The woman is at my feet. Her back arches as she chucks again. I shuffle back from her as far as I can. She tries to push chunks of spew into the drain.
'Are you right? Do you need me to hold your hair back?' asks a dark-haired lady.
'Pooey!' says the woman behind her, waving her hand in front of her nose. 'You can smell it, eh?'
I put my old chloriney shirt back on and take Dad's shirt to the sink. I rinse it as much as I can, and then I hang it up on the shower rail. I don't think anyone is going to steal it. I wash my face and my arms up to the elbows. Running my tongue over my teeth, I realise that I haven't brushed my teeth for two days. How disgusting.
The loo flushes and a woman comes out. After she washes her hands she looks around for a towel, sees Dad's shirt and dries her hands on it.
Fabulous.
When I get back to our room Will is on his own. He's picked the bottom bunk. He's on his back with his hands under his head.
'Don't get under the covers. I did a minute ago, but I got itchy. I think there might be lice,' he warns me.
It gets better and better. I climb up to the top bunk and lie on top of the covers. We can hear the blokes outside the door. I pick out one voice among the hubbub. He's right outside the door. It might be the Hey Ho man.
'You're such a good mate to me, and I never say this, right? I mean, we could all die tomorrow, right? I never tell you that you are such a good mate. I love you, man. No, truly.'
'They've been going on like that for the last five minutes,' Will tells me.
We listen to them in silence. Then Will says, 'Did you throw up?'
'No.'
I think again about Tanner Hamrick-Gough and her yacht club. She always used to say that she was going to borrow her sister's ID and go out clubbing. I thought it sounded cool, but now I wonder if it's just drunk blokes talking crap, lining up for the toilet for ages and then having people vomit everywhere. Why would you want to do that?
I close my eyes. I can almost feel the tiny little insects crawling on my skin. I'm itchy but it could be my imagination. It could just be the chlorine, or the spew. My teeth are furry, I need to pee and I'm getting hungry again.
When I used to get nervous before an exam, or when those Finsbury girls were being horrible and I was having trouble sleeping, I used to imagine yellow flowers bobbing in the sunlight. That's what I'm doing now. Sunflowers, daisies, daffodils. Bright yellow. Bobbing in a breeze. Blue sky. I can feel the gentle paralysis of sleep washing over me.
And then the French doors fling open. They bang as they hit the walls and I sit up so fast my head spins. The Hey Ho man sprawls across the floor. I mustn't have locked the door properly. Hey Ho has leaned on it, and it's given way.
'Christ on a bike!' he shouts. 'I fell right through the bastard!' He turns to see us staring at him. 'Sorry, man,' he says in a stage whisper. Hey Ho's on his knees, but he's still holding onto his beer, which is slopping on the carpet. 'Sorry!' He pauses to take a slurp. 'It's still good.' He heads back to the verandah on unsteady feet.
Will shuts the door behind him. He shoots the bolt home and shakes the handle to make sure it's fastened. He lies down again and we listen to Hey Ho recounting his adventure to his mates. 'Straight through the bastard! Didn't spill me beer, though.' Laughter.
I fall asleep.
When I stir, it's not the sound of drinkers, but a rattling snore from the next room. Someone, I'm guessing an old man, is drawing his breath in three parts – eck, eck, eck. There's a long pause, and then he lets it out in one long whistling phew!
It's driving me mad. I put the pillow over my head, but I'm still listening through the fabric. I wish he would just shut up.
Then it does stop. Eck, eck, eck . . . Nothing. I wait for ages. Thank God!
I close my eyes again. The next time I wake up it's to softer voices. Bryce Cole is in the doorway. A shaft of light crosses his face, leaving half in shadow. There's a woman with him, but it's not my mum. I look across and see Mum asleep in the top bunk opposite.
The woman is squinting into the gloom. Her skirt is too short and her heels are too high. She trips a little and giggles into his shoulder. 'Oh look! There are children in here. I thought you were joking. Let's go back downstairs.' She takes his hand.
'The bar's closed,' he whispers. 'I've got to get some sleep.'
'The Railway Hotel will still be open. We've got at least an hour.'
Bryce Cole extracts his hand from hers. 'Maybe some other time.'
'C'mon. Just one drink. It'll be fun!'
He hesitates.
'It's just at the end of the block. I'm buying.' She takes his hand again and he steps out of the doorway. The door shuts quietly behind them. I hear the woman giggle again as they head down the corridor.
I hate the Plough and Peanut. I hate that old man next door. I hate the tarty woman and I hate Bryce Cole.
