take it easy for a few minutes. Sit in the van if you like. I’ll get a tanker organised.’
He unclipped his phone from his belt. He squeezed the leather and plastic case and looked at the screen. He stuck it back on his belt and headed for the cottage. No signal, I thought. Out of range. Stay out of range of the shit-tank. I walked right around the house to the driveway and propped in the passenger’s seat of the van. I could still smell it. It was in my clothes. In my dreads. Everywhere. My mouth was burning with leftover chuck.
Kevin appeared a few minutes later. I saw him coming down the drive in the mirror but I didn’t notice his limp. He wasn’t scowling. There was a genuine look of concern on his face.
‘You right, Gary?’
I nodded and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand.
‘What’s the go?’ I asked, praying that I didn’t have to move from the van.
‘Tim will be here in half an hour or so with his tanker. It’s like a huge vacuum cleaner and he just sucks up all the waste and dumps it at the treatment plant in Christmas Bay.’
‘That’s it? All fixed?’
‘I’ll check the outlet but I’ve got a fairly good idea what went wrong.’
Kevin looked at his hands, wiped them on the grass beside the driveway and took a sandwich from the little esky he used as his lunch box.
I held my stomach. ‘How can you eat?’
‘You get used to it. Smells are part of the territory.’
‘I don’t think I’d get used to it.’
Kevin took another bite and half his sandwich vanished into his gob. He didn’t say anything for a long time then he swallowed and said, ‘You’ll probably surprise yourself.’
In that moment I could see that I’d been wrong about Kevin. Right from the start. He was a mountain of hair and muscle with a scowl that would freak little kids out from half a block away, but he wasn’t a monster.
‘Sorry about chucking up all over the place.’
‘Don’t apologise,’ he said.
‘And sorry for dropping the grate. At the milk factory. Sorry about your ankle.’
Kevin’s scowl returned. ‘That wasn’t your fault. I slipped. Don’t beat yourself around the head for that.’
I shifted in my seat and crossed my arms.
‘I should be apologising to you,’ Kevin said. ‘Didn’t have a very good day all round. Still, a week of kicking back at home wasn’t exactly punishment. I like my work . . . but it’s still work.’
Tim arrived. A blue truck with racks for pipes on the side and ‘Tim’s Takeaway’ written in huge flowing letters on the tank that sat on the back. I walked up with Kevin and shook Tim’s hand. Tim and his truck stunk, but not like the septic. They stunk of industrial disinfectant. And shit. Maybe the smell never really comes out no matter how much you wash. Maybe you just don’t notice the pong after a while.
I stood upwind as Tim emptied the septic, but I was close enough to see what was going on. The shit didn’t look like shit anymore. It looked like a sea of long party balloons. Some were full of air. Others contained only a bubble. A rainbow of colours. I realised, with a kind of kinky horror, that the balloons had tips and they weren’t balloons at all.
Kevin stood beside me. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Fine,’ I said. Every so often I caught a whiff of the septic but I didn’t feel like ralphing. ‘Are those floaters what I think they are?’
Kevin nodded. ‘Condoms and septics don’t mix too well.’
Butch Dyke appeared next to Kevin with a handkerchief held over her nose and mouth. With the sea of condoms bobbing around Tim’s pipe, I had to wonder about Gel’s assessment of Butch Dyke.
‘Have you found the problem?’ she asked.
Kevin shifted feet. ‘Ahhh . . . yeah.’
Butch Dyke stepped forward and peered into the tank. ‘What was it that . . . ?’
The back of her neck went red. Instant sunburn.
She turned and shook her head at Kevin and me. Her hair was salt and pepper and her face tomato sauce.
‘I knew my sister and David were good friends, I just didn’t realise they got on that well,’ she said, and scurried into the cottage.
Kevin was tight-lipped but his eyes were smiling.
The laugh wasn’t lost on Tim, either. ‘People try to flush their secrets away,’ he said. ‘The likes of Kevin and me have seen it all. Haven’t we, Kevin?’
Kevin raised his eyebrows.
