Arnie and Deeks started to laugh and Deeks said, ‘The lady with the food called me a totha.’
‘Not very nice.’ Arnie picked up the bowl of cabbage and peered at the mix. ‘We won’t be getting scurvy tonight.’
‘We won’t, ’cause that’s not scurvy in there,’ Deeks said, ‘it’s cabbage.’
Deeks is stupid and Arnie is an arse. Elliot put the pie on the table and said to Deeks, ‘And this is rickets pie.’
‘Oh yum,’ Deeks said, and laughed harder. There was dribble on his chin.
Arnie tapped Elliot’s arm with his fork. ‘You’re going to make someone a lovely wife.’
Deeks slapped his thigh. ‘He’s already made someone a lovely mother!’
You shits, Elliot thought. Arnie had tears in his eyes from laughing; each time he wiped them away he made surreptitious glances in Elliot’s direction.
Deeks’ eyes were shut tight as if the effort of keeping his big mouth open had pushed them closed. His skin had a rubbery sheen to it. ‘A lovely mother,’ Deeks spluttered, ‘just that she’s not so lovely.’ His hand made a curved arc in front of his stomach and he pulled an ugly face.
Elliot leaned over, grabbed the back of Deeks’ chair, which was up by his face, and shoved it so that the wood hit Deeks’ chin. ‘Shut up!’ he shouted.
Spittle flew from Deeks’ lip as he said, ‘Oh, it’s an earthquake.’ He fumbled to put his hand on the table but the moving chair threw him off balance. He laughed even harder.
Waves of anger rolled up in Elliot’s chest. ‘Shut up! Why don’t you shut up?’ He jabbed and pushed the back of the wooden chair to the beat of his words causing Deeks to be pushed further off the seat. He scrabbled for a handhold but Elliot had too much forward momentum. Finally, Deeks slithered off. His head bounced on the windowsill behind him as he went down.
‘Enough. Stop!’ Arnie towered over the table and roared at Elliot. ‘Pull him out!’
Elliot let the chair go and stepped back to look under the table. Deeks lay dazed and crumpled but still wearing his idiotic grin. One knee was up by his face and his lip was bleeding. He waved hello at Elliot.
Elliot straightened up to tell Arnie that Deeks was fine, but Arnie’s face was so livid Elliot kept quiet. He felt like a shit as he knelt down to grip Deeks’ ankles and haul him through the tangle of furniture legs. It took a bit of work. Deeks didn’t seem able to help himself. When Deeks was finally free, Arnie tipped the cabbage onto the top of the pie and held the bowl to Elliot. ‘Give him this; he’ll spew.’
Sure enough, Deeks vomited most of his rum into the cabbage bowl and some of it landed on the carpet.
‘Don’t worry about those bits,’ Arnie said. ‘The cats will get them.’
‘Cats eat sick?’ Deeks asked in a groggy voice and Elliot nearly hugged him in relief.
‘Deeks loves a bit of trivia,’ Elliot said. ‘Don’t you, eh?’ He gave Deeks’ foot a friendly kick.
‘Stop that,’ Arnie said, pointing at Elliot’s shoe. ‘I’m very disappointed in you.’
‘It was just a bit of fun—’
‘No harm done,’ Deeks said.
‘It wasn’t a bit of fun. I thought you were more officer material than skivvy.’
‘What?’ Elliot knew what he meant, though, and he felt gob-smacked at the depth of Arnie’s disappointment. He hadn’t shown much control, sure, but they’d been winding him up. It wasn’t like he’d taken out a gun and shot Deeks’ face off.
‘I got mad,’ Elliot explained to Arnie.
‘We all get mad; just that some of us are man enough not to act on it.’
When Elliot looked down at Deeks sitting on the floor like a big five-year-old, running his fingers over the growing egg on his head, Elliot had an awful feeling that Arnie was right.
‘S’alright. Nothingsbustd.’ Deeks’ voice came out slurred.
‘It’s not alright.’ Arnie stood very tall, still holding the bowl. ‘You don’t pummel your own mates when they give you a ribbing. This is very disappointing, Elliot, and I’m surprised at you.’ He turned and left the room with a straight back. ‘I’ll flush this down the loo and I’m going to bed. Goodnight.’
