Gravity (11 page)

‘Where is that wascally widdle wabbit?'

Francis had the volume down low, but I woke on Sunday morning to the happy chatter of cartoons. He sat on the cushionless couch with the remote perched on his knee, mouth partly open and the vacant stare of a kid transfixed. During the night, his mum had rolled off her makeshift bed and we'd shared the single swag mattress – Tori on the outside of the canvas, me and my naked grass-stained knees on the inside. The warm arc of her back pressed against my side and I wished the canvas wasn't there.

Banging and swearing from the other end of the house.

I rubbed my eyes and sat up.

The movement made Tori groan, roll and eventually sit up.

‘Shit, sorry,' she said, and dragged herself back onto the cushions.

The banging down the hallway continued.

Tori flashed me a bewildered look.

‘Did you hear them come home?' I asked.

She guffawed. ‘No. Didn't hear a thing.'

I'd found my boxer shorts and had them on inside the swag when Bully burst into the lounge. His face was grey and sleep-starved, his chest bare. He had a mess of clothes under his arm and was trying to balance on one foot and drag a sock on. He lost balance and butted the wall with the side of his head.

Francis laughed.

Bullant scowled. ‘You guys ready? We're going.'

Tori's brow creased. ‘Well, yeah, I suppose. What's the hurry?'

‘We've got to go. I've got things to do.'

‘Hang on a minute,' I said. ‘Slow down. What's the matter?'

‘Nothing.'

The front door slammed as he left.

Tori shrugged and sighed and started getting dressed.

‘What was all that about?'

Francis stared at me. ‘I think he's a bit grumpy.'

Tori sniggered. ‘I think you're right, mate. Come on, get dressed.'

I found some eggs in Tori's food box. I fried them up while they were packing and made them into sandwiches to eat on the road. I wrapped them in paper towels and handed them out in the carport.

Bully was dressed and belted in the passenger seat. He put his sandwich on the dash without looking at me and mumbled his thanks.

Francis had the whole back seat to himself, his booster strapped into the middle spot. I leaned in and kissed him
goodbye. He landed his lips on mine and dragged me into a headlock hug. I tickled him and he let go. He unwrapped his sandwich and peeled it apart to inspect the insides, before chomping into it like an animal.

Tori stood beside the driver's door. She frowned and gestured with her head at Bullant.

I shrugged. ‘You're driving?'

‘Reckons he's still a bit seedy from last night. I reckon he's scared of the traffic.'

Bully drummed his knuckles impatiently on the window beside his head.

Tori hugged me. A quick squeeze and a peck on the cheek. ‘Love you. Look after yourself. Come home soon,' she whispered.

‘Yep,' I garbled.

I didn't want to let go. And I would go home. I wanted to pile in the back with Francis right then. Sometime during the night my bubble of self-pity had burst and I was ready for the next challenge. With the self-pity gone, I missed my brother. I missed Dad. I missed the mountain air and the silence. I wanted to finish my last two terms at school. I wanted to work at the mill and it no longer seemed like a death sentence to do so. It was just the beginning. I could do whatever I wanted.

But there were things I needed to do first.

Tori guided the Subaru out of the drive. I had to move the uprooted letterbox and I stood there with the metal pole under my arm like some sort of gatekeeper.

Tori laughed as she passed. ‘Did I do that? I didn't do that, did I?'

‘Nope. Kids. Last night. Didn't you hear them?'

‘I heard nothing. Except you snoring.'

‘I don't snore.'

‘Oh . . . and Francis farting in his sleep.'

I squatted and gave Francis the thumbs up. He waved, then blew me a kiss. I blew him one back.

‘See ya.'

Bully conceded a three-fingered wave as they moved off, his face an ugly mix of tiredness and confusion. Whatever happened overnight had seriously rattled his cage. Maybe Bonnie was more than he'd bargained for?

I cleaned up the kitchen. I made a lot of noise in the hope that one of the other guys would get out of bed and hustle up a few smiles, but Bonnie and Harry obviously didn't believe in Sunday mornings.

I took the dog for a walk. I spotted his chain hanging in the laundry and felt I was up for the challenge. Bit of tug and drag. Bit of wrestling with the crotch-sniffer. With the choker chain around his neck, he was a different dog. He walked at heel with military precision and when the sun came out and I started to jog, he trotted obediently beside me.

