A girl in green shorts comes zooming down the slide, her legs held up so her skin doesn’t burn on the metal.
A toddler with a mask of freckles lets go of the large spinning disc that serves as a self-propelled merry-go-round. He falls down, face-first.
I watch and smoke and think. We’re a hundred feet away from the beast of a shopping centre Abby dragged us through before directing us to the park. Thick white plastic letters shout the name Westfield above the glass doors near us.
‘This is child abuse, Abby,’ I’d said as we walked through the fluoro-lit, noisy passageways past pinball machines, record shops, shoe shops and a giant ball of a fountain with coins littering the tiled bottom. What were people wishing for here? To find a way out of the labyrinthine building without buying some hideous dress or sickly guinea pig?
Abby’s desensitised to the horror of the place. Mind you, it was a whole lot cooler in the air-conditioning than out here.
‘Can we go now?’ I call out, but she shakes her head, still pushing the swings as though it was a full-time job.
Abby had some kind of mental flip-out before we left the house. I thought I’d calmed her down, but evidently not.
‘I don’t see how I can be a lawyer now.’ She’d looked from the sink to me. ‘I shouldn’t even bother going to uni. I’m compromised.’
I shouldn’t have laughed but I did. ‘Compromised? Like a spy you mean?’
‘No, like a person who’s committed a crime that the police know about. Compromised. They could use it against me, against my clients, at any time.’
‘But they won’t, because we’re doing a quid-pro-quo thing.’ I’d thought she’d be impressed with me throwing some Latin in, or at least smile at it, but she was genuinely spooked. ‘You should do your course like you planned. You’ll be a great lawyer, probably help a bunch of people the police don’t care about. Anyway, it’s Queensland. Everyone’s compromised.’
It’s three nights till New Year’s Eve. Abby says I should go with her and Dad to the street party being organised by Lou, and that Ryan and Sal can come, too. But New Year’s in the suburbs doesn’t appeal.
Ryan and Sal have been pinging between his family in Hamilton and hers in Noosa since they flew in on Christmas morning. Which could mean he’s ready to leave by now. But just in case, I’m stockpiling stories of tedium and small-mindedness for when Ryan starts to romanticise life in Brisbane, as I promised Sal I would.
I’m glad they’ve arrived in time for New Year’s. That means we get to spend two of them together in one year. Back in March, we celebrated Balinese new year, Nyepi, the way the locals do. Apparently it’s not universally agreed that ringing in the year involves vats of alcohol and bags of dope to help you forget all the bad decisions, wrong words, wasted days of the past twelve months.
Ketut had invited us to spend Nyepi with his family at Wayan’s house. He told us to be there in the morning with plans to spend the night. That seemed like a long New Year’s event to me, but they like to celebrate. The previous three days had included statue scrubbing, exorcisms and public displays of handmade effigies – fangs and bug eyes and crazy hair – which were later destroyed in a bonfire.
Ryan, Sal and I showed up at Wayan’s in the morning to a full house. Made was there, as well as a bunch of aunts, uncles and children, and Ketut’s sister, who always regards me with the disdain owed a foreign moocher. I began the day in good form, asking Wayan how old she was, before taking Ketut aside to find out when we’d start sharing spliffs and drinking beer.
‘Not today, friend. Juice and water. We stay indoors, thinking and resting.’
So Ryan, Sal and I sat on chairs, lay on day beds and slept, which would’ve been fine except we’d only woken up a short while before. We talked about leaving. But Ketut explained the whole island was closed down – no shops or bars open, nobody wandering about – and roving police would be enforcing that, so we agreed to stay.
Since Wayan was there I figured at least we wouldn’t go hungry. That is, until I noticed she wasn’t occupying her usual position in the kitchen but instead lying on a mat, with two small sleeping children wrapped around her.
‘Should we help Wayan with lunch?’ I asked Ketut. ‘Or has she made it already?’
‘Oh man, I’m sorry. No food till tomorrow either.’
On the upside, Sal was there, too. And sex, like food, alcohol and drugs, was verboten, so Ryan wouldn’t be hiding her away in one of the bedrooms for the day.
