Eyrie

by Tim Winton

  We used to say I was the only Keely without the rescue instinct.

  Nah.

  And you’re always crapping on about backing the vanquished.

  Keely laughed and his sister joined in a moment. She sounded uncharacteristically rattled.

  Mate, he said. Has something happened?

  Nothing I’m allowed to talk about. I guess it’s just funny, me mounting a rescue package.

  I don’t even know what that is.

  In my world it’s salvation without mercy.

  You okay?

  I was just thinking about us as kids, that’s all. And, you know, just wanted to hear your voice.

  It was the roof from an old Holden, he said. The canoe.

  But the signal began to falter and Faith seemed to be speaking to someone else, her driver, apparently, and the rest was rushed farewell.

  In the wake of the call Keely went on fixing dinner. He thought of Faith at ten in her pink boilersuit and Levi’s sneakers. What a game little girl she had been: that measured stare, the straight-cut fringe. Bold as a mudlark, but kind along with it. She’d shared her room with the Buck girls the winter their mother lay in hospital held together by screws and wires and plaster. Maybe she resented it – the sudden disorder, the wet beds, the night terrors, the missing toys. Perhaps his memories of her stalwart decency were not reliable. Because whenever he saw her now, Christmas being the last example, she seemed so cool and withheld. But her world had been flying like shit off a shovel. Tough time. Maybe she needed to project that corporate armour just to survive. And the diffidence? Probably due to the sight of him, dishevelled, maudlin, strangling the festive cheer from Doris’s big day.

  Anyway, enough of that.

  He mashed potatoes, tooled about with the sauce a while and steamed the snake beans. He put on some music, the Bach fugues Harriet used to like. And it didn’t upset him. In fact he felt a rare buoyancy. Faith’s memory of their hijinks on the swamp, perhaps. Or the day on the river finally sinking in. That bird, the way it watched them, trying to decide what they were. Just the glorious fact of it being there, like an answered prayer. What a deliverance it had been. He couldn’t have borne to disappoint the kid. To screw that up as well. And it was mad, but now he felt like a bloody champion.

  He’d only just sat down to eat when there was a knock at the door. He sat chewing a moment, cleaving doggedly to his moment of happiness while it lasted.

  Just me, called Gemma.

  It was like a soap bubble bursting. The mood was broken. But some slippery film of equanimity clung on as he got slowly to his feet.

  He opened the door, still chewing. Freshly showered and in a sleeveless dress, Gemma stood barefoot peering past him.

  Everything alright?

  Sorry, she said. You got company?

  He blinked, shook his head, swallowed.

  I could smell it from my place. It’s doin me head in.

  What is?

  Whatever you’re cookin.

  You want some?

  I’ve eaten, she said.

  Okay.

  But Jesus, she said. Smell’s bloody beautiful.

  Keely was stumped. She had such an avid look on her face, almost febrile, and she just stood there, as if waiting to be invited in.

  You mind? she asked. Just for a sec?

  He unlocked the security screen and when he stepped back she slipped right by him and went straight to the stovetop.

  Chicken, she said. Garlic. Bacon by the looks. And the gravy’s what, white wine?

  Keely closed the security screen but left the main door open.

  Mostly.

  Aw, she said, looking at his little dining table. You haven’t even hardly started. Tommy, sit down. Jesus, I didn’t realize.

  Sure you don’t want some?

  Eat, she said.

  He sat back down, resumed eating, but he was self-conscious now.

  Little bugger wouldn’t go to bed, she said, leaning on the bench between them.

  He’s okay?

  Christ, he was that excited.

  Keely nodded, his mood lifting a little.

  That was a nice thing you did.

  Not a problem, he said, smiling around a mouthful.

  Not a problem, she said, mimicking him. Hey, maybe I will have some of that.

  He motioned for her to help herself and she fished around for cutlery. Paused a moment at the knife drawer, checking out his jumbled pharmacopoeia, which gave him a moment’s anxiety. But she didn’t even seem to register it, so urgent were her movements, so flighty her disposition. He watched as she forked up something from the pan and turned it over in her mouth experimentally before chewing with gusto. He saw her wipe gravy from her lips with the back of her wrist.