Tim wiped his shit-caked hands on his overalls, pushed up his sleeve and showed me his watch. A Rolex diving watch. It was a beauty and it looked out of place on Tim’s grotty body.
‘Found it at the bottom of a septic. Five grand’s worth. Still ticking. You don’t flush shit like that by accident, ay.’
Kevin and me helped Tim pack up his pipes. He wrote an account in slow, precise writing with the book resting on his knee, tore out the original and handed it to Kevin with a smile. He parped on his air horn as he pulled out of the driveway. On the back of the tank it had Tim’s company slogan: ‘Your shit is our bread and butter.’
Kevin parked the van beside the water at the Kellep River Reserve. We washed our hands in the public toilets and carried our lunch to a wooden table. There was birdshit on one end and the paint had peeled in patches. I sat on one side, Kevin the other. When he sat, the rail beneath his bum dropped and I was briefly airborne, like the table was actually a seesaw in disguise.
The big bloke laughed. It tumbled out of his mouth and filled the park. It bounced off the trees and bubbled down with the river.
‘Sorry, Gary,’ he said.
I pretended to dust myself down and he shook his head.
‘You live at home, Gary?’
‘Yep.’
‘Mum? Dad?’
‘My dad is a stuntman in major productions. He lives in Queensland. At the moment I live with my mum and her husband, Mario, and their kid, Sharon.’
‘In Mullet Head?’
‘Yep. I lived in Chrissy Bay until Mum and Dad split up, then we shifted to Mullet Head.’
He nodded slowly.
‘You?’ I asked.
‘Me? One wife . . . Maureen. Been married twenty-two years. One living offspring. A wild little animal named Vanessa. She’s thirteen. I think she goes to school with Sharon. What’s Sharon’s last name?’
I screwed up my lunch bag. I imagined Kevin would do the same to my head if he knew the story. ‘Lived in Mullet Head all your life?’
‘Pardon? Yes. What did you say your sister’s name was again? Sharon . . . ?’
‘DiMartino,’ I said. My voice squeaked on the Mar bit.
‘Yes, that’s right! She’s stayed at our place a couple of times. She was there just recently. She’s lovely. Very bright young lady that one.’
‘If you say so.’
‘It’s true. Reminds me of that girl on The Simpsons. Lisa Simpson.’
Kevin was packing his lunch rubbish into his little esky and he froze with a revelation. ‘Come to think of it, Vanessa has stayed at Sharon’s place, too. My daughter had a sleepover at your place. Only a couple of weeks back. I think it was Sharon’s birthday. You must have met her. She has blondish hair and green eyes.’
I held my chin and looked at the treetops. I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so. My sister has so many mates. I make myself scarce if she’s having a party.’
‘Yes. That sounds like a good idea.’
I sighed into my hand and thought that the gossip didn’t flow as readily in the Daly household as it did in ours. Thankfully. And then it dawned on me that Kevin might have been trying to find out if I had anything to hide. He might have been sussing out if I was guilty. Saying I didn’t know her would have been like a confession.
‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘I know your daughter! They call her Ness. That’s what threw me. Not Vanessa, Ness.’
‘That’s right! Ness. What did you think of her?’
‘
Huh?’
‘What’s she like . . . as far as teenage girls go?’
‘Oh. Fine. Yeah. She has a good laugh on her. I . . . I think she was the one who was scared of the dark.’
Kevin nodded. ‘That’s her. She’s been jittery about the dark since her brother died.’
‘Yeah. I’m really sorry.’
Kevin’s whole body seemed to buckle a bit at the mention of his son. And nobody had told him that I’d slept with his daughter. Little s.
‘Yep,’ he mumbled. ‘Thanks. I’ve got six bags full of sorry up in the garage. I’ll put it with them.’
I almost said sorry again. He slid his esky into the back of the van and slammed the door.
I lowered myself into the passenger’s seat. Kevin looked over his shoulder as he reversed out of the park. His face had changed again. The scowl was back.
