Eyrie (16 page)

J
esus wept, she said when he opened the door at two.

Apparently.

You orright?

Fine, he lied into the blinding light of day.

You got some better clothes?

Better? Keely could only make out a shape, an outline, until she stepped past him into the dim fug of his livingroom and jerked the curtains apart.

More . . . formal. Like a suit.

A suit. Yeah, there’s one in there somewhere. But is it really necessary?

Would I ask ya just to be annoyin?

He offered a smile as evidence of his doubts – all scrubbed teeth and bleeding gums.

It’s in a box, he said.

Great, she replied. You got an iron?

Somewhere.

I’ll have to press it. Carn, let’s fix this.

A suit, he thought. And why am I doing this? Because she’s pretty, because she’s blonde? Because she’s little Gemma Buck the waif? Christ, his guts, his head.

Reaching deep into the wardrobe he fought a bilious shudder. You were rude to her, he thought, said something nasty you can’t quite remember, and she cooked you dinner anyway. You’ll do whatever she says.

I’ve only got an hour, she said. Kai gets off at three.

Here he said, digging the thing out and brandishing it as a single wodge.

Lovely, she said with full scorn. Dunno whether to press it or mop the floor with it.

*

As they walked through the back end of town with its sour smells, blasts of noise and pitiless rods of sun, Keely noticed, despite his nausea, that for all her hard-boiled banter Gemma was becoming increasingly edgy. She wore another small black dress that showed her figure. He recognized the heels from Tuesday, or whenever it was. Her hair was swept back in a black band that looked something like velvet and the dark vinyl satchel she carried seemed new. She looked like a real estate agent on the make, or the sort of defence lawyer who lived off a roster of ‘colourful’ clients. If he hadn’t felt so rocky he’d tease her about it – or at the very least dawdle behind her for the simple pleasure of watching those legs scissor away deliciously. Right now he was focused on keeping his rissoles in place. Gemma hauled him by the sleeve, drawing savagely on a fag. He prayed she wouldn’t blow smoke his way.

I’m coming, he said. Listen, where are we going?

Collectin some things, that’s all.

From the bank?

No. Geez, were you that pissed? I told you. From his father.

The father. I knew that. So what’s with the get-up? Both of us like pox doctors’ clerks.

Try not to whinge, Tom. It’s gettin on me nerves. Just tell me now if you’re pikin out.

I’m here, aren’t I?

Well, she said. A version of you, anyway.

A pale facsimile, he said.

Very pale.

And I’m sorry.

Well, beggars can’t be choosers.

Keely took it on the shaven chin and sucked in hot air, anxious for this task and the rest of the day to be over.

Near the markets, short of the grand old pub at the corner, Gemma drew up at a familiar row of semis whose narrow verandahs were variously draped with footy flags, banners advertising Bundaberg rum, and the kind of cheap bamboo blinds that reminded him of his student days. The street gave off a swampy stink of frangipani, ganja, incense and rotting vegetables. There was broken glass on the footpath and music spilled from open doorways. Gemma took his arm and steered him towards a traffic bollard.

You stay here, Tommy.

Well, he said peevishly. You’re the boss.

She angled towards the closest house, the seediest in the row, glanced back at him briefly and clacked her way up to the door. Her bum rolling in its dark sheath, her hair flaring from within the shade of the porch.

The way she thudded on the door was more than emphatic; he felt the percussion ten metres away. She kept it up, applying the side of her fist, until finally the door was opened by a scowling girl of about seventeen. She surveyed Gemma, squinted past her at Keely, who folded his arms instinctively and Gemma said something he couldn’t make out. After a long moment the girl slunk off in her tiny shorts and tanktop, and a minute later another figure loomed in the doorway. Gemma rose to her full height, seemed to exceed it. Her battle stance brought Keely to a new level of alertness.

The man was tall and wiry. His bare chest and arms were covered in the sorts of tattoos that hadn’t yet found favour with the cooler cadres of the middle class. Keely figured he was in his late twenties. He had an aura of easy violence about him. He looked as sly and unknowable as a mistreated dog. As he leant contemptuously against the doorjamb, he took the opportunity to reach into his trackpants to huffle his nuts.

