One Dead Seagull (14 page)

The
Humes
left
for
Mars
Cove
on
the
Monday—a
day later
than
planned
and
without
me.
They
came
in
and apologised for
having
to
leave
‘in my
time
of
need’,
as Gracie
called
it.
Baz
said
they
weren
’
t
going
to
take
the boat,
they had
decided
to
leave
that
momentous
launching
for
a
later
trip
when
I
was
bette
r
.

Whateve
r
.

Apparently
losing
your
hand
isn
’
t
such
a
big
operation, or
maybe
it
was
because
Mum
was
a
nurse.
She
took
me home
on
the
T
uesday
and
organised
time
off
work
to
look after
me.
It
was
the
first
time
in
about
a
year
that
she’d had
time
off
work.
The
last
time
was
when
she
had
the
flu
and
I
had
thought
she
was
going
to
cough
up
a
lung.
She spent
her
days
bringing
me
food
and
medication,
making sure
I was
comfortable.
Bought
me
a
new
little
telly
and set
it
up
in
my
bedroom.
And
a
VCR.
Once,
when
she
was out shopping
I
remembered
I
had
a
couple
of
porno
videos
under my
bottom drawe
r
.
I
had
found
them
in David
Henderson
’
s
locke
r
.
I
guess
it
’
s
stealing
and
I
know he
is
supposed
to
be
a
mate
and
eve
r
ything
but
what
’
s
he
going
to
do
about
it?
T
ell
Mrs
Kneebone?
T
ell
the
cops?
I watched
one
of
them.
It
was
shit-hot.
It
was
like
stick-books
that
had
come
to
life.
There
they
were,
going
for
it
in
a
hundre
d
differen
t
way
s
wit
h
al
l
thi
s
screamin
g
and
swearing
and
licking
lips.
Glad
my
dick
still
worked.

I
still
hadn
’
t seen
Dad
but
I
didn
’
t really
give
a
shit. He’d
be
down
the
pub
drowning
his
sorrows
or
over
at Pat
’
s
place
being
indispensable.
I
didn
’
t do
much
crazy laughing
after
that
first
mad
hour
or
so
but
I
started
to get pissed
off.
Not
so
much
about
losing
my
hand,
just
about
life. Mum booked me
in to see
Dr Stevenson
at
the hospital
to
talk
about
losing
my
hand.
T
urned
out
he
was a
psychologist
but
he
had
two
hands
and
two
legs
so
I
guessed
I
already knew
more
about
losing
a
hand
than
he
did.
He
was
an
old
man
who
looked
like
he
should
have
retired
ages
ago.
He
spoke
to
me like
I
was
two
years
old and
that
pissed
me
off even
more.
I
was
supposed
to arrange
for
a
weekly
visit
but
I
left
that
up
to
Mum.

I
wondered
if
I
should
go
back
to
school.
Being
the
freak
didn
’
t really
appeal.
I
reckoned
I’d
had
enough
of
school
anywa
y
.
I
was
the
legal
age
to
leave
so
that
was
an
option
.
W
ell
,
nearl
y
.
Sometime
s
bein
g
fiftee
n
nearly
sixteen
is
like
being
stuck
in
no-man
’
s-land.
I
can
really enjoy
a
drink
or
six
but
I’m
too
young
to
buy
it
and
I’d
cop
a
caning
if
Mum
found
out.
Christ,
I
could
be
a
father
if
I lay
down
with
the
right
woman
at
the
right
time.
W
ouldn
’
t
want
to
be
a
father
yet
but
there
’
s
no
harm
in
dreaming
about
it.

Mum told me
that
I
had
actually
died
at
one
stage
before
they
could give
me
more
blood.
She
said
that Mickey
was
shouting
and
dancing
around
the
operating theatre
while
she
stood
outside
the
door
panicking.
She
said
she
couldn
’
t
find
words
to
explain
how
helpless
she felt
having
all
her
qualifications
but
not
being
able
to
do
a
thing for
me.
She
watched
them
pump
my
chest
and wished
it
was
her
instead
of
me.
How
cool.
I’ve
actually
been
dead.
Wish
I
could
remember
it.

