Eyrie (22 page)

F
rom the wind-ripped walkway on the tenth floor, Keely heard the school bell toll. He paused at the rail to watch the stragglers sprint indoors with their backpacks and folios and soccer balls.

He thought of Kai settling at his desk, examining the puzzle of his own palms as the teacher tried to launch the school day. The kid had been subdued all morning and silent on the drive down to the port. Keely didn’t dare mention the wet bed. Or the way he’d curled in beside him on the couch sometime before dawn. At breakfast Keely saw the sheets out on the line. The boy was already showered and dressed. Doris had him eating toast and staring at the sudoku on her phone. The Hyundai was in the driveway. Gemma asleep. His mother was quiet but there was conspiracy enough in her sunniness for him to know she’d dealt with everything seamlessly, as if nothing had happened. Doris had an act. She knew who she was and what she was doing. And he loved her for it.

At breakfast Kai said little, but he watched Doris assiduously. Just as he had last night at dinner. Perhaps he was trying to match this trim old bird and her noisy bangles with the young heroine in Gemma’s stories. Keely feared the legend had gotten out of hand. Blackboy Crescent. When moral giants strode the earth. But Kai didn’t seemed disappointed. Children fell in love with Doris. As a boy it shat Keely to tears, but this morning the spectacle revived him. If only he could project such calm authority.

He’d stirred for a second in the gloom, feeling the boy settle on the couch beside him. He savoured it briefly before falling away again. Only when he saw the washing line did he know he hadn’t dreamt it. And now, at the gallery rail, looking down at the schoolyard, he was ashamed of his self-absorption, his unctuous little moment of paternal fantasy. What about the kid? What’s it like to wake wet and frightened in a stranger’s house, to spare your grandmother and crawl in beside some old guy you hardly know? A sudden rage rose in him. At everything ranged against this boy. He had to do something.

He unlocked the flat and changed his clothes.

He wondered if he could convince Gemma to go to the police. She’d be awake just after midday; he had until then to make a compelling case. Failing that? There was Stewie. Maybe he’d negotiate. But Keely had no more persuasive arguments this morning than he’d had last night. And as for dealing with Stewie, he hadn’t the first clue how to parley with a bug-eyed speed freak. He had nothing.

He shaved. Brushed his teeth. With his own brush. He made his bed, straightened the place, and checked the fridge. Some piss-weak bit of him wished he could just stay. But he couldn’t leave Gemma and Kai to Doris alone. She had to work. There was the school run. Gemma’s shiftwork to deal with. He’d just have to suck it up and endure the couch a while. Until he thought of something. Or it all went away of its own accord.

He packed a few clothes, a couple of books and snatched up his pillow. He decided to swing by Gemma’s place. There’d be things she’d want to collect but he didn’t know what she required, felt squeamish about going through her stuff. He could bring her back this afternoon when they collected Kai from school. Needn’t do it now. But he’d check it out anyway. Satisfy himself.

At Gemma’s door a bit of paper flapped in the security grille. Just a yellow square, ruffled by the desert wind, a Post-it note held captive by the steel mesh. There was nothing on it but a solitary dollar sign scrawled in biro.

Keely looked about anxiously and stuffed it into a pocket. He was turning to leave when something else caught his eye. Behind the mesh, on the inner door, a second yellow slip. He pulled Gemma’s key from around his neck and unlocked the screen door. He snatched it up. Same adhesive note, same symbol.

Trying to stay cool he examined the flyscreen but it was undamaged. Short of unlocking the grille, there seemed no other way of depositing the second slip there. He knocked on the door, feeling like a fool but fearful of walking blindly into something. Like what, an ambush? Keely turned the key in the lock and eased the door back slowly.

The flat still smelt of cheese and toast and smokes. He could smell Gemma and Kai. But it was hard to read the place. Everything had been a mess when they left, chaotic where that shithead had kicked things about, after which they’d tossed stuff into rubbish bags and fled in a panic. Food on a plate. Clothes on the floor. The TV where Keely had set it back upright. There was no sign anyone had been in since yesterday. Not that he could see. But somebody had definitely been by outside at least. And maybe in here as well. That note inside the locked grille. Keely thought of the Mirador’s supervisor, a bloke who’d taken against him for his brusque refusal to engage all these months. No point asking him if he’d let someone in. Besides, this wasn’t even Keely’s flat. How could he explain his interest? Gemma’s business and his would be all over the building inside an hour.

