The Maskeys, page 16
Waving him goodbye, from the servo, Leanne was hopeful that a day at the beach might lift his funk. He’d complained that all the camphor laurels down by the creek were doing his head in: the humidity beneath their canopy, the creek beds choked by their roots, the ticks that fell from their branches, and all the other bugs that clicked in invisible menace. Killing the buzz from his cones.
She wheeled out the Open for Business sign and hurried inside, hoping to take Rodney his breakfast.
‘He’s had his breakfast,’ Gayle said, not looking up from the cash drawer.
Leanne was disappointed.
‘But you can fetch his tray.’
She passed Eric at the top of the stairs; her curt smile for him went unacknowledged. She knocked on Rodney’s door and entered.
‘A happy face,’ he said.
‘I thought Eric looked grumpy,’ she whispered.
‘He only got in just before sun-up. Mrs Reynolds weren’t too happy. Made him sleep on the lounge.’
Leanne enjoyed the scandal.
‘He’s full of shit,’ Rodney said, handing her the tray before he went on, ‘The mobile library is in town today. You couldn’t go and loan me a book, could you? I’m really likin this author called Di Morrissey at the moment. Tell Helene, the librarian, that Rodney wants one he ain’t read before. I don’t have me card on me, but she knows who I am.’
Leanne agreed to borrow a book for Rodney and went to leave. As she opened the door, they both heard Eric and Gayle in argument, the gist of which seemed to be that Eric’s late night – supposedly spent with a contact to offload the weed – had amounted to nothing.
Rodney went close to the door, to better hear. ‘Tell Mrs Reynolds,’ he whispered to Leanne, ‘that I have a contact to offload those plants. If she’s interested. He’ll pay well for anything I grown.’
Leanne looked unsure.
‘White-teeth has no fuckern idea. She can’t trust im.’
Leanne shut the door, went to the kitchen, and washed and dried Rodney’s bowl and mug. Upon placing them neatly on the bench, she steeled herself to descend the stairs, to join the bickering couple.
‘Don’t mind me,’ she said, as she moved behind the counter.
In a huff, Gayle resumed stocking the fridge with dairy products.
‘I’ve got to go – got drugs to sell,’ Eric blurted awkwardly, as he hurried out.
When he was gone, Leanne told Gayle, ‘Rodney says he can sell the dope for you.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘I don’t know. He says you can’t trust Eric.’
‘He would say that – wouldn’t he?’
Leanne thought. ‘Why?’
Gayle looked aghast. ‘You don’t think he might have a conflict of interest here?’
‘I dunno.’
‘Please do not start trusting him. I’ve known Rodney a very long time.’ She sighed, remembering just how long.
The two young boys hurtled into the servo and straight up the stairs, while Gayle was serving a customer. ‘Hang on, you – who’s that you’re with?’ she asked her son, of the unkempt child in his company.
Duncan stopped at the top of the stairs. ‘No one,’ he said. ‘Come on, Rodney,’ he urged.
The thirteen-year-olds went to Duncan’s room and closed the door.
Gayle was beginning to worry about her son. He was being sighted more and more around town in the company of older boys known to be dealers. She followed up the stairs and, without knocking, entered her son’s room.
‘It’s just Rodney,’ Duncan complained. ‘I told him he could stay.’
Suspecting that she knew the answer to the question already, Gayle asked the wild-looking boy if his mother would mind. Rodney shook his head.
‘Rodney lives in the school roof,’ Duncan said. ‘No one knows, only me.’
Rodney felt himself shrinking in the strange surroundings of Duncan’s room. The carpeted floor. The made bed. All of his things. Rodney blushed. Hassle-tears began to gather in his eyeballs, made hot.
Duncan started pushing his mother out of the room. ‘He lives in the roof. His name’s Rodney. And he lives on scraps of food, and snakes.’
The bell on the shop door rang. ‘I know you, don’t I?’ Gayle said to Rodney.
‘I come here sometimes to buy your snakes, Mrs Reynolds,’ Rodney said. ‘Yours are the cheapest.’
Downstairs a customer cried out, ‘Gayle?’