22
ROMANCE
ME
It must be some poor bugger's job to clean the bathrooms because in the morning it's orderly and stinks of bleach. There's no little bar of soap in a cardboard box like you get at a hotel, so I jump out of the shower halfway through and nick a handful from the dispenser over the sink. Willem must have done the same thing in the men's, because when I sit next to him at the table downstairs afterwards I notice that he smells like toilet cleaner too.
We have a big fry-up breakfast in the saloon. There are three bain-maries along the bar and one of those toaster machines with the conveyer belt. It's all greasy, the cold eggs float in a mysterious grey liquid, and I don't know how fresh their oil is, but the bacon is good.
The barman turns on the racing channel. He's literally hosing down the floor behind the bar. Bryce Cole is staring at the screen, watching the racing from overseas that was on overnight, so it's just race after race after race, with no lead-up or talking or anything. In the ad break Bryce Cole takes the race guide out of the paper.
It rattles as he flicks it, making the page stand up straight. Then suddenly he holds it up close to his nose, frowning. He puts the paper down on the table.
'Romance Me is running today,' he begins.
Will helps himself to another serve. I'm quite worried about how many baked beans he's having. He's chanting 'protein for my body' in an Arnold Schwarzenegger accent. It's ten o'clock already. I'm not sure what we're doing for the rest of the day, but I make a mental note not to sit next to Will.
Bryce Cole continues. 'The sire was a colt named New Romance – this must have been about six, maybe seven years ago now. Sensational animal. Incredible breeding. He sold for a record amount as a yearling at the Magic Millions. Everyone was watching him. Then he falls in his first race and fractures his shoulder. Tragic! So the owner rests him for twelve months. Complete rest. Hand-walked every day, bathed in milk and rose petals, the whole bit. Then after a year he's declared fit to serve. He covers his first mare. The fracture's not healed. He dies on the job. Can you believe it?' Bryce Cole shakes his head. 'Everyone's in uproar. But!' Bryce Cole holds up his finger. 'The mare's in foal.' He taps the race guide. 'This is the filly. Romance Me. Started slowly. They didn't even barrier trial her until she was three. Everyone's forgotten about the whole thing, but this is it! This is the big one.'
I shake my head. They're all 'the big one', aren't they? I turn to Will to roll my eyes, but he's standing there, silent, with his plate of prrrotein for hiss bardy and he's buying it!
'How much money do you have left, Mum?' Will asks.
She's rifling through her wallet. 'A little over four hundred. You really think it will win?'
'I've been waiting for this horse for seven years!' Bryce Cole says, his eyes alight.
'And how much would we get if we put the whole lot on?' Will asks.
Bryce Cole scratches his chin. 'Let me see . . . times by . . . hmm – six thousand four hundred.'
'Okay. And how much will we get if this horse loses?' I ask. 'Zero. Zilch. Doughnut.'
; The cleaning man saunters in. He has a rag over his shoulder, an apron with a bottle of Ajax poking out the top of the pocket and he's rubbing his hands with a Chux. He's a million years old and bow-legged.
'We got oursells a dead-un,' he tells the barman in a drawl.
I dig Will in the ribs. 'Did you hear that?' I whisper. 'Did he say a dead-un? He said a dead-un! Oh my God! It's the eck, eck, eck man!'
I can't believe I actually heard someone die.
I saw a dead person once on the side of the road. There had been an accident, and there was a body on an ambulance gurney all wrapped up in a white sheet. We were all in the car together – our whole family – and nobody said anything. Mum was driving. She had to concentrate, because they'd set out witches' hats and three lanes were all merging into one.
If Tanner and Sapph were here they'd want to hold a seance. They were so big on supernatural stuff. Sapph was in love with John Edward, even though when he talks it looks as though somebody else's lips have been superimposed on his face.
'Six thousand?' Mum repeats. She starts flipping notes onto the table.
'What shall we do in the meantime?' Bryce Cole glances towards the poker machines in the corner.
'No way!' I say, standing up. 'Did you hear what he said? Somebody died. I can't stay here!'
'We can go to the park,' Bryce Cole suggests.
Around the corner there is a park next to the railway line. It has massive palm trees in a row and a cement path winding through the middle. A few of those dirty, grey birds with the long beaks slouch around the bin. Bryce Cole lays out overlapping sheets of his newspaper on the ground and we sit on them as though it's a picnic rug. Mum has her legs curled up under her. She lifts up her face to drink in the sun and she has a little smile on her face as if she's on some beach holiday. Bryce Cole lies down. He interlinks his fingers over his chest and dozes.
