Eyrie (21 page)

K
eely stood at the sink washing flour from his hands as Doris spun a lettuce beside him. From the kitchen window he saw Kai wading through fallen plane leaves. Gemma leant against the verandah rail, smoking pensively, alone. She’d been out there two hours; she’d hardly spoken all afternoon. Since the unsettling drama of their arrival – all that clutching and weeping in his mother’s arms – she’d withdrawn. As if she regretted the chaotic outpouring of need, the words, the mewling. And now she was shaky, remote, somehow defiant.

Do you have a plan? his mother asked.

No, he said. Not really. I’m sorry. I just . . .

It’s okay. See them safe first. Figure it out later.

Yeah, he said ruefully. That sounds like a plan.

Chip off the old block, then.

He saw her gracious smile, did what he could to respond in kind, but he knew she was just trying to steady his nerves.

So you didn’t witness this exchange, hear threats uttered?

He shook his head, told her about the encounter with the little thug in the lobby.

Doris seemed diffident, even sceptical.

She was a mess, he said. They both were.

Over a fifteen-year-old Hyundai.

You don’t believe her?

My instinct is always to believe her.

But?

Doris set the broken lettuce into a big majolica bowl and wiped her hands on her apron.

Well, my instincts haven’t always been infallible. I wasn’t there, Tom. I don’t know these people. I don’t have enough information to make a judgement. I’ve learnt some things the hard way.

Forty years ago you’d have taken them in without question.

Tom, love, I
have
taken them in without question.

Yes, I’m sorry. I’m just . . .

Caught up. It’s normal.

My head’s still reeling.

Doris took a cucumber and a jar of olives from the fridge.

You know she should be at a police station. Laying a complaint, making a statement.

She won’t go. I’ve tried.

Keep at her.

I can’t. She just shuts down on me.

Are you involved with her somehow?

Why do you ask?

To get some idea of the situation. And because of the way the boy watches you.

Kai? How?

As if he’s waiting for something. I don’t know. Waiting for you to take her off him? Waiting for you to do what men have done before? Who knows? He’s just very watchful.

He’s had a pretty crap day.

No doubt. Seems a lovely boy.

He is.

And she’s a very attractive woman.

Doris.

You didn’t answer my question.

I don’t know how to answer it, he said. And I don’t know why I should.

Fair enough, she said. As long as you’re still able to ask it of yourself.

Mum, I just couldn’t stand by and do nothing.

Of course not.

And I don’t need any ulterior motive to help them out.

She dipped her head in assent and rattled away at the cutting board, glancing up now and then at Gemma and Kai in the fading light.

Strange, isn’t it? she said. Seeing her again – a woman, a grandmother.

Strange doesn’t even get close.

I think my head’s spinning a little, too.

Full house again.

Doris smiled broadly, her pleasure finally evident, and just then Gemma turned and saw them. She looked guarded, even disgruntled, as if suspecting their smiles had come at her expense.

Thanks for this, he said.

Get the girl a drink. And run a bath for Kai.

*

Dinner was every bit as quiet and chary as the afternoon that had preceded it. Kai was silent. Keely and his mother did what they could to lighten the mood, but Gemma was shy, almost childlike with Doris. She hadn’t come inside until dusk, when Doris had gone out to coax her in. She was nervous with her cutlery, visibly anxious about the house and its furniture. To Keely she appeared sullen. Doris seemed to take it all in her stride. But he could see Gemma was already having second thoughts.

They ate the fish he’d fried and passed the salad around. After five minutes or so, having eaten very little, Kai withdrew to stalk the livingroom. Gemma ate in silence for a while and then pushed her plate back as if she had neither strength nor appetite to finish. Doris laid a hand on Gemma’s.

You’ve done a good job with Kai, she said. You’re a brave girl.

Gemma brightened, rose from her hunched posture, stretching in a manner that struck Keely as feline. She leant in towards Doris, actively seeking contact, and it gave him a queer feeling. She didn’t say much. Just gave that bashful, pleased smile as Doris stroked her hair and petted her.

In the livingroom Kai moved from shelf to shelf in his PJs, peering at the contents of every bookcase and cabinet, glancing up at the ochres and oils on the walls. He stopped before a Wandjina. Stared at that big mouthless face. The owlish eyes. The storm-power radiating from its head in thick brown rays. He turned and for a moment their eyes met – his and the boy’s – and he wondered what he made of it, this ancient depiction of the Mighty Force. But with the women having their moment it didn’t seem the time to ask him. They were watching him themselves.

He’s a delightful child, said Doris. A credit to you.

Does he remind you of me? Gemma said in a teeny voice he’d never heard before. When I was little?

That hair, said Doris sadly.

