Tim Winton - The Riders

‘You’re welcome to sleep with her. There’s still room on that bunk.’

‘Thanks, but I’ll leave you alone. It’s cramped in there already with all our stuff. I’ll just slip in there in a minute, take her shoes off.’

‘She’s a nice kid.’

‘Yes. She is.’

‘My name’s Irma.’

‘Irma.’

‘It’s Billie and…?’

‘Scully. Everyone just calls me Scully. I’ll be back in a moment.’

‘Scully?’

‘Yeah?’

‘The key.’

He took the key and went back to check on Billie. She slept with her head back and her mouth open. He bent over her in the dimness and eased off her shoes, smelling the bready scent of her breath.

‘Sleep with her.’

It was Irma, standing behind him in the doorway. He could smell her. The ship’s engines stroked away beneath them.

‘I have a bottle of Jack Daniels.’

‘Listen, I —’

‘Have a drink and go to sleep. She’ll be afraid if she wakes and you’re gone. She doesn’t know me.’

Scully straightened. She was right. He’d already frightened the kid once, and he’d promised never again. He wanted to be alone, to avoid complication, conversation, to just organize himself tonight and make a plan. He hated sharing space with strangers, but it was safer this way. He just didn’t like this woman. The memory of her bruises and that proud smile back in the kastro made his bowels contract.

‘Okay,’ he murmured. ‘Thanks.’

‘I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.’

‘Sure.’

Scully adjusted the porthole a little for some air and saw the black ellipse of sea and night. He pulled off his shoes and shucked his jeans and climbed in beside Billie, pulling the blanket up to his chest. Should have forked out the extra for a cabin, he thought; the money I’ve been blowing, it wouldn’t have been so dumb. I’ll offer her some money. Should have thought. Should have.

• • •

SCULLY WOKE SOMETIME IN THE night and saw Irma crouched on the floor in the yellow light of the toilet. She had his case open and was holding a bent candle and his wallet. He saw the whiteness of her panties, the tongue concentrated in the corner of her mouth, and the half-empty bottle of bourbon on the floor beside her.

‘Don’t tell me,’ he murmured, ‘you’ve lost a contact lens.’

She started, but then smiled. ‘Lost more than that in my time.’

‘There’s nothing worth stealing.’

‘I can see that. You’re broke, Scully, unless you’ve still got credit.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Two.’

‘What’ve you been doing?’

‘Drinking. Watching you two snuggled up there like two bugs.’

‘You’re easy to entertain.’

‘People say that.’ Irma held the wallet open. ‘This is her, then.’

Scully felt pins and needles rush to his right arm as he shifted his weight.

‘Beautiful black hair. Nice face. Good legs. They say good legs mean a good fuck.’

He grimaced. ‘Who says?’

‘Not true, huh? Well, someone must believe it. How long’s she been gone?’

Scully held his hand out for the wallet.

‘You’re abandoned, Scully, I can see it. You’re a sad sight, the two of you. And she wasn’t even good in bed. Must be love.’

‘Gimme the bloody wallet.’

‘And what are these?’ She held up a lint-furred candle.

‘The wallet.’

‘Three of them.’

‘Please.’

‘Show more guts, Scully. Less pride and a bit more guts.’

Scully slid off the bunk and Irma gasped, cowering almost.

‘We’re just gonna go. Pass me those jeans.’

‘No.’

‘Look, I just wanna get dressed. I’m not gonna hurt you or report this.’

‘Don’t go.’

‘It was nice of you to offer us a bed, but I’m not used to strangers going through my stuff.’

‘I’m not a stranger.’

‘Look, you’ve had a lot to drink and —’

‘Don’t wake her up, let her sleep.’

‘She’ll sleep out in the lounge.’

‘You’ve got another thirteen hours, Scully. I’m sorry about your things. I wasn’t stealing, I was curious. Truth is, I need the company. Stay for me.’

‘I want to sleep.’

