by Dean Mayes
Rex had lost count of the number of games they’d played. What had started out as a couple of casual rounds of eight ball, turned into a serious contest with an increasing pool of cash thrown into the mix. So far, Rex and Davo had proven to be an indomitable pair and had racked up an impressive kitty between them—most of which had gone into more beer and upping the stakes.
Rex watched the player opposite as he targeted the white ball, then struck it smoothly and swiftly, sending it into a yellow ball that was perched at the corner pocket, right in front of Rex. The white ball clinked true and sent the yellow into the pocket. Applause and cheers went up from the audience.
The player, a tall and lanky man with curly, sandy hair and piercing blue eyes, smiled cheekily at Rex as he rose to his full height and nodded.
That single shot had turned the tide of this current game and, for the first time this evening, Rex and Davo were on the proverbial back foot.
Taking a gulp from his beer glass, Rex stepped up to the table and assessed their situation. Davo sidled up to him.
“They’re turning the screws on us, Rexy,” he commented worriedly. “I hope you’ve got something up your sleeve, mate. The pool has just tipped over a thousand dollars.”
Rex felt his stomach drop. A thousand dollars was more money than he had seen in a long time. It would certainly come in handy right now, given that he had wagered not only his week’s income from the labouring job, but also his unemployment benefit cheque. To lose now would be a disaster. He tried to shut out the distraction around him as he approached the table and assessed his options.
Their opponents hadn’t given them much room to move, having flanked most of Rex and Davo’s “bigs” with their “smalls” around the table. The eight ball sat in a precarious position at the central side pocket to Rex’s left. One of their balls—a green—sat next to it. It seemed to him, the only viable shot at this point. He could try and pocket that ball, but the risk of pocketing the eight ball along with it was substantial and, given how much alcohol Rex had consumed, the chances of that happening were better than average.
Davo observed Rex sizing up that very shot and his eyes went wide.
“Mate, don’t try it,” he whispered as subtly as he could. “You’re good—but you’re not that good.”
Rex glared at Davo darkly and clicked his tongue against his teeth.
“I can make the shot,” he retorted. “I’m not that drunk.”
Davo raised one eyebrow at his friend and shook his head slowly.
“You won’t make it. Go the safer option and set up the red further down.”
Davo’s suggestion only annoyed Rex more and he gripped the cue tighter.
“Stand back, smart arse.”
Rex approached the table, positioning the cue behind the white ball which was sitting at an angle that would challenge the most skilful of players. Another of the opposition’s balls sat in the path of where Rex wanted to send the white ball and it would take a considerable amount of dexterity to round it successfully on the path to that green ball that sat snugly beside the eight ball.
He lowered the cue to the table and softly lined up the ball in his sight. The level of tumult rose in pitch as whoops and whistles and shouts of derision and encouragement assailed Rex all at once. Squeezing his eyes shut, Rex tried to block out the noise, steadying himself on the lumpy sea of his inebriation. Behind him, Davo watched on, silently willing Rex to make the shot, hoping against hope that he would prevail.
With a twitch of his elbow, Rex launched the cue and tapped the white ball on its way. It shot forward gracefully, with a subtle arc and it deftly rounded the ball in its path before straightening up once more. Every eye around the pool table was fixed upon the white ball. The whoops and shouts all coalesced into a singular rising hum.
The white ball glanced off the eight ball without even touching its target and the crucial black and white orb disappeared into the pocket.
The crowd erupted into applause, cheers and jeers as money changed hands and congratulatory back slaps were foisted onto Rex and Davo’s opponents.
Davo leaned back against the wall and drank from his glass, shaking his head in bitter resignation while Rex stood before the table, his shoulders slumped, mouth open in disbelief as his opponent plucked up the pot of cash that included the entirety of Rex’s income for the next fortnight. Money that he needed to support his family. The dawning realisation of his failure struck him at once.
His opponent beamed sarcastically at Rex.