‘Tea is thirty minutes,’ she said – hurrying down.
When his mother was gone, Duncan closed his door once more. ‘Have you really smoked dope?’ he asked Rodney.
‘Yeah,’ Rodney said, disinterested. ‘Lucy made me ave it sometimes.’ ‘Your mother,’ Duncan said, impressed.
Rodney took more of a look around, having never seen anything like it. Toys everywhere.
‘Mothers never make you smoke dope,’ Duncan said. ‘Look what I’ve got.’
Rodney fingered a Transformer. He turned to see Duncan brandishing a bong. ‘A bong,’ Rodney said, turning back to the robot.
‘My mother wouldn’t – she’s really stupid,’ Duncan went on.
‘You got a really nice room,’ Rodney said, privately wondering what Duncan’s mother was making for tea.
Later, when she was setting a place for Duncan’s new friend at the kitchen table, Gayle tried to fathom what her thirteen-year-old son was doing with someone so small. Rodney looked to be about eight, whereas Duncan was big for his age.
She remembered her very first meeting with the small child, all those years ago, when the boys were aged four. ‘Your mother won’t mind you staying the night?’ Gayle asked again, warily.
Rodney picked up a sausage with his fingers. He squeezed it tight and bit off the end. ‘No,’ he said.
‘Does she know you’re here?’ Gayle said, taking up her knife and fork, and hoping the boy might cotton on.
‘No.’
‘Shouldn’t she?’
‘I don’t know where she is,’ Rodney said, taking another bite.
‘Do you have a father?’
He chewed. ‘I never had a father. I ain’t son material.’
Gayle put down her knife and fork. ‘What’s this about you living in the roof of the school?’
‘No, I don’t, I live at number three,’ Rodney corrected her, with an embarrassed glance at Duncan.
‘Don’t lie to her,’ he said. ‘You live in the roof.’
‘Lucy would wring me neck if I lived at the roof,’ Rodney said, disappointing his new friend with his lack of loyalty.
After tea, Gayle insisted that Rodney have a bath. She found him some old clothes of Duncan’s to put on, and after that he was bedded down on the floor in Duncan’s room. The boys talked about things boys that age might be concerned with. But only a little bit. Duncan found more excitement in everything about Rodney’s unusual life circumstances: his off-the-grid upbringing – with no school enrolment and no expectations; his notorious mother, exposure to drugs, the people who use them. And the glamour of the lies that Rodney needed to tell to keep authorities – like the snoopy mothers of friends – at bay.
Duncan made a decision that night, that he and Rodney would be best friends. And shortly after this announcement, he fell asleep.
But Rodney could not sleep.
With a different type of glamour on his mind, he quietly flung the blanket off his legs and, in the darkness, tiptoed down the stairs to the shop. Down there, the glow of a street lamp afforded the boy the illumination he required to look in awe at the selection of sweets displayed in Gayle’s lolly counter.
Through a crack in the curtains at the foot of the stairs, Gayle watched him admire the musk sticks, milk bottles, bullets and teeth. She stepped down, surprising the boy.
‘I were only lookin, Mrs Reynolds,’ he stuttered. ‘I —’
Gayle smiled. ‘I was,’ she said, correcting him.
He was confused. ‘What?’
‘It’s was – not were.’
‘Was?’ he queried, catching on. He thought a minute. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Reynolds. Ya must be wrong. It’s definitely were.’
‘I can assure you,’ she said, ‘the correct grammar is was.’
Rodney thought it strange that a grown-up like Gayle – who was the proprietor of the servo, no less – could get something so basic, so wrong. But to give her some benefit of the doubt, he repeated the words under his breath. ‘I was, I were, I was, I were … Can’t be, Mrs Reynolds. Was just don’t sound right.’
Gayle shook her head in wonder at him.
He yawned. ‘I better go to sleep now, Mrs Reynolds,’ he said, making for the stairs.
‘Goodnight, Rodney.’ She saw he had some snakes, squeezed tight, in one hand.
He hesitated. ‘Mrs Reynolds.’
‘Yes, Rodney.’