The shadow of a cloud raced along the street ahead of us and I sprinted to keep up with it. When the shadow raced off and I slowed and admitted defeat, Felix and I were both panting, tongues hanging out. I felt envy for the clouds – so close to the light and so far from their shadows.

We'd run to the next suburb, and across the railway tracks from where we'd stopped was another Hardware House store. It was the same shape and colour as the place I worked
and – I discovered after I chained Felix to a bollard out the front – the layout inside was identical, too.

I cruised by paint and through to the timber shed. A big guy, easily six foot seven, with a face pocked like a golf ball with acne scars, asked me if I needed a hand.

‘Just looking.'

‘Yell out if you . . .'

‘Actually, I'll have some concrete. Rapid set. One twenty-five kilogram bag.'

‘Can I get you a trolley, sir?'

‘No, I'll carry it.'

‘How far's your car?'

‘Springvale.'

He scoffed. ‘And you're going to carry it to Springvale?'

I paid the cashier and lifted the bag to my shoulder. It wasn't heavy. Not country heavy, anyway.

Felix wanted to run when he realised we were heading home, and jogging with the bag of concrete across my shoulders, I felt like an iron man in training.

Harry and Bonnie were still in bed. I looped Felix's lead around the front tap, found a shovel in the garden shed beside the workshop and dug a new home for the letterbox. Mostly I followed the instructions on the bag of concrete but had to approximate the litre of water required. I slopped it into the hole from Felix's backyard drinking bowl and held the pole in position.

Fifteen minutes. It was going to take fifteen minutes to set but, one minute in, the street exploded with activity.

A grey tabby dropped from the plum tree on the nature strip beside Felix and the dog was off after it. When his chain
drew tight, he just kept running, bending the tap until his lead popped off. The dog was free and hot on the heels of the tabby. There was a frenzy of barking and growling and Iran at the dog, shouting his name at deaf ears.

Felix caught the cat behind its neck and shook it with more violence than he had seemed capable of. The cat howled and thrashed at the air.

I hit the dog with a flying tackle that stunned him, forced the air from his lungs and made him drop the cat. The cat scrambled under a car parked in the neighbour's driveway.

Claws rasped on concrete as Felix fought to chase his prey and, for a couple of steps, he actually dragged me along, barking and snarling with a ferociousness that made my guts churn.

A ferociousness that turned on me.

He snapped at me, narrowly missing the back of my hand. I let go and rolled clear, covering my face with my arms, but the dog had only one thing on his mind.

The cat was safe. The car was too low for Felix. He growled and scrabbled at the concrete but couldn't get under. The cat hissed and spat, then tore from its hide, up the fence and into the neighbour's backyard.

Felix backed from under the car and I grabbed his chain, yanked hard and shunted him through the back gate. He snorted indignantly when I let him off and trotted to the side fence, sniffing at the ground.

The poor cat.

Part of me was happy to pretend that nothing had happened but another – freshly groomed – part of me wanted to take responsibility.

I straightened the tap. I knocked at the neighbour's door, then noticed the button for the bell on the architrave and rang that too.

A stubble-jawed man in flannelette pyjamas and a terry bathrobe answered.

‘A dog . . . Next door's dog just attacked a cat . . . a grey tabby. It climbed over your fence. Is it okay?'

‘A cat?' the man said. ‘We don't have a cat.'

‘It went into your backyard.'

‘Come through,' he said, and flung the door wide before leading me through the house. A woman, similarly attired, sat at a small round kitchen table. She stood when the man explained in shorthand why he was leading a stranger through the sliding glass door into their yard.

The cat was nowhere to be found. There were a few low shrubs, but nowhere really for a cat to hide. The three of us called and even peered over the fence into an adjoining yard.

‘Here,' the woman said.

She'd found a tuft of grey hair and a smudge of blood on the top of the weathered palings. The blood was fresh. The cat had gone over.

‘Probably in Footscray by now,' the man offered.

‘Or little kitty heaven,' the woman added morosely.

I smiled and apologised for disturbing them. The man escorted me back through their house and wished me luck before closing the door.

Poor cat.

The concrete had set. The letterbox was crooked. I heaved on it and managed to bend the pole.

‘Shit.'

The letterbox itself was now level but the pole was far from straight.

I tidied my mess and wrote a note for Bonnie and Harry that said I'd be back in the afternoon. I rolled my swag and carried it over my shoulder to the station. I caught a train to Mum's. To sort a few things out.

And pick up the ute.

It was a conspiracy.

