Tunnel Vision

by Andrew Christie

  Billy bought a couple of pies and a can of Coke. He and Rashmi sat side by side on the bench, sharing the drink and eating, while they watched the summer crowds. The pies were good. Not too hot, which was just as well because the pastry casing of Billy’s split apart after the second bite, sending a gob of dark-brown gravy sliding down his wrist. He licked it up, wishing he’d thought to pick up some napkins in the shop. A group of young tourists walked past, laughing and chatting, all of them showing off plenty of dark-tanned skin. One of the young men was wearing a Santa hat to go with his boardies and thongs, and a brown-haired girl had a guitar slung across her back. Billy wondered if they’d let him take their photos.

  “How far is it to your grandpa’s house?” Billy said when they’d been waiting half an hour.

  Rashmi shrugged. “Not that far, I guess. Maybe a kilometre.”

  “Do you reckon you can walk that far it if I carry our bags?”

  “I suppose.” She looked up and down the street again. “He should be here.”

  “We can stop for a rest whenever you want.”

  Billy looped a bag over each shoulder and followed Rashmi as she clicked along the footpath. They crossed the road near the primary school, and when the footpath petered out, they walked along the edge of the road under the shade of large overhanging trees. The town was flat and spread out, with wide streets, and houses in big yards. Rashmi led Billy along the road that ran along the edge of the town. It was lined with old-fashioned two-storey houses that looked out across the road to the campground. Caravans and tents were jammed together, with tarps spread out over everything. A lot of the campsites had Christmas decorations up; some even had coloured lights. Little kids rode bikes up and down between the tents, shouting to one another, while adults sat about in low-slung chairs, with cups of tea or beers in their hands. Billy thought it looked like a good way to spend the holidays.

  Rashmi stopped to wipe the sweat off her palms and the handles of her crutches with the hem of her T-shirt. She looked hot and tired; her face wet with sweat, and strands of faded blue hair stuck to her cheeks.

  “How’re you doing?” Billy asked. “Do you want a rest?”

  “No, I’m all right. It’s not far now. We can rest when we get there.”

  At the end of the camping area, they reached a big wide street that Billy recognised as the road the bus had driven along coming into town.

  “This is the old highway,” Rashmi said, running her fingers through her hair. “Grandpa’s place is just over there.”

  On the other side, the houses were newer: mainly single storey and set back behind lush gardens. Although Billy and Rashmi were the only people about, the trees that shaded the street were full of birds. Hopping about, chirping, squawking, doing whatever birds do. Arguing mostly, it sounded like. Billy looked up to watch a pair of grey birds chase each other about in the branches above his head, cackling about something. When he looked down again, Rashmi had disappeared. He found her waiting for him halfway along the front path of a grey-painted brick house.

  “This is it,” she said. “Grandpa’s place.”

  The front of the house was mostly obscured by the garden. A wide veranda ran the width of the house, with dark windows behind it. There was no car in the driveway, just a neat lawn with plants and flowers around the fences.

  Rashmi climbed the steps to the veranda and tried the door. “He must be out somewhere,” she said, turning back to Billy. “The door’s never locked if he’s around.”

  “So we wait?” Billy dropped their bags onto the wooden floor of the veranda.

  “I’ve got a key,” Rashmi said, rummaging in her handbag. “I hope he isn’t waiting for us at the bus stop.”

  “If he got there late, he’ll figure out that we would walk here.”

  Rashmi nodded. “I guess.”

  Inside, the house was dark and cool. Billy dragged their bags in while Rashmi went from room to room, as though she were checking to make sure her grandfather wasn’t hiding somewhere. Billy waited in the living room, looking at the big flat-screen television and the tall speakers against the walls. The shelves were full of CDs and DVDs. Hundreds of them. There was a kitchen next to the living room, with a wide counter between the two spaces. Billy leaned across the counter and rinsed one of the glasses from the draining board before filling it up. The water tasted different than it did in Sydney.

  “He’s not here,” Rashmi said, coming back down the hall.

  “So what do we do now?”

