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Authors: Alan Duff

Who Sings for Lu?

BOOK: Who Sings for Lu?
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This moving, fast-paced novel is set in two contrasting worlds: the rich, horse-breeding milieu of Riley Chadwick and his family and the hand-to-mouth life on the street of Lu and her mates. What happens when those worlds collide? Riley’s daughter, Anna, seems to have everything: looks, money, confidence. Lu has nothing except her friends and the sense of inferiority and rage she feels the moment she sets eyes on Anna Chadwick. Feelings that will run out of control … A gritty portrait of envy and relationships gone awry.

Dedicated to my daughters
Katea and Alecia

Thanks to my friends Graham and Deborah de Gruchy
for their help on thoroughbreds. And Claire Gummer for great editing.
Harriet Allan for never losing faith.

Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Part One

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

Chapter fourteen

Chapter fifteen

Chapter sixteen

Chapter seventeen

Chapter eighteen

Chapter nineteen

Chapter twenty

Chapter twenty-one

Chapter twenty-two

Chapter twenty-three

Chapter twenty-four

Chapter twenty-five

Chapter twenty-six

Chapter twenty-seven

Part Two

Chapter twenty-eight

Chapter twenty-nine

Chapter thirty

Chapter thirty-one

Chapter thirty-two

Chapter thirty-three

Chapter thirty-four

Chapter thirty-five

Chapter thirty-six

Chapter thirty-seven

Chapter thirty-eight

Chapter thirty-nine

Chapter forty

Chapter forty-one

Chapter forty-two

Chapter forty-three

Chapter forty-four

Chapter forty-five

Chapter forty-six

Chapter forty-seven

Chapter forty-eight

Chapter forty-nine

Chapter fifty

Chapter fifty-one

Chapter fifty-two

Chapter fifty-three

Chapter fifty-four

Chapter fifty-five

Chapter fifty-six

Chapter fifty-seven

Chapter fifty-eight

Chapter fifty-nine

Chapter sixty

Chapter sixty-one

Chapter sixty-two

Chapter sixty-three

Chapter sixty-four

Chapter sixty-five

Chapter sixty-six

About the Author

Copyright

This time she didn’t feel like indulging Rowan, a regular customer after the usual order of kebab and fries, adding up how many times he’d seen the
Lord of the Rings
trilogy. She’d lasted less than an hour watching it on DVD and trying to get it, unable to understand the appeal of little people and demons and sorcerers all chasing a stupid gold ring.

‘G’won, Lu, guess what number I’m up to now?’ Rowie was saying like they were old mates from way back, when they had nothing in common other than inner hurt, but she’d never told him nothing about that and nor had he asked: people like Rowan don’t — they’re not interested in you, the person who might also be hurting. If it wasn’t Jackson’s childish trilogy of cinema hits Rowie went on about it was something or someone gothic, or about computer games, or what he did with his lonely, boring days.

‘Not today, honey.’

‘What? You got a headache or something?’

‘No, Rowie, I got a Rowan-ache. Chicken salt with the fries today?’

‘Like always. What’s up with you? Can’t a bloke have an ordinary chat?’

Ordinary was right.

Lu turned from bagging Rowie’s Gargantuan Special to sight of
him reverted to sulking childhood, not a man in his early thirties. Like someone had stolen his dog. Or he was the only one in his class not invited to the birthday party. A hundred-and-fifty-kilo-plus explanation of himself.

She was thinking about how she never wanted to be fat, not with not much else going for her, when she saw the bloke staring at her.

Chewing he was — what’s it called, sounds like, yuk, masturbating — masticating, that’s right. Like a cow on telly in India somewhere chewing on its own face — cud, that’s it. Chewing its cud. Funny saying. And too sure of himself for her liking, standing there behind Rowan. Not as if he was Russell Crowe just walked into her joint, sightings of him like of Elvis a constant on locals’ lips.

This was a typical Malak Bros punter, with a worker’s face, if he’d been looking up at the menu board how they
all
did — why else would you come in here, even the regulars like Rowie considered their choices, though they mostly ordered the same thing as every yesterday — but he wasn’t looking up.

He was staring at Lu and chewing his cud.

Bloke wasn’t ugly nor handsome. Just different, in the instant.

‘I got a customer, Rowie.’ With a somewhat hissy
please
in her tone. Rowan muttered something and waddled off to his spot by the window on Woollo’s city-side boundary. People being the view, though what he got out of them Lu did not know.

‘What would you like, mate?’ she asked the guy. Kind of tall, lean and those taut muscles under the yellow teeshirt were for real, you know these things growing up where muscle counts for more than brains.

Nice chunk of dark wavy hair, and she spotted the green tinge in his eyes. Nice. Yeah. But his nose and mouth and eyes didn’t match up, looked out of whack somehow. And jaw muscles like he had two little snakes trying to get out his gob. She felt like putting gum in her mouth and chewing back, just to let him know:
Mate, that stare ain’t doing it for me
.

Soon the masturbator — oops, masticator — stepped up and said, ‘You’re real pretty.’ Chew-chew-chew.

When she didn’t feel that, not real pretty not even plain pretty. Why should she? No one’d ever told her that, excepting horny boys
and older men who should know better given her younger years, after only one thing. ‘You’re ugly’ were the words that stuck, from a certain someone.

Give me some gum, I’ll throw it right back at him, this big act. As for the line
.

‘Yair?’ She exaggerated the yeah, like her olds, bloody useless turds. ‘What would you like to order, mate?’ Giving him her shut-down look, the one that said,
You’re not getting into my pants
. If only she’d been able to put that look into action her whole remembering life. Friggin’ men and their dicks. Friggin’ Uncle Rick.

