One Dead Seagull (33 page)

‘Gosh.
Y
ou
all
right
W
ayne?
Did
you
hurt
yourself?
Did you?’
Jack
said,
and
helped
me
to
my
feet.

I
had
to laugh.
I
know
I
went
red
as
a
baboon
’
s
bum
but I
had
to
laugh.
Y
eah,
free
show
eve
r
ybod
y
.
Roll
up,
roll
up, come
and
see
W
ayno
the
bouncing
boy
toss
himself
from
stationa
r
y
trucks.
I
should
have
bowed.

The
sun
was
high
ove
r
head.
The
day
had
heated
up
while
I
slept.

One
of
the
waitresses
smiled
at
me,
I’m
sure
she
had enjoyed
the
sho
w
.
Chick
about
my
age
and
a
real
hone
y
. As
it
turned
out,
she
se
r
ved
me
my
two
pies
and
a
bottle of
Coke.
I
would
have
got
her
phone
number
if
I
hadn
’
t
ripped
my
wallet
open.
I
had
to
use
one
of
Mum
’
s fifty
-dollar
notes
to
pay
for
my
food
and
a
great
wash
of guilty
sads
made
my
gut
wobble
on
the
inside.
What
the bloody
hell
was
I
doing?

Jack
went
for
a
piss.
I
went
for
the
payphone.
‘
Y
our
call could
not
be
connected.
Please
check
the number
and
t
r
y again’
and
a
spooky
faint
voice
behind
it
said
something like
‘en
double
you
are
jay’.
I
freaked and
dialled
again. Come
on
Mum.
Same
message.
Jack
was
coming
out
of
the toilets
wiping
his
hands
on
his
jeans.
I
bolted past
him
into
the
dunn
y
.
No
matter
how
hard
I
tried,
I
couldn
’
t pee.
I stood
there
for
a
minute
shaking
my
willy
about
t
r
ying
to encourage
a
flow
but
nothing happened.
I ran
back
out and
realised
I’d
left
my
food
and
wallet
on
the
stand
next to
the
phone.
Idiot.
Jack
was
waiting
near
my
open
door munching
on
a
sandwich.

‘I’ll
give
you
a
hand
if
you
like,
W
ayne.
Give
me
your
food
and
stuff,’
he
said
and
wrestled
me
until
he
had
an armful.
He
carted
them up and
laid
them in
a
neat
row
on
the
dash.
W
allet,
pie,
pie,
Coke.

‘
Y
ou
right
then?’
he
said.
Looked
like
he
was
going
to hold
my
hand
or
something.

I
nodded
and
flew
up
the
steps.

Mate,
those
pies
were
good.
I
felt
like
a
python
at
the
end of
three
months’
hibernation.
Nothing
like
a
rat
pie.
Jack and
I
talked
on
and
off
as
the
sun
did
its
disappearing
act. Fade
to
black
over
paddocks
of
gold.
My
bum
went
numb.
He
never
asked
me
where
I
was
going
or
anything
like
that and
I’m
glad.
He’d
been
so
honest
with
me
that
it
would have
been
hard
work
to
bullshit
my
way
out
of
it.

Jack
said
they
grow
a
lot
of
wheat
along
the
Newell

Highway
and
it
suddenly
dawned on
me
why
Mum
’
s phone
didn
’
t
work.
W
e
were
now
in
New
South
W
ales
and I
hadn
’
t used
the
area
code.
Dipshit.
W
e
were
driving through
little count
r
y
towns
and
I
was
praying
that
Jack
would
stop.
Eve
r
y
town
had
a
payphone
lit up
like
the mirror in
our
bathroom
and
I
watched
them
whiz
b
y
.
My
bladder
was
going
to
burst.

‘Shit!’
Jack
shouted,
swe
r
ved
and
braked
hard.
All
the hissing
and
groaning
almost
made
me
piss
my
pants.
He got
out
and turned
on
his
torch.
I
got
out
and turned
on my
fire
hose.
Relief
or
what?

I
found
him
right
down
the
back
of
the
truck
peering
at
one
of
the
wheels.

‘Sor
r
y
about the language,
W
ayne,’
he said,
and I
scoffed.

‘Heard
worse
than
that
in
church,
Jack.’

‘Ran over
one of those
blessed
porcupines.
It was already
dead,
it
was.
Gosh
they
can
make
a
mess.’

He
pointed
with
his
torch
to
one
of
the
inside
wheels
where
a
clump
of
echidna
spikes
stuck
out
from
the
wall.
The
wheel
next
to
it
was
the
same
and
the
one
behind.

‘No
holes
though.
They don
’
t
usually
make
holes.
Not tough
enough
for
that,
they
aren
’
t.
But
sometimes
they do.’

It
felt
like
midnight
when
we
stopped
again
at
another
truck
stop.
The
air
was
warm
and
heav
y
.

‘This
is
it,
W
ayne.
The
end
of
the
line,
it
is.
I
go
up
to the
depot
from
here
but
it
won
’
t
get
you
any
closer
to
the
cit
y
.
Y
ou
could
hang
around
here,
you
could.
Maybe
get
a ride
with
one
of
these
blokes or
jump
on
the
train,’
he said.

I
grabbed
my
pack
and
climbed
down
the
stairs.
I
shook
his
hand
and
he
slapped
me
on
the
shoulde
r
.
‘Look
after yourself.’