‘I took some snakes. They’ll help me sleep. But I can put em back if you want.’
‘No need, Rodney.’ Gayle smiled, cautiously, in the dark.
That night, as she drifted off to sleep, she wondered what to make of her son’s new friendship.
Further visits by Rodney followed. However, it was when Gayle discovered that money was disappearing from her cash drawer that his overnight stays with Duncan came to an abrupt end.
This was a shame to Rodney. He enjoyed the stay-overs. But Gayle’s discovery of missing money had come on top of rapid changes she had been observing in Duncan’s behaviour since he’d been hanging out with his wily, street-wise friend. And though when asked, Rodney denied taking any money from her till – she did not believe him.
It was then she decided it would be best to phone Child Welfare, to report Rodney’s circumstances.
But when Duncan overheard the call, he hurled abuse at her. ‘You’re a stupid dobbing bitch, and you don’t even know what you’re talking about. Lucy is dead. She’s been dead for two weeks,’ he screamed. ‘She’s in the cemetery, if you don’t believe me.’ He laughed. ‘You don’t know anything – you stupid bitch,’ he cried out, at the top of his lungs.
Gayle was stunned by his fury.
Duncan, red in the face, raged on. ‘Where’s my bong?’
‘I threw it out,’ she said.
A customer came in to pay for fuel. Duncan pushed over the newspaper stand.
Gayle didn’t know what to do. But she knew marijuana was unlikely to cause such a fit. Her son was just turned fourteen; surely, she thought, he wasn’t using anything harder …?
A few days after her call to Child Welfare, the department phoned to say that they had visited number three, and that there seemed to be no one living there. Gayle told them that she had learnt Rodney’s mother was deceased. She advised them to send welfare officers to search inside the roof of the school.
They took some persuading.
But they did a search and found no boy: just a large eastcoast diamond python curled up in the rafters of the old timber schoolhouse.
2
Eric’s head was swirled up into his locs. In desperate need of a plan to offload the dope before Rodney could cause harm to his relationship with Gayle, he took himself to one of the town’s cafes, ordered a coffee and, in a garden at the rear, lit a joint for inspiration.
None came.
After an hour, he decided he had wasted enough time there and, seeing the big open windows of the pub across the road, went over to beer-storm for a solution. As he passed some townsfolk who were familiar to him – some cops too – the task of finding a buyer in Naples for the stolen grass seemed impossible. Every dealer in town knew George Maskey. And so, every dealer in Naples would know he was missing a sizable number of plants.
And though George as yet had no idea he was missing any plants, Eric didn’t know that – did he?
Eric didn’t know everything.
George didn’t know everything.
But the Livestock Association president, enjoying a midday beer in the public bar, knew almost as much as Serenade – who knows everything.
Ignoring the old busybody’s presence, Eric went to the end of the bar and was more alert to the barmaid on duty: an attractive woman that he had recent history with. He appeared sheepish as he waited for service from her.
‘Back so soon, stud?’ she mocked.
‘Morning, Lindy.’ Eric smiled. ‘Sorry I had to run off —’
She leant in close to interrupt. ‘You know, that was not cool cracking on to Mum last night. You made me feel like a fucking idiot.’
The Livestock Association president listened in.
‘I was the one big enough desperado to drag you home, after all.’
‘Yeah, I’m sorry,’ Eric said. ‘I was high.’
Lindy produced Eric’s toothbrush from her bag. She dropped it on the bar. ‘Clean your teeth somewhere else – Melbourne Grammar piece of misogynist shit,’ she spat.
Eric blushed. He picked up the toothbrush.
The Livestock Association president chimed in. ‘Why are you still here?’
Lindy raised her eyebrows.
Eric ignored him.
‘You,’ the livestock expert persisted. ‘Why – are you – still here?’
‘I haven’t had a drink yet,’ Eric said.
‘Not here, in the bar,’ he went on. ‘Why are you still here in Naples?’
The question left Eric dumbstruck.
‘You know this town is very fond of Gayle. I myself have known her since she was just a kid.’
‘I’m very fond of her too,’ Eric said.