Keely wondered if Gemma could detect the melancholy in his mother’s voice. It unsettled him. He didn’t know what it meant. Wondered if he was jealous. Which was absurd.

But Gemma looked pleased. She kept smoothing down her dress, smiling at her hands.

The boy opened the atlas on the canted shelf. Keely finished up his fish. It was red emperor, would have cost Doris a bomb, and in the end only he’d eaten it.

Does Kai look like his mum? asked Doris.

No, said Gemma. She’s different.

They stretch us. Our kids.

And that’s just the start, said Gemma with a conspiratorial grin, in a voice more like her own.

Doris laughed knowingly and Gemma’s smile was suddenly warm and womanly, as if she’d declared herself. Maybe this would work after all.

I might go for a walk, said Keely. Let you gals compare gynaecological notes.

Look, said Doris. He’s set to bolt already.

Blokes, said Gemma.

I could show Kai how close the river is. Let you two ladies catch up.

Listen to him, said Doris. He’s gone all Mister Darcy on us.

He needs puttin to bed, said Gemma.

The kid turned a page of the atlas.

I’ll give you a hand, said Keely.

Gemma can handle it, said Doris.

Right, he murmured. Course.

All our stuff’s in binbags, said Gemma. I gotta find me work clobber.

You think you should go in tonight? he asked.

Yes, said Doris. We should go and make a report.

It’ll take bloody hours. I’ll be late.

I’ll come with you, said Doris. Maybe speed things up a little.

I’ve took sick days off already, said Gemma. They’ll give me the flick if I don’t show.

We’ll write a letter, said Doris.

I know how the bosses think. Tell em what’s happenin, you sound like trash, like a crim. Gives em the excuse they’re lookin for to sack ya and put in some cheap Chinks.

Gemma —

I need the job. I can’t lose the job.

Maybe tomorrow, then.

Have to think. Get Kai to school.

You think that’s wise?

It’s all he’s got. Gotta keep him in school. School’s the most important thing, isn’t it?

Keely caught Doris’s look of misgiving. He felt as useful as a hip pocket on a singlet.

Okay love, said his mother. You do what you think’s best. Now, I’ve made up a bed in the spare room. And there’s a mattress on the floor for Kai. I thought he’d prefer to be in with you for a few nights.

Gemma nodded abstractedly.

Will that be okay?

Gemma turned the handle of her knife back and forward across the plate. Funny, isn’t it? she said.

Funny?

Weird.

Doris patted her arm.

Forty-four and still bunked down at the Keelys’.

Yes, said Doris. Life’s a surprise.

It’s the shits, really. Scuse the French.

No, said Doris. You’re right. It is. You’ve got to work, you have a boy to care for, and a home you have every right to live in without feeling you’re under siege. If that isn’t the shits, then I don’t know what is.

We’ll sort it out, said Keely, conscious of how lame he sounded.

Perhaps we’ll talk about our plans in the morning, said Doris, getting up, drawing things to a close.

There’s only a week, said Gemma.

A week’s a long time in Stewie’s world, said Keely.

You’d know, would ya? Gemma said with a flicker of disdain.

I’m just saying.

If I had five grand, Tom, he’d be dead. That’s all it costs.

I think we can all leave it at that, said Doris frostily.

Keely turned in his seat and saw Kai in the doorway, taking it all in.

W
hile Gemma showered, Keely and his mother did the dishes. Doris was taciturn. The set of her mouth was grim, almost disgusted.

He set a brush to the pan, scoured it of its ghostly outlines of fish.

He’s seen too much, she said.

No question.

The weight of it, she said. You can see it on him.

Keely didn’t know what to say.

You know why I can’t give her money.

She’s not asking you for it. Neither am I.

Keely scrubbed the pan until it glowed. He hadn’t been completely forthcoming with Doris. He’d been vague about the threat to Kai. And she was right, he hadn’t witnessed it. Not that he didn’t believe Gemma. She was scared. It was natural she’d be afraid for the kid. In her position you’d take any sidelong leer as a threat, wouldn’t you? But he hadn’t wanted to send Doris into overdrive right from the outset. He also needed to process what was happening, get his mind into gear. It was just that his head was so boggy and slow. As if his software were old or compromised.

Tom?

The pan shone where he hadn’t even applied the brush. Around the rim was an aura. The pan replicated itself on the tile-work, the window; it gilded his hands and made his head swim.

What are you doing? Tom?

He saw he’d braced himself against the windowsill. I’m alright, he said as much to himself as her.

You don’t look alright.

Thanks.

You’re exhausted. Here, let me finish this.

No, he said. I’m good.

I know you’re
good
, she said. What I’m wondering about is whether you’re well.

Too late in the day for a grammar lesson, Doris.

Well, she said, summoning all her matriarchal indulgence. Don’t drown in my sink. I like to keep a tidy house.

