‘You’re seventeen, left school, scarred for life,’ Dad said, pointing to Elliot’s tattoo, ‘and living off us like a child.’
Elliot’s in need of a fresh start, so he’s dispatched to a new city to work as an apprentice electrician. His boss, Arnie, is an ex-naval officer whose bad temper and frequent advice don’t make for easy living — but Elliot’s out of options.
Elliot is just settling into some sort of routine when a disturbing rumour surfaces about his ex-girlfriend, Lena.
As Lena tries to track him down, Elliot dives for cover. But a problem this big only attracts more problems, and, after a shocking workplace accident, they’re all going to catch up with him at once.
The question is, will Elliot come out of hiding and face them head on?
Coming Home to Roost is a fast-paced, bighearted novel about an age-old situation, from the award-winning author of Snakes and Ladders.
For my sister Jude
Contents
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
COPYRIGHT
‘We need a talk, Elliot.’ Dad swept his hand over the table and said, ‘Clear these plates away and sit down.’
‘Can it wait? I told Deeks I’d be around straight after dinner—’
‘No, it can’t.’ Dad lifted a pile of papers from the sideboard, bounced them on the table to straighten the edges and said, ‘You left school without a thought for your future and now we have to talk through your options.’
Elliot raised an eyebrow at Rick to see if he knew what Dad was on about. Rick gave a brief shake of his head and positioned himself near the door — close enough to listen but far enough away to remain uninvolved.
Elliot cleared some plates from the table and carried them to the dishwasher. His mother took the dishes and sent him back to the table. Such deliberate efficiency showed she was firmly in Dad’s camp. With all escape routes shut down, Elliot took his place beside his father at the table. ‘So. What’s up?’
‘What’s up is that you’re seventeen, left school, scarred for life,’ Dad said, pointing to the tattoo on Elliot’s neck, ‘and living off us like a child.’
‘Russell,’ Mum said in a warning tone from the sink.
‘No, I won’t be shushed. He costs a fortune to feed and we’ve done our bit, Lou. Heaven knows at his age I was well into my apprenticeship.’
‘I’m trying,’ Elliot said. He could hear how pathetic that sounded, so he tried another tack. ‘It’s impossible getting into a course at this time of the year so I need a job—’
‘You sure do.’ Dad flicked through his papers. ‘I’ve been in touch with an old acquaintance from my navy days.’
Elliot glanced across the room at Rick. Was acquaintance a good word? Surely he meant buddy? ‘I don’t want to join the navy,’ Elliot said.
‘This guy’s a civilian now and he lives in Wellington — used to be my superior.’
‘What? How old is he?’
‘Late seventies, I’d say, but a very skilled operator. Anyway, he’s got his own business, Safe and Secure, and he specialises in surveillance. I gave him a ring and he’s prepared to take you on, teach you the ropes.’
‘Would I have to move to Wellington?’
It was Dad’s turn to glance at Mum. ‘Yes, Elliot, Wellington’s four hours away so of course you need to live there. Anyway it’s a chance to get away from this town and away from that girl.’
‘Lena.’
‘Yes. Lena.’
‘Is this guy registered to take Elliot on as an apprentice?’ Rick asked from where he was stationed. It was a typical Rick question — incisive and relevant.
‘No, he’s not,’ Dad replied. ‘He’ll do this as a favour for me. Elliot will still have to apply to begin an apprenticeship, but some work experience right now won’t hurt.’
‘Why can’t I work for you? Remember why you named us Elliot and Elrick? Do you? It was so we could work for you one day in Barnard Electrical.’ Elliot enunciated ‘Barnard’ in a drawn-out way. He waved a hand in the air as he said, ‘And now when I need work you send me off to a stranger.’
Dad sighed and rubbed one side of his face, dragging the skin up and down for a while. His face didn’t settle back into place when he stopped. ‘You know I’d do anything for you boys, anything.’
‘Well, don’t send me off to live with some old dude.’
‘I don’t have work for you at the moment.’ Dad leaned forward and tapped the table with his forefinger. ‘You made the choice to quit school and leave home and now you have to make the best of things. Every choice has a consequence, Elliot.’
‘So this is a punishment.’
‘No, it’s reality. Life’s not about being carried. Your mother and I are working hard but you’re just playing — lifting weights and eating the fridge bare. It’s time for you to grow up and Arnie’s agreed to take you.’
‘Arnie? You’re kidding.’
‘Yes. Arnie.’ Dad had had enough now. He leaned forward and his voice took on an even sterner tone. ‘Do you realise how difficult you’ve made things for yourself by getting that ridiculous tattoo on your neck? The anarchy symbol? I ask you. That piece of garage art has branded you—’
‘Russell,’ Mum interrupted. ‘Let’s stick to the facts tonight and give Elliot the chance to think about your suggestion.’
‘Well, he’d better not think too long.’ Dad lifted the top piece of paper off the pile and passed it across. ‘Here’re the details. If you want the chance, give him a ring; he said you can start Monday.’
‘What?’ Rick asked.
‘Monday?’ Mum looked aghast. ‘It’s Thursday already, Russell.’
