Tim Winton - Eyrie

Fuck off, she said mildly.

Posh? Me? You must be on drugs.

Don’t talk to me about fuckin drugs.

Gemma, I’m unemployed. This is it, he declared, waving at thearmchair, the bookshelf, the TV, the portable CD player, the obsolete iPod. Apart from the battered laptop beside him on the laminated table, there was nothing else to see but a couple of Stanley Spencer reproductions and the Peter Dombrovskis on the wall.

You went to uni and that.

True.

And there you were all the time, on the telly, on the news, in the paper. In ya house by the water in Freo — bet that place had character .

He lifted his hands in surrender.

Just cause you don’t have a job and you look like shit, doesn’t mean you’re not flash.

Alright, he said. I hear what you’re saying. But I think you’ve got the wrong idea. If I’d known, if I’d thought of it — Gemma, it’s not a problem. I wasn’t thinking, that’s all.

She looked unconvinced but after a few moments staring him down she did seem slightly mollified. Whether that was a result of having said her piece or seeing him yield he couldn’t tell.

You really that broke? she asked.

Pretty broke, yeah. I wasn’t very careful with the severance pay.

So, you’re renting this joint?

No, he said. I own it.

She grinned without mercy.

You got anything to drink?

There’s wine in the fridge, he said, knowing it was rude not to get up and pour her a glass, but he was flustered now and would have preferred her to go away.

Gemma cracked the fridge open, examined its contents as if seeking further confirmation of his lofty status and then hauled the bottle out. She held it at arm’s length a moment, found a glass and filled it. She glanced at him inquiringly but he demurred. She sipped at the wine sceptically.

Look, I’m sure Doris’d love to see you, he murmured.

Gemma leant back against the fridge. At her shoulder, pinned to the door by magnets, lay Kai’s crayon bird. She raked her hair irritably with her fingers.

She’ll think you’re on with me. Slummin around.

Don’t be ridiculous. She already knows you live in the building.

She ever come here?

I don’t have anybody here.

Really? How come?

I just prefer it that way.

You really are a bit of an odd-bod, aren’t you.

Yes. I spose.

She gulped the rest of her wine. Keely tried to finish his meal but his appetite had gone. He’d made the effort, that was the thing.

So I’m ridiculous, she said.

Mate, I didn’t mean it like that — I mean, come on.

Wouldn’t have said it when I was younger.

Gemma, I only knew you as a kid.

When we were kids, but, weren’t you interested?

No! Geez, you were a little girl.

Didn’t stop anyone else.

Well, shit. That’s awful. Why are we talking about this?

She propped her elbows on the bench and leaned forward, sizing him up. The tops of her breasts were visible in the vee of her dress.

What about the Snakepit? And the White Sands? We weren’t kids then.

No, I guess not.

Wasn’t ridiculous then.

Keely didn’t know what to say. His nerves were jangling.

Back then we were more the same.

Well, it was so long ago.

And you never even thought about it?

Keely said nothing.

I was always around. I remember being in your room. I got in your bed once, in the night. Pretended I was scared.

I don’t remember that.

But you remember I was pretty.

Gemma, he said, trying to steer clear of this perilous current, I was a kid; I didn’t even notice girls.

I wasn’t the sort you’d notice, then?

Hell, everyone noticed. Later.

So, tell me.

Tell you what? he asked, annoyed at her persistence, the way this conversation was headed, as if she were determined to extract some shred of old glory at his expense. Just because he hadn’t thought to present her to Doris, for God’s sake. It was moronic, fucking banal. And he was getting a treacherous hard-on, despite himself. Gemma was tipsy. He hadn’t paid enough attention; she’d been half cut the moment she arrived.

Garn, she persisted. Tell me what I looked like.

Mate, he said with a resentful sigh, you were beautiful. Alright?

And now I’m just an old boiler.

Not that old.

Well, thanks a lot.

I didn’t —

Haven’t you even thought about it? she asked, cutting him off. Not once?

Bloody hell, what’s got into you?

I dunno, she said. I had a few Baileys, that’s all. It was a good day, Tommy. You know how many good days I get, livin like this?

Fair enough, he said, shamefaced.

You know?

Yeah, it doesn’t look easy. But he’s a lovely kid.

Talks about you, now. Day and bloody night. Thinks the sun shines out yer clacker. Never stops askin questions.

So what d’you tell him?

The truth. What I know, what I remember.

Like what? he said, unable to resist.

I dunno. Just old shit. About you’n Nev.

He looked at his hands, felt his spine slump into a defensive curve. At least she’d changed tack; it was something to be grateful for.

You were the only ones.

The only ones what ?

That didn’t fiddle with us.

Shit, he said, shoving his plate across the table. You didn’t tell him that, I hope.

Of course not. But that’s how I learnt what’s what, who to trust and who to steer clear of.

I guess that’s something.

Is to me.

I didn’t mean to sound so —

You musta wanted kids. Of yer own.

Why d’you say that?

University of hard knocks, mate. Instinct. Like I said, who ya trust and who’s trouble. He knows. I can see it.

You’ve lost me, he said truthfully.

You went to a lot of trouble to impress a kid today. And I have to figure out if it’s cause you’re a dirty perv or if it’s just that you wanna suck up to me, to get into me pants.

Keely looked at her. She was completely serious. If he told her to get out now he’d look guilty; one charge or the other would stick. It was insupportable. And he felt the seconds of silence thud by.

I mean, if it was about me I wouldn’t mind so much, she went on. But I’ve had to learn the hard way, if you know what I mean — about blokes. And I haven’t got time for it anymore, tell you the truth. Sorry — I’m just sayin.

Despite his indignation, Keely was trying to imagine the life she’d led since their days as children. He wondered about her scarred hands, the broken tooth, the daughter in prison.

Gemma, there’s no agenda. I’m not that sort of person.

Oh, I know that. I’m just sayin. This is the sort of thing I’ve gotta ask meself.

Okay. I get that. But, really, you don’t have to worry.

Gemma nodded slowly. She looked past him. To what — the ocean lights, the wharf? She chewed her lip a moment.

Pity, really, she said, turning to the fridge.

Keely watched in a snarl of conflicted impulses and competing thoughts as she poured herself a refill. She belted the tumbler of wine down in two gulps and set the glass on the bench with a smack. He couldn’t read her smile. And he wondered about the kid. It was late. He got to his feet, hoping she’d sense the signal. But she seemed oblivious. He squeezed past her, set his plate on the sink.

You should get rid of that bloody beard, she said. Look like a science teacher, for Chrissake.

Well, I was for a while. More or less.

What’d you teach?

Geography. And biol.

Shoulda known. All them books there. Always liked ya books, eh.

Yes.

And ya little orange bible.

That too, he said, closing off despite himself.

Now you’re cranky.

No, he lied.

Don’t be cranky, mate — I just need a break. You know what I mean?