One Dead Seagull (34 page)

‘Hel—’
Click.
Boop
boop
boop.

‘Mum!’

I
slammed
the
phone
down
and
burst
into
tears.
Big silent
sobs
that
made
my
body
shake.
Game
ove
r
.
It
wasn
’
t
funny
any
more.
All
the
life
in
me
fell
out
through my guts
and dribbled
into
the
gutte
r
.
I
started
praying.
I told God
that
if
he
got
me
out
of
this
one
I’d
be
his
mate.
I
promised
him
I’d
give
up
the
smokes.

‘Hey
mate,
you
okay?’

I
sniffed
hard,
wiped
my
face
on
my
arm
and
turned
to see
the
bright
light
of
a
torch
in
my
face.
It
was
a
woman
’
s voice,
a
hard
woman.
I
blinked
and
wiped
my
face
again.

‘What
’
s
your
name,
mate?’
she asked.

‘
W
ayne
Armond.’

‘Where
are
you
from
W
ayne?’

‘Chisholm.’

‘Where
’
s
that?’

‘Near
Fairleigh.
In
Melbourne.’

‘
Y
ou’re
a
long
way
from
home.’

I
nodded
and
she
took
the
torch
down
so
I
could
see her uniform
and
the
bloke
standing
beside
he
r
.
‘
Y
eah.
I’ve lost
my
wallet.’

‘Oh.
Have
you?
Where
did
you
lose
it?’

‘I
didn
’
t
really
lose
it.
I
left
it
in
a
truck.’

‘In
a
truck?
Where
are
you
staying
tonight,
W
ayne?’

I
shrugged
and
stuffed
my
clothes
back
in
the
pack.

‘How
about
you
come
with
us
and
we
see
if
we
can
find
your
wallet?’

I
nodded.
They
took
me
past police
headquarters
to
another
police
station
in
the
back
of
a
divisional
van.
It smelled
like
disinfectant
and
a
faint
hint
of
vomit.
Pretty
cos
y
.

Mu
m
wasn
’
t
ang
r
y
.
Sh
e
blubbere
d
a
t
m
e
dow
n
th
e
phone
sayin
g
sh
e
wa
s
sor
r
y
.
Senio
r
Constabl
e
Angel
a
Gra
y
and
Constabl
e
Davi
d
W
addingto
n
wer
e
mor
e
pisse
d
wit
h
me tha
n
Mu
m
was
.
Gav
e
m
e
a
bi
g
lectur
e
abou
t
th
e
dangers
o
f
hitchhikin
g
an
d
no
t
lettin
g
peopl
e
kno
w
wher
e
you’re
goin
g
an
d
that
.
The
y
didn
’
t
fin
d
Jac
k
Gobstoppe
r
and the
y
didn
’
t
fin
d
m
y
wallet
.
The
y
showe
d
m
e
ho
w
t
o
make
a
reverse-charg
e
phon
e
cal
l
an
d
le
t
m
e
slee
p
i
n
their
sickba
y
.
I
ha
d
t
o
smok
e
outsid
e
an
d
the
y
gav
e
m
e
s
o
much shi
t
abou
t
i
t
tha
t
I
ha
d
hal
f
a
cigg
y
an
d
chucke
d
th
e
rest out
.
Forty-eigh
t
lef
t
i
n
th
e
pac
k
an
d
I
chucke
d
the
m
out too
.
Ther
e
God
,
see
,
I
quit
.
The
y
drov
e
m
e
t
o
th
e
airport a
t
eigh
t
o’cloc
k
tha
t
morning
,
i
n
th
e
bac
k
o
f
th
e
divisional
van
.
Dav
e
gav
e
m
e
twent
y
dollar
s
fo
r
lunc
h
an
d
slapped m
e
o
n
th
e
back
.
T
ol
d
m
e
h
e
didn
’
t
wan
t
t
o
se
e
m
e
again.

I
worked
out
the
hard
way
that
I’m
shit
scared of
flying. I
was
hanging
on
to
the
armrest
so
tight
that
my
stump ached.
If I
had
have
been
flying to Perth instead
of Melbourne
I
reckon
I
would
have
evolved
another
hand. One
of
the
hostesses
stopped me
on the
way
back
from
my
twelfth
visit
to
the
toilet.

‘Going for the
world
record?
The
most
trips
to
the toilet
in
one
interstate
flight?’