‘This relationship – or whatever you call it – you’re having, no good can come of it. People know more than you think.’
‘What Gayle and I do,’ Eric snipped, ‘is nobody else’s business.’
‘I’m not talking about whatever it is you and Gayle do together. I’m talking about your sexual affair with Hilda Maskey.’
Other patrons heard: ten or so men, they were, scattered about the bar, still, like flat beers. Some raised chortles.
Eric blushed.
‘All those hippies that live in the hills,’ he boomed, ‘may look too stoned to see sunshine on a clear day, but they see plenty.’
Lindy shook her head in disgust.
Eric gave up on a drink and made for the exit – as George Maskey entered.
The pair collided. George toppled backwards and nearly hit the footpath.
The livestock expert slapped his brown knees, in hilarity.
Eric struggled to stabilise his obstacle with a hand on the shoulder. But when George recognised the cause of his unexpected tumble, he repelled his assistance. Eric withdrew his hands. ‘Careful there, old man – you don’t want to fall over,’ he said.
Cast in the shadow of Eric’s frame, George’s eyes were at the height of his neighbour’s perfect teeth.
Caleb appeared, to help his father proceed.
‘Shame about that cottage,’ said George, snidely attempting to save face.
‘And I thought we were friends,’ Eric said.
George glared. ‘Lucky to come out of a fire like that with your life,’ he croaked.
Caleb watched on. ‘Beat it,’ he said, using his hand to clear space for his father to enter the bar.
Eric addressed George’s back. ‘Quite a bit of weed being found in those hills, George. You missing any?’ he said, before moving on. Wondering what his neighbour meant, George reached the bar, while Caleb fussed over his father’s welfare in front of the flat beers.
George threw up a terse hand to scatter him.
Caleb retreated.
George ordered a shot and nodded a pained-face acknowledgement to the Livestock Association president at his side, who merely smirked.
The local men, drinking there, were all too quiet for George. He leant his back into the counter and did a slow scan of the room: there was knowledge in their eyes, he saw, and it was tooled up.
Suddenly uncomfortable, he wished he hadn’t been so quick to scatter his son.
He downed his bourbon and signalled Lindy for a refill, while on the pub-bet a horse came in. It was a heavy track. Some punters cheered. The cuckold took their excitement personally.
Eric’s bravado with George was short-lived. He bolted from the pub, almost blind with panic; everyone knew of his affair with Hilda. Everyone, that is, except Gayle. He hurried to the servo, wondering how best to tell her. Because tell her he must.
Gayle had forgiven him many things, but an affair with Hilda Maskey, she would not. Unless maybe, he owned up first. Confessed his guilt. Pleaded for forgiveness. Sooner, rather than later.
He ran inside and found Leanne at the counter. ‘Oh good,’ she said, on seeing him. ‘Can you relieve me? I have to do something.’
Before he could protest, she was gone out the door. And almost under the wheels of a four-wheel drive screeching to a halt at the pumps. Leanne threw up her hands in a whoa, back off gesture.
Eric watched Hilda Maskey get out of the vehicle and make for the shop.
He went to head her off.
From the foot of the stairs, Gayle saw Eric and Hilda in a huddle by the door.
He was begging her not to drop him in it. ‘I can’t do a thing right with Gayle at the moment.’
‘You’re incredible,’ Hilda said, pulling her arm free from him. A car stopped for fuel. Hilda stepped away. ‘Where’s Rodney?’
‘Hilda, calm down,’ Eric whispered. ‘My house was torched.’
‘That’s not your house – you rent!’ Hilda said. She stormed into the shop.
‘What do you want?’ Gayle asked.
‘I’m really sorry about your house, Gayle. But we had nothing to do with that fire.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Gayle said.
Eric hovered in the background, tugging nervously at his hair.
‘Where is Rodney?’ Hilda asked.
A customer entered. They sensed they were interrupting something. Gayle dealt with them quickly, and they left.
‘You’re in this together, aren’t you?’ Hilda said, turning to face Eric. ‘Some stupid revenge, for the fire. I gave you more credit, Gayle. Where have you got Rodney?’