Since Ryan and I are both prone to cabin fever, we sampled different locations around Wayan’s house, peeking out windows when we could get away with it. The day was sunny with a good breeze, and it seemed a waste not to be surfing.
‘What are we doing here?’ Ryan asked, as we lay on our backs in the bathroom. This room was part of the house so we were playing by the rules, but the lack of a roof allowed us to gaze up at the sky.
‘You heard what Ketut said. We’d have to stay indoors even if we were at our own place.’
‘I mean Bali. What are we doing in Bali?’
Ryan’s black periods never last long, and his moodiness doesn’t normally bother me too much. But since I had an empty stomach and nowhere to run, I had limited patience. ‘Try to enjoy life, Ryan. Give it a shot.’
He turned his head towards me. ‘That’s all we do, enjoy ourselves. Get stoned and surf, junk up paradise. It’s not ours, man, none of this.’
Again with the misery, the guilt. ‘We’re running a restaurant, and people love it. And we’re not junking up anything. We’re living, Ryan, and you’re turning what could be the most incredible life into a goddamn endless whinge.’
His discontent troubled me, not because I was concerned for his peace of mind – like I said, he can be a bit Eeyore – but because having Ryan here was part of my Bali experience. Without Ryan, there was no Sal. And while I wouldn’t say it out loud, I didn’t want to be here without her.
Wayan walked into the bathroom through the batik curtains that served as a door, regarding us with her usual irritation. She began tearing leaves from a large plant growing in a pot in the corner, to weave into one of her daily offerings boxes.
‘Too much talking,’ she said. ‘Time for thinking.’
‘Too much thinking in our quarter, Wayan. Anything different today?’ I sat up and pointed at the leaves.
‘Same but more.’
Wayan’s offerings consistently included cut fruit, uncooked rice, betel nuts, flowers and incense, all of which struck me as reasonable gifts, but on occasion she also included Camel cigarettes.
‘More cigarettes?’ I asked. Once she left the room I’d nick one.
‘Good for demons,’ she said. ‘Keeps them happy.’
‘Hear that, Ryan? Need to keep your demons happy. Fed and fagged.’
I shouldn’t have joked around with his dissatisfaction. He was more serious than I’d known. And I actually believe you need to pay attention to demons.
‘No, no.’ Petey is shouting at Abby as she holds him around the belly and pulls him off another child. The other boy has thrown himself on top of a yellow metal tip truck and is hugging it. Abby hauls Petey over to me and drops him on the bench by my side.
‘Take him please. He’s being a monster.’
He sits next to me, arms crossed, humphing.
‘Are you really a monster?’ I ask. ‘Did you eat one of the other kids?’
He fights a smile.
‘Did you breathe fire? That’d show him.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Is it about that truck? You feel like it should be yours?’ Petey looks at me wide-eyed. ‘I know things, buddy. I have powers.’ He laughs at me. Not even a little kid believes that. He slides off the bench and runs to the climbing frame.
I watch him play, spread my arms wide across the top of the bench to let some air into my sweaty pits. I think I should tell Ryan and Sal about the accident. Because they’re my friends, and it was an accident. They’ll have s
ome ideas about what to do next, especially how to handle the cops. And I want to start out both my new years with some kind of plan about how to move past this.
When we’re back at the house, Abby puts the twins down for a nap. Sarah sits cross-legged on the living-room floor to watch TV.
‘I’m catching up with Ryan and Sal today,’ I tell Abby. She’s changed into old shorts and a ratty t-shirt in preparation for washing something in this forever-spotless house. ‘They’re going to swing by in about an hour.’
She’s pulling her hair into a ponytail but stops mid-job. ‘You should’ve told me before. I need to –’
‘Need to what?’ I watch her. She’s been awkward around Ryan and Sal since uni. A crush on Ryan – that’d been obvious, as had his disinterest in her. But her attitude to Sal? Some soup of jealousy about Sal’s looks and ease, and a need for her approval. Which almost nobody gets, especially not women. Sal doesn’t have many female friends, in Brisbane or Bali, but there are a hundred men who’d stand in front of a moving train for her. There’s no way Sal will ever see my sister as her equal. And the fact Abby kept up the cloying routine with both of them after Sal and Ryan were a couple and she became a mother is . . . it lacks a little dignity. I’d told Ryan to beep his horn, not to come up.