  Something I can’t pick, she said, hoisting the skillet to the bench as if setting in to polish off the remainder.

  Sage, he said. I picked it today at Mum’s.

  Doris? You saw her today?

  Yeah. That was her car. Didn’t I tell you? I have to keep the boat at her place.

  Gemma straightened a moment, oil glistening on her chin.

  So you brought us home before you went back to her place?

  Well, yeah.

  Right.

  I caught the train home, he said, puzzled by the cloudy expression on her face. Kai looked pretty worn out. I thought I’d run you home, save you both another hour of farting about.

  Fair enough, she said, crestfallen.

  I didn’t realize, he said, seeing it now. At least he thought he saw.

  I spose it was a long time ago.

  No. Really. I should have thought.

  Just … I loved your mum. Guess I thought she might like to see me.

  Of course she would. I was just preoccupied, that’s all, thinking about the boat, the car, getting you home.

  You’re embarrassed. Aren’tcha?

  About the car?

  About me, you dickhead. Bein seen with me. In front of yer mum.

  I don’t know what you’re talking about, he said, irritated.

  Nah, course ya don’t.

  Keely bridled at this. He thought of the lengths he’d gone to these past months, for the sake of guarding his privacy, so that no one, friend or foe, could get close enough to commiserate, gloat, accuse, correct, needle or interrogate him. It was the one thing he wasn’t gutsick-depressed about. And here was a woman in his kitchen, this person he hardly knew, eating his food and calling him out as some kind of snob. He was angry with himself, furious he’d dropped the ball so comprehensively, let her into the flat, his head, his fucking life.

  Whoa, and now yer sulkin, eh.

  No, he said with some effort. I’m just surprised, that’s all.

  Well, it doesn’t take much to get you all hot’n bothered.

  He pushed his hand through his hair.

  Forget it, she muttered.

  No, he said, like a twat who’d forgotten every survival instinct he had. What is it you’re trying to tell me?

  Gemma looked at her fork, shrugged.

  These days you’re just a bit more …

  More what?

  I dunno. Posh.

  Keely laughed; there was nothing else for it. Though it didn’t sound as mirthful or unruffled as he’d hoped.

  Fuck off, she said mildly.

  Posh? Me? You must be on drugs.

  Don’t talk to me about fuckin drugs.

  Gemma, I’m unemployed. This is it, he declared, waving at the armchair, the bookshelf, the TV, the portable CD player, the obsolete iPod. Apart from the battered laptop beside him on the laminated table, there was nothing else to see but a couple of Stanley Spencer reproductions and the Peter Dombrovskis on the wall.

  You went to uni and that.

  True.

  And there you were all the time, on the telly, on the news, in the paper. In ya house by the water in Freo – bet that place had character.

  He lifted his hands in surrender.

 
Just cause you don’t have a job and you look like shit, doesn’t mean you’re not flash.

  Alright, he said. I hear what you’re saying. But I think you’ve got the wrong idea. If I’d known, if I’d thought of it – Gemma, it’s not a problem. I wasn’t thinking, that’s all.

  She looked unconvinced but after a few moments staring him down she did seem slightly mollified. Whether that was a result of having said her piece or seeing him yield he couldn’t tell.

  You really that broke? she asked.

  Pretty broke, yeah. I wasn’t very careful with the severance pay.

  So, you’re renting this joint?

  No, he said. I own it.

  She grinned without mercy.

  You got anything to drink?

  There’s wine in the fridge, he said, knowing it was rude not to get up and pour her a glass, but he was flustered now and would have preferred her to go away.

  Gemma cracked the fridge open, examined its contents as if seeking further confirmation of his lofty status and then hauled the bottle out. She held it at arm’s length a moment, found a glass and filled it. She glanced at him inquiringly but he demurred. She sipped at the wine sceptically.

  Look, I’m sure Doris’d love to see you, he murmured.

  Gemma leant back against the fridge. At her shoulder, pinned to the door by magnets, lay Kai’s crayon bird. She raked her hair irritably with her fingers.

