Inbetween Days (23 page)

The light was fading. Our shadows grew longer; the mushroom lights glowed. Jeremiah's misgivings had vanished.

Suddenly Mr Broadbent stood and stepped out of the projection room ahead of us. His stare was fixed on the screen as though he could see something we couldn't.

I went back in to see what he'd done differently, but the set-up appeared to be exactly the same as Jeremiah's earlier efforts.

I flicked the main switch a couple of times but nothing happened. Obviously the projector had been damaged somehow.

‘No way,' Jeremiah said outside the door.

‘What is it?'

‘He spoke,' he whispered. ‘Come here. Listen.'

‘He can't speak,' I hissed, but I went outside to see for myself. Mr Broadbent's mouth was moving, soundlessly, like he was chewing gum. ‘What did he say?'

Jeremiah's eyes were big. ‘He said…he said…'

‘What did he say?' I leaned closer.

Jeremiah pressed his lips to my ear. His breath made me shiver. ‘He said, “
Showtime!
”' He gave me spirit fingers and danced a jig.

‘You
arse
!' I yelled.

Mr Broadbent jumped and started rocking.

‘You complete arse.' I put my arm around the old man's narrow shoulders and tried to lead him back to the car. He made it harder by sitting on the ground in protest. I grabbed him under the armpits and tried to haul him up. ‘
Help
me,' I growled at Jeremiah.

Jeremiah folded his arms across his chest. He wasn't smiling and he wouldn't budge. ‘We're busted,' he said, nodding. ‘I can see headlights coming up the road. I told you this was a
bad
idea.'

Minutes later, a car turned into the drive-in entry. Alby's silver hatchback cruised into view.

‘Oh, no.' I groaned and sank down next to Mr Broadbent. ‘I'm done for.'

Alby took his time getting out of the car. He left the engine running and the headlights on as he gave Mr Broadbent the once-over. He grimaced when he saw the party hat, but he ignored me.

‘Have you checked the cable?' Alby asked Jeremiah. ‘It's under the console. Right underneath.' He went into the projector room and slid his hand beneath the counter. ‘Come here and have a look. It's always been a bit dodgy.'

I heard a click and Jeremiah said, ‘Oh.'

The top left corner of the screen flickered and lit up.

Alby came back out. He rubbed his chin and pondered the screen. ‘It needs calibrating.'

‘How did you know?' I asked him.

Alby thrust his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. ‘I know because I must have spent a thousand nights here when I was a kid. My father owned it. I still own it. I own half of bloody Mobius and all of it is worth zilch less unpaid taxes.'

‘I meant how did you know where we were?' I said, feeling sheepish.

He snorted. ‘Some of my tapes are gone. My father was missing. And from down there it looks like a bad trip up here.' He waved at the town below us.

‘You can see the mushrooms,' I said.

‘The whole town can see the mushrooms. You only had to ask, Jack,' Alby said. ‘I don't know why you have to do everything the hard way. Now, if you don't mind, I'll drive my father home and thank you not to keep taking him. He's a sick, old man.'

Jeremiah sighed. ‘Do you want us to shut it down?'

I threw him a filthy look.

‘Keep it going if you want. It can't hurt,' Alby mused, stroking his chin again. ‘As long as you don't blow the place up—and look after the tapes. People won't come, though. You know that, don't you?'

‘Why not?' I said. ‘Why won't they come?'

Alby pulled out his car keys. ‘Because some things are too far gone to bring them back.'

Mr Broadbent got up and started swaying, transfixed by the light on the screen.

I tried to explain. ‘I thought he would show us…you know, that thing he does with his hands. He loves it up here. Look at him. This is where he tries to run…'

Alby cut me off. ‘When are you going to get it through your head, Jack? You can't bring him back. All we can do is keep him safe. He doesn't feel joy or pain anymore. Two things, Jack: you can't teach him new tricks and he has nothing to show you. All he does is replay his remaining memories over and over, and half the pieces are missing.' He sighed. ‘Look at him.'

Mr Broadbent balled up his fists and rubbed his eyes. He looked like a child, standing there in his oversized tracksuit and party hat. He glanced at Alby, removed the hat and held it to his chest, running his other hand across the stalks on his head, as if he was paying respect at a graveside.