The boys called out goodnight and Deeks did something with his hand that was a cross between a wave and a salute. Elliot pulled him up off the floor and led him back to the table to sit down. As Elliot pulled the chair back upright he noticed Deeks shoving the pipe and the rum as far as he could to one side. ‘Do you have a pizza joint?’ Deeks asked as he stared at the congealed food.
‘Yeah, I’ll ring them.’
Deeks looked so grateful Elliot thought he was going to hug him. ‘Do it now. I’ll get some beer from my car,’ he said.
‘Hey, Deeks, sorry about, you know, tipping you up.’ Elliot scraped the pie into the rubbish and he looked over at Deeks. ‘It was dumb.’
‘We don’t usually fight, do we? I was taking the piss too hard. Forget it.’
When the pizzas arrived they fell on the slabs like wolves and it was a while before they could talk.
‘Your life’s weird, not bad weird but — something,’ Deeks said.
‘Yeah.’
‘Arnie’s okay. Does he blow his stack like that very often?’
‘No. Never.’ Elliot put a slice of pizza onto a plate and got a glass of beer. ‘I’m gunna take him this, he’ll be starved.’
Arnie was on his bed fully clothed. He’d put his teeth into the purple stuff they soaked in overnight and he was lying there, staring at the ceiling.
‘Here’s some food.’
‘Hey? What’s that?’ He seemed unable to hear or speak properly without his teeth in. He leaned over, fished the yellow denture out of the glass and slid it into his mouth with a clatter and a deft flick of his tongue. ‘Beer and pizza, eh? I’d be mad to say no.’
‘I’m sorry about tonight, I was—’
‘I know you are. It’s just that I really admire control in people.’
‘Yeah, well, I’ll try and think about that before I thump someone, next time.’
Arnie grunted his approval and propped himself up. Elliot leaned over to adjust his pillow. He’s just an old man, Elliot thought. Why do I even care what he thinks?
‘You’ve had a rough couple of days.’
Elliot nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak.
‘Go and see your friend. Let’s have a later start tomorrow, hey?’
‘Really?’
‘I’ll leave you an extra thirty minutes.’
Elliot never would have believed thirty minutes would matter, but this was a huge gesture on Arnie’s part.
Deeks was still eating like a machine when Elliot got back. ‘How was he? Pleased with your peace offering?’
‘He’s so pissed off that I hit you.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I needed a little sit on the floor.’ Deeks ran his finger through the barbecue sauce on the box before scooping it into his mouth. ‘You’ll probably wanna hit me again, but I need to tell you something.’ He glanced at Elliot in a wary way and waved his other hand. ‘Stay in your seat, right?’
Elliot nodded and tried to swallow the pizza but it wouldn’t go down.
‘Lena’s knocked-up.’
‘Yeah, I heard. Poor old Sonny, huh?’
‘She’s saying it’s yours.’
‘I know. She wrote me a note. Of course it’s not.’
‘Are you sure?’
Elliot didn’t answer. His heart had leapt into his throat and lodged there, thumping, choking him. He pushed the food away. Deeks was staring at him. He asked, ‘You’ve been sleeping with her for ages, right?’
‘Not ages. Just once.’ He paused and then said, ‘New Year’s.’
‘What?’ Deeks leaned forward over the pizza box. ‘That’s not good value for all the hours you put in. You’ve been had.’
‘I reckon.’
‘You did it once?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And now she’s
pregnant?’ Deeks shook his head. ‘Sucks to be you.’
Elliot nodded. He folded the cap of his beer bottle in half and let the jagged metal teeth bite his fingers.
‘Did you miss the health section on protection?’ Deeks pulled his hoodie up and peered over at Elliot. ‘You wouldn’t go out in the rain and get wet, would you, boys?’
‘Haha. We all said “yes, we would”.’ Elliot sighed. ‘I’m a stupid fucking dumb-arse, alright? I got wet.’
‘Bummer. Bloody New Year’s, huh?’ Deeks grinned. ‘You would’ve been saturated in that downpour, not just wet.’
‘Enough. It’s not funny. I’ve wrecked everything. Mum and Dad are gunna die.’
‘They will. They’ll bloody keel right over,’ Deeks agreed, nodding.
‘What’s Sonny Warren saying?’