Eric moved to stand beside Gayle.
‘He’s upstairs, isn’t he?’ Hilda said, realising. ‘Rodney!’ she cried out to him.
She wheeled out the Open for Business sign and hurried inside, hoping to take Rodney his breakfast.
‘He’s had his breakfast,’ Gayle said, not looking up from the cash drawer.
Leanne was disappointed.
‘But you can fetch his tray.’
She passed Eric at the top of the stairs; her curt smile for him went unacknowledged. She knocked on Rodney’s door and entered.
‘A happy face,’ he said.
‘I thought Eric looked grumpy,’ she whispered.
‘He only got in just before sun-up. Mrs Reynolds weren’t too happy. Made him sleep on the lounge.’
Leanne enjoyed the scandal.
‘He’s full of shit,’ Rodney said, handing her the tray before he went on, ‘The mobile library is in town today. You couldn’t go and loan me a book, could you? I’m really likin this author called Di Morrissey at the moment. Tell Helene, the librarian, that Rodney wants one he ain’t read before. I don’t have me card on me, but she knows who I am.’
Leanne agreed to borrow a book for Rodney and went to leave. As she opened the door, they both heard Eric and Gayle in argument, the gist of which seemed to be that Eric’s late night – supposedly spent with a contact to offload the weed – had amounted to nothing.
Rodney went close to the door, to better hear. ‘Tell Mrs Reynolds,’ he whispered to Leanne, ‘that I have a contact to offload those plants. If she’s interested. He’ll pay well for anything I grown.’
Leanne looked unsure.
‘White-teeth has no fuckern idea. She can’t trust im.’
Leanne shut the door, went to the kitchen, and washed and dried Rodney’s bowl and mug. Upon placing them neatly on the bench, she steeled herself to descend the stairs, to join the bickering couple.
‘Don’t mind me,’ she said, as she moved behind the counter.
In a huff, Gayle resumed stocking the fridge with dairy products.
‘I’ve got to go – got drugs to sell,’ Eric blurted awkwardly, as he hurried out.
When he was gone, Leanne told Gayle, ‘Rodney says he can sell the dope for you.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘I don’t know. He says you can’t trust Eric.’
‘He would say that – wouldn’t he?’
Leanne thought. ‘Why?’
Gayle looked aghast. ‘You don’t think he might have a conflict of interest here?’
‘I dunno.’
‘Please do not start trusting him. I’ve known Rodney a very long time.’ She sighed, remembering just how long.
The two young boys hurtled into the servo and straight up the stairs, while Gayle was serving a customer. ‘Hang on, you – who’s that you’re with?’ she asked her son, of the unkempt child in his company.
Duncan stopped at the top of the stairs. ‘No one,’ he said. ‘Come on, Rodney,’ he urged.
The thirteen-year-olds went to Duncan’s room and closed the door.
Gayle was beginning to worry about her son. He was being sighted more and more around town in the company of older boys known to be dealers. She followed up the stairs and, without knocking, entered her son’s room.
‘It’s just Rodney,’ Duncan complained. ‘I told him he could stay.’
Suspecting that she knew the answer to the question already, Gayle asked the wild-looking boy if his mother would mind. Rodney shook his head.
‘Rodney lives in the school roof,’ Duncan said. ‘No one knows, only me.’
Rodney felt himself shrinking in the strange surroundings of Duncan’s room. The carpeted floor. The made bed. All of his things. Rodney blushed. Hassle-tears began to gather in his eyeballs, made hot.
Duncan started pushing his mother out of the room. ‘He lives in the roof. His name’s Rodney. And he lives on scraps of food, and snakes.’
The bell on the shop door rang. ‘I know you, don’t I?’ Gayle said to Rodney.
‘I come here sometimes to buy your snakes, Mrs Reynolds,’ Rodney said. ‘Yours are the cheapest.’
Downstairs a customer cried out, ‘Gayle?’
‘Tea is thirty minutes,’ she said – hurrying down.
When his mother was gone, Duncan closed his door once more. ‘Have you really smoked dope?’ he asked Rodney.