On Sunday
afternoon
the sun was streaming in my bedroom
windo
w
.
It
had a
bit
of
a
kick
in
it,
like
summer
wasn
’
t
that
far
awa
y
.
It
was
calling
to
me,
begging
me
to come
outside
but
I
couldn
’
t
be
stuffed.
I
pushed
the mute on
the
remote
when
I
thought
I
heard
some
music.
It
was
a
magpie
in
the
paperbark
at
the
back of
the
V
elos’ singing
a
quiet
ballad
that
seemed
a
bit
sad.
I
watched
the footy
with
the
sound
off
for
a
while
and
listened
to
the
magpie.
They
had
a
full-screen
shot
of
a
seagull
strutting at
quarter
time,
neck
arched
and
beak
open
wide.
I imagined
the
sound
it
would
have
been
making and
it
was nothing like
the
magpie.
Eventually
Mum
came
in
and
shattered
the stillness.
So
did
the Humes.
Back from
their
holiday
and
all
sickly
sympathetic.
Den had
a
cold
and
he sounded
retarded
with his
blocked
nose.
It made
me laugh
a
couple
of
times
when
he
was
t
r
ying
to
be
sincere
and
friendl
y
.
A
couple
of
minutes
after
they left
Dad arrived.
I
could
hear
him
arguing
with Mum
on
the
porch. Ahh,
the
good
old
days.
The
door
slammed
and
a
car roared
off.

He
looked
different.
His
clothes
were
ironed
and
he’d had
a
shave.
He
smelled
like
L
ynx
‘Aztec’.
Maybe
he
did get
the
hint
after
all?
He
sat
at
my
desk
acting
really
cool, talking
about
the
footy
and
shit.
He
propped
a
fist
on
one
hip
and
the
other
hand
rested
on
his
knee.

‘Listen mate,
I’m sor
r
y
I
didn
’
t get
to
see
you
at
hospital.
I’ve
been
a
bit
busy
and
..
.
you
know
how
I
am
about
hospitals
and
that.’

I
nodded
and
watched
another
goal
pounded
home
on the
screen.
This
was
turning
into
a
slaughte
r
.

‘
T
o
be
quite
honest,
I’ve
been
beside
myself
since
the accident
and
I
wouldn
’
t
have
been
much
use
to
you.’

Nod,
nod.
See
ya.
Bye
Dad.
Y
ou
can
go
no
w
.

‘I’m going
up
the
coast
for
a
while.
T
er
r
y
Fisher
’
s
got
me
a job
working
on
a boat
at
Bermagui.
They
need
someone
to
help
with
the
deepwater
fishing
so
I
said
I’d give
it
a
go.’

He
’
s
nodding
along
with
me
now
and
at
that
moment
I
really
hated
him.
Spineless
arsehole.
He
got
up
to
go.

‘Jesus
you
talk
crap,’
I
thought
and
it
came
out
of
my
mouth.

‘What?’

He
started
puffing
himself
up
like
he
was
going to
deck me
or
something.
I
couldn
’
t
have
cared
less.

I
jumped
out
of
bed
and
looked
him straight
in
the face.
‘
Y
ou’re
full
of
crap.
Y
ou
talk
shit.’

‘Hang
on
a
minute,
W
ayne.’

‘I’m
lying
in
hospital—dying—and you’re
too
busy
dipping
your
wick
to
even
come
in
and
see how
I’m
going.
Y
ou’re
bloody
useless.’

He
slapped
me.
Open
hand
right across my
cheek. Bloody
puss
y
.
Den
’
s
hit
me harder
than
that
and
he
’
s
my
mate.

‘I
won
’
t
take
that
sort
of
crap
from
you.
Y
ou
hear?
My life
with
Pat
’
s
my
business.’

Y
eah,
well,
I
think
I
guessed
that
right.

His
face
went
red
and
veins
started
to
pop
out
in
his brow
and
neck.
He
was
up
for
a
shouting
match
at
least.

‘
Y
ou’re
my
bloody
son.
I
love
you
and
I
want
to
be
around
you.’

‘So
why
didn
’
t
you
come
to
the
friggin’
hospital?’
I
spat. I
took
a
step
back,
ready
to
defend
myself.
His
face cramped.
His
lips
bent
down
at
the
corners
and
shook.
He took
me
in
his
arms
and
had
a
bit
of
a
sob.
He
said
it
was his
fault
that
I
had
been
hurt,
that
he
was
a
no-good
father and
some other
garble
that
was
punctuated
by
bubbles
of snot
bursting
in
his
nostrils.
I’d
never
seen
him
c
r
y
before, about
anything.
W
e
talked
on
my
bed
after
that,
in
the
ad
breaks
anywa
y
. He
ran
out
to
his
ute
and
brought
back
a
six-pack
of
VB
stubbies.
He
cracked
a
beer
for
himself
and
one
for
me. He
told
me
that
he
and
Pat
have
a
strictly
paternal
relationship.
I
think
he
meant
platonic
but
I
still
think he
’
s
hot for he
r
.
He
apologised
for whacking
me
one.
He asked
me
how
my
stump
was.
I
told
him
it
was
oka
y
.
‘Nah,
nah,
I
mean
how
is
it
really?
What
does
it
feel
like?
Do
you,
you
kno
w
,
miss
it?’