We spent the afternoon working on a rough-in at Christmas Bay. Rough-in is plumbing jargon for a job where we (the plumbers) fit the pipes inside the walls of a house that’s so new it’s still a skeleton inside. It’s drilling holes into the pine frame with the battery drill and hacksaws and pushing pipes through the holes and fittings and pipe saddles. It was tape measures and reading house plans and Kevin explaining things in a gentle voice. It was the incense-sweet smell of burning pine as Kevin used the oxy torch to weld the pipe. It was the shit-eating grin on my face when Kevin showed me how to use the oxy and I nailed my first weld like a pro.
‘Good job, Gary. You’re a natural.’
When it came to knock off, I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave. The job wasn’t finished. I could see what needed to be done. It would have only taken us a couple more hours.
Kevin yelled at me to pack up the tools. ‘We’ll be back tomorrow,’ he said, as he jumped into the van. ‘If it was our own business we would have finished it off but we’re working for Phil. We knock off at knock-off time.’
Philthy Phil. I told Kevin what I’d seen on Monday morning. About Pip and Philthy in his SS ute. He had a doubting look on his face.
‘Phil’s been giving Pip a ride to work since she lost her licence last year.’
‘Lost her licence?’
‘Drink driving. They’ve been coming to work together for ages.’
‘Phil normally travels with his pants undone?’
‘Yeah, well. I’m not sure about that. Maybe he was late or something.’
‘I was ten minutes early and they were there when I arrived.’
Kevin poked his bottom lip out and shrugged. ‘You riding your bike all the way from Mullet Head?’
I nodded.
‘Fair hike first thing in the morning.’
‘Yeah. I like it. It’s great. Keeps me fit and that.’
Kevin asked where we lived in Mullet Head and I explained where Marlin Avenue came off Tailor Drive.
‘I drive right past there in the morning. I could pick you up if you want.’
‘Serious?’
‘Yes. You’d have to be out the front at quarter to seven.’
‘I’ll be there.’
‘You can think about it for a minute if you like. Think of your fitness. The open road. Air blowing through your . . . dreadies.’
‘I’ll be there.’
The big bloke smiled.
$416.85. I looked at the little yellow envelope with ‘$416.85’ and my name on it and thought there must have been a mistake. I thanked Pip and stuffed it in my pocket. It rattled with coins. Outside, I pushed my helmet on my head and squeezed the envelope. It was also bulging with notes.
‘Do you want a lift, Gary?’ Kevin asked, and I jumped.
‘I’ve got my bike . . . ’
‘Chuck it in the ute if you like.’
He pointed with his hairy chin at the old ute with the pipe racks over the tray and the green boat on top.
‘Cool. Fanks.’
Kevin slid his esky in the back and helped me thread my bike under the rack. The tray of the ute was empty except for a grey rubber mat, a paddle, Kevin’s esky and a dusting of beach sand. My bike rested on a pedal and the seat.
Kevin shook it. ‘Should be right there.’
Inside, the ute smelled like an old car should: sunbaked plastic, dust and essence of oil smoke.
I hooked the brown seatbelt across my body and snapped it home. The boat jutted over the passenger’s side windscreen like a sun visor.
‘Nice tub,’ I said.
‘Thanks,’ Kevin said. ‘I’ve had it since new. It’s done two hundred and ninety thousand kilometres.’
‘I meant the boat.’
The engine started first kick.
‘Ah. The kayak. I’ve only had that a few years and the odometer was busted when I got it.’
‘Do you go out in it?’
‘Every day.’
‘Serious?’
He nodded. ‘I push it out off the head every morning. I like it. It keeps me fit and that.’
‘Every morning? Before work?’
‘During the week. I go out in the afternoons some weekends.’
‘Even in winter?’
‘Especially winter. Can have the whole ocean to myself some mornings. It’s good to chuck yourself in the ocean every chance you get. It makes loose things tight and helps you remember that you’re part of the food chain.’
‘I’ll remember that,’ I chuckled.
I noticed a wombat overtaking us as we crossed the Kellep River Bridge. The little bastard had time to moon me as he shot past. Maybe it wasn’t a wombat. Maybe it was a snail. I could have ridden home faster.
‘You need a hat to put in the back,’ I said, as I dropped my bike onto the footpath in front of our house.