He grinned. But she was right there. Watching. Like that Wandjina painting. Owl-eyed. Taking him in. Him. In his freeze-framing jerks of consciousness. Washing. Sticking. Coming free. Grinning. Holding onto the sink like a geriatric.

G
emma drove herself to work in the accursed Hyundai. Before leaving she put Kai to bed with the door open and a lamp burning.

Keely watched it all happening as if he were outside the house looking in. He had to concentrate to keep up and there were constant jerks of energy coursing up his legs as if his body were repeatedly recovering from stumbles.

He sat in the kitchen trying to look casual. Doris retreated to her room, face ominously untroubled. Keely knew the boy was still awake. From along the hallway there was silence, only the light slanting from the door, but he knew Kai well enough to be certain he’d be restless. He hauled himself upright. Ghosted down the passage like a dirigible. Saw the kid lying in there beneath his sheet, examining his hands. He knelt beside the mattress.

Kai looked up, unsurprised.

This’ll only be for a few days, Keely said carefully.

Kai said nothing.

Are you comfy?

The boy surveyed his palms.

I know it’s a strange house. I mean, a different place all of a sudden. But it’s safe here. Doris is here in the next room. I’ll sleep in the lounge tonight. I’ll be right there, right along the hall. You can see me anytime.

Kai chewed his lip.

You want to tell me anything?

The boy breathed, wheezing slightly.

You want to ask me something, Kai?

There’s a letter, he whispered.

A letter? Where, mate? Who from?

No, said the boy impatiently. Here. Look.

He held out his palms.

Em.

Sorry?

It’s a em. See?

It took a moment to understand what the kid meant: the ragged letter M formed by the creases of his hand.

This one, too, said Kai. Em.

Well. Yeah. Look at that, eh?

I have a question.

Fire away.

Like, is it the same? For you?

Keely looked at the boy a second, then at his hands. He held them out. At the end of his arms his hands looked alien, improbable. The boy blinked and the sound of it was like cutlery chinking.

Not really, said Keely. Mine are a bit. Different.

Kai took a little while to digest this.

But what’s it for? he asked. M for what?

Well, M for whatever you like, I spose. They’re your hands, sport.

But what does it mean?

I don’t think it means anything, mate. It’s just a . . . just . . . just crease.

But only me?

Like a fingerprint, maybe. Yeah. Only you.

The boy settled on the pillow and reached for his arm. He wasn’t even close to sleep. And Keely couldn’t feel the boy’s fingertips. He was rattled.

You’re safe, he whispered prayerfully, needing it to be true, wanting to believe.

W
hen Keely opened his eyes Doris was there, her silvery hair spilling over his chest.

Are you with me? she said.

Keely saw the ceiling rose behind her head. The pendant light-fitting like a halo.

Tom, love, are you with me?

As opposed to what? he replied. Against you?

Her hands on his neck and face were greasy. He knew the smell from childhood. Oil of Olay. Clearly Doris hadn’t heard about the animal testing. And now maybe wasn’t the right time. He was on the floor in the livingroom, and his limbs were treacherously slow, but he felt so alert. His mother clanked and rattled over him and he felt the boards under his arms, the Afghan rug prickling at his back. There was no getting around it. He’d checked out momentarily. He knew he should be terrified but right now he felt too embarrassed to be afraid.

I gather it’s not morning, then.

No, she said. It’s just after ten.

I wonder if that fish was alright.

It was fine, she said.

I must have tripped on the rug.

Maybe, she said, unconvinced. I was about to call an ambulance.

Call it what?

You’re squinting.

Am I?

Tom, are you taking something?

I wouldn’t steal from you, he said with a grin. Check my pockets.

Don’t worry, she said. I already have.

Through the jarrah floor he felt the fridge cycle off, shaking itself like a pup. A clock dripped. He felt the sound on his tongue.

Love, is there something you need to tell me?

I don’t think so, he said, levering himself by seven stages into a sitting position.

Doris sat back on her haunches. He looked at the big, saggy T-shirt, her bare legs. His mother went to bed in a Midnight Oil tour shirt. He never knew.

I fancy a shower, he said gamely.

Are you up to it?

It’s just water, he said.

I think I should call someone.

No, he said. Not tonight. You can’t do that now.

Doris pursed her lips.

I’ll be right in a moment.

Tom, we need to talk about this.

Look, he said woozily. I’m up. It’s fine. It’s these bloody Afghans, they’re all trying to kill us. That’s a joke.

If you say so.

He surfed the hallway to the bathroom. There was a towel, a spare toothbrush. Dear, dear Doris, he thought. Always two kicks ahead of the game.

