Tim Winton - Eyrie

Yeah, said Keely. G’day there.

Not since he’d stumbled into a sex shop in Amsterdam had he felt so self-conscious in a retail space. There were many more pictures of guns on display in this place than actual weapons, but as he approached the modest array in the case before him he felt a bilious mixture of shame and menace.

Help you with something?

Well, I dunno, he blurted. I was thinking about a pistol.

Revolver or semi?

Ah, semi, say.

Just joined a club, then? the man asked indulgently.

Club?

Well, you don’t strike me as the farming type. Or enforcement, given we’re talking sidearm.

Sorry, I’m not with you.

Mate, you can’t bowl up cold and buy a pistol. Not in this country. Need to be a registered member of a club with six months’ standing, for one thing. After that, you need to apply for a licence from the cops and have your record vetted. But at least you’re over twenty-one, so that’s a start, eh.

Keely blushed and offered a colicky grin.

Yeah, he said at last. Point taken. I guess I was just after an idea.

Of what they look like, or what they cost?

Well, both, I guess.

Research , then.

Yeah, said Keely.

Don’t spose you’ve heard of Google?

Well, it’s just different, isn’t it? When you see them.

It must be.

Anyway, I think I’ve satisfied my curiosity.

Well, said the gunsmith by way of dismissal. Glad to be of help.

He caught the bus back to town, got out at the lurkers’ park beside the big pharmacy and went op-shopping. At the St Vincent de Paul store, in a box of used toys that reeked of disinfectant, he found a plastic Luger. Two brick-faced matrons at the till smiled kindly and sent him on his way with a recycled shopping bag and a few God-blesses. He made straight for the hobby shop. Bought a tin of Airfix paint the size of a cotton reel. Paid for it with his last shrapnel and made for home.

*

The lift yawned open. He rode to the top, stood outside her window until he saw the boy’s head pass behind the nylon curtain. He tapped the glass softly and Kai peered out. Keely gave him a thumbs up and the kid waved hesitantly, as if anxious about being discovered. When Keely made a silly face the boy produced a wan grin and let the curtain fall to.

The faded red Luger — burred at the butt where some infant had gnawed it — was just a water pistol with a missing bung. He spread newspaper on the kitchen table and painted the thing blue-black and when he finished the job, set it aside and stood back, he saw it would never work. What the hell had he been thinking? Another hour wasted. He had to get them out of town. Tonight. As far as he could make out, Gemma or someone she knew had deliberately run a man down and pushed him into the harbour; that was no small thing. She’d do time for it, so there wasn’t a chance she’d go to the cops now; it’d mean relinquishing Kai to foster care.

He dialled Doris but rang off before she answered. Then he called Gemma who picked up but said nothing.

In the background the noise of the TV or the computer game, the squeal of tyres. Then the faintest sound of her weeping.

I’m here, he said, for something to say. It’s only me.

Christ, Tommy, she whispered.

Whatever occurred last night, he said, there were reasons. You could explain it. If you went in and told them what’s been going on, it’d go in your favour. Doris could get you a kick-arse lawyer. And if anything… well, if it was necessary, even if it’s only a few days, we’d look after Kai, you know that. They’ll have you out on bail. Whatever happens we’d look after him, both of you.

I can’t, she said. I fuckin can’t .

We’d look after him, Gem.

She’s an old lady, she hissed. And you think they’ll let you have him? You haven’t even had the job for a week. You’re a mess, Tom. I’ve seen you lookin at me. I know what you think. But you know what? Compared to you I’m doin orright.

Yeah, he said. Apart from the fact that you can’t leave your flat and you’re wanted by the police.

If you fuckin dob I’ll tell Clappy where your mum lives. I’m not kiddin.

Keely sat down. He gazed at the sunset. It was unbearably beautiful.

You hear me?

You don’t mean that, he said as if saying it might convince him.

Blood’s thicker than water.

No.

I’m serious. What else can I do?

Well, you can think of your friends, he said. Because if blood’s thicker than water, you’re fucked. And so’s Kai.

He hung up and stared at the stupid little toy on the table.

The phone buzzed.

Tommy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I know you won’t tell.

But now you can’t be sure, he said.

No, she said. I trust you.

He didn’t speak. It shamed him, hearing her say it. Scoured him no less than being told the truth, that he was not a fit person to be entrusted with the care of a child. What had she put her trust in but a falling man?

Do you think Doris will have us back?

Yes, he said, knowing it was true.

Keely thought of the Volvo. Doris would give her the car, get her away, and bugger the consequences.

Christ, Tommy.

The sun flattened itself against the limpid sea. The sky was magnificent.

I feel sick, she whispered.

Pack some stuff. I need to talk to Doris. I’ll come by when I have something organized. Don’t call anyone.

He hung up. And when he headed to the sink for a glass of water, one leg was heavy. His hands shook so much he had to set the tumbler down and rifle through what remained of his supplies. Needed something to iron him out. Rattled and faffed through sheets and packets. Everything shining evilly. Shook out what he could, gobbed a party-coloured handful, whatever it took.

And then he packed a bag. Tried to be methodical.

Time to call Doris. And also Bub. Wished his hands would settle down.

Drank some more water. And nearly dropped the glass. He was rushing, too frantic. Needed to sit a moment. Get clear.

And then he looked seaward and the sky was dark.

Yes, he’d ask Bub for whatever he was owed, take him up on his offer of a loan. Go to Doris’s — no, call Doris. Maybe hitch the boat to the Volvo, sell it for cash at a yard along the highway. Use the money to buy a van. There was a line of them outside the station where backpackers offloaded them to get home. He had the keys to the place down south. Or Doris did. She’d collect them any minute. Be surprised to see the flat after all this time. She’d come through, and they’d slip away, stay south a while, keep going. He’d go with them or not go with them, he didn’t know yet. Better he got them away first. Couldn’t think past that, couldn’t think past the lowering dark. Really. Just couldn’t really. Think.

The phone. It rang. And rang. From so far away.

And after some time he got himself upright. But it had stopped.

Then, on the floor beside the chair, the mobile began to flash, buzzing and shivering. He reached for it as if through moving water. Chased and seized it. Felt it buck like a fish. But let it breathe and wheeze against his ear. Like the sound of his little sister. He smelt Airfix paint, thought of the Spitfires and Typhoons he’d glued together in his room at Blackboy Crescent. The lanolin reek of a damp footy jumper, the Syd Jackson poster on the wardrobe door. If he closed his eyes he’d be there again. And he wanted to. Yes. Faith in the next room. Doris and Nev talking quietly out on the porch. Everything good, all safe.

Tom? Is it you?

Yes, said Keely with a croak. And only then did he understand that it wasn’t Faith but Kai.