If
she
hadn
’
t
been
so
gorgeous
I
might
have
thought
of a
smart-arse
comeback.

‘Have
you
been
listening
to
the
music?’
she asked.

I
shook
my
head.
She
led
me
down
the
aisle
to
my
seat
and
showed
me
how
to
make
it
recline.
She
pulled
out
a
set of
headphones
from
the
pocket
in
front
of
me
and
put
them
on
my
head
gentl
y
.
She
was
wearing
vanilla.

‘
T
r
y
channel
sixteen,’
she
said.

Rasping
guitar
that I
recognised
straightawa
y
. ‘Feral

Pigs!
Thanks.’

She
giggled
and
held
her
finger
to
her
lips.
I
shrugged. Mum
and
Dad
both
came
to
the
airport.
Baboon
smiles
all round. I
apologised
and
hugged
them both. Mum cried
a
bit
and
Dad
pecked
me
on
the
cheek.
No
shit.
Pecked
me
like a
chook,
his
face
felt like sandpape
r
. Sometimes
he
tries
too
hard.

In
the
car
park,
Mum
’
s
Hyundai
sat
next
to
Dad
’
s
ute
and
next
to
the
ute
was
a
little
red
BMW
sports
car
with
a
suction
cup
sticker
in the
back
window
that
read:
‘I’d rather
be
an
old
fart
than
a
young
dickhead’.
Y
eah,
point taken.
Dickhead.

Mum
finally
gave
me
the
full
treatment
in
the
ca
r
.
I
felt
like
shit
but
I heard
what
she
was
saying.
No
respect
for her
or
the
work
she
does
to
keep
me
on
the
rails.
Let down.
Pissed
off.
Sor
r
y
.
Sor
r
y
she
couldn
’
t
be
a
better mum.
I
told
her
she
was
the
best
mum
I’d
ever
had.
She whumped
me
with
the
back
of
her
hand
and
nearly collected
the
bumper
on
a
green
V
olkswagen
beetle.

A
big
vase of
red
roses
sat
on
the
kitchen
bench.
I
couldn
’
t
remember
the last
time I
saw flowers
in the house.
Y
es
I
could—Mum
brought
a
heap
home
from
the hospital
after
my
accident.
They
looked
beautiful
but
out of
place.

‘Nice
flowers,
Mum.’

She
nodded
and
smiled.

From
Dad?
I
don
’
t
kno
w
.
The
more
I
thought
about
it
the
less
likely
that seemed.
Dad
’
s
as romantic as your average
garden
rake.

‘From
Richo,’
she
said
and
flushed.

‘Richo?’

‘Mmmm. Came
over
the
other night to wish
me
a happy
New
Y
ea
r
.’

And
it
was
relief
that
I
felt.
Relief
that
Richo
was
interested
in
Mum
and
that
Mum
was
interested
in
him.
That she
could
be friendly
with
Dad
and
still
have
a
life.
Only took
her
eight
years
to
work
that
out.
She
’
s
like
lightning,
my
mum.

‘Why
did
you
run
away?’
She
asked. I
shrugged.
‘I
dunno.’

She
shrugged
and
mocked
me,
‘I
dunno.’

I
smiled.
‘I
ran
away
to
t
r
y
and
find
myself.’ She
looked
hard
at
me.

I
stared
at
the
flowers.

‘Did
it
work?’
she
asked.

I
shrugged
again.
‘I
dunno.’ She
grunted.

‘I
honestly
dunno,’
I
said.
‘But
as
soon
as
I
do,
I’ll
let you
kno
w
.’

•

Some things
never
change:
Sale
of
the
Centu
r
y
,
lamb
chops, peas
and
mashed
potatoes,
the
songs
they
play
on
the radio,
my
unde
r
wea
r
.
I
had
a
long
shower
that
night
and
I
felt
like
I
was
home.
Home
but
not
settled.
I
wanted
to phone
Kez
and
tell
her
what
had
happened,
let
her
know that
she
was the
one
I
wanted
to
be
with,
not
Mand
y
. Mandy
was
a
creek
I
had
to
cross
to
get
to
the
ocean
of Ker
r
y
.
I
wanted
to
phone
but
I
was
terrified.
I
lay
on
my bed
and
tried
to
work
out what
I
would
say to
he
r
.
I
imagined
her
in
front
of
me
and
I
apologised.
That
was
as far
as
I
got
before
I
fell
asleep
and
she
flitted
nicely
in
and out
of
my
dreams.