Tim Winton - Eyrie

I’m always talking to Doris.

And she’s talking to you.

Well, sometimes it’s professional.

She never said.

She’s a bloody legend, you know. Anyway, everyone still wonders what you’re up to.

Sure they do.

Hey, I saw Freda from the EDO. She sees the WildForce crew all the time. Half the movement knows where you are.

And so few visits, eh.

Come on, Tom. You’ve left them in no doubt about where things stand.

So why ask? he said, pouring himself another glass.

I dunno. Worried, I guess.

Right.

People respect you. I know you don’t feel it.

Stop.

And they’re curious about what you’ll do next. Both sides.

What is this, a bloody reconnaissance mission?

Sit down, she said. And don’t be a wanker.

I mean, shit mate.

Let me rephrase —

Don’t bother.

Sit down. Please. You’re embarrassing me. Everyone.

Keely flopped back to the chair. Chugged his wine. Refilled. Went again. And Harriet sighed. The sound was so familiar he could have wept.

Sorry.

Me too.

But I mean it. A lot of people wish you well.

It was wasted. All that time.

The reef? The karri forests? Are you serious?

Fuck it, anyway.

Like I said, they wish you well. Wish you were well.

I’m fine, he lied.

So. The Mirador.

It’s just a little flat, he murmured, noticing they’d almost finished the bottle already.

But it’s okay?

Come and see, he said. If you’re that curious.

Doris says you won’t even let her up there.

No.

What’s that about?

I don’t even know anymore.

So why ask me?

I’m not planning to jump, if that’s what you mean.

What?

Lure you up and jump. It wasn’t on the agenda. I’m all out of romance.

What the fuck are you talking about?

Nothing. Sorry.

Jesus, Tom.

Well, don’t just sit there looking guilty and buying me lunch. Say something interesting. Spice up my sad little life.

Try not to be a shit, will you?

Keely shrugged hopelessly and downed the last of the wine. He badly wanted to leave. To take her with him.

We should have had children, she said. I concede that.

Stop it.

I know that’s what this is about. I know it’s why you went like that. We were stupid, both of us.

No, just me.

Well, you were stupid and I was cruel.

I was shooting for cruelly stupid. Fell short, as usual.

I’m a ruined person, she said dully. I know it sounds melodramatic, but it’s how I feel, even on a good day.

You’re still young. You’ll recover.

Not that sense of who I was. No. I don’t think so.

What do you mean? How can you say that?

You know damn well how I can say it, she said, staring him down like he was a vexatious litigant. There’s just part of me I don’t believe in anymore.

Keely blinked. In recognition. It smarted.

You know, she said, I was proud, in a way. Proud to be me. I don’t think I was conceited. I think I had good reason to be proud and so did you. We always did what we said, acted from principle. Couldn’t be bought, felt like we were authentic.

Oh, that old crap.

Yes, that old crap.

Harriet, you’re still the same person.

No. It’s as if one betrayal unlocks others.

People screw up, mate. It’s normal.

So banal, though. The office romance.

Yes, banal. That’s what I thought. How banal.

Bad faith. It bends you out of shape.

Faith of any sort, I’d have thought.

Jesus, we shouldn’t be talking like this.

Don’t mean to harp on a costly theme here but —

Tom, I don’t want to hear about your forgiveness.

But what about forgiving yourself? You’re a good person. Good people do stupid things. Your entire life isn’t defined by one mistake.

And you’re trying to tell me that?

What I did was not a mistake, he said. It wasn’t wrong.

Just weird wrong. Crazy wrong. As if you didn’t understand defamation.

I understood perfectly.

Well, it wasn’t much of a martrydom, was it?

I’ve loved every minute. Look at me. Rejuvenated.

Still, she said bitterly. You did get to retain your status as the moral cleanskin.

Yeah. Feels great.

And you’ve heard about the CCC, I gather.

Fuck the CCC, he said, feeling the penny drop.

What? she said in false protest. It’s Tiny Town. Everyone knows already. Something’s finally happening.

Keely looked at her. Wished he could tell her what was really happening. But he knew he wouldn’t. He was a coward.

Sorry, she said. Didn’t mean to bring it up. I’m just —

You don’t have to be sorry. None of it matters. I forgive you.

Tom, we’ve covered this, she said briskly. In several fora.

Fora.

Stop it.

Keely saw what this was doing to her. She’d put herself in the same room as him and he was doing this to her.

Okay, he said, assembling himself with some effort. Let’s just eat.

Don’t you dare jump out the fucking window.

Listen —

You don’t have the right to punish me. You have no right.

Harriet. I promise you, I promise.

She looked at him directly and her eyes shone with tears.

Really, he said. I don’t want to punish you. And I promise. A Keely never breaks a promise.

Isn’t that the whole trouble? she said with a smile rendered ugly by pain.

Love you, he murmured.

Please!

Sorry.

God, you’re a strange man.

So I gather.

And loving doesn’t help. Believe me.

But he couldn’t. The evidence supported what she said. But that was one shred of faith he wouldn’t let go of. Love had to help something, somewhere, otherwise he would just go ahead and launch himself off a balcony.

They ate for a while in wounded silence. Keely noted the air of covert surveillance from the counter and the kitchen door and it heartened him to think anyone harboured hopes for them, however fanciful.

Keely was as thirsty as a motherfucker but he didn’t dare order any more wine.

You ever think of going back to teaching?

I couldn’t do it, he said. Even I’m not that worthy.

So what will you do? You must be skint. You look it.

He shrugged.

Do you need money?

No, he lied.

Will you tell me if you do?

He smiled and she snorted a friendly surrender.

Your arse isn’t big, he said.

Don’t lie — you’re no good at it.

Get the bike, he said. Buy it now, while you’re thinking of it. You’ll have fun. I’ll ride it up the river to your place, save you the delivery.

No, she said. No visits. Besides, I drove. Maybe I’ll put it in the boot.

You can’t drive after this much wine.

Well, Jesus really wanted you for a sunbeam, didn’t he?

I’m only saying.

And you’re right, you scruffy prick. I’ll get a cab.

They finished lunch. Harriet did not buy a bike. As her taxi pulled away he walked up to the barber on the next block and ordered a haircut and full shave. He fell asleep in the chair and woke to the news that he owed seventy dollars, which meant taking the bike lock back across the street for a refund.

Keely lingered a while in front of Cash Converters, scooting the bike back and forth beneath him, wondering what his laptop would fetch. By his calculations, unless he quickly got cash work or hocked something, he was a fortnight from destitution. It wasn’t just Keely pride that kept him from the dole but the certain knowledge the perversities of Centrelink would crush him; he was neither fit nor mad enough to endure the welfare system. Even if he did sign up he’d starve by the time the first cheque finally appeared. Unless he stood in the street for soup and sandwiches with all the other lost souls. He couldn’t touch his superannuation for another decade. He could sell the flat but it would take weeks or months to find a buyer and settle and in the meantime he’d have nothing. He had to cash up fast or come to terms with the idea of living with his mother like an addled invalid. Selling the dinghy would help. But even that’d take a week or two. The time for action was now.