Tim Winton - Eyrie

He tried to turn the kid’s head his way but Kai resisted.

They pulled into a station. Girls in straw boaters got on. Christ, this was Claremont. He’d missed their stop.

By the time Doris came in, Kai was sprawled before the TV, as closed off as he’d ever been. And Keely was finishing the Margaret River chardonnay he’d found in the fridge. He’d filched a couple of Panadeine Forte from his mother’s bedside table. Should have felt calm. But it was six already and there was still no sign of Gemma.

Well, said Doris, setting down her satchel and slipping off her jacket. Just help yourself.

He didn’t acknowledge her. Thought about Wally Butcher. Now there was a bloke who’d been handy in his day. No shortage of stories about him fighting his way out of a corner. But Wally was in his seventies, fat as a fart and in serious need of a hip replacement. Wal wasn’t going to be any use to him.

Have you eaten? asked Doris. Either of you?

Kai’s had a sandwich and some fruit juice.

That’s all?

He’s not hungry.

What about Gemma?

No idea.

And where did you go today?

Work, he said.

What work?

I wash dishes. At Bub’s. It’s very fulfilling.

And every day’s payday, by the looks of you.

Sorry, he said. I was planning to leave. Go home. But something’s come up.

You’ve had an argument?

Haven’t seen her. But I need to speak to her. Before I go.

Where did you get to last night?

Doesn’t matter where I went. I wasn’t drunk, okay?

But tonight’s another night.

So it seems.

Doris busied herself at the fridge and pantry. She brought out garlic, tomatoes, capers, anchovies. The makings of a puttanesca, from what he could see. She slid a pan onto the stovetop and drew a knife from the block.

You’ve got your work duds on, he murmured. Let me do it.

Pass me that apron, she said.

Mum, really.

You’ll end up taking a finger off.

He handed the apron across. You know anyone with a caravan somewhere? he said in little more than a whisper. Somewhere discreet?

No one in this town has a caravan anymore. And if they did they wouldn’t take it anywhere discreet. Where’ve you been the last ten years?

What about a beach house?

I’ve already asked, she said. Stephanie gave me the keys.

Stephanie who?

Does it matter?

You’ve organized this? He heard how stupid he sounded. Where is it?

Eagle Bay.

Legal Bay, he said before he could catch himself.

The heavy knife thudded against the bulb of garlic, perhaps a little harder than strictly necessary.

That’s good of her. Good of you. Thank you. It’s the best we can do. I wonder if I could do it tonight?

Do what? asked Doris, chopping, filling the kitchen with the heady reek of garlic. Drive three hours in your condition?

I wouldn’t have to drive.

But you’d need to be competent.

So, maybe I’ll wait till morning, he said, colouring. I’ll be right in the morning.

Provided Gemma agrees, said Doris, lighting the hob. After a few moments the smell of caramelizing anchovies rose about them. She should be calling the police, she said in a fierce whisper.

I know, but she won’t. Could you do it?

And tell them what, a story at third hand? I haven’t seen anything.

You know cops, people from agencies.

There aren’t any signs of physical injury. I don’t have any evidence, Tom, there’s nothing I can tell them except a few things unlikely to go in Gemma’s favour.

What about — I don’t know — something more informal?

Send the boys around, you mean? Illegal, and it doesn’t work, believe me.

I don’t mean the local cops.

I’m not paying to have anyone kneecapped. Forget it.

Of course not. I understand.

What do you think I’ve become, the sort who’d write a cheque to make this poor girl, this whole thing, go away?

No. No.

Tom, I’m not that person.

I know. I see that.

I doubt it.

So, I’ll just report it myself.

Yeah, go in drunk. That’ll really help.

Okay, okay.

Besides, said Doris, as if she needed to say it for her own reminding, Gemma has to make this decision herself. And hard as it is to resist overstepping, it’s her call to make. We can’t just wade in uninvited.

Not even for Kai’s sake?

Doris said nothing. He could feel the torment in her silence.

The beach house, he said at length. It’ll do for the moment. It’s good. It’s a start. But where the hell is she?

Kai needs to shower, said Doris. And you need to calm down.

I’m fine, he said.

I’ll have this ready when he’s out. And you might want to think about freshening up yourself.

Doris, dear, I think that’s a case of overstepping.

Yes, she said, slipping capers into the pan. I’m sorry. Somehow I keep forgetting you’re a grownup.

They were eating when Gemma came in. She tossed keys on the bench, dumped her bag on the floor like a high-schooler and lifted lids from pots on the stove. Keely noted Kai’s watchful gaze. He saw his mother follow Gemma’s movements without actually turning to look. Doris jangled, lifting her glass, sipping soda water.

Looks good, said Gemma, as if saying so cost her something.

Plenty there, love, said Doris, glancing at Kai.

Gemma wore the little black dress she’d confronted Stewie in, the day they seized the car. Her hair was in a chignon that had gone awry and been flattened with sweat. Still in her heels, she dredged some pasta into a bowl, pulled a fork from the drawer and began to eat listlessly at the sink, her back almost completely turned. Keely saw her reflected face in the kitchen window and knew there was trouble.

He picked at his food. Felt the crackling energy in the room. After a long pause the boy spoke up.

Where’d you go?

Out, said Gemma.

Shoulda said.

What? Are you the boss now?

The boy glowered at his plate. Gemma turned. Her eyes were red, her face looked boiled.

You don’t need to know everythin.

Doris laid a hand on the boy’s arm and the gesture seemed to inflame Gemma.

Let him be, she said fiercely. You’ll make him soft.

Soft isn’t so bad, love.

Look where it gets you, she said, hitching her chin towards Keely.

He felt his mother’s indignation before the insult even registered. He looked at his food, glanced at Kai’s clouded face.

What say we finish our meal and have a talk afterwards? said Doris with a steely lightness.

What say we all mind our own beeswax, said Gemma, shoving her bowl along the bench.

Gemma, he said. I need to talk to you.

Talk? That’s all you’re good for.

Has something happened, love? asked Doris.

That’s my business.

Kai, said Doris brightly. Maybe you and I could finish our dinner out on the deck.

Instantly there was fear in the boy’s face.

He can stay where he is, said Gemma. I’m sick of being told what to do.

Sweetie, I’m not telling you what to do. That was a suggestion.

Pig’s arse.

You’re upset. Kai and I could leave you two to talk things over, that’s all I’m saying.

You make it sound like butter wouldn’t melt in ya mouth, Doris, but you’re still telling me what to do. Kai, get ya stuff.

Don’t be ridiculous, said Keely. Just settle down, will you?

Kai!

Kai, maybe you should tell your nan about Clappy, said Keely.

But the boy shook his head. There was tomato sauce on his chin and then tears on his cheeks.

Who’s Clappy? said Doris.

Jesus Christ, said Gemma. I’ll fuckin kill him.

Doris stroked the boy’s hair but he slipped from his chair and ran to the spare room. Tom, she said, there’s a key and a map on the sideboard. I’ll go and sit with Kai a minute.