  She’ll think you’re on with me. Slummin around.

  Don’t be ridiculous. She already knows you live in the building.

  She ever come here?

  I don’t have anybody here.

  Really? How come?

  I just prefer it that way.

  You really are a bit of an odd-bod, aren’t you.

  Yes. I spose.

  She gulped the rest of her wine. Keely tried to finish his meal but his appetite had gone. He’d made the effort, that was the thing.

  So I’m ridiculous, she said.

  Mate, I didn’t mean it like that – I mean, come on.

  Wouldn’t have said it when I was younger.

  Gemma, I only knew you as a kid.

  When we were kids, but weren’t you interested?

  No! Geez, you were a little girl.

  Didn’t stop anyone else.

  Well, shit. That’s awful. Why are we talking about this?

  She propped her elbows on the bench and leant forward, sizing him up. The tops of her breasts were visible in the vee of her dress.

  What about the Snakepit? And the White Sands? We weren’t kids then.

  No, I guess not.

  Wasn’t ridiculous then.

  Keely didn’t know what to say. His nerves were jangling.

  Back then we were more the same.

  Well, it was so long ago.

  And you never even thought about it?

  Keely said nothing.

  I was always around. I remember being in your room. I got in your bed once, in the night. Pretended I was scared.

  I don’t remember that.

  But you remember I was pretty.

  Gemma, he said, trying to steer clear of this perilous current, I was a kid; I didn’t even notice girls.

  I wasn’t the sort you’d notice, then?

  Hell, everyone noticed. Later.

  So, tell me.

  Tell you what? he asked, annoyed at her persistence, the way this conversation was headed, as if she were determined to extract some shred of old glory at his expense. Just because he hadn’t thought to present her to Doris, for God’s sake. It was moronic, fucking banal. And he was getting a treacherous hard-on, despite himself. Gemma was tipsy. He hadn’t paid enough attention; she’d been half cut the moment she arrived.

  Garn, she persisted. Tell me what I looked like.

  Mate, he said with a resentful sigh, you were beautiful. Alright?

  And now I’m just an old boiler.

  Not that old.

  Well, thanks a lot.

  I didn’t —

  Haven’t you even thought about it? she asked, cutting him off. Not once?

  Bloody hell, what’s got into you?

  I dunno, she said. I had a few Baileys, that’s all. It was a good day, Tommy. You know how many good days I get, livin like this?

  Fair enough, he said, shamefaced.

  You know?

  Yeah, it doesn’t look easy. But he’s a lovely kid.

  Talks about you, now. Day and bloody night. Thinks the sun shines out yer clacker. Never stops askin questions.

  So what d’you tell him?

  The truth. What I know, what I remember.

  Like what? he said, unable to resist.

  I dunno. Just old shit. About you’n Nev.

  He looked at his hands, felt his spine slump into a defensive curve. At least she’d changed tack; it was something to be grateful for.

  You were the only ones.

  The only ones what?

  That didn’t fiddle with us.

  Shit, he said, shoving his plate across the table. You didn’t tell him that, I hope.

  Of course not. But that’s how I learnt what’s what, who to trust and who to steer clear of.

  I guess that’s something.

  Is to me.

  I didn’t mean to sound so —

  You musta wanted kids. Of yer own.

  Why d’you say that?

  University of hard knocks, mate. Instinct. Like I said, who ya trust and who’s trouble. He knows. I can see it.

  You’ve lost me, he said truthfully.

  You went to a lot of trouble to impress a kid today. And I have to figure out if it’s cause you’re a dirty perv or if it’s just that you wanna suck up to me, to get into me pants.

  Keely looked at her. She was completely serious. If he told her to get out now he’d look guilty; one charge or the other would stick. It was insupportable. And he felt the seconds of silence thud by.

  I mean, if it was about me I wouldn’t mind so much, she went on. But I’ve had to learn the hard way, if you know what I mean – about blokes. And I haven’t got time for it anymore, tell you the truth. Sorry – I’m just sayin.