He wondered if Gemma had come by last night before work. Or this morning after her shift. To collect something. But why would she take the risk? Had someone followed her into the building, waited until she was inside and left both notes while she was in the bedroom grabbing what she’d come for? Why not confront her then? Make their little threats in person. Seemed more their style. Unless they’d had cause to think someone else was in here with her. A bloke. Him.

He locked up. Jumpy. Freaking at his paranoia. Wondered if he should even tell her.

Down in the gated carpark he found the Hyundai where he’d squeezed it between a Kombi and a scrofulous Commodore. He was in the car before he noticed it on the windscreen.

He couldn’t see anyone – not in vehicles, nor around them. The bike shed looked deserted. There was a spill of suds emerging from the laundry door.

He started the car and waited a full minute, his pulse going feral. But no one. He buzzed the gate and rolled out into the narrow street. Under the jacaranda a Chinese kitchen hand smoked in his stained tunic. A smooth-cheeked hippy girl coasted by on a bike.

Bastards, he said aloud. You little shitheads.

All thoughts of a swim and a coffee evaporated. He had to get this vehicle out of town. Warn Gemma. Maybe the supermarket could give her work in a franchise a bit further out in the suburbs. Even if there was nothing more than bluster behind all this, she couldn’t stay here. He’d ask Doris about a refuge, support services.

He turned into a side street. Idled down the quay, checking his mirrors all the way. He wound slowly along the river and saw nothing but mid-morning traffic. But by the time he pulled into his mother’s drive, his hands were shaking.

D
oris’s Volvo was gone. Conscious that Gemma would be asleep, Keely unlocked the back door and entered the house discreetly, but as he crept through the kitchen he heard the shower running. It was too early for her to be up. She couldn’t have had five hours’ sleep. He filled the kettle, set it on the stove and tried to steady himself.

The couch had been straightened. His pillow and folded sheets lay over one arm. There was no sign of Kai’s bed linen and pyjamas on the line outside. In this heat they’d have been dry hours ago. Doris had covered her tracks before heading off to work. She’d left a newspaper and a sprig of basil in a jar on the dining table. The kitchen sink was empty.

He sat a moment, listening to the kettle, trying to think. As the water ran and ran in the bathroom, nothing sensible came to mind.

He got up. Made a pot of tea. As he set the canister back on the shelf he reached for a couple of mugs with one hand and fumbled. Caught the first. But the other mug hit the floor and smashed.

The shower stopped running. He cursed himself and grabbed the broom. Handle looked fuzzy. Felt smooth in his fingers.

Who’s there? called Gemma.

Just me, he said, sweeping the shards into a pan.

Fuck, said Gemma in the doorway. I thought I was on me own.

Sorry, he muttered.

Geez. I nearly shat meself.

Broke a mug.

She’ll be happy.

Doris won’t care.

She rested her wet head against the doorframe, settling her nerves. Wrapped in a fluffy towel, she’d drawn a cloud of soapy steam into the kitchen. How could he tell her things were worse, not better? Was this the moment to say she should quit her job and move?

Couldn’t sleep?

In your little boy-bed. Feels wrong.

You should try the couch, he said.

He get off orright?

He nodded.

Lunch?

Could hardly fit it in his bag. Mum saw him right.

You sure it’s cool us bein here? I’m gettin a vibe.

It’s fine. It’s Doris.

I should make some other plans. But I don’t have any ideas.

Have a cuppa, he said. We’ll think of something.

Should just piss off up the coast – Carnarvon, Exmouth, Broome.

I think that would be smart, in the circumstances.

But, what about Kai? They’ll cut off me benefit. Won’t they? I’m not even declaring half me wages. And I won’t have a job.

Not right away.

Maybe go to the mines? But I can’t take a kid.

