by Scot Gardner
‘You right?’ she asked.
‘Sorry,’ I said.
‘What for?’
I put my hands on my knees and let the night air and the traffic noises clear the storm damage in my head.
I felt her warm hand on my back.
Julian padded beside me and bent to look at my face. ‘What the hell was that? We thought you’d be relieved.’
‘I am. Thanks. Heaps. I . . . I don’t know . . .’
Traffic droned in the silence.
‘Riiight,’ Julian said. ‘If you tell me, “It’s complicated,” I swear I’ll slap you down.’
I straightened, the storm beginning to ease.
Nishi rubbed circles on my back and they both stared.
‘I think I just officially freaked out,’ I said, and they laughed.
Nishi’s hand fell away and Julian ushered me inside.
I wiped my face on my sleeve and upended my pack on the bed, letting the relief properly take hold. My stove, my sleeping bag and mat, my can-opener, an unopened litre of UHT milk and the rest. I could hear Nishi and Julian arguing under their breath in the other room. I repacked my gear. With the final zip shut I shouldered the bag.
‘Where you off to?’ Julian asked.
‘Not sure yet. I’ve got a few places to check out.’
‘Put your pack down.’
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll . . . I’ll hit the road.’
‘Now.’
A hint of a smile hung on his lips. I let the pack slide along my arm and onto the floor.
‘Nishi and me think you should stay here. Just for a while.’
‘Trial period,’ Nishi added.
‘Until you get sorted. This is your room, okay? Your bed.’
The curtain hung by three hooks, the carpet and the walls were stained and it smelled like socks, but to me it was the penthouse suite. ‘It’s too much,’ I said.
‘It’s nothing.’
‘I don’t want to invade your space. Cramp your style. I can’t—’
‘Don’t worry, you won’t cramp anything.’
Nishi snorted behind him.
‘I can pay rent,’ I said.
‘Give it to Mum,’ he said. ‘Whatever.’
In the long silence that followed I understood that some part of me had felt the softness of the bed and already said yes.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘Good,’ Julian said. ‘Now sleep.’
He closed the door.
I didn’t brush my teeth. I didn’t pee. I rolled my pack to the floor and fell onto the bed.
SHARE
I WOKE LATE morning. I’d slept in my work clothes and dribbled inelegantly on the pillow. I stumbled to the bathroom next door and peed about twelve litres. I peed until I felt lightheaded.
In the front room, Julian and Nishi were a tangle of limbs mostly hidden by a light-blue sheet. Nishi hadn’t bothered with pyjamas.
I collected my work backpack and, through force of habit, jogged to the gym for a workout. It was a different place at ten-thirty on a Saturday. Aerobics classes competed with a pool full of kids for the Noisiest Ensemble award. There was a queue for the rowing machine, so I cycled until I sweated then retreated to find another queue for the showers.
‘I thought you’d done a runner,’ Julian said, by way of greeting when I got back. He sat beneath the clothesline and squinted against the sun.
‘Went to the gym,’ I said.
He rubbed his temples. ‘You’re keen. Sleep okay?’
‘Like a slab of marble.’
Julian sniffed the air as he stood. ‘Bacon. Come on.’
He led me to the kitchen in the main house where Nishi and Mandy were preparing a feast.
‘Hope you’re hungry,’ Mandy said.
‘Could eat the sweat off a porn star’s back,’ Julian said.
‘Ohhh, disgusting!’ Nishi squeaked, then shivered.
‘Hungry, Will?’ Mandy asked.
‘Famished.’
‘Now Jules doesn’t like mushroom—’
Julian gagged. ‘Tastes like pimple pus with the texture of someone else’s snot.’
‘Jules!’ Nishi said. ‘No need to let us know everything you’re thinking.’
‘Oh right, so you’re the thought police now. When did we get married?’
Nishi laughed. ‘Just shut your hole!’
Julian zipped his lips.
‘Would you like mushroom, Will?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Beans?’ Nishi asked.
‘Please,’ I said.
‘Tomatoes?’ Mandy said.