‘Well he says it’s his. The Warrens are all thumbs-up.’
‘S’pose one more baby amongst the Warrens in Settler Crescent makes no difference.’
‘Yeah,’ Deeks said, ‘but Lena’s not happy. She keeps saying, “You tell that Elliot Barnard he’d better contact me and soon.” She said she was gunna come down and find you, so I thought I’d better hoof it here first.’
‘Cheers.’
‘At least you’re eighteen.’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’
‘Dunno. You’re a man now — job, sex, baby and all.’
‘The baby doesn’t seem real, the sex was rubbish and the work’s a holding-pen job. Gimme seventeen any day.’
It was hard getting Deeks to leave the next morning.
‘I’m telling you, Rooster, there was something in the cereal. I saw legs kicking in the milk.’
‘Who cares? People eat spiders all the time without knowing. Nine a year, I read somewhere.’ Elliot glanced across at Arnie who was sitting in the van ready to go.
‘Bullshit,’ Deeks said. ‘If everyone ate nine—’
‘On average. Someone with a vegetable garden’ll eat more than someone like you.’
‘Look, mate, it’s just that one of those cats has fur missing and the place is disgusting.’ Deeks picked autumn leaves off his windscreen as if the housekeeping on the street was shabby, too.
‘You’re overreacting.’
‘You drink straight rum like the alkies in the park and I hate to imagine what his safety standards at work are like.’
‘Haha. They are a bit old-fashioned. Now unlock your boot, I’ll chuck your stuff in.’ The late start was a luxury but it would be a later finish now.
‘What’ll I say to Lena?’
‘Nothing. I don’t want her down here.’
‘Come on, Rooster, you can’t hide. I’m having a party for my eighteenth; you have to be there.’
‘Shit. June, that’s miles away.’ But Elliot knew it was hideously close.
‘Hey.’ Deeks gunned the engine and held out his fist to Elliot. They touched knuckles.
‘Thanks for coming here, mate.’
Arnie and Elliot pulled into the warehouse to drop the work books off with Dorice. She met them at the door and separated the two of them like a farmer herding sheep. ‘Go on through to my office, Arnie — I’ll be there in a minute. Now you, Elliot,’ and steered him towards the tearoom, ‘take this cup, give it a rinse and make some coffees. Off you go.’
Elliot wanted to shake her hand off him, but Dorice followed and whispered, ‘Zeya’s in there waiting for her father.’
Quickly he flattened his hair, composed his face and took on a casual saunter. Elliot pushed the door open to see Zeya, alone in the room, bent over a pile of books at the main table.
‘Oh, what? I mean, hello.’ She stood up as if she’d been caught going through the company books. ‘I’m just doing my homework; Father needs a ride home. What are you doing?’
‘I’ve been promoted to coffee duty, so I’m trying to remember how many sugars and who takes milk.’
‘Congratulations.’ She relaxed a little and managed a smile. ‘You’ve got a big future.’
If only you knew. ‘Yeah. Plenty of directors started out on the tea-run.’
‘Well, actually, Father did. Not that this is a huge business, but that’s how he started.’
Elliot was thinking who the hell says ‘Father’? ‘Very impressive. So where is Father now?’
‘He’s just gone to meet a client; he said he’d only be ten minutes more.’
‘Well, since I’m on coffee duty, I could make you one?’ Elliot opened some cupboards to search for clean cups.
‘In the dishwasher,’ said Zeya, and she came over, switched on the zip and found four clean mugs — three red and a blue one. She set them out on the bench and then hunted through the cupboards until she found another red cup to replace the blue one. ‘I’m superstitious,’ she explained. ‘That blue cup didn’t feel right.’
‘What would’ve happened to the blue drinker?’
‘It had bad karma.’ She looked defensive. ‘It’s a cultural thing. I know you’re thinking I’m weird.’
‘No, I’m not thinking that, but I could use some good luck. Is blue out every day? Is it just coffee cups?’
‘It wasn’t the colour; it was a feeling.’ She put the blue cup away and looked at Elliot over her shoulder. ‘Why do you need good luck? Is something the matter?’
‘Nothing. Life chucks a few mean balls, doesn’t it? Everyone gets that.’ Elliot spooned sugar into the coffees Zeya had made. Her frank gaze made him gabble on a bit. ‘I think some guys get all the luck. My younger brother, Rick, seems to swan through life with most things going his way — it gets me down sometimes.’
