‘I don’t have much in the way of birthday paper, but have a look at that, and see if it’s any use to you,’ Arnie said, nodding at the bundle.
Shit, it’s my birthday, Elliot thought. He reached out to feel the shape of Arnie’s gift. ‘How did you find out?’
‘You might be eighteen, but you don’t know everything, now get that thing unwrapped and don’t worry about the rest.’
It was a laptop. ‘Seriously, Arnie, this is for me?’
‘I keep hearing how you young people are connected the whole time and you seem to be missing out. I’ve arranged for someone to come in and set us up today. You should be able to use it tonight.’
‘This is so good,’ Elliot said as he slid the computer out of the box. ‘How—’
‘There’s a card somewhere.’ Arnie flapped the pillowcase and an envelope fell out. When Elliot opened the card he saw a laughing rabbit on the front with its paw in an electrical socket. The caption inside read, Get zapped, it’s your birthday! He laughed and Arnie clapped him on the back. ‘There you go; a bit of electrical humour.’
‘Thanks very much. This is perfect; I can’t believe you did this.’
Arnie looked pleased with himself. ‘You can get on that Face thing now and have chats.’
‘Facebook. Yeah, thanks Arnie.’ He might just do that; find out what was going on back home.
‘We’ll find out the best way to treat a cat wound,’ Arnie said. ‘We’ll do that tonight.’
‘Yeah, and we can put your task book online.’
‘Let’s just stick with cats for now. This is mostly your toy, and you can get your young-people news off it.’
Elliot’s young-people news, though, didn’t come via the computer, but by mail; that old-fashioned thing called a letter.
It arrived on one of the last warm evenings in March. He and Arnie were sitting on the deck in the low sun, catching the final rays and watching their lamb chops defrost on the ledge. As Arnie flicked through his bills and receipts, he noticed a blue envelope with bold black writing.
‘What’s this then?’ He held it up to the sun to see if he could read through it and then when he couldn’t, he studied the front carefully. ‘I wonder what this is about?’
‘Open it and find out,’ Elliot said.
‘It’s addressed to you.’
‘What? Give it here then.’ Elliot snatched the envelope and tried to settle his pounding heart. ‘It’ll be nothing,’ he said.
Arnie sat forward to watch Elliot peel back the flap. ‘It won’t be nothing; not the way they’ve gone to the trouble of finding you and writing the address. You might have won something.’
It turned out that Elliot had lost something —
I’m pregnant, the note said. Ring me. I can’t believe this has happened. Sorry about New Year’s but we need to talk now there’s going to be a baby.
The blood drained from Elliot’s face; he literally felt it sliding away past his ears and into his neck. It made him gulp as if the blood had taken the air with it.
‘Everything alright then?’
‘Ahh, well.’ He read it again. Shit! How could this happen? Except he knew how this could happen — and when.
‘Not bad news, I hope?’
‘Umm. Just a girl problem.’ Elliot waved the piece of paper and it made a fluttering noise that made the cats look up. ‘She’s pregnant.’
‘Oh,’ Arnie said. And then, ‘Bugger.’
Elliot watched two droplets of sweat trickle down Arnie’s bare chest before he rubbed them away in an irritated way. His skin was leathery, sunbaked and rough enough to make a pair of shoes out of. ‘Not the girl you were moving away from when you started working for me, is it?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Your father won’t be happy.’
Nor would his mother — or Rick for that matter. He’d let them all down. He felt weak and unstable.
‘It won’t be mine. No way.’ He stood up. ‘I’m going inside; it’s too hot out here.’
‘It’s strange she’d write and tell you if it’s nothing to do with you,’ Arnie said.
‘Of course it’s nothing to do with me,’ Elliot yelled through the slider. He saw Arnie struggle out of his chair so Elliot quickly moved downstairs to get away from his nosy questions and gawking face.
Elliot couldn’t think what to do. He sat on his bed and reread Lena’s note. Pregnant! The word carried attitude and clout like Lena. It was a word powerful enough to dictate lives and command attention.
A cricket was caught somewhere in Elliot’s shorts and it started its nagging noise in the silent room. He tried to ignore it, but the brrurp, brrurp drove him crazy until he stood up, hunted the pest out and flicked it onto the floor. It landed across the room and lay there stunned for a moment before it started up again, mocking, laughing. He grabbed a magazine off his bedside table and smacked the bejesus out of it.
