by JD Nixon
When we returned to my house, we were all exhausted.
“Tessie, you’re like a demon today. What’s the matter with you?” asked Romi thoughtlessly.
“I didn’t force you to come with me!” I turned on her. She flinched at my unexpected anger, which made me feel like a monster. I rubbed my face with my hands, walked over to her and hugged her tightly. “Sorry, sweetie, I didn’t mean to yell at you. I had a fight with Jake this morning,” I whispered in her ear, girl-to-girl, no one else to know.
“Oh Tessie, you two will work it out. What did you fight about?” she exclaimed in a very loud voice which the Sarge was sure to hear. Now I wanted to strangle her even more. She obviously didn’t understand the concept of girl-to-girl. I was going to have to have another long discussion with her. Abe was an admirable guardian, but he was nowhere near a mother figure.
But instead I plastered on my bright face and offered to make them breakfast. They both accepted and on automatic, I went to the kitchen to make a fruit salad and piles of toast. I had run out of eggs, which made me think of my little chooks. Which made me think of the chicken coop. Which made me think of Jake again.
I wasn’t sure if he was coming back but planned on making enough for him anyway. Romi went off for her shower while the Sarge offered to help in the kitchen. I set him to chopping fruit while I thought about the angry words Jake and I had exchanged. I couldn’t tell you if the Sarge spoke to me once then because I was totally lost in my own thoughts. Jake and I didn’t fight much and it wasn’t like him to get angry so easily. Usually he was the calm, easy-going one of the two of us. I just couldn’t work out what had made him so heated so quickly. I felt sick in my stomach with emotion and wasn’t sure if I could even eat.
When I heard Jake’s ute driving up around the back and his familiar steps walking up the ramp to the kitchen door, I abandoned my preparations, flinging my knife carelessly on the bench and ran to the back door to throw it open. He stopped in the middle of the ramp and I stood at the door. He smiled up at me.
“Tessie.”
I released my held breath and closing the door behind me, met him on the ramp where I hugged him fiercely. “I didn’t know if you were coming back, honey-boy.”
He pulled away and looked at me. “Of course I came back. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, babe. You were right, I was being stupid. Did you have a good run?”
“I worked Romi and the Sarge like slaves. They both hate me now.”
“That’s my girl.” He gave me a mischievous smile. “Guess what I’ve got in the back of my ute?”
“The chook house!”
“Just as I promised. And by the time you get home tonight, it will be ready for your girls to move in.”
“It has to be the best chicken run in the whole of Little Town, Jakey. And Big Town too,” I insisted.
He sighed patiently. “Yes, Tessie. I’ll make sure. You know how much I love Miss Chooky.”
“That’s what I’m worried about. If I left it to you to find the perfect accommodation for her, she would end up in a covered pot simmering on the stove with some onions and carrots.” He smiled, but didn’t deny it. I relented. “Okay then, come for breakfast. You must be hungry.”
“Not yet,” he said and pulled me off the ramp, jamming me up against the wall of the house and kissing me hard. We were there for a while and eventually I mustered up the willpower to push him away. “I love you, Tessie,” he said seriously, his amber eyes burning into my grey ones.
“I love you too, babe,” I said lightly, kissing him on the nose and smiling. “I’m supposed to be making breakfast now.” I rushed back to the kitchen to find the fruit salad beautifully chopped and assembled in a bowl in the fridge and the bread burnt to charred squares sitting in the toaster. “Sorry, everyone,” I said sheepishly and threw the charcoal in the bin, put more bread in the toaster, forced Romi to make tea and coffee, and asked a freshly woken and badly hungover Dad to get out the butter and spreads.
“Lots of coffee for Dad please, Romi,” I teased, kissing him on his forehead.
“Those old bastards wouldn’t go home last night,” he complained, wincing in the morning light. “They kept making me have another drink, then another and another.”
Amused, I asked, “Oh, so they forced you to drink too much, huh?” He was adamant that they had and that without their evil presence he would have retired the previous evening at a virtuously early hour, like the saintly creature that he was. I didn’t bother to smother my disrespectful snort.
Jake gobbled his breakfast, in danger of choking, not speaking to anyone, wanting to get started on the coop straight away. He asked Dad if he wanted to help, slightly hesitant. Their relationship still remained somewhat tentative, though they were growing closer every month. Although my father despised the Bycrafts, and with good cause, he had admitted to me on more than one occasion that he liked Jake personally and acknowledged that he was a good man and a loving boyfriend who made me very happy. And really, there couldn’t be a person on earth who wouldn’t grow to love Jake the more they knew him – he was just that kind of guy.
Dad agreed willingly. “Sure, Jakey. It might help take my mind off my pounding head.” Jake beamed at him with happiness.
“Poor Dad,” I sympathised and fetched a couple of paracetamol tablets for him to take with his coffee. We both knew that he shouldn’t be overindulging at this stage of his cancer, but it was fatal and I often thought, what the hell, let the poor guy have some fun while he still could.