“Cheer up, Delfey,” he sneered. “At least you’ve still got the shirt on your back eh? Mind you, the missus might have a hard time washing it this week without any laundry powder.”
A cold sweat broke out on Rex’s brow. He couldn’t respond. He was completely flummoxed.
Davo stepped into the breech and held out his open palm.
“Steady on Barry. Just take your dough and leave him be.”
“You c-can’t take that money,” Rex muttered shakily.
Barry frowned theatrically then and turned back toward Rex.
“What was that? You’re telling me that we can’t take our winnings?”
Barry put his tongue between his lips and blew a raspberry at Rex, peppering him with spittle.
“Go home Rexy-boy. You’ve humiliated yourself enough for one day.”
Rex stiffened and through the swirling panic, a rush of anger surged and he stepped in front of Barry. A few watchers had begun to take an interest in the escalating tension and turned in their direction.
Barry dismissed Rex out of hand, and he simply stepped back in the other direction, handing his pool cue to a friend.
“What are you doing?” he said dismissively, deflecting Rex with a shove to the shoulder. “You’re a bloody piss pot. Go home and dry out. Surely you can hold out ’til dole day anyway. The government is giving you a fair cheque surely. You’ve got the right coloured skin, haven’t ya?”
A ripple of “Ooo”s from several of the onlookers circled the two men as Rex’s visage set like stone.
Barry simply shook his head, turned his back on Rex and walked away from him. As he did so, he muttered something under his breath, just loud enough that Rex could hear.
“Yer fucken coconut.”
Rex’s rage became white hot. The words were unmistakable. It was the worst insult one could inflict upon an Aborigine. Before anyone knew what was happening, Rex exploded. Slapping a hand on Barry’s shoulder, Rex spun him around and pitched a fist at his unsuspecting opponent. It smashed into his cheek and nose simultaneously, shattering bone and cartilage. Blood spattered over both Barry and Rex.
The bar erupted in whoops and whistles as a stunned Barry reeled backward like a spinning top. He swung his arms reflexively, balling his fists in a vain attempt to protect himself and return fire until he could steady himself. Several blows connected with Rex and he staggered; a high pitched ringing pierced his ears and knocked him off balance.
Barry came back, slamming precise blows into Rex’s face and body, forcing him back with the power of a freight train. Rex seemed powerless to stop him. Davo desperately tried to get in between the two men but he was caught by several of Barry’s blows and knocked to the floor.
Several patrons intervened to try and break up the two men but they were blocked by yet more men until several clashes broke out around the pool table.
It had degenerated into a full blown bar fight.
Rex and Barry locked arms and were now desperately trying to up-end one another in a vicious parody of wrestling until they both collapsed to the floor. Rex pounced, pinning Barry to the floor and pummelling him with a relentless barrage that further reduced his face to a bloodied pulp. But it was not without cost. Barry returned fire, opening a vicious cut above Rex’s left eye and caused ruddy bruising to blossom all over his face.
Rex was impotent with fury, unable to focus or reason. He simply reacted, allowing the words that clanged around in his head as loud as church bells to
feed his rage and his appetite to destroy.
Yer fucken coconut.
A number of patrons and staff finally managed to overpower the scrum of brawlers and break up the skirmishes. A pair of burly bouncers pounced upon the two men, breaking them apart and pulling them away from each other.
“You’re a fucking fraud Delfey!” a bloodied Barry spat as he struggled in the grip of the bouncers. “You’re nothing! You’re worse than a mongrel!”
It took a trio of men to secure Rex and frog march him from the bar. He howled like an animal as they dragged him through the front entrance and tossed him outside on the bitumen of the car park. A steady rain was falling, though it wasn’t cold.
“Bloody give it up, Delfey!” one of the men snarled at Rex as he swung his arms spastically.
The patrons, still reveling in the unexpected entertainment, followed them out as several police cars pulled into the car park of the pub with lights and sirens flashing and wailing.