I could hardly contain my delight when I stepped over the low wall at the front of the flats and Mum's Corolla wasn't there. I dropped the swag in the back of the ute and wasted no time unlocking it and slipping into the pilot's position.

She wouldn't start.

The lights on the dash glowed but a click further with the key produced none of the familiar clunking and grinding of a starting engine. Nothing.

I popped the bonnet and stared at the oily mess of the engine. I wished Bully was there. I have no interest in cars. I think I missed out on that gene. Got my mechanical sense from Mum's side of the family. If it goes, drive. If it doesn't, get somebody to make it go. Bully had been my make-it-go man. I thought about ringing him, but remembered he didn't have a mobile phone.

Come to think of it . . . I slapped my hip pocket. No phone. I frisked myself and retraced my steps in my mind to The Hardware House, where I'd last held my mobile. I'd
dragged it out to get to my wallet and pay for the concrete. I couldn't recall picking it up again and it certainly wasn't anywhere on my person.

I was still swearing under my breath when Mum's Corolla parked beside the ute. She didn't seem surprised that I was there under the bonnet of my own car.

‘Coming or going?' she asked, by way of greeting.

‘Neither, at the moment.'

Mum chuckled. ‘Oh, I see. Like that, is it? Where's Bully when you need him?'

‘On his way home.'

‘Already? I thought he might have hung around and checked out the sights. Still, with her and that kid around that wouldn't be much fun.'

‘Her name's Tori. His name is Francis.'

She sniffed. ‘Yes, I know that, dear.'

It was her smartarse tone that pushed me over the edge. A bad day got suddenly worse when I gave my mum a serve.

A big helping.

‘What the hell have you got against them? How have they offended you? They've never done anything to deserve the shit you give them.'

Mum scoffed and recoiled, her face coloured.

‘Francis is your grandson. He'll be four next year and you don't even know him. He's a beautiful kid.'

‘He's not my grandson,' she growled.

‘He's your fucking grandson!' I hollered, right in her face.

She didn't flinch. She stood there for a minute that felt like an hour, her eyes afire and her cheeks crimson.

I held her gaze.

A door opened on one of the flats opposite. The Asian guy who'd helped me jump-start the Subaru stuck his head out, saw Mum and me toe-to-toe, and retreated.

Mum snatched her shopping bags from the seat of the car and thundered up the stairs to the flat.

‘You can't run forever,' I said. ‘One day you'll have to face up to it. It's not her fault. It's nobody's fault.'

I heard her kick the door, but something plastic got crushed and stopped it from slamming.

Instead of feeling triumphant at finally having said what needed to be said, I felt ashamed, Tori's words winging around in my head.

Drama queen.

Why did I have to turn it into a shamelessly public scene? Where was the dignity in that? Where was the humility in that?

I poked at the engine with a frustrated fury, swore under my breath and cursed the pain of coming clean.

It's much easier to run.

Oblivion is so much more fun.

In the short term, anyway.

I wanted to work my way up the stairs and apologise, but I didn't know what to say or if she'd even be able to hear me.

‘Hey,' came a voice.

I thumped my head on the bonnet.

It was the Asian dude. Dave. I remembered his name. He was still wearing a singlet and I realised it was his uniform.

I rubbed my head and he sucked air through smiling lips. ‘Sorry. Didn't mean to creep up on you. You all right?'

I nodded and rapped on my skull with my knuckles.

‘Where's the Subaru?'

‘That was my mate's car.'

‘And this is yours?'

‘Yep,' I said, and kicked the tyre.

‘What's happening? Won't start?'

I explained the symptoms and Dave leaned under the bonnet with me. He unplugged leads, took the cap off the distributor and checked the oil. He may have been guessing, but he was guessing with a confidence that I found reassuring.

‘Dave!' came a woman's voice.

‘Yeah?'

‘We've got to go.'

‘Just a minute.'

She was probably his girlfriend or wife or whatever. Her hair had been bleached and dyed red-orange and the overall effect was exotic and very easy on the eye.

‘I'd better go,' Dave said. ‘You around tomorrow? I could have a proper look tomorrow.'

‘Work.'

‘No sweat. Whenever.'

I took the spare key from its magnetic box under the dash and handed it to him. ‘Go for it, if you get the chance. I won't be going anywhere soon.'

He took the key and jogged to his black Celica. He raised a single finger off the steering wheel in a wave as they pounced onto Mungo Road.