  Despite his indignation, Keely was trying to imagine the life she’d led since their days as children. He wondered about her scarred hands, the broken tooth, the daughter in prison.

  Gemma, there’s no agenda. I’m not that sort of person.

  Oh, I know that. I’m just sayin. This is the sort of thing I’ve gotta ask meself.

  Okay. I get that. But really, you don’t have to worry.

  Gemma nodded slowly. She looked past him. To what – the ocean lights, the wharf? She chewed her lip a moment.

  Pity, really, she said, turning to the fridge.

  Keely watched in a snarl of conflicted impulses and competing thoughts as she poured herself a refill. She belted the tumbler of wine down in two gulps and set the glass on the bench with a smack. He couldn’t read her smile. And he wondered about the kid. It was late. He got to his feet, hoping she’d sense the signal. But she seemed oblivious. He squeezed past her, set his plate on the sink.

  You should get rid of that bloody beard, she said. Look like a science teacher, for Chrissake.

  Well, I was for a while. More or less.

  What’d you teach?

  Geography. And biol.

  Shoulda known. All them books there. Always liked ya books, eh.

  Yes.

  And ya little orange Bible.

  That too, he said, closing off despite himself.

  Now you’re cranky.

  No, he lied.

  Don’t be cranky, mate – I just need a break. You know what I mean?

  I think so.

  Do it all on me own.

  Yes, I can see that.

  It’s lonely.

  Yeah.

  I should get used to it. Like you. You don’t even like people, it sticks out like dog’s balls.

  He shrugged.

  But me, I’m stupid, I still like pe
ople.

  Nothing stupid about that, he said, trying to sound sincere.

  Mind if I close the door?

  It’s hot, Gem.

  Open door makes me nervous.

  He said nothing. She bumped the door closed with her hip and as she turned back her shoulder brushed the kid’s drawing, left it askew on the fridge.

  I was thinkin, she said.

  About what?

  Nothin real complicated.

  Okay, he said, feeling corralled there in the narrow galley.

  But it’s a secret. You can keep a secret, can’t you?

  I guess, he said, alert to her approach. She was fully lit up now. Her limbs seemed slightly unwound. It was hard to discount the shape of her in that little dress.

  Why don’t I walk you back? he said, moving slightly towards the door.

  But I’ll tell you the secret first, she said, taking his arm as he tried to pass. Here, I’ll whisper it.

  She tugged his collar, drawing him in so close her winy breath filled his ear and he was unravelling before she even whispered it. The simple, blunt declaration was like something spearing deep. It found the softest, neediest part of his being and yet he still tried to separate himself as delicately as he could.

  Gemma, mate, I don’t think that’s a good idea, he said.

  Jesus, Tommy, don’t make a girl beg.

  I mean, I’m flattered, more than flattered —

  But you want it. I can see that.

  Yeah, but why me? Why now?

  Because you’re safe, and I’m goin fuckin spare up here. We could both do with cheerin up. Carn, cobber. Old times’ sake.

  She slipped a hand into his shirt. He felt her belly against his crotch and her tongue was still cool from the wine. He let his hand fall against the curve of her hip, then her arse. And he didn’t care anymore about how crazy this was. She tasted of garlic and smoke. She kissed with a kind of smile. A friendly fuck, that’s all she said, something safe, and it began that way, awkward and companionable in the slot between the fridge and the kitchen bench, but by the time they’d reached his unmade bed with its grey sheets and its bovine whiff of old spunk and perspiration the upwelling of all that desperation and longing overtook them and they were both fierce, half mad with painful urgency and nothing they wanted or did felt safe.

  Afterwards he lay in a sheen of sweat and mortification. It seemed weird, even wrong to be thinking of Harriet. Of that night in the reeking village on Sarawak when a week of hurt silence had broken like a bruised monsoonal sky. The sex had been furious, frightening, and in the aftermath, for the remainder of their coastward trek, he was haunted by the growing sense that their belated passion signified an end and not a renewal, as if the force of that night were from a seal finally, fatally blown. But he’d buried the thought; he was like that, he knew it now, he could carry disaster with him, pressing on as if it might wither in the dark if ignored.