Elliot counted back and then forward from March. Biology was never a strong point, but everyone knew babies took nine months. The weight of this information pressed on his chest making him gulp as he recited the names of the months through to September again. They began to roll through his brain on their own, like a mantra, a song.
The phone rang upstairs. Elliot listened to the clump and drag of Arnie’s bad leg as he crossed the room to answer it.
‘Hello? Yep, he does.’ And then ‘Oh hello.’ Arnie’s voice became more interested. ‘I’ll get him for you.’
Elliot scarcely breathed as Arnie began the noisy trek down the stairs. Not Lena, surely. She wouldn’t be able to get this number. It must be Mum — somehow she’s heard. He would deny, be surprised, that was the best tactic.
‘You in there?’ Arnie stood at the door with the phone held out and a slight smile playing around his mouth.
‘I don’t want to talk,’ Elliot hissed.
‘I think you should!’ He pointed at the phone and stuck his thumb up.
You think this is a game, Elliot thought as he snatched the phone off Arnie. Just before he put it to his ear, Arnie whispered, ‘It’s Zeya!’
There was no time to swallow, let alone digest that morsel. Arnie winked as he turned to leave.
‘Aaah, hello?’
‘Yes, hello Elliot, this is Zeya.’ He remembered her clipped soft voice, with both English and Asian influences evident in the diction. ‘You may not remember me from the company Christmas party last year but I was there as a driver for my father.’
He should have interrupted that long introduction, helped her out, but he needed time to recover from the shock of hearing from her.
‘Zeya, yeah!’ That sounded too brash so he added, ‘Hello.’
‘Hello,’ she said again. ‘I’m ringing to ask you something.’
‘Yes?’
‘You said you wanted some company sometimes?’
‘Yes?’
‘There’s a formal dinner in a few weeks’ time for my year-group and all the girls are taking partners. I’m happy to go on my own, but since you said it was a bit lonely with Arnold, I thought I might ask you.’ Zeya carried on before Elliot could answer. ‘I’ll get your ticket so you understand there’s no expectations.’
‘Thank you.’ What expectations? ‘I have a very busy social life here with Arnie, but I’m not booked up a few weeks in advance.’
‘Oh. I thought you said—’
‘It was a joke. My life’s ground to a halt.’
‘Oh, a joke. A halt. I see.’ Clearly they didn’t share the same sense of humour. ‘Do you have a girlfriend who will object to this idea?’
‘No, there’s no girlfriend.’ Hang on, he thought. Is there a girlfriend? What are the rules now? ‘When’s the dinner?’ he asked, trying not to think about Lena.
It wasn’t for ages, the end of May, so Elliot searched around for something to talk about that would keep her on the line a bit longer. ‘Did you go to Burma? I mean, over Christmas?’
‘I did, yes.’ She offered nothing more and Elliot t
hought she sounded ready to quit the conversation. He gave it one last stab.
‘Did you stay in Yangon?’
There was a surprised silence and then Zeya said, ‘Ah ha. You have done a little swotting.’
‘Well, I’m fascinated by that golden temple thing that has stored the hair of the Buddha for two and a half thousand years.’
She laughed and it sounded like music. ‘The Shwedagon Pagoda! Well done,’ she said, and then after a pause, ‘thank you.’
Elliot had the sense to know he couldn’t advance on that conversation coup, so he let Zeya say goodbye. She would be in touch.
He stood up and wiped his brow with his arm. He pumped the air. Yes!
As he left the room, his bare foot crunched on the squashed cricket, a sobering reminder of his despair and anger just minutes before. He scooped it up and carried it to the window.
Arnie was sitting on the top step waiting for him. ‘Life’s a bitch, ain’t it?’ He was grinning from ear to ear. ‘Pull me up, and let’s cook the lamb chops.’
Using both hands, Elliot hauled Arnie off the step and they went back out to the barbecue to carry on with their Monday night.
The next morning, Arnie said, ‘Let’s get ourselves a coffee, we’re not due at the job for thirty minutes.’
‘Good idea.’ Elliot’s sleep had been fitful and studded with vivid dreams. He felt too jumpy and wrung-out to be anywhere near live wires right then. ‘I know somewhere. I stopped there when you sent me up to take the measurements; they do perfect pies.’