I dunno.

They’ll take him off me. I know it.

Gemma.

Put him into fuckin Care.

Here, sit down. It’s not that bad.

Keely got her into a chair, poured some tea and finished sweeping up the remains of the mug. She looked jittery.

Gotta be somethin, she said.

Yeah. Just need to think it through. You’re not on your own here, mate.

He found shortbread, got himself another mug and sat with her. She steadied a little, ate the biscuits quickly, with infantile greed.

Not exactly the old place, is it? she said.

No, not really.

Did you like it here?

I never lived here. She bought it about ten years ago.

Old. But fancy.

It’s a nice house.

She’s changed.

Well, she’s an old lady now.

Not that, she said. All this stuff. Way she talks. Kai, he’s
such a delightful child.

He shrugged. Doris’s accent was as broad as ever but it was true, the vocab had moved up a peg or two.

When I was little I wished she was
my
mum. Pretended she was, sometimes. Like her and Nev were me oldies. She let us think it.

Think what?

That she loved us. Like we were family.

Keely didn’t know what to say. Because that was how he remembered it. And it had irked him, as a kid. Not that much had really changed. Last night Doris had nursed her like a frightened child. Hadn’t he seen Gemma luxuriating in the attention? So what else had happened that he hadn’t noticed? Probably nothing. Gemma had endured a long, dull shift, an entire night in which to mull over every detail, letting any tiny change become a disappointment.

She’s still Doris, Gem.

Well, Kai thinks she’s the duck’s nuts.

Yeah, he murmured. But you’ve filled his head with all these stories.

They’re true.

Only up to a point. Neither of them was a superhero. They’re just people.

Maybe she’s just puttin up with us.

Oh, mate.

Like we’re gunna break somethin, mess her house up. Ask her for money.

I don’t think so.

And now you think I’m not grateful.

No, he said. It’s a wrench. The sudden move, being in someone else’s place.

It just wasn’t what I expected.

Keely wondered what it was she had been expecting. He thought Doris had done pretty bloody well with only thirty minutes’ notice. Okay, maybe she wasn’t quite so ardent as she’d once been. But Gemma was a grownup now, not a little girl. And there was the boy, taking it all in. Of course Doris would be a bit more circumspect. Anyhow, she was an old woman. All this was out of the blue. On her doorstep. In Mosman Park.

It’s strange, he heard himself say. You know, seeing someone again after so long.

Gemma shrugged. Almost pouting. He felt a twinge of annoyance. Then talked himself down. The trauma. You couldn’t expect something as petty as good manners.

What if she doesn’t want us here?

If she didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t
be
here. She’d have written you a cheque the moment you arrived. To get rid of you.

Gemma blinked, considering this, but she seemed unconvinced.

She didn’t mind me when I was little. When I was cute. Didn’t have a girl in Bandyup then, did I?

Gemma.

She thinks I’m rubbish.

Oh, that’s just bullshit.

You don’t know, Tom. You’re like a kid.

I’m
like a kid? he said, flaring up.

I’m not stupid, she said.

No one’s saying you’re stupid.

She knows you fucked me, Tom. She can smell it.

He let out a mirthless laugh. Not literally, I hope.

Look at you, gone all red. You can’t even think about it in your mum’s house, can you?

Don’t be daft.

Look at you.

Why are we even discussing this? There’s stuff we have to deal with.

Come on. Why don’t we do it now? Right here on her kitchen bench.

Why’re you doing this?

Frightened of his mum.

I thought it was respect, he said.

Same old goody-two-shoes, she muttered, sinking in her chair, tightening the towel across her breasts as her animation subsided.

He got up and tipped his tea into the sink.

I need a fag.

Not in the house, he said dully.

Don’t worry, Tommy. I’ll take me filthy habits outside.

He let her go, watched her out on the verandah as she fired the thing up and sucked on it angrily in the hot, dappled light. He wished he could reassure her. Wished just as fervently there was somewhere else she could go.

He saw her mug on the table and, thinking it was empty, snatched it up. Tea flew everywhere. Before he’d even found the dishmop the stain was deep in the wood.