Two things, Alby said, but it turned out he was only right about one.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Jeremiah took Alby's consent and ran with it. He went to the flat and selected dozens of tapes, interrogated Alby about procedures, and finished painting the screen.

The drive-in became our not-so-secret project. Locals started turning up to see what was going on. They hung around, telling stories about the first and last film they'd ever seen there, and the number of freeloaders you could fit into a boot.

On the nights I didn't go, I knew Jeremiah took Roly. We hadn't been in the same space since the morning at Meredith Jolley's house and I still didn't understand why he was being so hostile. Had I messed up their friendship? Was Roly feeling like the third wheel? Or was it Jeremiah stuck in the middle, mediating between Roly and me—or Roly himself, whose absence was palpable whenever Jeremiah and I were alone?

Over three nights, Jeremiah and I sat through nine films while he checked the sound quality and scrutinised every frame. I watched him closely. I learned how to run the equipment, only much more slowly and with far less care. I'd started to notice that Jeremiah couldn't, or wouldn't, do two things at once: whatever held his attention took his whole focus. When it wasn't me, I might as well not have been there at all.

On the fourth night, I was dozing in the front seat of the car while Jeremiah pulled apart an old refrigerated chest from the kiosk. We hadn't spoken for two hours, and my thoughts were somewhere else, when he leaned through the window.

‘We should have a premiere night,' he said.

‘Nobody will come. Why do you think Alby shut it down?' I muttered, fanning myself with a newspaper. ‘God, this car is an oven.'

‘I think you're wrong. Now what do you want to watch tonight?'

I leaned back and closed my eyes for a moment. ‘I get a choice? Definitely something with kissing.' I opened one eye.

He wrinkled his nose. ‘How about cyborgs and time travel? The apocalypse?'

‘Kissing, broken hearts and a fire escape.' I sat up.

He stared at me blankly. ‘I can't think of anything like that.'

I laughed. I thought he was joking. But then I realised his attention was wholly, solely on me and he hadn't blinked in a while—which could only mean he was going to say something profound or disturbing, or both.

‘Jack, there's something I want to ask you…'

‘I have an idea. Let's invite Roly. The more the merrier,' I babbled. ‘And I'm starving. I need food or I'm going to pass out.'

He slumped and nodded. ‘I already called him before I left home. I told him to bring deckchairs. But I need to…'

‘Lighten up, J,' I said. ‘You're so serious all the time.'

We went to pick up takeaway burgers. Roly was waiting when we got back. We hauled deck chairs from the back of his ute and set them up in a row, using the esky as a table. Roly sprayed himself all over with a can of insect-repellent and Jeremiah, out of a desire for peace or an instinct for survival, took the seat in the middle.

‘
Aahh
.' Roly cracked open a beer and put his feet up on the esky. ‘This is the life. Why didn't we do this sooner?'

‘Because it was bloody hard work,' Jeremiah said.

‘And you weren't even here for most of it,' I added. ‘You should pay full ticket price.'

Roly bristled. ‘To watch
St. Elmo's Fire
? Are you serious? You should be paying me.'

‘Jack picked.'

‘You picked last night and the night before,' I reminded him. ‘There's only so much sci-fi and time travel I can stand before brain fluid starts leaking from my ears.'

‘See?' Roly stabbed his finger in my direction. ‘You two have absolutely nothing in common.'

‘That's where you're wrong,' I said, and folded my arms underneath my boobs so he couldn't miss them, or my point.

Jeremiah turned red and got up to start the film.

‘I'll do it,' I said and pushed him into his chair.

Roly clapped his hands together and jigged in his seat.

‘What are you doing?'

‘Dancing.'

I laughed. ‘It isn't dancing if you don't move your feet.'

Jeremiah laughed, too. ‘Agreed. That's slipshod preentertainment.'

Roly dropped his arms and glared at me. ‘Stop choosing her side, J.'

‘There are no sides, Roly.' Jeremiah sighed. ‘And I shouldn't have to choose.'