  “Wait for him to come back, I suppose. I’m going to have a shower and a rest. I didn’t sleep at all last night on the bus.”

  Billy thought she had seemed fast asleep when she was snoring on his shoulder. “What’ll I do if he comes back?”

  She gave him one of her looks. “Say hello? Wake me up? What do you reckon?” She shook her head as she disappeared into one of the bedrooms.

  Billy stretched out on the sofa but couldn’t get to sleep. He thought about going for a walk to see where the beach was, but decided he should wait to go with Rash. Anyway, she’d be cranky if she woke up and he wasn’t there. He found a packet of SAO biscuits and some Vegemite in one of the kitchen cupboards, and a packet of butter in the fridge. He made himself a snack and took it out onto the veranda. Sitting in one of the chairs, he watched a big bird with a blue face jump around from bush to bush, checking out all the flowers. Later he was startled by a big lizard that darted across the lawn. He watched it grab something then run back into the shade of the garden. Billy broke off a bit of his biscuit and flicked it out onto the grass. The lizard emerged from the garden again, ran across to the piece of biscuit, and swallowed it whole. “Greedy bugger,” Billy muttered.

  A couple of hours later, he heard Rashmi moving about inside the house. Doors banging, the toilet flushing. She emerged onto the veranda looking brighter than she had in days. “What’s happening?”

  “Nothing much. No sign of him.”

  Rash nodded. “But it’s nice up here, hey?”

  “Yeah. I suppose. Cool birds. See that lizard over there?”

  “Where?”

  “There.” Billy pointed. “On the edge of the garden, near that bush with the big red flowers.”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s a water dragon. There’s a bunch of them—they live down in the drains.” She looked out through the garden towards the street, as if willing her grandfather to pull into the driveway. In the time that Billy had been sitting on the veranda, he’d only seen two or three cars drive past. The only other people he’d seen were a couple of old women walking their dogs. No one else.

  Rashmi turned back into the house, pivoting on her right crutch, flicking the screen door, and trapping it open with the left crutch. Over her shoulder, she said, “Do you want a drink?”

  “Yeah.” Billy unfolded his legs and stood up. “There’s some juice in the fridge.”

  They took their drinks back out to the veranda and watched the lizard as the shadows lengthened on the lawn. It was cooler now, and they saw more people moving about. Cars came and went, and a few people walked up and down the street. Billy watched a blond guy with dreadlocks and no shirt ride past on a bicycle, followed at a distance by a big white dog struggling to keep up. The pair came back again fifteen minutes later; this time white shopping bags were dangling from the handlebars. The guy’s dog followed him in a kind of thick-bodied canter, its face a mad grin with a sideways tongue.

  “Funny-looking dog,” Billy said.

  “That’s Kurt. He lives down the road. Buster’s a nice dog, but he smells pretty bad.”

  When the mosquitoes started to bite, Billy and Rashmi went inside and looked through the DVDs. It took them a long time to find one they both wanted to watch. Finally they settled on The Hunger Games, which Rashmi had seen but didn’t mind seeing again. They sat back on the black leather recliner lounges, with their feet up, enjoying the occasional jasmine-scented breeze that made it into the house as they watched a girl with a bow an
d arrow shoot lots of people even though she didn’t really want to.

  “What are we going to do?” Billy asked when the movie ended.

  “Now?” Rash was fiddling with the remote control, trying to eject the DVD.

  “Not right now. Just in general. What’s the plan? We’re in Brunswick Heads now. We did that bit. What do we do next?”

  “I… We’ll get to Toolongolook, I guess. I was expecting Grandpa to take us the rest of the way.”

  “They’ll look for us here.”

  “I know. Of course. That’s why we need to get to Toolongolook. They won’t find us there.”

  “How far is it? How do we get there without your grandpa?”

  “It’s not that far. About an hour’s drive.”

  An hour’s drive out in the country was a long way, especially if you didn’t have a car. “So how will we get there? If your grandpa doesn’t come.”