‘Yeah,’ Rodney said, disinterested. ‘Lucy made me ave it sometimes.’ ‘Your mother,’ Duncan said, impressed.
Rodney took more of a look around, having never seen anything like it. Toys everywhere.
‘Mothers never make you smoke dope,’ Duncan said. ‘Look what I’ve got.’
Rodney fingered a Transformer. He turned to see Duncan brandishing a bong. ‘A bong,’ Rodney said, turning back to the robot.
‘My mother wouldn’t – she’s really stupid,’ Duncan went on.
‘You got a really nice room,’ Rodney said, privately wondering what Duncan’s mother was making for tea.
Later, when she was setting a place for Duncan’s new friend at the kitchen table, Gayle tried to fathom what her thirteen-year-old son was doing with someone so small. Rodney looked to be about eight, whereas Duncan was big for his age.
She remembered her very first meeting with the small child, all those years ago, when the boys were aged four. ‘Your mother won’t mind you staying the night?’ Gayle asked again, warily.
Rodney picked up a sausage with his fingers. He squeezed it tight and bit off the end. ‘No,’ he said.
‘Does she know you’re here?’ Gayle said, taking up her knife and fork, and hoping the boy might cotton on.
‘No.’
‘Shouldn’t she?’
‘I don’t know where she is,’ Rodney said, taking another bite.
‘Do you have a father?’
He chewed. ‘I never had a father. I ain’t son material.’
Gayle put down her knife and fork. ‘What’s this about you living in the roof of the school?’
‘No, I don’t, I live at number three,’ Rodney corrected her, with an embarrassed glance at Duncan.
‘Don’t lie to her,’ he said. ‘You live in the roof.’
‘Lucy would wring me neck if I lived at the roof,’ Rodney said, disappointing his new friend with his lack of loyalty.
After tea, Gayle insisted that Rodney have a bath. She found him some old clothes of Duncan’s to put on, and after that he was bedded down on the floor in Duncan’s room. The boys talked about things boys that age might be concerned with. But only a little bit. Duncan found more excitement in everything about Rodney’s unusual life circumstances: his off-the-grid upbringing – with no school enrolment and no expectations; his notorious mother, exposure to drugs, the people who use them. And the glamour of the lies that Rodney needed to tell to keep authorities – like the snoopy mothers of friends – at bay.
Duncan made a decision that night, that he and Rodney would be best friends. And shortly after this announcement, he fell asleep.
But Rodney could not sleep.
With a different type of glamour on his mind, he quietly flung the blanket off his legs and, in the darkness, tiptoed down the stairs to the shop. Down there, the glow of a street lamp afforded the boy the illumination he required to look in awe at the selection of sweets displayed in Gayle’s lolly counter.
Through a crack in the curtains at the foot of the stairs, Gayle watched him admire the musk sticks, milk bottles, bullets and teeth. She stepped down, surprising the boy.
‘I were only lookin, Mrs Reynolds,’ he stuttered. ‘I —’
Gayle smiled. ‘I was,’ she said, correcting him.
He was confused. ‘What?’
‘It’s was – not were.’
‘Was?’ he queried, catching on. He thought a minute. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Reynolds. Ya must be wrong. It’s definitely were.’
‘I can assure you,’ she said, ‘the correct grammar is was.’
Rodney thought it strange that a grown-up like Gayle – who was the proprietor of the servo, no less – could get something so basic, so wrong. But to give her some benefit of the doubt, he repeated the words under his breath. ‘I was, I were, I was, I were … Can’t be, Mrs Reynolds. Was just don’t sound right.’
Gayle shook her head in wonder at him.
He yawned. ‘I better go to sleep now, Mrs Reynolds,’ he said, making for the stairs.
‘Goodnight, Rodney.’ She saw he had some snakes, squeezed tight, in one hand.
He hesitated. ‘Mrs Reynolds.’
‘Yes, Rodney.’
‘I took some snakes. They’ll help me sleep. But I can put em back if you want.’
‘No need, Rodney.’ Gayle smiled, cautiously, in the dark.