I marched up to the projector room, wishing Roly would leave, even if it meant being alone with Jeremiah and whatever was on his mind. I set the reels and started the film, but I stayed in the booth, leaning in the doorway. Roly and Jeremiah weren't watching the screen at all, but leaning close, arguing. They missed the flash of lights. Three sets of headlights were heading up the road, strobing through the trees.

I jogged down to where they were sitting. ‘We've got visitors.'

‘Who is it?' Roly held up a hand, shielding his eyes from the glare as the cars turned into the driveway.

Empty bottles were tossed out of the windows and smashed on the asphalt. We heard loud music along with the breaking glass.
Just kids looking for something to do
, I thought, then realised the ‘kids' were Ben, Becca and Cass, plus some townies from Burt. They were our age, they were drinking, and they were looking for trouble.

‘J, press inflate and tell them all to piss off.'

‘Inflate?' I resisted the urge to hide in the projector room.

‘Have you seen him when he inhales? Dude doubles in size.' Roly let out a shaky laugh.

‘Grow up, Roly. I can't believe you still have so many hang-ups from high school,' I said, but I felt sorry for him. I was such a hypocrite.

‘I'll never forget,' Roly said. ‘I have huge grudges. My grudges are so big I need a sherpa.' He took a few steps back to stand behind Jeremiah.

Jeremiah just shook his head. ‘We'll just tell them we're not ready but they're welcome to come back when it's all up and running,' he said.

The cars did a lap around the perimeter of the drive-in, rocking and bumping over the cracked asphalt. The girls screamed. Another bottle smashed close by.

Roly flinched.

Jeremiah stood taller and took his hands out of his pockets.

We stayed in the centre as they circled.

The cars lined up along the last row of speakers, idling, with the headlights trained on us. The occupants went quiet and the music turned off.

‘This is like a scene from
Christine
. What now, Mr Diplomacy?' Roly asked. ‘Do you still want to negotiate?'

‘Calm down,' Jeremiah said, shifting his weight to one foot. ‘They're not going to do anything.'

My palms were sweating but I didn't feel threatened. I could always look after myself physically—it was the emotional stuff that found a way through. What I did feel—and I was ashamed of it—was embarrassment. In my so-called grown-up life I was hanging out at an abandoned drive-in, standing next to a Barbie car and the biggest drop-out loser in the history of Burt Area School.
And
a guy whose murky legend wasn't of the flattering kind. Did they recognise me? Why did I even care? I covered my face with my arm.

Roly, on the other hand, was terrified. I recognised that deer-in-the-headlights expression from way back in our first year of high school. Whenever he was asked to stand up to answer a question, he'd freeze like that.

‘Oh, how far we've come,' Roly muttered. ‘We're doomed.'

Jeremiah picked up an empty beer bottle and started walking towards the cars.

‘J…'

‘Oh, shit.' I started after him, shaking off Roly, who'd grabbed hold of my arm.

One of the cars took off. Seconds later, the others followed. They threw a few more bottles onto the road, but that was it.

I struggled with the feelings left behind.

Roly did, too. His face was white. He did a kind of jelly-flop onto the ground and sat there, stunned. His was a different kind of embarrassment. I recognised it.

‘Are you okay?' I held out my hand.

‘Don't,' he said, but he accepted Jeremiah's hand when he offered it. ‘Why did you do that?'

Jeremiah pondered the question. ‘People I don't care about can't hurt me, I guess.'

Roly got back on his feet. ‘Easy for you to say—you've got the fists to back it up,' he said. ‘They probably thought you were a Yeti.' He dropped Jeremiah's hand and threw me a rueful smile. ‘He's always been like this. Nothing gets in. My head would be lodged under some guy's armpit and J would be, like,
la-la-la,
with his nose in a book. “Hold your breath, Roly, just let me finish this chapter.”'

‘That's bullshit,' Jeremiah said. ‘Your problem is you still insist on mapping your own position relative to everybody else's. It's no wonder you've lost all sense of direction.'

‘Ha! Ha!' Roly said. ‘Fuck off, Freud.'

Jeremiah frowned. ‘I'm saying the difference between you and me is that you're always checking who's behind you and who's in front. I just keep my head down and read my own compass.'

I smothered a laugh.