  “I don’t know. We could hitch. Don’t worry so much. We’ll figure it out.” She slapped him on the stomach. “Anyway, Grandpa will come. He’s just out somewhere. Maybe he’s doing some Christmas shopping down in Ballina. Or up in Brisbane. Don’t worry so much.”

  “It’s Christmas tomorrow.”

  “Exactly. He’ll be home for Christmas.”

  “But if he isn’t? If he didn’t get your message? He might have gone away; he might have gone to Sydney. To see you and your mum for Christmas.”

  “No. He’ll be here. And anyway…” She turned and grinned at him. “Kurt. We can ask Kurt to take us.”

  “The guy with the dog?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure he’d take us out there if we asked him. I’ll talk to him. He’s lovely.” She tossed the remote to Billy. “Here, your turn to choose a movie.””

  “Spider-Man?” Billy said hopefully.

  “No. Something else.”

  Chapter 13

  Potato Salad

  Shasta looked up from between John’s legs, disengaging her mouth just long enough to give him a wide smile and ask him how he liked his Christmas present so far. “Umm…excellent,” he said. “Don’t stop.”

  His present for Shasta had been a large bottle of perfume, as recommended by an extremely fragrant young saleswoman at David Jones. A quick spray of the perfume was all Shasta was wearing now, as she continued to seasonally greet him.

  It was after 9:00 a.m. when they emerged from the bedroom, having carried their Christmas celebrations into the shower and back to the bed. Tony was sitting in the kitchen, finishing off his breakfast of toast and marmalade.

  “Happy Christmas!” Shasta kissed him on the cheek. “Is there any tea?”

  Tony licked his fingers. “Yeah, happy Christmas to you too. Tea’s probably a bit cold now. You two been having a sleep in?”

  “Absolutely,” John said.

  “All right for some,” Tony growled. “And just so you know, I didn’t get either of you a present. Doesn’t mean I don’t love you, though.”

  “Shit. Really? That’s a bit awkward then,” John said, grinning.

  “Shut up, John,” Shasta said, filling the kettle. “Do you want tea?”

  “Thanks, yeah.” He pulled open the fridge. “What are we eating? Bacon and eggs? Some haloumi? Avocado?”

  “Nah, I’ll just have some muesli,” she said. “I have to leave room for lunch.”

  “Of course you do,” John said, his head still in the fridge. He’d been looking forward to continuing the morning’s festivities with a slap-up breakfast together. “What time are you heading to your brother’s place?” Shasta’s brother, Nick, was a dentist. He lived somewhere on the northern beaches with his wife and kids. Up near Mona Vale somewhere.

  “Soonish. I have to help Mum make the potato salad and the brandy butter. She’ll be stressing out. Always is—trying to keep Amy happy.”

  John had thought they still had plenty of time before Shasta had to leave.

  “I’m heading off soon too,” said Tony, “as soon as I’ve wrapped the presents for the kids. I got something for Billy too, a tripod for his camera. What should I do with it?”

  John shrugged. He hadn’t gotten around to getting a present for Billy. “Leave it here, I guess. He’s bound to turn up eventually.”

  Half an hour later, he had the house to himself. He washed and dried the dishes from breakfast and put a load of clothes in the washing machine. Outside, the street was quiet, with plenty of empty parking spots. A father and child came out of the apartment building across the road with what looked like a brand-new bike, complete with trainer wheels. The kid wore a bulky lime-green helmet that matched the colour theme of the bike. John watched from the front porch as they headed unsteadily down the hill towards the park. So where are you, Billy? he wondered, as he turned and locked the front door.

  It was nearly eleven. Too early to go to the pub for lunch. He walked up the street to where the ute was parked. It would take less than ten minutes to drive to Marrickville.

  John found Tom Sheehan’s house in a narrow street, right under the flight path for the airport. A low-set, single-storey terrace, the house was half hidden behind a bottlebrush tree that had been carved up to stop it from growing into the power lines draped along the street.

  Tom came out of the house just as John pulled into the kerb. A leopard-skin beach towel was wrapped around his neck, and he was balancing a beach umbrella, a small gas barbecue, and a folding chair in his arms. John watched him walk up the footpath, headed for a battered silver Yaris with its boot open.