To pass the time I send texts to Declan, explaining how somebody died and we left the scene, which will look suspicious, and now we're waiting in the park till it's time to spend our very last money in one go on a stupid horse, and when we get back to the pub all the CSI guys will be there, and we'll be taken away for questioning.
Come over, he texts.
Yeah, right, how am I going to do that? Walk?
Remembering my domino theory from last night, I ask Declan if he's talked to his mum yet. That will work even better! If Declan tells her about the affair, she can run screaming from the house, and then after my mum loses all our money we can go over there to stay, and I won't even be the messenger. Not that Declan's mother can have a much lower opinion of me. Assuming we don't get arrested for killing the old man.
Declan hasn't talked to her. That's too bad.
I watch Bryce Cole lying there on the newspaper. I wonder what will happen to him after this is over, because he's not coming with us to our new life. I can't see Declan's dad wanting Bryce Cole around. Besides, there is no way Mum would be friends with him if she wasn't desperate. He's like the friend you make when you're on holidays and never see again. He's the girl you sit next to when you picked a dumb elective class. He's the opposite of a fair-weather friend. He's a cyclone-weather friend.
Half an hour before the race we go back to the Plough and Peanut. There are no CSI guys. Mum lays out all her fifties on the table. I'm relieved to see the corners of a red and a blue note still in her wallet as she slips it back into her handbag.
Bryce Cole places the bet with the barman. Then we wait. Mum orders a glass of wine. Everyone's staring at the television. The car keys are in the middle of the table. I place my hand over them.
A guy in an ambulance uniform comes in the front door of the pub with a gurney. He's here to pick up the body.
'Oh my God, he's going to bring a dead body right through here!' I say. 'A dead body!'
I assume that it will be wrapped up like the body on the side of the road. I kind of hope that it isn't, because I want to see it. I tell myself that I want to pay my respects, given that I was probably the last person who ever had a thought about Eck Eck Man, even if it was a mean thought, but really I'm just a busybody. Also, I want to tell Declan that I saw the dead body, and I know he'll ask very detailed questions.
As the guy pulls the gurney up the stairs it makes a clinking, rattling noise. I lean back on my stool, but I can't see it.
'Shh! Here we go,' Bryce Cole says. The barman turns up the volume. They're pushing the horses into the starting gates. Mum wriggles on her stool. Her eyes are glittery.
On the television the starting gates swing open and the horses bound out.
'Away. Chan Caesar out quickly, Suziewantsa Grey up near the fence, then Go Bravo, Romance Me getting in behind them, Chinchilli Tilly, Bikabunda, Miss Linky and here comes Furious George as they settle in. Romance Me tucks into the rail.'
'Go, you bastard!' Bryce Cole shouts.
'Run!' shouts Mum.
I wrap my fingers around the keys and slide them into my lap. Nobody notices.
'They come around the turn, Bikabunda down the outside, Suziewantsa Grey has broken through, Furious George stays with him. Romance Me forced wide. Then Bikabunda, Go Bravo, and Chan Caesar drops to the tail of the field. Romance Me leaps forward and takes the lead.'
'Run!' Mum has her fists bunched up as if she's a boxer.
I stand up and edge towards the door, pushing it open.
'Across the back of the course they go. Romance Me two lengths ahead but Furious George is catching her. Then Suziewantsa Grey. Bikabunda, Go Bravo presses on, goes around the outside, Romance Me still leads but Suziewantsa Grey is . . .'
The door swings closed behind me. I jog to the car park. There's an ambulance in the driveway but I'm sure I can squeeze past it.
In the car my heart is hammering in my chest. I practise the stop and go pedals before I start the car. I turn the key and sit there for a moment chanting inside my head. Right go. Left stop.
It's easy. I can do this. I did it before. I probably drove further before.
Will opens the passenger door, startling me. 'Where are you going?'
I haven't had a chance to tell him about Mum and Declan's dad. I quickly fill him in.
'Shit!' he says. 'What did she say?'
'She didn't say anything.'
'So it might not be true.'
'Are you coming or not?'
Will slides into the passenger seat and slams the door.
'Don't you think it makes sense? You know, the whole car-pooling thing? How they were always home late?' I ask Will.
I haven't had a chance to be mad about that yet, but I am now. Before we were even povvos Mum stopped cooking for us – or at least collecting our takeaway orders. As far as I'm concerned, feeding your children really is the least you can do for them. Telling them that their hair is shiny and that they have a pleasant singing voice doesn't really make up for that.
Will sets his jaw. He wants the dad of Mum's baby to be our dad. He wants everything to go back to the way it was before.
I put the car into reverse.
'Don't you think I should be driving?' Will says.
Girl Next Door Page 15