‘That would be excellent, thank you.’
‘Bacon?’
‘For shit’s sake, just give him one with the lot!’ Julian screeched.
‘But he has such lovely manners,’ Mandy said.
‘Oh god, yes! Doesn’t he?’ Nishi added. ‘He’s such a gentleman.’
Duane appeared from the lounge with Booboo in his arms. His bed-hair verged on Afro. The dog spotted me, stiffened and growled.
‘What about you, love?’ Mandy asked. ‘You want some tomato?’
‘Was it cooked in the same pan as the pig?’
‘Yes, but opposite sides. I made sure there was no cross-contamination.’
‘No. Thank. You,’ he said, and headed back to the lounge, dog snarling.
Jules grumbled.
Mandy hissed at him, but seeing them together in the daylight left me puzzling about how they could be brothers. Julian was muscular, tattooed, tanned and bombastic. Duane was skinny, pale and sullen. Maybe Julian was right – perhaps the manga had taken its toll.
With the plates loaded, Nishi and Mandy headed for the lounge. Julian tugged my sleeve and motioned to eat outside. We hit the camp chairs under the clothesline and ate with the plates on our knees.
The sun threatened to fry us like tomatoes.
‘I love it hot,’ Julian said.
‘You’ve mentioned that once or twice.’
‘Yeah, well, I do.’
‘So you say.’
‘Don’t you start with the thought-police shit or you’ll be out on the streets, my boy.’
I nodded subserviently and we both laughed.
We ate in silence until the plates were clean and our stomachs full.
Julian burped like a proud Westie, grinned and kicked back in the camp chair.
He shot upright again and fished in his pocket. ‘A mystery for you,’ he said.
He took out a watch and placed it in my palm before snatching it away again, but not before I’d recognised the weight of it.
‘I saw your watch tan and I couldn’t work out how you had the tan but no watch, then I found this beast while I was collecting your gear.’
‘Yeah, I don’t wear it much these days.’
‘I can see why. How does a trolley boy end up with a real Rolex Submariner worth what . . . ten grand?’
‘It was a present,’ I said.
‘Right. From your dad who works offshore?’
‘Correct.’
He sat forward and looked into my eyes. ‘How come you don’t live with him?’
I shrugged. ‘I’ve never really lived with him. I know Duane better than my own father.’
‘Were your parents separated?’
‘No. I’ve been boarding at St Alphaeus since kindergarten.’
‘Since kinder? You moved out of home when you were five?’
I nodded. ‘When Mum got ill.’
‘Kinder? That’s just wrong.’
‘I didn’t mind. I missed my sister but coming home for the holidays always felt a bit strange. I couldn’t wait to get back to school.’
‘That is wrong. They’ve damaged your head.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘So when you left school, you became homeless.’
‘Essentially.’
He handed me the watch.
‘Keep it,’ I said.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ he s
coffed. ‘It’s worth ten times as much as everything I own.’
I stood and collected his plate. ‘Wear it.’
‘What, and look totally gangsta?’
‘As a reminder of utilitarian beauty.’
‘Of what?’
I headed for the kitchen. ‘Of how some things that are practical can also be good to look at.’
‘Are you sure you’re not gay?’
‘Quite sure.’
The blinds were still drawn in the lounge and footballers were warming up on TV. I washed the plates and sat them in the draining rack. I dried my hands on the tea towel.
‘That was magnificent, thank you,’ I said, and the dog growled.
‘See what I mean?’ Mandy said to Nishi.
‘Utterly charming,’ Nishi replied.
‘Sorry?’
‘Nothing,’ Mandy said. ‘You are most welcome.’
Julian appeared beside me. ‘Ask me what time it is,’ he whispered.
‘What time is it, Julian?’
He dragged the watch – now on his wrist – up to his face with a flourish and burst out laughing. ‘I don’t know! I can’t read a watch with hands.’
‘Serious?’
‘True.’
‘Well, there’s a chance to develop a new skill.’
‘What are you going on about?’ Nishi asked.
