One Dead Seagull (4 page)

Entering the
Humes’
place
is
like
falling through a Stargate
and coming
out somewhere
in Indonesia
or India.
They
have
a
huge
collection of
teak
ca
r
vings—a woman
with
huge
boobs
and
real
hair
on
her
head,
and Bilbo,
a
little
wooden
man
with
shells
inlaid
for
eyes
and
a
massive wooden
stiffy
that reaches
higher than his
shoulde
r
.
The
floors
are
polished
wood
but
it
’
s
hard to see them
for
all
the
coloured
rugs. Their
place
is
always clean—not
like our flat—but there
’
s so
much
stuff
in there
that
clutter
rules.
The
Humes
have
lived
there
since
before
Den
and
I
went
to
kindergarten.
All
that
time
there has
been
a
boat
sitting
under
green
canvas
tarps
in
the backyard.
Bar
r
y
reckons
he’ll
fix
it
one
da
y
.
The
silence
of their
house
is
a
bit
freaky sometimes.
I
wish
Den
would
leave
his
radio
on
or
get
a
T
V
.
Feels
more
like
a
church,
with
all
the
incense
and
stuff,
than
a
home.

Ker
r
y
and
her
mum
were
sitting
at
the
old wooden kitchen
table
reading
the
local
rag
and
they
both
looked up
when
we
walked
in.
Gracie
flew
into
her
long-lost-son
routine
that
makes me
feel
embarrassed
but
welcome
and Ker
r
y
smiled.
Den
filled
up
a
drink
bottle
with
water
then we
headed
for
his
room.
I
flopped
onto
his
bed
before
he managed
to
turn
the
light
on.
The
ceiling
was
lined
with posters
of
wild
places.

‘Nice
ceiling,’
I
cooed
as
he
pushed
Ker
r
y
’
s
cat
off
his desk
chair
and
sat
down.

‘Haven
’
t
you
noticed
that
before?
It
’
s
been
like
that
for
years.’

It
made
me
think
of
the
sleepovers
we
had
eve
r
y
other weekend
when
we
were
little
and my
family lived in
T
ennyson Street. Recording our
farts on
his portable stereo
and
making
up
new
words
to
his
stupid
Play
School
tape.
I
had
never
noticed
the
ceiling.

‘
W
ouldn
’
t mind
going
to
a
few
of
those
places.’

‘I’ve
been
to
eve
r
y
one.’

My
eyebrows
jumped.
Even
the
deep,
dark
fern
gully
creek?
Even
the
huge
boulders
by
the
frantic
sea?
And
the
painted
desert
with
purple
storm
clouds?

‘Eve
r
y
one.’
He
pointed
to
a
huge
wate
r
fall
that
looked like
something
from a
pay TV
documenta
r
y
.
‘In
the holidays
we’re
going
there.’

‘Africa?’

‘Nah.
Just
down
the
road.
W
ell,
a
few
hours’
drive
to
the
east.
Near
the
New
South
W
ales
borde
r
.’

Th
e
wate
r
fal
l
looke
d
awesome
.
I
aske
d
i
f
I
coul
d
come
along
.
Jus
t
a
s
a
joke
.
Mostl
y
a
s
a
joke
.
No
,
I
thin
k
I
really wante
d
t
o
g
o
wit
h
the
m
an
d
no
t
si
t
a
t
th
e
fla
t
an
d
watch
tell
y
lik
e
I
di
d
las
t
yea
r
whe
n
the
y
wen
t
t
o
centra
l
Australia.

‘
Y
eah!
Cool
idea.
Y
ou’d
love
it,’
he
said
and
darted
out of
the
room.
I
stared
at
the
picture
of
the
wate
r
fall
but thought
about
masturbating.
I
wondered
if
Den
wanked in
his
bed.
How
gross.

He
came
back
sucking
noisily
on
his
drink
bottle
and told
me
that
his
mum
and
dad
had
agreed
that it
would
be okay
for
me
to
go
with
them
to
Mars
Cove.

‘I
thought
we
were
going
to
the
wate
r
fall?’

‘
Y
eah,
we
drive there from the cove.
The beach
is awesome.
Huge
dunes
..
.
the
biggest
in
the
world
I
think. Massive.
Dad
reckons
we’re
going
to
take
the
boat.’

When
I
eventually
dragged
myself
home
at
about
eleven
o’clock,
Mum
was
brushing
her
teeth.
She
grumped
and ordered
me
to
do
things.
Make
my
lunch.
Brush
my
teeth. Have
a
showe
r
.
I
told her I’d have
a
shower
in the morning
and
she
told
me
that
Dad
had
phoned.

