Tim Winton - Eyrie

Used to be yours, too, once, he murmured.

She said nothing. Blew a jet of smoke that ripped away in the wind like a current with its own angry energy. She flicked ash.

Listen, he said. I’m happy to pick him up this afternoon.

You don’t look good, she said.

I’m fine.

She bit her thumb, tilted the cigarette away from her face. And glanced at him.

There’s something wrong with you. Doris can see it. I can see it. Everyone ’cept you can see it.

I think it’s better if I get him today.

And why’s that?

He pulled the little yellow Post-its from the pocket of his shorts and flattened them on the rock beside him. Out here in the dappled shade they weren’t nearly as unnerving.

Cunts, she said wearily.

Does Stewie have a key? he asked.

Course not.

And Carly?

She shook her head.

I think they know someone, he said.

In the building?

Seems like it.

She looked sceptical.

So, I figured it was smarter for me to collect him.

Like, because you’re smarter’n me. That it?

Of course not.

Cause you’re the big fella.

Keely tore at a clump of sedge.

Fuck em, she said. It’s my car. He’s my responsibility.

Okay, but listen —

Anyway, they really think I’ve got the money.

What possible difference can that make?

I drive me own car. I pick up me own kid. They don’t decide what I do.

I understand the sentiment, but —

You don’t get it, Tom. If I hide, it looks like I haven’t got the money.

Wouldn’t it be better if they knew you haven’t?

Now? Are you jokin? They’d go nuts. They think I’m good for it.

Shit, why?

You, ya fuckwit. Isn’t hard to google it, or whatever the fuck people do. You were all over the telly, in the paper, ya must have money.

That’s how these dickheads think?

It’s how anybody thinks.

So glad I had that shave, he said bitterly.

Well, sorr-ee!

We’re all bloody sorry now.

The moment he said it he could have torn his own tongue out. He sat there with the hot wind baking his face, yanking at his sleeve.

I’ve got a week, she said. Six more days. Because they think I’ve got it. I’m half a chance of lasting the week if they still think I’m good for five grand.

I don’t understand the logic.

It’s not about logic.

She ditched the fag into the water. Got up and picked her way back down the track.

Keely snatched up the little yellow notes. The adhesive edges had lost their stick. They were dusted with limestone grit, a couple of addled ants. He held them up, let them flutter in the easterly. By way of standover action they looked pretty low-rent. But maybe she was right. What did he know? The whole thing still seemed melodramatic. And yet there it was, that sick, falling sensation. Sitting here on a rock, safe in the shade. With something dark and hot rushing at him like so much wind.

Doris came in at three and tossed her satchel on the kitchen bench. Keely looked up from the table, whose surface he was still rubbing with oil.

Where’s Gemma?

Doing the school run.

Do I detect a certain atmosphere?

I spilt tea on your table.

I’ll live, said Doris, pulling open the fridge door. But I see neither of you kids has thought to do any shopping for dinner.

I’ll go in a minute.

Perhaps I should’ve pinned a note to your shirt, she said grinning. She went through to her room and came back in a faded sleeveless summer dress that showed how thin her arms had become. She stood at the kitchen bench a moment. Divining the situation, it felt like. She took an orange from the bowl beside her.

Good day? he asked, getting in first.

Not bad. Luxury of being a part-timer.

Anything interesting?

Nothing cheerful.

Try me.

Just documents for the Ward inquest.

Oh. God.

Indeed.

And?

Even seeing the medical reports — it’s beyond belief. They cooked that man alive, basically. In the back of a prison van. Fifty-seven degrees, that’s how hot the metal got. What’s that, 130-something in the old money? He was in there half a day, nearly a thousand kilometres, and neither guard thought it was a big deal that he was without airconditioning.

I forget what he was even arrested for.

A traffic offence, she said, beginning to peel the orange. If that man had been a sheep there’d be people marching in the street. But he’s just an Aborigine.

What about charges?

My guess, she said, toiling arthritically, is that neither guard will be convicted.

And the private contractor?

She looked over her specs at him and he saw the answer in her cocked eyebrow.

Business first, he muttered.

So, not a sparkling day. I thought by now I was unshockable.

You want me to help you with that?

I can still peel an orange.

Sorry.

Anyway, she said, how’s Gemma?

He shrugged.

Does she cook?

Well, yeah. Of course.

We’ll let her cook tonight, she said before biting into the orange.

What d’you mean? Why?

Doris pulled a paper towel from the roll to blot the juice from her chin. Don’t give me that look, she said. It’s not a test. I thought it might help her settle in, give her a sense of control, bit of normality.

Okay. See your point.

She’s not helpless. Doesn’t want to feel helpless.

Please don’t say the word, Doris.

Empowerment ? That word? If I had to see you on the news every night calling an ecosystem a precious asset , or a tourism icon , then you can suck eggs and let me say the E-word.

Keely raised his hands in surrender, glad she smiled.

I’ll be gone at seven, she said. Tickets for the Vaughan Williams.

Oh, he said. Who you going with?

Well, she murmured, pausing to swallow a mouthful, I had hoped you’d come. But since I booked it, things have developed somewhat.

Ah. Damn. Sorry, but I can’t leave Kai.

No. Of course not, she said. I wouldn’t let you.

Bum, he said. I love Uncle Ralph.

I know that.

Which piece is it?

The oboe concerto.

Ouch.

Yes, it’s a shame, she said, rattling her bangles and then straightening all of a sudden. Listen, why don’t you go anyway? I could stay with Kai.

But you love Vaughan Williams.

Doris shrugged and took another bite.

Mum, I couldn’t.

We’ll see if Kai’s comfortable with it. If he’s iffy I’ll leave him with you.

Thanks, he said, looking hopelessly at the watermark in the jarrah. Really. But you go.

Come on, then, she said. I’ll finish this on the way to the shops.

*

There was a peaceable languor to Doris’s riverside quarter where the shady streets smelt of cut lawns and lavender. They walked in equable silence, eking out the orange, segment by segment. An Audi slid by sedately and when they saw the personalized plates they both erupted in laughter. MINE, it said in powder blue. And in that moment of lovely wordless understanding he thought of what he’d lost and all there still was to hold onto.

The little retail enclave was bustling. He followed, like a boy shopping with his mum, mortified by how quickly he subsided into the role. But it was worse than that, weirder than just his own submission, because after a few minutes he could see that Doris was not so much shopping for their dinner as parading him through the cluster of neighbourhood businesses. She twirled her plaits in the butcher’s and jangled her ethnic hardware in the fruit and veg shop, chatting with those she passed and everyone who served her, and as the glances of cashiers and floral dears became ever more obvious, his irritation mounted. Clearly people knew and liked Doris. Their curiosity about Keely was palpable.