‘I’m well aware of that. I’ll drive you down on Sunday if you decide to go. There’s a list of things you’ll need,’ Dad said, peeling another sheet off the pile and standing up. ‘I think you should ring Arnie either way before it’s too late; he probably gets to bed early. He said you can live with him for a few weeks until you get settled.’ Dad took the rest of the papers and left the room. Mum followed him out, probably to negotiate the Monday start, and Elliot and Rick stared at each other.
‘His name’s Arnie,’ Elliot said at last.
‘He’ll be a coughing, farting old coot.’ Rick leaned down to untangle some biddybids from the dog’s matted coat. ‘Hold still, Nana, you’ve been in the drain again.’ Nana lay down at Rick’s feet and let out a sorrowful dog-sigh. She stared over at Elliot as if she knew he’d be leaving again.
‘What do you reckon?’ Elliot asked Rick.
‘You’ve got nothing else.’
Blunt as always, but Rick was right. The days were long and hard to fill without the routine of school. He’d never been much of a scholar but at least the ringing bells had given him some direction. And as for Lena, the possibility of running into her was a dreaded constant if he ventured out of the house. It was no way to exi
st — but then neither was living with a strange old man. Eventually, though, he nodded and Rick went to bring him the phone.
‘Hello? Is that Arnie?’
‘Yes!’ the voice on the other end barked.
‘It’s Elliot speaking, Russell Barnard’s son. I was ringing to say thank you, I’d like to take you up on—’
‘Righto. Sunday afternoon. Your Dad’s got my address. Move in then.’
‘Ahh, thanks.’
‘Righto.’ The phone clicked in his hand and the brothers stared at each other.
‘I think I’ve just been sold into slavery.’
Elliot knew they were both conjuring up a Captain Hook character.
‘It’s easier to escape these days,’ Rick said.
‘He’s a security expert.’
It was pouring when they drove into Wellington on Sunday afternoon. Elliot and Dad stopped for food before they went to Arnie’s. They both attacked plates of bacon and eggs in silence. It seemed a monumental occasion that called for profound words, but they didn’t have much to say apart from ‘More sauce?’ and ‘Good, huh?’
Elliot watched Dad’s hands holding his knife and fork as if he’d never seen them before. They were a working man’s hands, with callouses, and he sawed away at his food as if his life depended on it. When Elliot looked up he saw that Dad was looking at him in a bewildered way. They quickly put their heads down again.
Arnie’s house was right in the city and from the road it was just a rickety letterbox and a meandering footpath. The steep and mossy path had an old picket fence, which bordered the side that fell away in a sheer drop, while the other side was framed by a bank of shrubs and ivy. They each slung a bag over their shoulders and they walked up, and up, and up. The path became steps, which became in turn more man-made the higher they got, and the last section had a nautical theme with thick ropes for the balustrade and a compass set in concrete on the landing.
A pair of long legs propped up on a table on the deck was the first thing Elliot saw, and he registered the smell of pipe smoke. A tall, cragged man stood up and shook hands with Dad before doing the same to Elliot. His face was surprisingly handsome for an old guy; Elliot stared into blue-black eyes that seemed to stare right back into Elliot’s brain. Arnie’s head was covered by a peaked cloth cap, which caused his ears to stick out like wing mirrors. The old man’s grip was vice-like.
‘Welcome. Go and put your bags inside,’ he said. ‘You’re the second room on the left downstairs. I’ll pour your father a drink.’
‘No, I can’t,’ Dad said. ‘I’m driving straight back. Work tomorrow.’
Elliot left them chatting and went inside to check out his new digs. The house was cluttered with old armchairs, side tables and tatty rugs. There were baskets of pine cones and piles of kindling on a black hearth, and cat baskets and newspapers littered the floor. A layer of soot covered the fireplace and there was a sharp smell of cat piss that got sharper as he moved down the stairway and along to ‘second on the left’. First door on the left was shut, and there was only a bathroom and a toilet on the right, so there wasn’t much to the house.
Elliot was relieved to see that he had a decent double bed, but not so thrilled to see two cats stretched across the cover. He smacked the bed hoping to scare them off, but only one scarpered in the puff of dust that rose from the cover. The other cat gave him a ‘you’ve got to be joking’ look before lying back down.
He made a couple more trips down to the ute and finally his stuff was installed. Cellphone coverage was dodgy in his bunker.
Dad was leaving, saying his goodbyes, so Elliot turned his collar up against the rain and once more went back down the path. They shook hands and then Dad went strange and wrapped Elliot in a bear hug. ‘I love you.’
‘Yeah. Me too. I mean—’
‘I know.’
‘I’m sorry about my mess.’ He could smell the familiar scent of Dad’s Swanndri as they stood close together, Dad’s arm slung around Elliot’s shoulder.
‘All part of it. You’re on your way now.’ He kissed the top of Elliot’s head and roughed his hair before opening the driver’s door.
Elliot didn’t feel on his way. He watched the ute drive out of sight before he walked back up the path thinking shit, shit, shit.
Arnie was back in his chair and the cats were around his feet when Elliot came back from seeing his father off. ‘This is Flotsam; he’s the boss round here.’ Elliot already knew that. The big cat managed to give Elliot a withering look, right on cue.