‘
Y
our
fathe
r
,’
she
said
flatl
y
,
‘wants
to
see
if
you’d
be interested
in
doing
some
work
with
him
over
the
holidays. He
’
s
doing
more
landscaping
for
the
Thompsons.’
I
nodded
like
I
wasn
’
t
excite
but
inside
I
was
jumping.
That’d be
right.
One
minute
there
was
nothing
going
on
in
my
life,
next
minute
I’m making
choices:
working
with
the old
man
or
Mars
Cove?

When
I
turned fifteen,
Dad
filled
out
the
pape
r
work and
officially
employed
me
as
a
part-time laboure
r
,
but
in the
last
lot
of
holidays
Dad
didn
’
t
have any
work.
I
have to be
careful
about
how
enthusiastic
I
am
around Mum. Mum
and
Dad
split
up
when
I
was
seven
and
although they
still
talk
to
each
other
I
don
’
t
think they
like
each other
much.
No
.
.
.
Mum
hates
Dad
’
s
guts
but
she
’
s
too polite
to
get
ang
r
y
most
of
the
time.
I
think
Mum
feels
a bit
off
when I
go
with
Dad
but
she
doesn
’
t
say
anything. Just:
‘Be
careful.
Don
’
t
do
anything
stupid.
Stay
out
of
the
pub.’
I
asked
Dad
if
I
could
live
with
him
last
year
and
he
explained
that
he
couldn
’
t look after
me.
Didn
’
t have enough
work
to
feed
himself,
he
reckons.
Fair
enough.
Mum
gives
me
the
shits
sometimes.

Dad
’
s
a
builder
and
when
I
was
eight
he
told
me
he’d take
me
on
as an
apprentice
when
I
was old enough. When
I
was
eight
I
thought
that
I
wanted
to
be
a
builder but
now
I
see
Dad
struggling
to
get
work
and
I
don
’
t
think
that
’
s
the
easiest
way
to
make
a
million bucks.
I
think
I’m going
to
go
to
university
like
Mum,
study biological science
and
get
a
job
as
a
park
range
r
.

Mrs
Leavey
lost
the
plot
with
me again.
I
told
her
I
got
a
flat
on
my
bike,
which
was
sort
of
true.
My
back
tyre
was
a
bit
spong
y
.
She
said
it
was
a
likely
sto
r
y
.
I
shouted
that
it was
true.
She
didn
’
t
like
that
and
she
threatened
me
with a
lunchtime
detention.
Roll
on
holidays.

Just
before recess—Den
still
calls
it ‘little play’—I
remembered
a
dream
I’d had.
Men
dressed
in
business
suits
surrounded
me
but
they
had
no
arms.
Their
jacket sleeves
were
flopping on
me
as
they
tried
to
grab
hold. The
ground
was
slippe
r
y
and
I
felt
like
I
couldn
’
t
get
away from
them.
Even
though
they
couldn
’
t
do
much
to
me,
I
still
woke
up
kicking.
Den
said
I should
tell
Ker
r
y
about
it—his
sister
is
a
walking
dream
encyclopedia.
I
tried
to find
her
at
recess but
Mr
Richards
cornered
me
and
asked
me
to
help
him shift
some
stuff.
He
was
an
unshaven prickly
grey
and
dressed
in
green
casual
pants.

His
office
had
been
packed
into
boxes.
The
walls
were
covered
with
unfaded
blocks
of
paint
where
his
certificates
and
photos
had
been
hanging
for
a
hundred
years.

He
couldn
’
t
move
fast
enough. ‘Grab
a
box
W
ayne,
out
to
my
ca
r
.’

I
followed
his
instructions
and
found
his
BMW
with
the
boot
open
at
the
edge
of
the
teachers’
car
park.
Richo dropped
his
box
into
the
boot.

‘
Y
ou
all
right,
Sir?’

He
shrugged
and
walked
off.
W
e
put
the
last
boxes
into the
back
seat;
it
looked
like
they
were
the
first
things
to ever
sit in those
seats.
He went back
to the office, mumbled that
I
should
follow
him and
when
we
were
inside
he
closed
the
doo
r
.

Staring
at
me,
he
spoke
softl
y
.
‘How
much
have
you
heard?’

I
told
him
that
I
hadn
’
t
heard
anything
except
that
he was
leaving. He
nodded
slowl
y
.

‘I’
m
no
t
well
,
W
ayne
.
I’v
e
go
t
t
o
g
o
i
n
fo
r
an
explorato
r
y
operation
next
week.’
His
lip
was
shaking.