‘Nothing,’ Julian and I chorused.
A player on the screen was taking off his jumper.
‘Phwoarrr,’ Mandy said. ‘Do you think those abs are painted on, Nish?’
‘No, they’re the real deal.’
‘Thought so,’ Mandy said. ‘Duane, be a darling and freeze that with the remote next time.’
Duane passed her the remote. ‘Freeze it yourself, sicko.’
The camera zoomed in.
‘I can’t find the button! Which button? Quick!’
The show broke to a news bulletin.
‘Awwww, now look what you’ve done!’ Mandy said, and dropped the remote on Duane’s lap.
More political unrest in Darfur, the anchorwoman said. And unrest on the home front, too, as sporting legend and commentator, Ian Gale, finally faced the cameras and answered questions about his latest teenaged girlfriend. They showed a photo of a smiling girl in a bikini. They played some shaky phone footage of them getting into a black car together.
‘Good luck to him,’ Julian said. ‘She’s hot.’
Nishi crossed her arms. ‘You think so?’
‘Yeah, for sure. I’d bang her.’
‘You said that out loud, Julian,’ Mandy said.
‘What? She’s hot.’
Nishi’s fine eyebrows crawled up her forehead.
‘Smoking hot,’ he said. ‘But not as hot as some, hey Nish?’
‘Erghhh,’ Duane groaned. ‘Get a room. Preferably in another country.’
Julian opened his mouth to reply, but his mother slapped him on the thigh.
Duane stomped into his room carrying a growling Booboo, and slammed the door.
Mandy sighed. ‘I don’t know about her, but Ian Gale’s certainly hot. Reminds me of George Clooney.’
Nishi moaned in agreement.
Julian dropped into the chair his brother had vacated.
Nishi squirrelled up closer to Mandy and patted the seat beside her, inviting me to sit.
I sat.
‘Tell me a story, Will,’ Nishi said. ‘Jules said you were living under the bowling alley.’
‘I thought he was joking,’ Mandy said.
‘There’s not much to tell, really,’ I said. ‘I dropped out of school—’
‘St Alphaeus,’ Julian added.
Mandy shushed him. ‘And you couldn’t go home?’ ‘Wasn’t really an option,’ I said.
The TV chattered. I felt their eyes on me as I stared at the carpet.
‘Well, you and your impeccable manners are welcome here anytime,’ Mandy said.
‘Thank you.’
Julian’s phone buzzed and he fished it from his pocket to read a text message.
‘Don’t get too comfortable, Will,’ he said. ‘We’re off.’
He kissed Nishi and his mother noisily, then grabbed the front of my shirt and hoisted me from the chair.
‘Time to meet the old man.’
FATHER
WE WERE ON the train.
‘Why would I want to meet your father?’
‘Why not? You’ll like him.’
‘I don’t know. Surely if you’ve met one father, you’ve met them all.’
Julian scoffed. ‘Maybe on planet Alfie.’
We alighted at Treedale, walked six blocks and stopped outside some brick units. They were newish and tidy – nothing like the house and bungalow in West Tennant. Julian rang the bell at flat five and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He grinned at me.
‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ he said, but I felt I’d missed a joke.
The inner door rattled, and then opened.
‘Heyyy,’ came the voice inside the security door, all gravelly and warm.
Julian bounced from foot to foot like a little kid. When the security door finally swung open, he was through it in a flash. My first view of Julian’s old man was a look of bliss on his weathered face, eyes closed, as he hugged his son hard and long.
I took a step back and admired the guttering.
‘Dad, this is my mate Will. Will, this is my old man, Sandy.’
Sandy came out to greet me and we shook hands. Sandy who used to be married to Mandy. I’d remember that. He was taller than his son by a good twenty centimetres. He had Julian’s hazel eyes. And the same neat teeth, flashing in a likeable smile.
‘Good to meet you, Will.’
‘Same,’ I said, and held his gaze.
‘No Nishi?’ Sandy asked.
‘Watching the footy with Mum.’
Sandy rolled his eyes. ‘Sure they’re not related?’