The other cat stood up, arched its back and wandered off. ‘That was Jetsam, the younger brother. I hope you don’t mind but this is a girl-free house. We don’t want them here, do we?’ he asked Flotsam. ‘From what I hear you could do with a break from girls anyway.’ Arnie laughed at his own joke and stood up. If he un-stooped, he’d be all of six feet, Elliot figured. ‘I think this occasion calls for a settling-in drink,’ Arnie said as he moved towards a tray of glasses and a decanter on top of an old cabinet. He poured rum into two tumblers and Elliot saw he’d be drinking it neat.
He wondered what it was with him and rum. It was the drink Lena gave him the first night he’d stayed over and nothing good had come of that session.
‘You get a taste for this,’ Arnie said, holding his drink up to the light. ‘I brew it myself and it’s my smoothest yet.’
Elliot nodded. He’d taken a sip and was trying not to cough.
‘What do you know about my work?’
‘Nothing. I’d never heard of you before Thursday. Dad said you’d been his superior in the navy.’
‘Electronic warfare was my speciality and I still have a big interest in it. For now, though, you’ll be helping me with some security work for the embassies. They often bring in their own experts, but I’ve built up a good relationship with a few of them over the years. Our first job is to get you a full clearance. You haven’t got any convictions have you?’
‘No. No I haven’t.’
‘Good. Then you have to take a whizz quiz. Do you need a couple of days to clear out?’
‘What’s a whizz quiz?’ Elliot said, although he could guess.
‘Urine test. You okay for first thing tomorrow?’
Bloody hell. Elliot ran over the possible scenarios that could trip him up. Fortunately life had been quiet at Brunswick Ave since he’d moved back home. ‘Yeah, I’ll be clear.’
After a while the rum seeped into his system, and Elliot sank further into his chair and listened to Arnie’s tales of the navy, places he’d been to, things he’d seen.
It was lucky Dad had bought the bacon and eggs at three o’clock because Arnie didn’t seem to be big on food. Two more rums and it was bedtime at nine.
‘Hell’s teeth,’ Arnie said from the kitchen. ‘I was going to cook this chicken. Are you hungry?’
Elliot was pissed and hungry. ‘There’s pie in my bag,’ he remembered. Mum had sent down a sausage and egg pie for their first night’s dinner and Elliot negotiated the stairs to get it. Flotsam and Jetsam had already had a few bites but there was plenty left.
He set it on the bench, expecting Arnie to put slices onto plates, but he peered at it, grunted ‘Might have some’, and broke off a chunk. He ate it cold from the dish, standing up.
Elliot joined him.
Life with Arnie was like navy boot camp for two people. The days began with Arnie pounding on Elliot’s door at five every morning. He’d shout, ‘Are you there?’
The first morning, Elliot leapt up immediately. ‘Yes! Yes!’ He stumbled into the bathroom, only to be smacked by the sight of Arnie’s naked butt as the old guy stood shaving at the basin. His buttocks hung in white folds above stick-thin legs and Elliot backed away, feeling slightly appalled. After that it worked best if Elliot lay in bed until Arnie had finished his ablutions and gone upstairs.
The gurgling sound of Arnie brewing his potent black coffee, the rattling of the firebox, the calling and feeding of the cats, and the sound
of Arnie clearing his clogged-up throat were the noises of every workday morning — six of them.
‘Eat,’ Arnie always said by way of greeting and he’d nod his head at the Weet-Bix. The milk was usually okay thanks to Flotsam and Jetsam being ‘fussy buggers’.
Then Arnie would check his task book and they’d be on the road heading to the first job by 6.30am — still the middle of the night as far as Elliot was concerned.
Arnie only spoke in grunts until about nine o’clock, and he didn’t like to repeat himself. He worked fast, for an old bloke. ‘We don’t want to piss around in these places having a cup of tea.’
Once, Elliot was admiring a private collection of swords and knives in an inner-city mansion and Arnie was kneeling by a manhole into the wall. ‘Get over here and pass me what I need, ’cause now I’m down, I’m bloody well not getting up.’
Arnie’s body was pretty worn out. He would grit his teeth before he knelt, and when he stood he’d have to ‘massage the bastards’ before his knees would straighten. He walked with a sideways lean and drag to favour his good hip. Both his hips were replacements but one of them, according to him, had ‘gone’ again.
‘Prick of a thing, hips,’ he’d grumble.
His distinctive walk added to his rakish, piratical look and he had a lawless approach to asking Elliot about his private life.
‘So, did you know the girl from a young age?’ he asked casually one evening, as if they always discussed Lena after dinner.
‘What?’
‘I’m wondering how you got to live with that girl and how you came to have that tattoo there?’ Arnie leaned forward and jabbed his pipe in the direction of Elliot’s neck.
‘I dunno.’ Elliot backed away, taken aback by Arnie’s nosiness. ‘Things just happen sometimes.’
‘Not unless you allow them to.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Why not? Yarning things over can make sense out of a situation. That anarchy sign waves at me like a pirate flag; it says you’re rebellious and you intend trouble. It’s a mighty big statement to wear on your neck.’
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