‘I hope that wasn’t in work hours,’ Arnie said.
Elliot was too tired to banter. The news about Lena’s pregnancy weighed him down so that even changing the gears and parking the van seemed a massive effort.
‘You sit outside and hold the table,’ Elliot said. ‘I’ll go and order. He bought two coffees and a pie for himself. He and Rick had strict criteria for perfection in a pie, and this café raised the bar. The most important factor was a pastry that made a noise as you bit into it. A silent pie was a soggy pie.
Elliot went to wait outside with Arnie, who was holding his unlit pipe between his teeth. It was something he did when he was thinking.
The order arrived and everything about the pie pleased Elliot and lifted his spirits. The pastry shell was crisp and light around the piping-hot interior, while the meat was peppery in the jellied gravy. A guy needed two hands and full concentration to catch and eat it all. Elliot’s hands shook slightly as he rolled back the bag to begin.
Arnie blew on his coffee, watched Elliot get three bites into it, and then said, ‘You’d better talk to me about this baby business. When’s the girl due?’
‘What? Shush.’ Elliot hated the way Arnie spoke too loudly as if everyone else was deaf.
‘I can help you work things out, but you need to tell me.’
‘No!’ Elliot shook his head. Bits of pastry fell onto the ground and he burnt his lip. ‘She won’t be pregnant; she’s a bullshitter.’
‘Well, let’s assume she’s—’
‘I’m not talking about it.’
‘I didn’t get to my age without learning a few things. Burying your head in the sand would be the least clever thing you could do.’ Arnie slurped his coffee and wiped his mouth. The knuckles on his hands were swollen and blue-tinged in the cool morning air and he put one of his ugly paws out and nudged Elliot’s hand. ‘Don’t run like a scared rabbit and wait for someone to come after you with a shotgun; get yourself acquainted with the facts.’
‘You don’t get it, she’s a liar.’ Elliot slid his plate closer to his body to create some distance between them.
‘No, you don’t get it. She can’t make you be the father if you’re not. Facts are what count here.’ Arnie leaned back in his chair and Elliot knew his voice would be travelling across the tables. ‘Have you had sex with this girl in the last few months?’
‘Don’t talk like that!’ The pie turned into a chewy ball of dough and slime. Elliot pushed it away. ‘I can sort this stuff out myself; she’s got heaps of boyfriends. She’s a manipulator.’
‘She can be a Svengali, but it makes no difference. All that matters is, did you have sex with the girl or not?’
‘Christ, keep your voice down.’ Elliot took the keys out of his pocket and stood up. ‘I’ll meet you in the van.’
‘Seems like you’ve done the business, alright.’
Elliot’s face burned as he turned away. He could feel people looking at him. Arnie called out, ‘Pregnancy’s like toothache — it don’t go away, son.’
The day was ruined and the thrill of hearing from Zeya was ruined as Lena once again moved in to occupy space in his head. Arnie’s simple, insistent question ‘Did you have sex with the girl?’ only required a yes or a no and Elliot was too chicken to say it. He waited for Arnie in the van with the radio on loud.
Everything after that went from bad to worse. The starter motor played up again and all the parks facing downhill at the job were taken. Elliot had to find a builder and ask him to move his truck onto the flat.
Then, Arnie knocked his thumb with a hammer. He swore like Elliot had never heard Arnie swear before and then he was just plain grouchy.
To top it all off, they found some wanker had parked his flashy car in Arnie’s spot when they finally got home. ‘Get that number plate,’ Arnie said. ‘That’s not a resident’s vehicle.’
Flotsam and Jetsam were sitting at the top of the path — stone statues with half-closed eyes. ‘Hello,’ Arnie said. ‘Something’s going on. Looks like we’ve got a visitor.’
As Elliot and Arnie rounded the corner, they saw someone in Arnie’s chair with his feet up on the railing of the deck — wearing a new pair of skater shoes. A face leaned forward and beamed. Of course, only Deeks would have kicks and a car that cool. Elliot nodded and Deeks got up and hugged Elliot around his supermarket and work bags, as if he’d tracked him down in Outer Mongolia. ‘Rooster, you ugly prick, I’m here to remind you of your old life.’