‘Abby, they’re dropping by to give me a lift to the pub. It’s no big deal.’
She ignores me, and heads down the hallway.
I remember I haven’t had lunch. I open the fridge door and peruse my options. A head of lettuce, a carton of eggs, some jam, half a grapefruit, a jar of pickles, leftover sausages and chicken, and a box of Mateus. Slim pickings. Abby comes into the kitchen wearing a lime-green halter-neck dress and yellow shoes.
‘Are you going out, too?’
‘No,’ she snaps. ‘Why? Do you want me to be gone when they get here?’
I’m about to tell her they’re not coming inside when I hear the car horn. It sounds like some old-guy jazz instrument; Ryan will be driving his dad’s Mercedes. I glance at my watch: they’re early. Ryan’s parents must really be shitting Sal. Late is her usual M.O.
‘That’s them. I’ll see you later.’
‘They don’t want to have a quick drink here, a bite to eat?’
‘I told you, we’re going to the pub. Is this –’ I point at her latest outfit – ‘is this for their benefit?’
‘Shut up.’ She blushes and leaves the kitchen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sunday 29 December 1974
Charlie
Ryan, Sal and I walk into the beer garden entrance of the Royal Exchange. It’s five-thirty on a hot afternoon so the pub is crowded for the Sunday session, filled with happy drinkers done with weekend chores, students, packs of kids running around and dogs. The music is pumping – Sherbet’s ‘Slipstream’ when we walk in – and people are smiling, holding glasses, stubbies, cans, cigarettes. I hear snatches of upbeat conversation: ‘Come here you big poofter!’, ‘Bloody oath I am’, ‘Fourteen, mate. That’s close enough to legal.’ I’m glad we three are back together again, and in a place we’ve spent so many days and nights, but I’m worried about taking Ryan somewhere fun. I reckon I can enjoy myself without losing perspective, but a good afternoon at the RE might fuel his romantic notions about moving back.
Ryan goes inside to the bar to get us a jug of beer while Sal and I scout for a table under the fig tree, our preferred spot. I’m about to ask her what kind of mood Ryan’s been in since they arrived when I instead freeze on the spot. People are moving about on the dirt floor, obscuring my line of sight, so it’s only a glimpse at first. I tell myself I’m being paranoid, that it can’t be, wouldn’t be. Sal wanders away, and I wait until I get a good look. Then I’m certain. It’s Finn.
He’s leaning against a brick wall, talking to a hefty, heavily bearded man wearing an unzipped leather vest and patched jeans. My first thought is that Finn is following me. He must have arrived here minutes before us and ducked into the pub while we parked. Question is whether he’s here to punish me for trying to take Beau, or if Doyle sent him to keep an eye on who I talk to. I try to think of an excuse to get Ryan and Sal out of here, then think about whether, instead, I can get into the bar unseen and tell Ryan I have to leave on my own. Family emergency or something. Finn isn’t looking my way so maybe I should just go, and explain myself to my friends later.
Sal calls out to me that she’s found an empty table, then raises one arm to signal to Ryan also, who’s walking our way, holding a full jug and glasses. Three or four men, Finn included, flick their eyes to watch her with undisguised appreciation. And in a snap I realise that this place is so public, so crowded, that it’s my safest option. Finn won’t do anything to me with this many witnesses around. My best bet is to sit down and wait him out.
But before I can join Sal at the table, she walks away from it, squealing. ‘Oh my God!’ And then she is throwing her arms around Finn.
I stand back from them, as though I’m watching a scene in a film. The sleeves of Sal’s blouse slide back to her shoulders, exposing her tanned arms and jangle of silver bracelets. She lifts her head to Finn and he kisses her full on the lips, pulls her close and puts his hand on her ass. Her headscarf drops to the ground. Sal puts her arm around Finn’s waist.
‘Ryan, look who’s here!’ She’s flushed with joy, her voice high.
Finn makes a mock salute at Ryan.
‘Finn, my man!’