‘Pardon?’
‘You drive like my Grandad. You need a hat to put in the back window.’
Kevin’s mouth dropped open. ‘Hoh! That’s gratitude for you.’
‘Thanks, Kevin. I had a good day.’
‘No worries, Gary. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
I showered and forgot that I was giving Mum and Mario the silent treatment. I remembered halfway through dinner — right in the middle of my glorious oxywelding story. I decided I’d start the treatment after dinner. I’d forgotten about my pay, too, until Mario asked about it. I shot up from the table with my mouth full of mashed potato and grabbed my coveralls off the bathroom floor. I ripped open the envelope and there it was: folds and folds of cash. My money. The start of my ticket to freedom.
Fifteen
Muz was in the shower when I left on Wednesday morning, getting ready for another short helicopter ride out to the rig for another stint at work and another paycheque.
Kevin was late. The day was already sticky hot and I hid from the early morning sun behind a power pole. Six forty-seven and the ute buzzed around the corner of Marlin Avenue and stopped at the gutter in front of me. I slung my pack in the back and got in. Kevin stared at the road. He’d started driving before I had my seatbelt on. His fingers curled fist-like around the steering wheel.
‘Morning,’ I said.
‘What happened between you and my daughter?’
My face got hot. My toes curled and uncurled in my boots. ‘Daughter?’
‘Don’t!’ he growled, and I jumped. ‘Enough crap. What happened?’
He looked at me for the first time that morning. His lips were pulled tight and his hairy chin jutted at me.
He could kill me, I thought. There’d be enough force in one of his backhanders to crack my skull like an egg. I opened my mouth and closed it again. I was going to feed him some bullshit. Tell him he was full of it and that I hardly knew his daughter. That tactic had worked a thousand times at school and at home, but Kevin wasn’t a schoolteacher or my mum. Kevin was big. Much bigger than a schoolteacher and twice the size of my mum. At school I knew where the edge was and I could push the teachers right to it, and if they lost it with me and got nasty, they’d lose their job. Until Mum had flipped and tried to gouge my eyes out, I knew where the edg
e was at home, too. With Kevin, I felt like I was sitting next to a phantom made entirely of petrol fumes. If I arsed up, he’d blow.
‘It was my fault,’ I said.
He stared at the road.
‘I . . . I . . . Vanessa has liked me since we were in primary school. Since I was in grade five and she was in prep. I should have shooed her off then but I didn’t. And when she came over for Sharon’s birthday party, I could tell she was still . . . you know . . . keen and that. They watched DVDs in the lounge. I went to bed. Vanessa came into my room at about three o’clock. She was terrified. Frightened of the dark. I don’t know why she didn’t just wake up the other girls. She was crying so I was rubbing her back. Like I would for my sister.’
Kevin showed no signs of breathing.
‘I patted her back and we fell asleep. Next thing it was morning. My sister Sharon and her mates were standing in my room going “Oh my god” and making up all these stories.’
Kevin looked at me and the fire had gone out of his eyes. I thought about the other time I laid down with his daughter. The smell of her hair, her warm body curled into mine, the skin of her tummy. I wasn’t going to tell him the whole story. I wasn’t telling the other chapter because when I thought about Vanessa’s body close to mine, my skin tingled. They weren’t innocent thoughts. They were blood-red thoughts and I was an evil kiddy snatcher.
‘I patted her back. She told me I reminded her of her brother.’
Kevin yelped. He made a noise like Trixie does if you stand on her tail. He coughed to cover it, like the sound had escaped from some dark place in him and scared him. He turned and looked at the river flat farmland zipping by his window.
I stared at the back of his head and tried to work out what was going on in there. Studying the predator. Then the yelp and the moment were gone and Kevin stroked his beard.
He nodded. ‘That doesn’t surprise me.’
‘Pardon?’
‘That you remind her of Jake.’
There was an ugly hole in the conversation. I’d never heard his name and it rocked me. Somehow it gave shape to a girl’s nightmare. Made it more real.
‘Vanessa told me he died in a car accident,’ I said.