Spent now, Rex was overcome by exhaustion. His arms became heavy and all he could do was use them to support his weight as he looked down at the bitumen. In the blinding beams from the headlights of the police car, he watched as his blood dripped from his cut and mixed with the falling rain on the pavement and, for a moment—through the fog of his defeat—he was fascinated by the swirling patterns he saw there.
Davo emerged from out of the throng of patrons and came to Rex’s side, dropping to his haunches immediately.
“Come on, mate,” he urged sympathetically. “We gotta get you out of here before the coppers ping you.”
Rex looked up drunkenly at his friend but did not answer. He was too spent.
The sound of heavy footsteps approaching caused the two men to look toward the stationary police vehicle. Shadowed in the glare of the headlights, the shining black leather of a policeman’s shoes was unmistakable.
Belle sat on a bench in a waiting area of the police station, her arms folded across her chest, her feet tapping incessantly on the floor. The tension in her face and body was palpable. She held her jaw tightly and she was grinding her teeth. It was a little after four am and she was wearing her nurse’s aid uniform, having been called at work and advised of her husband’s whereabouts. She hadn’t so much as been asked to come in as she had been instructed to do so. Evidently, this particular police station’s cell block was over capacity and they needed to empty it of some of the lesser offenders.
Asher and Ruby sat beside her dressed in their pyjamas. Ruby was dozing, her head leaning on Asher’s shoulder, while Asher sat quietly, afraid to speak to or even look at her mother for fear she might explode.
Asher knew why her mother had dragged the two girls out of bed at four in the morning. She sensed raw anger from her but she had also sensed fear. It was etched into Belle’s tired face. Asher knew that her father’s violent outbursts were becoming more unpredictable and God only knew what state he was in now. While being an outwardly strong woman—particularly when it came to managing the children—Belle struggled to manage Rex or defend herself against him. The one hope she had in bringing the girls along with her, was that Rex would be less likely to act out violently in their presence.
Asher stifled a yawn and gazed, bleary eyed at the police constable who was standing at the front counter, apparently looking at some important papers in front of him. The only problem with that was, he kept nodding off to sleep and would startle himself by over balancing where he stood.
Belle fidgeted and looked over the front counter, hoping to see if there was any activity going on behind. She had waited a full half an hour already and her patience was ragged.
Rex’s drinking was getting worse and as such, he was getting worse. Belle feared her husband but it was a fear tempered by her own anger toward him. He was capable of physical violence and had beaten her many times during their marriage. Now that pattern had extended to the elder of their three children. The recent deterioration in his relationship with Jeremy had seen him develop a nastiness to his demeanour that fuelled Belle’s anger and it was beginning to manifest within her, as a protective mechanism.
Belle abruptly launched off the bench and paced back and forth in front of the counter, causing both Asher and Ruby to jump where they sat. Belle stifled the urge to fish a cigarette out of her bag and instead turned to her daughter.
“I need to pee,” she snapped. “Don’t move from that seat.”
Asher nodded almost too quickly, watching her mother disappear into the nearby toilet as Ruby rubbed the sleep from her eyes beside her.
“Wha…” she mumbled reflexively, sitting up straight.
“It’s okay,” Asher reassured her. “Mum’s just gone to the toilet.”
Ruby blinked vaguely and rubbed her eyes again.
“Is she still mad?” she asked.
Asher nodded and bit her lip nervously.
“She’s fuming. I think she wants to kick the toilet bowl or something.”
Ruby smiled wanly at her cousin’s joke and leaned back slightly.
“She’s scared too,” Asher added worriedly. “Scared of Dad.”
“He’s angry lots more,” Ruby observed. “I reckon it’s because of Nana and me living with you. We’re taking up too much space and he doesn’t like it.”
Asher frowned.
“I don’t believe that. You and Nana take up no room at all—and you help out around the house. Mum definitely appreciates that.”
“Aunty Belle doesn’t like me,” Ruby said, bowing her head sadly.