That night, as she drifted off to sleep, she wondered what to make of her son’s new friendship.
Further visits by Rodney followed. However, it was when Gayle discovered that money was disappearing from her cash drawer that his overnight stays with Duncan came to an abrupt end.
This was a shame to Rodney. He enjoyed the stay-overs. But Gayle’s discovery of missing money had come on top of rapid changes she had been observing in Duncan’s behaviour since he’d been hanging out with his wily, street-wise friend. And though when asked, Rodney denied taking any money from her till – she did not believe him.
It was then she decided it would be best to phone Child Welfare, to report Rodney’s circumstances.
But when Duncan overheard the call, he hurled abuse at her. ‘You’re a stupid dobbing bitch, and you don’t even know what you’re talking about. Lucy is dead. She’s been dead for two weeks,’ he screamed. ‘She’s in the cemetery, if you don’t believe me.’ He laughed. ‘You don’t know anything – you stupid bitch,’ he cried out, at the top of his lungs.
Gayle was stunned by his fury.
Duncan, red in the face, raged on. ‘Where’s my bong?’
‘I threw it out,’ she said.
A customer came in to pay for fuel. Duncan pushed over the newspaper stand.
Gayle didn’t know what to do. But she knew marijuana was unlikely to cause such a fit. Her son was just turned fourteen; surely, she thought, he wasn’t using anything harder …?
A few days after her call to Child Welfare, the department phoned to say that they had visited number three, and that there seemed to be no one living there. Gayle told them that she had learnt Rodney’s mother was deceased. She advised them to send welfare officers to search inside the roof of the school.
They took some persuading.
But they did a search and found no boy: just a large eastcoast diamond python curled up in the rafters of the old timber schoolhouse.
2
Eric’s head was swirled up into his locs. In desperate need of a plan to offload the dope before Rodney could cause harm to his relationship with Gayle, he took himself to one of the town’s cafes, ordered a coffee and, in a garden at the rear, lit a joint for inspiration.
None came.
After an hour, he decided he had wasted enough time there and, seeing the big open windows of the pub across the road, went over to beer-storm for a solution. As he passed some townsfolk who were familiar to him – some cops too – the task of finding a buyer in Naples for the stolen grass seemed impossible. Every dealer in town knew George Maskey. And so, every dealer in Naples would know he was missing a sizable number of plants.
And though George as yet had no idea he was missing any plants, Eric didn’t know that – did he?
Eric didn’t know everything.
George didn’t know everything.
But the Livestock Association president, enjoying a midday beer in the public bar, knew almost as much as Serenade – who knows everything.
Ignoring the old busybody’s presence, Eric went to the end of the bar and was more alert to the barmaid on duty: an attractive woman that he had recent history with. He appeared sheepish as he waited for service from her.
‘Back so soon, stud?’ she mocked.
‘Morning, Lindy.’ Eric smiled. ‘Sorry I had to run off —’
She leant in close to interrupt. ‘You know, that was not cool cracking on to Mum last night. You made me feel like a fucking idiot.’
The Livestock Association president listened in.
‘I was the one big enough desperado to drag you home, after all.’
‘Yeah, I’m sorry,’ Eric said. ‘I was high.’
Lindy produced Eric’s toothbrush from her bag. She dropped it on the bar. ‘Clean your teeth somewhere else – Melbourne Grammar piece of misogynist shit,’ she spat.
Eric blushed. He picked up the toothbrush.
The Livestock Association president chimed in. ‘Why are you still here?’
Lindy raised her eyebrows.
Eric ignored him.
‘You,’ the livestock expert persisted. ‘Why – are you – still here?’
‘I haven’t had a drink yet,’ Eric said.
‘Not here, in the bar,’ he went on. ‘Why are you still here in Naples?’
The question left Eric dumbstruck.
‘You know this town is very fond of Gayle. I myself have known her since she was just a kid.’
‘I’m very fond of her too,’ Eric said.
‘This relationship – or whatever you call it – you’re having, no good can come of it. People know more than you think.’
‘What Gayle and I do,’ Eric snipped, ‘is nobody else’s business.’