‘You,’ the bloke grinned. ‘On toast.’

‘Come on, mate, there’ll be other customers any sec.’

He looked around, back at her. ‘Where? I don’t see any. Just you on that side. And me, only the lonely customer, on this side.’ Bloody stupid grin. One of those smartarse ones like his shit don’t stink.

‘Lonely is right. Any wonder, way you talk. You don’t even know me.’

‘Nah, but I wouldn’t mind. You are so pretty.’ He said it close to
sooo
.

She sighed and started reading him the available junk food items from the board behind her, betting he was ogling her bottom.

‘Righto, I’ll start again. Gidday.’ With a different grin, this one a full smile and quite appealing, on its own. Pity about the lip went with it. But what the hell.

‘Gidday to you too.’ But didn’t match his smile back, which was a nice one, kind of open and trusting.

‘What’s the name?’ he said.


The
name?’ Friggin’ crude-arse. ‘
My
name is Lu. Short for Luana.’

‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘Kinda name I’d expect you to be called. I’m Rocky. Like the movie boxer, ’cept I’m taller.’

And cheekier
, she felt like saying. Trying to hold down her grin. No reason for it, just something about him made her want to laugh.

‘Than who?’ she said. May as well try it on.

‘Than the bloke who acts in it. He was in
Rambo
, years ago. There was an actual Rambo, out of a book I think.’

‘Oh. You mean Sly Stallone,’ she said, flat-toned as if the entire
world except this guy knew that. ‘Sylvester. He was here.’

‘No. Gimme that. Sylvester Stallone? In this joint? What’d he order then?’

‘Nah, not here, asking for a double meat burger with bacon and no beetroot. He was visiting Sydney. Nearly got booted out.’

‘Stallone did? Rocky? Come on, the bloke’s a megastar, even if in only one movie six times over and that bullshit
Rambo
. You crapping me, Lu?’ Way he said her name, like they were old buddies joshing each other.

‘Steroids. Found a whole lotta steroid pills on him. I was really disappointed, wasn’t I?’

‘Yeah?’ His yeah was for real, a fair dinkum type. ‘What at? It’s his business what he does.’

‘I seen a couple of Rocky movies and he’s cute. He kind of seemed, like, real? Only to find out he’s a midget and pumps himself up with drugs.’

She had to admit if you took only his eyes then this bloke was the opposite of ugly. But then wouldn’t everyone be handsome and ‘so pretty’ if you took the bad parts out?

‘Shit. I never heard about that. I looked up to him myself,’ the Aussie Rocky said, finally looking up at the menu board. ‘Steroids. Tell ya one thing: their vanity doesn’t need no pumping up.’

Lu impressed by how he read that, vanity not needing pumping up.

Scanning the board, it showed on his face he was impressed with what the Malaks had on offer. Till he said, ‘Don’t like kebabs. Hundred kilos of meat sitting there for days.’

He looked accusingly at the spit, like a torso being slowly sliced to nothing but the rotating steel cylinder, a torso cooked by the vertical gas elements. ‘Crawling with bacteria — campylobacter, you wanna know.’

‘Yeah, right. Just what I was thinking about this morning: camphala bacta,’ she sneered. ‘In where? You mean the meat? For the kebabs?’ Lu quite shocked. ‘We’re well known for our kebabs. The Malak fries are a Sydney ledge.
And
our burgers make the Macs and Wendys and Burger Kings look like heated —’ Like heated something. The description
suddenly left her. At his stare. Which for all his mouth and broad shoulders rocking like a boxer getting ready, the self-confidence didn’t come across as normal male sexual. Just a bloke with green in his eyes like a painter had just lightly touched them.

‘I heard about them. Why I’m here. Finally.’

Had her wondering, why finally?

‘Did you say double meat with bacon? Throw an egg in with it, will ya? And I don’t mind the beetroot.’

‘Please,’ she said.

‘Please? You’re a sheila.’ The chewing stopped dead.

‘Bosses says I don’t have to serve no one who’s rude.’ He was supposed to say
Only kidding
.

‘I wasn’t rude — just asked for a friggin’ egg with me burger.’

‘Then just say please … Please?’ Fancy begging a creep like this. Cud chewing again.

‘Jeezuz. Please then.’ His shoulder movement stopped and so did movement of his eyes, like saying please grated with him, to a woman it did, and yet those eyes grew warm again, the kindness crept back in. Lu got the thought he was thinking about his mother, for some
gut-instinct
reason, something she’d done to him way back, stuff from the past. So where did he get his self-confidence from?

And the smile returned. ‘I like me egg runny, Lu baby.’

Her name again, dunno about the baby.

‘One double meat with bacon!’ she called over her shoulder to the cook. ‘Egg runny! Givvim extra beetroot please, Boris!’ To the cook who was a Russian and drank vodka like water, but he kept a good kitchen. Meant the boss brothers could go out and explore other business ventures, or stand outside how they were now, chatting with other swarthies, but in English. Sometimes the others’ accents gave away their origins, but the Malaks didn’t speak their mother tongue and nor should they, it seemed to Lu. They were all Australians: her, Boris, the Malaks and the others. Look at the names of any national sports teams, the Olympics over in China, their own here in Sydney, and see if a hundred different nationalities don’t march under one flag. ‘Advance Australia Fair’ — even Lu felt a swelling of pride at hearing the national anthem sung at sporting events on television.

‘Want any fries with that, Rocky?’ Surprised at her own tone — intimate, almost. ‘They’re good.’

Yep, he’d have some of them too. Thumb and forefinger up to say small size, as if deciding he didn’t need his voice.

He had made quite some impression on a gal.

BOOK: Who Sings for Lu?
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