“That’s not true,” Asher shot back. “Mum loves you just as much as she loves me and Jeremy and Minty. She just doesn’t show it much, is all. She has a lot of worry with work—and Dad.”
Ruby wasn’t convinced but she didn’t say anything in answer to her cousin.
It was now Asher’s turn to bow her head and Ruby watched her cousin clench her fists in her lap, a bitter expression flashed across her face.
“I hate him,” Asher whispered through clenched teeth.
“Don’t say that,” Ruby chided gently. “He’s your father.”
“He’s selfish and angry and I hate what he does to Mum, to Jeremy—and to me.”
Ruby didn’t know how to respond. All she could remember was her uncle’s violent outburst toward Jeremy the other night and the memory of his last attack on Asher. It filled Ruby with dread but there was something else.
“At least you have parents,” Ruby said softly.
That single comment caught Asher off guard and she gasped silently, forgetting, for just a moment, her anger toward her father. She looked at Ruby with barely concealed shame.
“You…have my mum and da—”
“No I don’t,” Ruby countered swiftly. “They’re not my real parents.”
“No,” Asher admitted. She placed a supportive hand on Ruby’s shoulder. “But you did have parents who loved you. Mum says the car accident that…”
“I know the truth,” Ruby cut her off abruptly. “There was never a car accident. That’s just a story Nana made up to make sure I never knew what really happened…”
Ruby paused and looked down sadly at her hands which she had cupped delicately in her lap.
“My father raped my mother and I was the result. He wanted my mum to get rid of me and she wouldn’t so he strangled her with me still inside of her.”
Asher was so shocked by Ruby’s frankness, it was she now, who was unable to find words.
“I’ve heard them talk,” Ruby said, referring to Belle and Rex. “I heard them when they thought I wasn’t able to hear. I’ve heard them say not to tell me anything about the truth. That’s why Uncle Rex can’t stand the sight of me. I’m his bastard niece—that’s what he’s called me to Nana.”
The door to the toilet opened and Belle appeared, looking tired. There was some commotion behind the counter where the constable was standing as a door opened and a second uniformed officer appeared along with a downcast Rex, who shuffled into view. The
constable walked him over to a concealed gate that appeared to be a part of the counter and lifted a portion of the desk above it. He ushered Rex through.
Belle appraised her husband with barely concealed disgust. He reeked of alcohol. His face was swollen, one eye was closed over and dried blood caked his upper lip. His clothing was crumpled and stained with vomit. Rex did not return her look. He merely hung his head.
“He’s had a few hours to dry out,” the police officer said, causing Rex to flinch as though the sound of his voice was as piercing as a fire siren right next to his ears. “Luckily for him, the other party has elected not to press charges. I would suggest that Mr. Delfey consider laying particularly low for a while.”
Belle signalled wordlessly to the girls who were watching Rex fearfully. They quickly launched to their feet and scurried out of the reception area, then Belle abruptly turned on her heel and stormed from the police station. Rex stood there in the company of the officer, dumbfounded and swaying back and forth.
The officer slapped Rex roughly on the back of his shoulder.
“On your way Rex,” he said. “Don’t fancy your chances with her. Stay out of trouble for Christ’s sake.”
Moving as if on autopilot, Rex stumbled through the entrance and down the path to the car park of the police station where he found Belle standing beside her small hatchback.
“What?” he mumbled sullenly as he went to step past Belle and open the passenger door.
Belle calmly stepped in front of the car door and steeled herself where she stood, preventing him from going any further. Rex blinked and stumbled backward. Inside the car, the two girls peered out, watching Rex and Belle fearfully.
“What did you do?” Belle asked softly, her voice shaking with anger.
Again Rex tried to step forward toward the car. This time, Belle shoved him in the chest with flat of her palm.
Rex glared impotently at her as he swayed back and forth.
“I’ve been slaving Rex,” she said shakily. “Working twelve hour days, seven days a week trying to keep this family together and what are you doing? Wiping yourself out night after night at that bloody pub.”