Gemma spoke. The man began to shake his head disdainfully, projecting ostentatious amusement. Gemma unzipped her document case and drew out a folder. She held up several sheets of paper in turn and then began to wave one right in his face. Keely caught the bloke glancing over at him. The dark flash of his eyes caused something to hitch in Keely’s throat. The fellow licked his lips appraisingly, not breaking his glance as Gemma continued to speak. He seemed to consider his options. He glanced up the street, ploughed his fingers through his hair. Gemma’s voice became audible, but the only word Keely made out was a shout:
Now!
Even at this distance, the young man’s rage was evident. Keely knew this was the moment to step forward, to reinforce whatever point Gemma was driving home, but by the time he summoned the requisite courage the bloke had already turned in the doorway and disappeared.

Gemma swivelled and held up a hand, halting Keely’s unhappy progress, so that he was left lurking there, mid-stride, stranded in the sun, awkward and shamefaced, about as threatening as a faded traffic cone.

Without speaking they waited a long couple of minutes. Down the row a dreadlocked busker was setting up outside the markets. Gulls wheeled above the street as a keg truck pulled up at the corner pub. A once-great drinking place. Now the haunt of Facebook hipsters and metrosexuals. Another lost cause.

When he returned, the young man dumped a cardboard carton on the porch at Gemma’s feet. She stood her ground and held out a hand to receive something that was a long time coming. Eventually the punk handed over a small object, perhaps a key. Then he said something that set Gemma’s head back. It was as if she’d been slapped. He closed the door on her with a sneer and after several seconds she stooped in her heels, took up the box and stalked unsteadily down the path.

What the fuck was that? he said, fumbling the carton she shoved at him in passing.

It took some effort to keep up with her and she didn’t slow down until they were at the roundabout beside the football oval. She was white-faced and agitated, blinking back tears so fiercely he thought she might strike him.

Are you alright?

Shut the fuck up.

She blundered into traffic and he followed her, juggling the box and copping car horns and howls of abuse. When they were safely across and headed for the carpark in the lee of the old prison, she began blotting her eyes with a tissue. There was mascara down her face.

Gemma, what’s the story?

Doesn’t matter.

What’s in the box?

Nintendo, she said, blowing her nose on the mottled Kleenex.

A computer game? All that back there was for a Nintendo? You’re kidding me.

She broke away and he trudged behind her until they were amidst rows of parked cars baking in the sun.

Come on, Gemma, you’re not serious.

He followed her up and down ranks of vehicles. The sun was vicious. He saw the dress glued to her back with sweat.

Finally she stopped in front of a battered little Hyundai. A thick sheaf of parking tickets fluttered from the wipers. Gemma sighed, swiped them up and unlocked the car.

It’s Carly’s, she murmured, pulling her hair free. Get in.

The superheated Hyundai stank of cigarettes and mould. Keely sat ankle-deep in burger wrappers and chip buckets, breathing oven air.

No petrol, of course, muttered Gemma. Let’s find a servo.

Keely refrained for a moment but he couldn’t help himself.

The charmer back there, that’s Kai’s father?

She turned the key in the ignition several times and eventually the engine came sluggishly to life.

Stewie. He’s a turd. Christ, wind your window down!

He lowered it all the way and she stabbed at the aircon button, hissing through her teeth.

I don’t get it, he confessed. All this get-up, all the drama.

It’s Carly’s stuff, Kai’s stuff. Pictures, toys, clothes. What’s so hard to understand?

Well, what was I there for? he asked, half knowing already.

There’s bloody court orders and letters and he wouldn’t give it up. Two years! I’ve had no car, nothing for Kai, and no one bloody follows through. Not the coppers, DOCS, no one. I’m payin for taxis just to get to work.

Didn’t you say there was a restraining order?

There’s a list of em, take your pick. Not worth the paper they’re printed on.

And you went over there?

You saw me, why ask?

Because I didn’t know what the hell I was getting into, Gemma. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do.

I needed a bit of support, orright? Sorry to put a dent in your busy day.

It was so hot in the car, Keely was surprised to feel an actual flush of shame.