‘Possible.’
‘Coming in?’ Sandy asked me.
‘Thanks,’ I said, and I followed him, but I felt like scrabbling across the driveway and over the neighbour’s fence. Something about their chemistry made me squirm.
‘Drink?’ he asked.
‘Beer,’ Julian said.
‘Coke,’ Sandy said.
Julian moaned. ‘You’re no fun.’
‘There’ll be plenty of time for beer when you’re older, love.’
Love?
If there were an opposite of the front room in Julian’s bungalow, it was here. The cream leather settee, the timber wall unit, the mini-chandelier. And no TV, crooked or otherwise.
The leather sighed as we sat. Sandy disappeared into the kitchen.
‘Told you,’ Julian whispered.
‘What?’
‘I knew you’d like him.’
It was early days. ‘He’s pretty full on.’
‘How?’
‘You haven’t seen each other for a while?’
‘We went out for dinner on Thursday.’
My eyes widened.
‘What?’ Julian said, his brow furrowed. ‘You don’t hug your old man?’
‘Not in living memory.’
Sandy returned with a pair of genuine green Coke glasses filled to the brim with Coke and ice.
‘You play cards, Will?’
‘He’s an Alfie, Dad, of course he plays cards.’
‘You go to St Alphaeus?’
‘Used to,’ Julian answered.
‘I work at Milton’s with Julian,’ I said.
‘Who’s Julian?’ Sandy asked. ‘Oh, you mean the family Jules.’
‘The same.’
Sandy laughed. ‘Texas hold ’em?’
‘I’m familiar with the game, yes,’ I said.
Sandy raised an eyebrow and looked at his son. ‘He’s familiar with the game.’
Julian rubbed his hands together. ‘I think we might have to hand the old Alfie boy his arse.’
From the timber wall u
nit Sandy collected a large square of blue felt and an aluminium briefcase full of casino-style chips. Julian peeled the plastic from a new pack of cards and I knew these guys meant business.
For once, though, Julian’s disparaging remarks about my former house of education were accurate. Being a boarder at St Alphaeus meant I had played cards more than once a week since I was about six years old. Snap and Go Fish in the beginning, and for the last five years, no-limit Texas hold ’em poker. Even playing Snap in my first years as a boarder, I didn’t play for the sake of filling time. There’d been bruises and tears, but they’d rarely been mine.
First hand, I paid the big blind and folded before the flop with a two and a six. Second hand, I paid the little blind and folded on the turn with a pair of twos, one of which was in the flop.
When it was my turn to deal, the cards finally fell in my favour and I kicked off with a pair of aces. I teased a swag of chips out of Julian and Sandy before another ace hit the table on fourth street. Julian went all in. Sandy bowed out. The fourth ace turned up in the river and I matched Julian’s bet. His full house – kings and queens – was worth going all in for, but four aces buries that full house like the ash on Pompeii.
I’d come a long way since the bruises and tears playing Snap. Winning with grace, class and dignity is the hallmark of a gentleman.
‘Sorry, old chap,’ I said. ‘Looks as though I’ve accidentally won. Seen your arse lying around anywhere?’
Sandy threw his head back and laughed at an indecent volume.
In the final hand, all my little spades laid out in a row toppled Sandy’s three jacks.
Fifteen minutes and I’d remembered the flavour of winning.
Julian was reluctant to play again.
‘I tell you what, Jules. How about we pay Mick a visit? We may yet have the chance for revenge.’
Julian’s eyes lit up. ‘Top idea, Dad.’
‘Mick?’
At the back of the Treedale industrial estate we entered Mick’s Shed – an indoor go-kart racing venue.
Sandy shouted his greetings and shook hands with the large and friendly-looking Mick. Karts careened around the track and the place tasted like action – all badly treated rubber and exhaust.
‘Do you come here often?’ I asked.
‘Are you trying to pick me up?’ Julian shouted.
I shouldered him and he stumbled along the barricade with a smile on his lips.
He righted himself and shrugged. ‘Been here a few times. You?’