‘Sleep then. We’re in the same boat, you know.’

‘You don’t say.’

‘I mean our situation. I’m abandoned too.’

‘I need to sleep.’

‘We’ll talk about it later. Get back into bed. Here, your wallet.’

Scully took it and slipped back in beside Billie. He watched Irma pack things neatly back into his case and stow it under the bunk beneath him. For a moment, shoving it under with both arms, she lifted her head and met his gaze, her face so close he could smell the Jack Daniels on her breath.

‘Sleep, Scully.’

He lay back as she climbed the bunk. He saw that watermelon dress floating, saw insect bites or cigarette burns on her legs. Her toenails were silver blue, her heels dirty. The ship moved languorously, as if asleep itself, and he felt Billie’s breath against his neck and slipped back into the long blank of sleep, knowing even as he did that he’d regret this, that he was too tired and weak to change his mind.

WHEN SCULLY WOKE the pair of them were playing Uno in the light of the portal. There was a clanging somewhere below.

‘Sleepyhead still in bed,’ said Irma, smiling.

‘You snored,’ said Billie.

Scully lay still. Billie’s hair was brushed and she wore a clean shirt. A pair of her knickers hung damp and wrung out from the knob of the toilet door.

‘Morning,’ he murmured uncertainly.

‘Irma’s a loser at Uno.’

‘She’s probably letting you win. Some people are like that.’

‘No. I can tell.’

‘She’s like you, Scully.’

‘No, she’s her own girl.’

‘You want to go to breakfast?’

‘Gimme a minute.’

Scully nursed his morning hard-on till the card game reached a big enough peak of concentration to allow him to slip out of bed and crib across to the toilet.

‘Morning glory, my favourite flower,’ said Irma.

‘Uno!’ said Billie.

Irma winked and Billie saw how rosy and soft her lips were. She kind of liked Irma. She could reach her own nose with the tip of her tongue and do rolls with it and fifty funny faces. All the time Scully slept there all twisted on the bunk, Irma and her whispered and giggled. Billie remembered her from the taverna, remembered the dress and those mirror sunglasses. Without the sunnies she didn’t look so grown up, and now that she thought of it, listening to Scully trying to pee quietly down the side of the toilet bowl in there, Irma wasn’t really grown up at all. The way she played cards in her greedy way. She never gave you breaks like an old person. Her tongue stuck out and her giggle was a naughty girl’s giggle. And she asked questions, so many questions — why, why, why — like a kid, so many you didn’t bother to answer. She was fun, Billie could see, but you couldn’t tell about her heart.

Billie asked some questions of her own, to see if Irma knew the planets of the solar system and the names of the main dinosaurs (just the basic ones) and who Bob Hawke was. She didn’t have a clue, as if she never went to school or read books at all. She didn’t know about convicts or fish or knots, and she laughed in an embarrassed way, as if she’d been caught out.

‘I don’t know much,’ said Irma. ‘I guess I feel things.’

Billie thought about this. ‘Do you think someone can love too much?’

Irma just went back to her cards with a sad little smile and said nothing.

• • •

SCULLY FLUSHED THE TOILET, pulled the lid down and sat on it. Six hours till Brindisi. Out there he could hear them tittering. Jennifer would never let herself get into a corner like this. She crossed all her T’s and dotted all her I’s. She was organized and he was a fool. Last night this woman had his wallet open and this morning she was dressing his kid. She’s moving in on you, mate, and you’re like a stunned mullet. What is she, a travelling hooker, a rich adventurer, a dipso nutcase? She murdered half a bottle of Jack Daniels last night and this morning she’s giggling, for Chrissake. Still, you had to admit she’s better sober. In the light of day she’s human. But it ate at him, the sound of his daughter chirruping away all of a sudden. After all the sullen quiet. The ache of waiting. Gabbing to a fucking stranger. This Irma. Scully put his elbows on his knees and realized that he was afraid of her and didn’t know why.