‘I’m not talking about whatever it is you and Gayle do together. I’m talking about your sexual affair with Hilda Maskey.’
Other patrons heard: ten or so men, they were, scattered about the bar, still, like flat beers. Some raised chortles.
Eric blushed.
‘All those hippies that live in the hills,’ he boomed, ‘may look too stoned to see sunshine on a clear day, but they see plenty.’
Lindy shook her head in disgust.
Eric gave up on a drink and made for the exit – as George Maskey entered.
The pair collided. George toppled backwards and nearly hit the footpath.
The livestock expert slapped his brown knees, in hilarity.
Eric struggled to stabilise his obstacle with a hand on the shoulder. But when George recognised the cause of his unexpected tumble, he repelled his assistance. Eric withdrew his hands. ‘Careful there, old man – you don’t want to fall over,’ he said.
Cast in the shadow of Eric’s frame, George’s eyes were at the height of his neighbour’s perfect teeth.
Caleb appeared, to help his father proceed.
‘Shame about that cottage,’ said George, snidely attempting to save face.
‘And I thought we were friends,’ Eric said.
George glared. ‘Lucky to come out of a fire like that with your life,’ he croaked.
Caleb watched on. ‘Beat it,’ he said, using his hand to clear space for his father to enter the bar.
Eric addressed George’s back. ‘Quite a bit of weed being found in those hills, George. You missing any?’ he said, before moving on. Wondering what his neighbour meant, George reached the bar, while Caleb fussed over his father’s welfare in front of the flat beers.
George threw up a terse hand to scatter him.
Caleb retreated.
George ordered a shot and nodded a pained-face acknowledgement to the Livestock Association president at his side, who merely smirked.
The local men, drinking there, were all too quiet for George. He leant his back into the counter and did a slow scan of the room: there was knowledge in their eyes, he saw, and it was tooled up.
Suddenly uncomfortable, he wished he hadn’t been so quick to scatter his son.
He downed his bourbon and signalled Lindy for a refill, while on the pub-bet a horse came in. It was a heavy track. Some punters cheered. The cuckold took their excitement personally.
Eric’s bravado with George was short-lived. He bolted from the pub, almost blind with panic; everyone knew of his affair with Hilda. Everyone, that is, except Gayle. He hurried to the servo, wondering how best to tell her. Because tell her he must.
Gayle had forgiven him many things, but an affair with Hilda Maskey, she would not. Unless maybe, he owned up first. Confessed his guilt. Pleaded for forgiveness. Sooner, rather than later.
He ran inside and found Leanne at the counter. ‘Oh good,’ she said, on seeing him. ‘Can you relieve me? I have to do something.’
Before he could protest, she was gone out the door. And almost under the wheels of a four-wheel drive screeching to a halt at the pumps. Leanne threw up her hands in a whoa, back off gesture.
Eric watched Hilda Maskey get out of the vehicle and make for the shop.
He went to head her off.
From the foot of the stairs, Gayle saw Eric and Hilda in a huddle by the door.
He was begging her not to drop him in it. ‘I can’t do a thing right with Gayle at the moment.’
‘You’re incredible,’ Hilda said, pulling her arm free from him. A car stopped for fuel. Hilda stepped away. ‘Where’s Rodney?’
‘Hilda, calm down,’ Eric whispered. ‘My house was torched.’
‘That’s not your house – you rent!’ Hilda said. She stormed into the shop.
‘What do you want?’ Gayle asked.
‘I’m really sorry about your house, Gayle. But we had nothing to do with that fire.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Gayle said.
Eric hovered in the background, tugging nervously at his hair.
‘Where is Rodney?’ Hilda asked.
A customer entered. They sensed they were interrupting something. Gayle dealt with them quickly, and they left.
‘You’re in this together, aren’t you?’ Hilda said, turning to face Eric. ‘Some stupid revenge, for the fire. I gave you more credit, Gayle. Where have you got Rodney?’
Eric moved to stand beside Gayle.
‘He’s upstairs, isn’t he?’ Hilda said, realising. ‘Rodney!’ she cried out to him.