  Billy’s older brother had filled out a bit since John had seen him last. There was more heft to his shoulders now, the kind of bulk that free weights and lots of powdered whey deliver. He wore black board shorts and a loose white tank top to show off his upper-body work. He didn’t look happy, though; in fact, he had a big scowl on his ugly mug. A red baseball cap seemed to be the only thing keeping a lid on him as he put his load down beside the car and started to try to fit it all in. A young, heavily pregnant woman followed him out of the house, pausing to lock the door before she picked up a picnic basket and waddle-walked towards the Yaris. It looked like Billy was going to be an uncle.

  “Tom Sheehan,” John called as he got out of the ute.

  Tom turned, his dark eyes squinting in the sunlight. John could see that he recognised the face, but it took him a couple of seconds to remember from where. Then he nodded. “Bill’s mate,” he said. “The paedo. What the hell do you want?”

  The only time John had ever spoken to Tom, he’d accused him of stealing their grandmother’s house and being a paedophile. John had been able to resist the urge to hit the prick then because he didn’t want to cause any more trouble for Billy, and anyway, Tom was just a kid then. Obnoxious, but still a kid. Now, though, the idea of knocking him on his arse was quite appealing.

  “John. Yeah, I’m Billy’s mate.”

  “Good for you.” Tom turned to the pregnant woman. “Come on, Jen. Hurry the fuck up, or we’ll never get a park at Bronte.”

  “I’m coming as fast as I bloody can,” she said. “You want to have something to eat for lunch, don’t you? She dropped the basket into the boot and held out her hand to Tom, who dropped a set of car keys into her palm. “Idiot lost his licence last month, didn’t he?” she said to no one in particular.

  Tom ignored her and tried to shut the boot, but he had to rearrange the basket and the umbrella before he could get the lid down. Eventually he slammed the door and turned to John. “We’re off, mate. Happy fucking Christmas.”

  “Have you seen Billy?” John asked.

  “Why? Have youse had a fight?”

  “Have you seen him? He and his girlfriend seem to be missing.”

  Tom laughed. “The cripple? Is he calling her his girlfriend now? What a fucking loser.”

  “Have you seen him?”

  “No.” He turned away from John and got into the car as the woman started it up. The door wouldn’t close because the corner had dug into the grass verge
when Tom had sat down. “Fuck,” he said, getting out to free the door then squeezing back into the car.

  John grabbed the doorframe, stopping Tom from closing it. “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “I don’t know.” He tried to pull the door shut but couldn’t break John’s grip on it.

  “Are we going to the beach or what?” Jen said.

  “When?” John repeated.

  “I dunno. Couple of weeks ago maybe. At Mum’s. Hardly spoke to him. He was on his way out. Little dickhead had a padlock on his bedroom door. Haven’t seen him since then.” John let go of the door, and it slammed shut.

  As the Yaris drove off, John heard Jen ask, “Who the fuck was that?” Tom’s reply was shouted but unclear.

  John hadn’t really expected to find Billy at Tom’s house, but he had hoped Tom might know something.

  He drove back to Newtown and parked on Australia Street. The Courthouse Hotel was getting busy, with lots of young people meeting up there for a Christmas drink and a meal. John found a table free in the main bar and ordered the roast turkey special. Billy and Rashmi had to be hiding out somewhere. How they thought that was a good idea he didn’t know. It wouldn’t take the cops long to find them once they started looking. There might be a bit of a grace period over Christmas, and even New Year’s, with people on holidays, but sooner or later the police would want to talk to Rashmi again, and if she wasn’t around, well, John didn’t want Billy getting caught up in that. Not if he could do something about it. His first beer had disappeared quickly, and he was halfway through his second when the buzzer rattled and danced across the table, announcing his lunch was ready. The roast turkey was mainly special because it came with chips and roasted potatoes. Still, it wasn’t bad, and there was plenty of it. He had another beer and texted Shasta.