It’s when Ryan deposits the glasses and jug on our table that Finn notices me, standing behind a chair.
‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ he says.
I raise my eyebrows. ‘Thought I wouldn’t notice you?’
He seems even more of a mountain man here in a city beer garden, his beard wild, skin brown, short-sleeved shirt open. He locks eyes with me. ‘Are you following me, Water Rat?’
‘You know each other?’ Ryan asks as Finn lets go of Sal to greet him, grabbing his arm and thumping him on the back.
‘Could say that. I think your man here is stalking me.’
‘Believe me, the last thing I want to do is follow you around. I came here for a drink with my friends. It’s you who –’ But I’m not sure what’s going on.
Sal and Ryan seem confused. Neither Finn nor I makes a move to explain our animosity. I’m worried he’ll tell them Dad and I came to the commune to take his son. And maybe Finn’s reluctant to explain why the mother of his child ran off and hooked up with my dad. We stand in uncomfortable silence until Ryan speaks. ‘So, you’re in Brisbane? Thought you’d moved to the coast.’ He pours beers for us three, tops up Finn’s.
‘I’m down here for the day. What about you two? Where’re you living?’ He’s speaking to Ryan, but still glaring at me. I want to ask how he knows Ryan and Sal. He wasn’t at uni with us; I never saw him at any parties or marches.
‘We moved to Bali,’ Sal says.
‘Oh yeah? I hear it’s incredible there,’ he says. ‘You always did like sunset on the beach, huh?’ How is Ryan putting up with these two flirting so hard right in front of him?
‘Sunsets there are amazing,’ she smiles. ‘Everything they say about Bali is true.’
‘Great surf and even better weed?’
‘And the people, my god.’ She puts one hand to her chest. ‘They’re beautiful.’
‘Paradise lost, that’s what it is,’ Ryan says. ‘It was perfect until we showed up. Place is infested with tourists now.’
‘Don’t start,’ I say.
‘Which is why we’re back,’ Sal says. ‘We’ve been looking around Brisbane for a house, somewhere near the river.’
I frown at her. This is news to me, big news. And she’s said it in such a cavalier way. But Sal’s attention is entirely on Finn, as though she’s in the presence of a rock star.
‘So how are you doing, man?’ Ryan says. ‘It’s been years. What do you do for a crust nowadays?’ He moves himself around to break Finn’s gaze on me.
‘Bit of this, b
it of that.’ Finn grins at them. I gulp down my beer. Bit of beating up women, I think. Bit of growing dope for the cops, lording it over little kids. Bit of being a cult leader. Bit of threatening Charlie and his dad. The usual. My snort of contempt goes ignored.
‘Take a load off,’ Ryan says, pointing at a chair. ‘We’ve got a lot to catch up on.’
Sal is rubbing Finn’s back. ‘So good to see you, babe,’ she says.
‘How do you three know each other?’ I ask. I can’t hold it in any longer. They look at me as if I’d spoken German, or Dog.
But before anyone answers, Finn’s leather-vest-wearing friend pushes his way through and whispers in his ear.
While they’re talking, Ryan says to me: ‘I was going to ask you the same thing. How do you know Finn?’
‘And why are you being such a dick to him?’ Sal adds.
Finn turns away from his friend to address Ryan and Sal. ‘Got to finish something. Good to see you.’
‘Sure, yeah,’ Ryan says.
He kisses Sal. ‘Where can I find you guys?’
Ryan reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a receipt. ‘Pen?’ he asks me.
I dig into my canvas rucksack and hand him a biro.
He rests the paper on the table between wet coasters. ‘This is our number. We’re mostly staying with my folks. And when we leave, they’ll know where we are.’
Finn takes the paper. ‘Cool. I’ll be back this way in a few months, probably.’ He slaps Ryan on the back. ‘Good to see you.’ Kisses Sal. ‘Spunk.’ He looks at me and shakes his head.
I watch Finn go inside the bar. I can still see the top of his head but he’s well out of earshot. Sal stands behind Ryan’s chair and hugs him from behind, resting her head atop his. They lift their eyes in sync, a two-headed creature regarding me thoughtfully.
Riptides Page 18
