Tim Winton - Eyrie

Keely had promised himself a proper meal that night and he was cooking with the spoils of Thursday’s shopping spree in Coles when Faith rang. Once more she was in a crowded room. In the background there were stabs of noise — announcements, exhortations — as if she were at an airport or train station.

You didn’t call, she said mildly.

I meant to.

A man of grand intentions.

Where are you?

London.

Hell, that’s sudden.

It’s freezing. I’m waiting for the driver. Hey, I was thinking about that canoe we used to have. Was it really just the roof off an old car? Am I remembering that right? We used to push it out through the reeds, across the swamp. Am I imagining all this?

Faith, why’re you in London?

We used to say I was the only Keely without the rescue instinct.

Nah.

And you’re always crapping on about backing the vanquished.

Keely laughed and his sister joined in a moment. She sounded uncharacteristically rattled.

Mate, he said. Has something happened?

Nothing I’m allowed to talk about. I guess it’s just funny, me mounting a rescue package.

I don’t even know what that is.

In my world it’s salvation without mercy.

You okay?

I was just thinking about us as kids, that’s all. And, you know, just wanted to hear your voice.

It was the roof from an old Holden, he said. The canoe.

But the signal began to falter and Faith seemed to be speaking to someone else, her driver, apparently, and the rest was rushed farewell.

In the wake of the call Keely went on fixing dinner. He thought of Faith at ten in her pink boilersuit and Levi’s sneakers. What a game little girl she had been: that measured stare, the straight-cut fringe. Bold as a mudlark, but kind along with it. She’d shared her room with the Buck girls the winter their mother lay in hospital held together by screws and wires and plaster. Maybe she resented it — the sudden disorder, the wet beds, the night terrors, the missing toys. Perhaps his memories of her stalwart decency were not reliable. Because whenever he saw her now, Christmas being the last example, she seemed so cool and withheld. But her world had been flying like shit off a shovel. Tough time. Maybe she needed to project that corporate armour just to survive. And the diffidence? Probably due to the sight of him, dishevelled, maudlin, strangling the festive cheer from Doris’s big day.

Anyway, enough of that.

He mashed potatoes, tooled about with the sauce a while and steamed the snake beans. He put on some music, the Bach fugues Harriet used to like. And it didn’t upset him. In fact he felt a rare buoyancy. Faith’s memory of their hijinks on the swamp, perhaps. Or the day on the river finally sinking in. That bird, the way it watched them, trying to decide what they were. Just the glorious fact of it being there, like an answered prayer. What a deliverance it had been. He couldn’t have borne to disappoint the kid. To screw that up as well. And it was mad, but now he felt like a bloody champion.

He’d only just sat down to eat when there was a knock at the door. He sat chewing a moment, cleaving doggedly to his moment of happiness while it lasted.

Just me, called Gemma.

It was like a soap bubble bursting. The mood was broken. But some slippery film of equanimity clung on as he got slowly to his feet.

He opened the door, still chewing. Freshly showered and in a sleeveless dress, Gemma stood barefoot peering past him.

Everything alright?

Sorry, she said. You got company?

He blinked, shook his head, swallowed.

I could smell it from my place. It’s doin me head in.

What is?

Whatever you’re cookin.

You want some?

I’ve eaten, she said.

Okay.

But, Jesus, she said. Smell’s bloody beautiful.

Keely was stumped. She had such an avid look on her face, almost febrile, and she just stood there, as if waiting to be invited in.

You mind? she asked. Just for a sec?

He unlocked the security screen and when he stepped back she slipped right by him and went straight to the stovetop.

Chicken, she said. Garlic. Bacon by the looks. And the gravy’s what, white wine?

Keely closed the security screen but left the main door open.

Mostly.

Aw, she said, looking at his little dining table. You haven’t even hardly started. Tommy, sit down. Jesus, I didn’t realize.

Sure you don’t want some?

Eat, she said.

He sat back down, resumed eating, but he was self-conscious now.

Little bugger wouldn’t go to bed, she said, leaning on the bench between them.

He’s okay?

Christ, he was that excited.

Keely nodded, his mood lifting a little.

That was a nice thing you did.

Not a problem, he said, smiling around a mouthful.

Not a problem, she said, mimicking him. Hey, maybe I will have some of that.

He motioned for her to help herself and she fished around for cutlery. Paused a moment at the knife drawer, checking out his jumbled pharmacopoeia, which gave him a moment’s anxiety. But she didn’t even seem to register it, so urgent were her movements, so flighty her disposition. He watched as she forked up something from the pan and turned it over in her mouth experimentally before chewing with gusto. He saw her wipe gravy from her lips with the back of her wrist.

Something I can’t pick, she said, hoisting the skillet to the bench as if setting in to polish off the remainder.

Sage, he said. I picked it today at Mum’s.

Doris? You saw her today?

Yeah. That was her car. Didn’t I tell you? I have to keep the boat at her place.

Gemma straightened a moment, oil glistening on her chin.

So you brought us home before you went back to her place?

Well, yeah.

Right.

I caught the train home, he said, puzzled by the cloudy expression on her face. Kai looked pretty worn out. I thought I’d run you home, save you both another hour of farting about.

Fair enough, she said, crestfallen.

I didn’t realize, he said, seeing it now. At least he thought he saw.

I spose it was a long time ago.

No. Really. I should have thought.

Just… I loved your mum. Guess I thought she might like to see me.

Of course she would. I was just preoccupied, that’s all, thinking about the boat, the car, getting you home.

You’re embarrassed. Aren’tcha?

About the car ?

About me, you dickhead. Bein seen with me. In front of yer mum.

I don’t know what you’re talking about, he said, irritated.

Nah, course ya don’t.

Keely bridled at this. He thought of the lengths he’d gone to these past months, for the sake of guarding his privacy, so that no one, friend or foe, could get close enough to commiserate, gloat, accuse, correct, needle or interrogate him. It was the one thing he wasn’t gutsick-depressed about. And here was a woman in his kitchen, this person he hardly knew, eating his food and calling him out as some kind of snob. He was angry with himself, furious he’d dropped the ball so comprehensively, let her into the flat, his head, his fucking life.

Whoa, and now yer sulkin, eh.

No, he said with some effort. I’m just surprised, that’s all.

Well, it doesn’t take much to get you all hot’n bothered.

He pushed his hand through his hair.

Forget it, she muttered.

No, he said, like a twat who’d forgotten every survival instinct he had. What is it you’re trying to tell me?

Gemma looked at her fork, shrugged.

These days you’re just a bit more…

More what?

I dunno. Posh.

Keely laughed; there was nothing else for it. Though it didn’t sound as mirthful or unruffled as he’d hoped.