Afterwards, cleaner, clearer, he stood in her doorway. She was on the bed cross-legged with a book in her lap. She glanced up a moment and turned the page. On the dresser a little desk fan turned its head to and fro. He leant against the architrave with a nonchalance Doris wasn’t buying.

What’re you reading?

A biography, she said. Dorothy Day.

On the bedside table there were more hardbacks. From here he could see something about Paul Robeson, a Brian Moore novel, the Bill McKibben he’d given her at Christmas.

Feeling better?

Yeah. Good.

What was that about, Tom?

He shrugged. I don’t know.

You just fell down.

Tired. I guess. Bit of vertigo.

Nothing you want to tell me?

He offered a counterfeit laugh. I haven’t even slept the night yet, Doris. You’re starting in early.

Has this happened before?

He shrugged again and she pushed her specs impatiently back into her hair.

It’s nothing, he said.

The sleepwalking. You asked me about sleepwalking.

Let’s just drop it. There’re bigger things on.

Do you have headaches?

Just an ear infection.

You never said anything about —

Ages ago. And, look, I haven’t been sleeping too well. It’s nothing.

I’m worried you’ll fall in the bathroom, somewhere else.

I won’t fall.

But you’re big, love, she said, at the verge of tears. I can’t lift you up.

Mum, you won’t have to.

He went in and held her. She was cool and trembling. He could feel her. And his arms burned a little.

Really, he said. You’re making this into a big deal. And no, I’m not on heroin. Budgetary reasons, mostly.

She sniffed, suffered the embrace a moment, then pressed him away. He sat on the bed, guilty, mortified. She reached for a tissue and blotted her face with fierce detachment. The book lay face-down between them, wings out like a fallen bird.

It’s fine, he said.

If you say so. But Gemma and Kai. They’re here now.

Yes, he said, sensing a corner having been turned.

Doris straightened herself.

And now, to an extent, they’re my business too.

He nodded, waiting for it.

So you better listen to me.

All ears, Mum, he said, trying to match her tone.

I know you haven’t got a plan.

No, I’m just —

That’s fine. I understand.

But
.

In the absence of a plan, you need a stance at least.

Stance.

A considered position. An act, as my younger clients like to say. You need to get an act. Even your father figured that much out – too late, I’ll admit.

What’re we talking about here?

Your own survival, for one thing.

Oh, Mum, I don’t think the situation’s
that
fraught.

Don’t be so literal. Just give yourself a bit of distance. That’s all I’m saying.

You mean from them? Gemma and Kai?

Doris nodded.

Geez, he said. You’re a surprise.

You’re trying to do the right thing, I know. It’s how we raised you, the both of you. But you save yourself first, Tom. That’s something I do know, it’s what I’ve learnt. You save yourself, then you look to the others.

Keely was confounded. He took a breath but she cut him short.

Perverse, isn’t it, how we could teach you that in the water but not on land, in life. We didn’t see it. We were such innocents.

You’ve lost me.

Swimming lessons, Tom. Lifesaving. How you approach a swimmer in distress.

You’re kidding me, aren’t you?

Feet first, ready to fend off.

Okay, he said, shaking his head. Wise as serpents, innocent as doves. Tick that box.

Tom, I’m serious. To save a drowner you need to be a swimmer. Remain a swimmer.

You’ve really thought about this.

For thirty-five years, she said with a heaviness that flattened his scorn.

Keely ran his hand over the dark dimples of her book. He slipped the page-marker back into the gutter, closed it and felt its heft.

You think you’d still have him if he’d been more of a swimmer, had an act?

She sighed and reclaimed the book.

Who knows, she said. When somebody burns that hot you don’t really expect a long haul.

But he never did have a sense of professional distance.

Not when it might have served him best. Nev was so bloody impulsive.

Being careful, though. After a while it grinds you down.

I’m not talking about your job.

Feels like submission, Doris. Being careful.

I don’t think you know as much about submission as you’d like to imagine.

But wasn’t I always too careful? Hasn’t that always been my problem?

Presently, I wouldn’t see it as your chief problem.

I didn’t want to make the same mistakes. Nev was like a bull in a china shop.

He was a giant surrounded by moral pygmies.

I’m not saying he wasn’t. I just wanted to be smarter.

Smarter?

More effective.

There’s no virtue in saying you’re not like Neville Keely, so don’t sit on my bed and talk bullshit, it’s insulting.

Sorry, he said, angry, humiliated, confused.

And don’t kid yourself, Tom. Your father was transparent. I could read him like the form guide. You’re not so different.

Keely got to his feet, anxious to disentangle himself.

How are you getting Kai to school tomorrow?

Gemma’s off at five, he said meekly. So there’s the car.

Right, Doris said, taking up her book. The car.

Chastened and bewildered, he took himself off to the couch and the livingroom and the long night ahead.