The Sarge had been quiet all morning and took his leave then, politely offering to give Romi and her bike a lift home, an offer that of course she happily accepted. He turned to me and raised his eyebrows in question, checking if that was okay with me, and I nodded to him in agreement. I was sure Abe wouldn’t mind now that he’d spent some time with the Sarge and knew him a bit better. Personally, I had no problem with him giving Romi a lift, instinctively trusting him for some reason that I couldn’t understand because I usually found it took me a long time to start trusting people. I promised to drive the patrol car to the station, then quickly cleared up and jumped in the shower, groaning with dismay when I saw the purplish marks appearing over my torso. I hoped I would be healed by the time of the fun run.
Later, dressed in my uniform and ready to head off to work, I popped out the back to say goodbye to the two busy men. I stopped for a minute to watch them first, taking pleasure in witnessing their camaraderie and mutual respect as they worked together. Jake had never had a decent father figure in his life. I think he enjoyed time spent with Dad and was always deferential and helpful. In return, Dad had a taste of what it would have been like to have a son. He took great joy in instructing and guiding him, Jake respecting his life experience and carefully soaking up all his advice. Sometimes I thought I sensed a deep hunger in Jake for some kind of a mentor and worried in my less self-confident moments if he valued Dad’s company and opinion more than mine. Dad was possibly the first adult male in Little Town who had engaged him for any length of time in conversation without instinctively telling him to clear off simply because he was a Bycraft.
“I’m going to work now, guys. Have fun today,” I smiled, kissing Jake on the lips. “And don’t you work too hard, Dad.” I kissed him on the forehead and with a last wave, headed off to work.
Chapter 11
After parking the patrol car, I slipped around the back of the station to the lockup to feed and water my chooks. I had ten eggs, including the ones I’d set aside from the previous day and carried them carefully up to the police house. It was a relief to walk up the stairs without having to worry about Mr Sparkles’ lustful attention.
I knocked on the door and waited. The Sarge opened the door, surprised to see me again so soon, his hair still damp from his shower. He wasn’t in uniform, but wearing another expensive looking t-shirt and jeans.
“I brought you a house-warming present, Sarge,” I said, offering him the eggs. “Hav
e you eaten many fresh-laid eggs?”
“Only the ones you’ve cooked for me,” he admitted.
“They’re so much tastier than the store-bought ones, aren’t they?”
He regarded me with his dark blue eyes. “Thanks, Tess. That’s really nice of you, especially considering that I threatened to eat your chickens.”
“I knew you were just bluffing,” I lied.
“Was I? Are you sure? I do like chicken.”
“Yes,” I said, less certainly. “Anyway, I hope you enjoy them.”
“I’ll only take a couple. There’re too many for me. Take the rest of them home for your father.”
“Okay,” I agreed without arguing and pushed past him without being invited, leaving the five freshest eggs for him on the bench in the bare kitchen. With reprehensible nosiness, I looked in each room of the empty house as I departed, noting his sleeping bag on the floor of the main bedroom and his toiletries in the bathroom. “It’s so weird seeing the house without Des and Maureen’s furniture and all of her Jesus things everywhere. What time are the removalists coming?”
As I spoke we both heard the rumble of a big truck negotiating its way up the drive.
“Now?” he smiled briefly and headed out to supervise and direct.
I left him to it and went to open up the station. I usually tried to be in the office on Monday mornings to deal with things that had to be done in person, such as the few locals out on parole who had to report in on a weekly basis. Then there were people who needed various documents certified and the old-fashioned kind of folk who wanted to submit applications for things such as gun licences in person, either not trusting or not owning computers.
And then there was Young Kenny. I didn’t know how old Young Kenny actually was, but his wrinkled face, almost toothless mouth and shock of white hair made him look positively prehistoric. His long-dead father had been known as Old Kenny, so he had naturally been known as Young Kenny his entire life. He was the town’s only homeless person. He didn’t need to be homeless because his niece and her husband lived in a comfortable house on Pine Street, near Miss Greville, and were more than willing to accommodate him, but he chose to be homeless for whatever reason.
Every Monday he would come to the station and sit in the counter area for the morning until I closed up. I always made him a few cups of tea and gave him three plain sugared biscuits at morning tea time. I’d tried to give him different biscuits a few times, even some chocolate biscuits once, but he had left them on his plate untouched and shot me a reproachful glance when he shuffled away, making me feel bad for the rest of the week. So I always made sure I had his favourite kind on hand. I’d substituted home-brand sugared biscuits a few times when I was totally skint and he’d eaten them politely, but given me a sorrowful look as he left.
He never wanted anything and rarely spoke to me, but seemed content to sit on the bench for the morning, watching the comings and goings of the townsfolk. He never came any other day, but was there without fail every Monday. I didn’t mind, and it was now at the point where I would have missed him and worried about him if he didn’t turn up one Monday morning. He was quiet and didn’t disturb anyone, so there was no harm to him at all.
His only problem was that he was rather stinky. He didn’t seem to bathe much, being homeless, and was always wearing the same clothes – muddy brown pants shiny at the knees, a dirty green and white plaid shirt, and a disreputable and filthy grey overcoat that he wore constantly, even during the worst heat of summer. I usually had to open all the doors and windows of the station to air it out after he’d been visiting for the morning. When I say that, I mean the windows that would actually open, of course, which ruled out about half of them straight away.