I
thanked
him
and
walked
to
the
station.
W
acol.
The phone
on
the
platform
was
lit
like
all
the
others
I’d
seen
but
my
heart
sank
when
I
got
close
enough
to
see
it
had its
guts
hanging
out.
A
train
arrived
at
11:33
and
I
jumped on.
Only one
bloke
sat
in my
carriage,
looking pretty seedy
with
his
chin
resting
on
his
chest.
Jeez,
I
hoped
it
was
going the
right
wa
y
.
What
was
I
talking
about?
I
didn
’
t
even
know
where
I
was
going.
It
may
be
stupid
but
right
then
the
thing
that
I
missed
the
most
was
the
mower
shed
at
the
back
of
the
flat.
All
the
cobwebs
and
cat
’
s
piss.
Seriousl
y
.
Not
my
bed
or
my
mum
or
even
the
tell
y
,
just
that
scungy
shed.
Maybe
it
was
the
fact
that
no-one
ever
went out
there
except
me.
I
guess that
makes
it
my
joint.
I
don
’
t kno
w
,
but
I
wished
that
I
was
there
right
then.

The
bloke
snapped
awake
like
he’d
had
a
bad
dream. He
gripped
the
seat
and
stood
up.
W
e
got
off
at
Roma
Street.
The
bloke
staggered
off platform number nine and
rode
the
escalator
to
a
new
level.
I
slung
my
bag
on my
back
and
followed
him
along
a
wide
corridor where our
footfalls
echoed.
He
fished
in
his
pocket,
drew
out
his wallet
and
strode for
the
ticket
barrie
r
.
He
awkwardly
showed
the
fold
of
his
wallet
to
the
sleepy
looking
bloke in
the
booth.
He
didn
’
t stop
and
the
bloke
in
the
booth
rubbed
the
stubble
on
his
jaw
and
nodded.
It
was
now
or
never
and,
thinking on
my feet,
I
stopped
in
the
light
of
the
booth,
looked
the
bloke
in
the
eyes
and
smiled.

‘My
ticket
’
s
right
at
the
bottom
of
my
pack,’ I
said
and shrugged
my
bag
off
my
back.

The
man
in
the
booth
grunted
and
waved
me
through.

‘Don
’
t
wor
r
y
about
it,
mate.’

‘Thanks,’
I
said.

I
wasted
no
time
in
striding
out
onto
the
street.
Just over
the
road
was
the
second
biggest
police
station
in
the
world.
Police
headquarters.
I
nearly
crashed
into
a
letterbox
on
the
footpath.
What
a
place
to
break
the
law!

A
lone
seagull
ghosted
high
above
the
street,
squawking pathetically
to
itself,
its
wings
gold
in
the
reflected
street-light.
It
flew
like
it
was
drunk.
Drunk
and
lost,
looking
for a
place
to
land.

There
was
a
park
behind
the
station.
Fresh
looking
and newly
built,
it
offered
me
a
seat
and
sanctua
r
y
.

It
hit
me
that
I
was
halfway
across
the
count
r
y
,
in
a
city
that
wasn
’
t
my
own.
I’d
gotten
there
on
a
confused
whim. The
whim
had
run
out
and
all
that
was
left
was
confusion.
Why?
Why
did
I
nick
off?
T
o
prove
something
to
someone, I
supposed.
Mostly
to
get
up
Mum
’
s
nose.

A
feeling
started
clawing
at
my
tumm
y
.
It
was
like
being hung
r
y
,
and
I
probably
was,
but
it
made
my
arms
and
legs
feel
heav
y
.
I
heard
the
seagull
again,
its
harsh
cawing
‘bra
w
,
bra
w
,
braw’
bouncing
off the empty
street
and concrete
buildings.
It
was
the
loneliest
sound
on
earth. Sitting
on
a
park
bench
lit
by
streetlights,
in
a
strange
cit
y
,
the
curtain
that was
across
my
heart
got
ripped
aside.
That
feeling
in my
tummy
was loneliness.
I
missed
Kez
and
Mum
and
Den.
I
missed
Dad
and
my
bike.
I
missed
the
Merrimans
Creek
hill and
eve
r
ything about
the
place where
I
have
lived
all
my
life.
I
wanted
to
go
home.

At
the
top
of
Roma
Street
was
a
row
of
telephones—lit up
so
they
looked
like
the
gates
of
heaven
to
me.
I
slung
my
pack
in
the
disabled
booth
and
unzipped
the
front pocket
where
I
kept
my
ciggies
and
my
wallet.
My
wallet
wasn
’
t
there.
I
ripped open
the
top
zip
and
pulled
my
clothes
out.
Shit,
shit,
shit.
No
wallet.
I
grabbed
a
big
handful
of
hair
and
pulled
until
it
hurt.
Stamped
my
foot. I
could
picture
it
on
the
dash
of
Jack
’
s
truck.

I
ha
d
t
o
rin
g
he
r
.
‘
Y
ou
r
cal
l
coul
d
no
t
b
e
connecte
d
.
.
.’
Slam
!
Shit
,
shit
,
shit
.
Are
a
cod
e
the
n
numbe
r
.
Ring
,
ring
.
It ran
g
foreve
r
an
d
I
realise
d
i
t
wa
s
probabl
y
wel
l
after
midnight.