Anyway, she said, relenting. You looked the part. That’s the main thing.

Thanks. I spose. Remind me, though, what part was I playing?

I was just messin with his head. Little arsehole couldn’t decide if you were the bailiff or my bloke. He was twitchy as shit, wired by the looks. In the end I reckon he was wonderin if you might be my lawyer, or even a cop. I never said a thing about it and he didn’t ask. I just left you out there – like a mindfuck, she said, beginning to enjoy herself. You do look pretty bad-tempered with a hangover. The beard wouldn’t have worked, made you look like a hippy preacher with a hurtin heart.

Well, this is all very handy to know, of course, he said, grateful the car was moving; even a roasting breeze was better than none.

He’s got parole conditions, she said, steering them towards the exit. The house musta been full of speed or something, cause he caved real quick.

What if he hadn’t? What if he’d done something to you? Really, Gemma, what was I supposed to do?

I dunno, she said, lurching out into the traffic. Tell him love conquers all and punch him in the throat. I saw Nev put a bloke through an asbestos fence once.

That was probably a prayer meeting.

She laughed and he joined her.

He rooted through the carton as she drove. Apart from the papers and toys the only thing of use was the laptop. As a boxful, as a trophy of war, it wasn’t much.

He’s flogged everything else, she said as if reading him. Only reason he kept the computer and the Nintendo is to use himself. Maybe you could look at it for me, the laptop. Kai’ll need it for school. They do everything on a computer these days and he’s not gunna miss out. I dunno the first thing about the bloody things. Would you do that?

He nodded.

This thing’s hers, she said, whacking the wheel, but it’s registered in my name, so guess who pays the rego and the fines. I couldn’t stand walkin past it every day knowin Kai and me’re catchin the bus, it was eatin me up.

Well, you’re game, I’ll give you that.

Now and then you need a win, she said. Keeps you goin.

She veered into the BP. He thought of Prudhoe Bay; it was involuntary. British Petroleum, he thought – what a friend
they
had in Jesus.

While she pumped the fuel, Keely sat nursing the cardboard carton. In the end he felt silly enough to get out and stand on the greasy concrete. Across the vehicle, in a wavering tableau of heat shimmer and fume shadows, Gemma stood with one hand on her hip, the other gripping the nozzle. With her body cocked liked that and all her hair rippling off her shoulders, she was a sight in her little black dress. Keely felt a surge of admiration. She had more guts than he could hope for. Just looking at her made him happy all of a sudden, just for a moment, and when she caught his gaze and his dopey grin, she looked at him quizzically, and then became guarded, as if suspecting she’d been mocked.

You look great, he said.

Oh, get fucked, she said, grinning.

*

Despite the fact that Kai’s school was on the same block as the Mirador, Gemma insisted on collecting him in the car. Keely’s headache was luminous; he would have preferred to get out, cross the street and go up in the lift, but he didn’t have the heart – or maybe the nerve – to leave her in this moment of triumph, so in the minutes before the bell rang, they idled in the sweltering line around the block behind all the other vehicular parents and guardians and afterschool carers.

He doesn’t like surprises, she said. But he’ll like this one.

Why the convent school? Is it just because it’s close?

Well, duh.

I wondered if you might have gone Catholic.

Nah, just went to Sunday school with you and Faith. Whatever
that
was.

Like you said. A hippy preacher with a hurtin heart – Billy Graham meets Billy Jack. Singing ‘Morning Has Broken’ if memory serves.

They told us there was angels lookin out for us.

Well.

When I was livin at your place with Nev and Doris, it sorta felt true.

And now?

Angels move away, mate. They die. They get old. They leave you on yer own.

Still, he said. You’re a tough bit of gear. No illusions. Just yourself.

Your
self
, she said with unsettling authority. Your self isn’t enough.

Keely had nothing honest to offer her. How could you counter such a sense of abandonment? She really did carry with her a kind of desolation. It wasn’t just his parents who’d vanished from her life, but their fierce saviour, too, their Great Defender evaporating along with them. That much he understood. He had a hole that size in him too; sometimes it was the size of him entire.