I prodded uselessly at the car for a full hour before the heat of my frustration had me in a spitting, swearing fume.

Trapped.

In Shit Town with a busted ute-shaped paddle.

On the train again, out past Bonnie and Harry's place to The Hardware House looking for my phone. They were closing as I got there and nobody had seen the thing.

I jogged to Bonnie and Harry's. As I got to the front door, I became acutely aware of the sweaty body smell about me.

And I didn't care.

People in the city sweat, too.

They were sprawled on the couch watching some equestrian event on the ABC. Bonnie opened the security door for me and flopped back into her seat. Harry waved, but it seemed like a huge effort. His hair was still shower-wet.

‘Have you seen my phone?'

Bonnie said that she hadn't and asked me if I'd tried calling it. I used the phone in their kitchen and had to sing the number and write it down before I could dial it successfully.

It didn't ring.

‘The mobile telephone you are calling is switched off or not in a mobile service area.'

Gone. Just like that.

I couldn't stand still. I couldn't string a run of thoughts together. I felt flatter than road-kill rabbit and I looked around me for a comfortable place to sit and there was nothing.

‘What's the matter, Chainsaw?' Harry said.

‘Nothing.'

He scoffed.

‘What happened to Bully last night?'

They both laughed.

‘Why?' Bonnie asked.

‘He couldn't wait to get out of here this morning. What did you do to him?'

‘Me?' Bonnie said. ‘I don't think so.'

She pointed to her brother, who was pretending to watch the TV but had a mischievous smile carved into the corners of his mouth.

‘What?' he said, without breaking his gaze at the box.

My guts churned. ‘What happened?'

‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing, I swear,' Harry said.

Bonnie coughed.

Harry looked at me. ‘He got a bit wasted and couldn't find his swag so . . . I let him share my bed.'

‘Bullshit.'

He shook his head slowly.

‘You slept with Bullant?'

‘In a manner of speaking, yes. We shared a bed. Nothing happened. We, quite literally, slept.'

‘Yeah, and you don't have to be a psychologist to work out what that means,' Bonnie said.

‘Shut up,' Harry cursed. ‘Nothing happened.'

I laughed, but it was more of a nervous response. Harry offering his bed to Bullant didn't sound like an act of kindness. ‘You guys are unreal.'

‘Me?' Bonnie said. ‘I had nothing to do with it.'

‘What was he like this morning?' Harry asked.

‘Like a bull at a gate.'

‘Stud bull. Ha!'

I groaned. ‘I've got to go.'

Harry lifted himself from the couch and followed me to the door. ‘Seriously, nothing happened. I'm not the kind of guy who takes advantage of piss-heads, and that's the truth. Bully doesn't have a gay bone in his body. Well, not that I could find, anyway.'

‘Whatever.'

He followed me along the drive.

A patch of grey fluff was snagged in bark on the garden bed. I picked it up and showed Harry.

‘What?'

‘Cat hair.'

‘Wow,' he said, and blew it off my fingers. ‘You country boys know everything about the bush, don't you?'

‘I took your dog for a walk this morning while you were asleep. I tied him to the tap and he bent it and got loose chasing after a cat.'

Harry sniggered. ‘Felix hates cats. Did he kill it? He killed one that came into the backyard last year.'

I couldn't believe how blasé he was about the whole thing. I could still feel my guts churning. It was probably some kid's pet. ‘I don't know. It ran off.'

He shifted feet and changed the subject. ‘Where's your car?'

‘At Mum's flat. It shit itself.'

‘They're more trouble than they're worth.'

Some part of me agreed with him, but I could also see that he was avoiding the responsibility of owning a car. He was happy to ride in Bonnie's rocket. In the hills, where there are no trains, they are the wheels that help
you stand alone. When they work, they're your ticket to freedom.

As long as you obey the rules.

As long as you're big enough to carry the responsibility.

‘Hey, it's fixed,' Harry said, pointing at the letterbox. ‘Did you do that?'

‘Yes, this morning.'

‘Bit crooked.'

‘The letterbox isn't crooked.'

‘Yes it is. You have a look.'

‘The
pole
might be bent, but the letterbox is level.'

He laughed.

‘It's an out-there letterbox for my out-there mates.'

He smiled and rolled his eyes. ‘Thanks.'

‘No worries,' I sighed, and waved goodbye.

‘Where are you going? You can stay here.'

‘I'm going to have another go at fixing my car. I'll see you at work tomorrow.'

He waved and walked back up the drive.