I had barely opened the station door when Young Kenny came shuffling up the ramp, his odour preceding him.
“Morning, Young Kenny,” I said cheerfully. “It’s a lovely day today, isn’t it? Although I reckon it’s going to get real hot in an hour or so.”
He nodded at me, not making eye contact, and shuffled inside to settle himself comfortably on the wooden bench seat. I went behind the counter, locking the hatch behind me, and into the back room where I filled up the kettle and flicked it on. While the water was boiling I fired up the ancient computer sitting on the Sarge’s desk, knowing that it would take at least fifteen minutes to load. At least his still worked though – mine had given up the ghost a while ago. I didn’t know anyone who could fix it and we had no budget to buy a new one for me.
I’d have to do something humiliating like go to the primary school or the Council and ask if they had any old ones they were getting rid of that they could donate. The two computers we were currently blessed with had come from the prison, courtesy of Jake. They had been used by the prisoners for study and recreation but had been replaced with brand new shiny computers. Jake had saved them from the scrapheap for me to use, and no, the irony of that whole situation was not lost on me.
The kettle announced it was finished boiling the water with a loud ting so I made Young Kenny and myself a cup of tea each and thought about what task I should start with this morning. The mountain of paperwork on my desk was an obvious choice, but I rejected it. That was a job that needed a good quiet day to sort through, and I’d never had such a day the whole time I’d been working in Little Town.
I splashed milk into the mugs, jiggled and discarded the tea bags and carried Young Kenny’s tea out for him. I had bought him his own mug after Des had refused to drink out of any of the mugs that Young Kenny had used, complaining that he could taste Young Kenny in his tea afterwards. So the next time I was in Big Town I managed to find a brown mug that had Kenny written on it in gold letters. The glorious toothless smile that Young Kenny had given me when he saw it made me glad that I’d gone to the trouble.
This was the first cup of tea that I made him, but I also made him another one around ten-thirty or so when I gave him the biscuits. I put the mug on the counter and left it there for him, returning back to the computer. Still loading. Sighing, I rifled through the papers and was about to make a reluctant start on at least sorting them into action piles, when the counter bell rang.
Saved by the bell, I thought gratefully and went out to find one of my regular reportees patiently waiting.
“Morning, Dave,” I said.
“Morning, Officer Tess,” he said, as I reached under the counter to pull out the tattered ancient attendance book. I turned to the current page and wrote the date, time and Dave’s name down and turned it around for him to sign.
“Been behaving yourself since last week?”
“Yes, Officer Tess. I had a real quiet week. Mum’s been a bit crook.”
“Aw, that’s no good. What’s the matter with her?”
“Just her angina playing up on her again.”
I signed the book as well and jotted down a brief comment about his behaviour during the week. Of course I didn’t take his word for it that he’d been behaving, but I hadn’t heard anything to the contrary, and the townsfolk did tend to keep their eye on the parolees and the ones on probation like Dave. Someone would have told me if he’d done anything out of the ordinary. Not that Dave ever did.
He was a quiet strawberry farmer who lived with his elderly mother on a property down south near the mental health clinic. He’d been caught one afternoon by a parent with his pants down and his wanger out in the park next to the primary school. I’d immediately taken him into custody due to the seriousness of the situation and for his own safety, considering the mob of angry parents gathered who would have happily lynched him on the spot, given half the chance.
He was clearly drunk and in a tearful interview I had with him back at the station, told me that he’d been drinking in The Flying Pigs all afternoon because it was his birthday. He was walking across the park to go to his friend’s place where he was planning on crashing for the evening, when he’d been struck by a sudden need to pee. He had just finished his business behind
a tree when he’d been tackled to the ground by the vigilant mother who’d spotted his wanger from one hundred metres away.
I believed him because you couldn’t fake the level of mortification he was showing at people thinking he was some kind of kiddie pervert. He’d been charged with indecent exposure and had gone to court in Big Town, dying a thousand deaths when the local news team showed up to film his poor elderly mother entering the courthouse on the day of his hearing. Obviously the judge had believed his story too, taking into account his guilty plea and his spotless record and the testimonials from some of the leading citizens in Little Town, including Abe. He’d slapped a twelve-month probation period on Dave, with the requirement that he report in to the local police every week. Dave hadn’t missed a week and would be finished his probation in a few months. Unfortunately though, his reputation might never recover.
“Okay then, Dave. We’re all done here today. Give your mother my best wishes and I hope she’s feeling better soon.”
“Thanks, Officer Tess. And give my regards to your dad. See you next week. Bye, Young Kenny.” Young Kenny nodded farewell.
I replaced the attendance book under the counter. People like Dave made my life easy. I wished there were more like him, but unfortunately the other three current reportees we had were all on parole and were all Bycrafts. They were much more casual about turning up, even though it had a detrimental effect on them if they didn’t. In fact, I was meant to go arrest them if they failed to show. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d had to ring them or go to their houses to remind them to attend. Of course none of them ever thanked me for my effort and I really don’t know why I bothered. It was probably some deep-seated need to somehow make them a better family for Jake’s sake.