He smelt strongly of the expensive cologne his father brought him back from overseas and Elliot coughed to let him know. ‘You’ll need a rinse in the fishpond before you come inside; this place isn’t used to flash Harrys.’ Elliot turned around to introduce him to Arnie, who was already holding his hand out to greet a rare specimen on the property — a guest.
‘Come inside, please. Come inside. Now, Dean, is it?’
‘Deeks,’ Elliot shouted, a bit unkindly. ‘Rhymes with geeks.’ Arnie was unlocking the door and Elliot grabbed Deeks’ arm. ‘Why are you here?’
‘We need to talk.’
Elliot nodded again as his stomach flipped. ‘We’ll get a chance.’
Deeks stepped inside the ranchsliders and looked around the room. Elliot tried to see it afresh as he watched Deeks take in the clutter of newspapers and cat paraphernalia. ‘So this is where you’ve been roosting,’ Deeks said.
Elliot didn’t get a chance to reply because Arnie was there, pulling on Deeks’ arm, leading him away. ‘This is nice, you coming to visit Elliot.’ Arnie opened the rum cabinet. ‘You’ll have a spot with me, won’t you?’ Elliot put the groceries away and he could hear Arnie saying, ‘A bit of a loner, our boy out there. He doesn’t have many mates around town.’
Deeks said, ‘Cheers,’ and ‘Rum. Just what I feel like.’ There was silence for a moment and Elliot looked out from the plastic strips that covered the kitchen door to see Deeks struggling to swallow. His eyes protruded from their sockets.
‘Ahh, hell.’ Deeks shook his head like a stranded cow.
‘He brews it himself,’ Elliot laughed. ‘You get used to it.’
‘I’ve got a distiller down in the basement if you’d like to have a look?’ Arnie said. ‘We’ll finish these and I’ll show you how I make it.’
Deeks nodded and waved the clear liquid in front of his face. ‘Do you ever drink this with coke?’
‘Never,’ Arnie said. ‘It ruins the taste. It’s quite
a process making rum this pure, so why would I dilute it?’ He grabbed a torch off the sideboard. ‘Finish that up and I’ll pour one from a different batch. We can take it with us.’
Deeks threw Elliot a desperate look as he followed Arnie for the inspection.
‘And put some greens on the plates tonight,’ Arnie called to Elliot as they went out the front door.
What a prize show-off, Elliot thought. He wrestled the vegetable crisper open and found a greying cabbage. That’ll do. Bugger them both. He chopped it up with a tomato and plenty of garlic salt — his answer to all tricky meal moments. He knew Deeks was going to be disgusted; his father bought ready-packaged gourmet food.
The dinner was under way by the time Deeks and Arnie came back with samples of rum at various stages of readiness. Arnie held them up to the light and Deeks said he could thee exactly. Elliot knew by Deeks’ faint lisp that he was getting pickled. A conversation about Lena was going to be a waste of time. Elliot slammed the oven door.
‘Rooster never answers his phone these days; anyone would think he’s hiding!’ Deeks leaned forward and yelled, ‘Are you hiding, Rooster?’
‘Why would I hide? I just work the whole time.’ Elliot knew he sounded like his mother when Dad’s team came around for a session, but he couldn’t help it. Deeks had come down to visit him and instead was getting plastered with Arnie. I’m just the general dogsbody, the slave, he thought.
The supermarket pie crumbled around the edges and then snapped off in a big chunk. He stuffed it back into shape on the plates with impatient rough gestures.
‘He got a letter the other day,’ Arnie called out in a stirring voice.
You shit, Arnold Cashwell. ‘Food’s ready,’ Elliot said, to change the subject. ‘Clear some space; I’ll bring it through.’
‘Not yet, I’ve just lit my pipe.’
‘I’ve never smoked an old-school pipe,’ Deeks said. ‘Can I’ve a go?’
‘Sure. There’s quite a ritual attached to the tamping and lighting; it takes a while to get the hang of it.’
Deeks had turned his chair around so he was sitting saloon-bar style at the table. Elliot watched his pitiful effort to smoke, with scorn. ‘Arnie was in the navy, not the Wild West, you tosser,’ he said, indicating the chair before he slammed the bowl of cabbage down on the table and went back for cutlery.
Coming Home to Roost Page 5