‘His luck won’t be at your expense; there’s enough for you both. Is there anything in particular?’
‘No.’ She’s taking this way too seriously. ‘I shouldn’t have mentioned it.’
Zeya put three cups on a tray and carried her own drink to the table. ‘I hope blessings fall on you soon.’ She smiled.
‘You too.’ Elliot felt frantic. He’d wasted time talking drivel and now he was dismissed. He picked up the tray and then put it down again. ‘I could see you again if you like — before the formal dinner. How about this weekend?’
Zeya shook her head as if she was dealing with a difficult child.
‘Okay then, I’ll leave you to it.’
He was heading towards the door when Zeya said, ‘I suppose I could.’ He stopped and turned around. Then she said, ‘What are you doing this Sunday?’
‘Nothing. I never do anything.’
‘Do you want to go to a concert?’
Relief flooded through him. ‘Yeah. Great. Who’s playing?’
‘The symphony orchestra.’
‘Haha. No.’ She can’t be serious. ‘Really?’ He came back and rested the tray on the table.
‘Yes.’ She held up her small elegant hand. ‘Don’t judge till you’ve heard them. It’s a special concert with a guest soloist and they’re playing the Dvořák.’
‘The what?’
‘Dvořák. He was a Czechoslovakian composer who was stuck in America and homesick and lovesick, and he wrote one of the greatest cello concertos of all time. I’m going anyway,’ Zeya said in an unconcerned way. ‘I knew it wouldn’t be your thing.’
‘It is,’ Elliot said. ‘Czechoslovakian composers are my favourite.’ He wondered how many guys would have to go from punk to classical to get a date. ‘Shall I pick you up on Sunday? What time?’
‘I’ll meet you there. One-thirty at the Town Hall.’
‘One-thirty?’
‘It’s a matinee.’
Christ almighty, this is something else. ‘I’ll be standing by the ticket booth then.’ He picked the tray back up. It felt lighter.
‘Thank you, Elliot. I’ll look forward to it.’
‘My pleasure. The red cup has brought me luck already,’ he said, nodding at one of them while they all slid precariously to one side.
Arnie kept switching the radio in the van ove
r to the concert programme that week to get Elliot used to classical music. ‘Those concerts go on a long time,’ he said. ‘One piece can drag on for an hour.’ He let out some horrible farts, too, so that Elliot would be prepared. ‘Lots of old people go to sleep in the recitals. The music relaxes them and they let nasty ones slip.’
Dorice rang Elliot to say she’d found an old LP of the Dvořák if Elliot would like to come and listen to it one night.
‘No thanks, Dorice, I can play it on my laptop.’
‘Well, make sure you do. It will be far better if you’ve listened to it first.’
Dorice also wanted to make sure he understood that he must never clap between movements. She obviously had a different definition of movements to Elliot, and he hung up not much wiser. He couldn’t help thinking, as he cleared the dinner plates that evening, of the many disadvantages in having two elderly people involved in his life.
Sunday was a beautiful but cool autumn day and he escaped Arnie’s early so he could wander along the waterfront and be with normal people. He bought hot chips and sat in a sheltered, sunny nook, to watch the city stroll by until one-thirty.
Zeya was noticeable amongst the drab colours of the rugged-up people in the entranceway. She wore a red Chinese-style top over tight jeans and black boots. With her hair up high in a sort of pile, Elliot reckoned she looked sophisticated and interesting.
She was studying a poster of a man wearing tails and holding what Elliot knew, by then, was a cello. A bespectacled middle-aged man stood on the far side of Zeya, openly studying her.
He gave the guy a ‘piss off’ look before he stood in front and blocked him out.
‘You made it,’ she said. ‘I hope you enjoy this concert, although I’m sure it’s not your idea of fun.’
‘It might be. I won’t know until I try.’
Zeya reached down and squeezed his hand. ‘Good on you.’
It was worth it already.
The concert was long and the seats were narrowly spaced so that Elliot got cramp in his hamstrings. His rustling bag of sweets earned him a scowl from a woman in front, but otherwise it was bearable, enjoyable even.
Coming Home to Roost Page 6
