‘What happened to you?’ Katie asked, standing up.
‘A job.’ Adam walked up to Katie until their bodies were almost touching. ‘What happened to you?’
‘Nothing.’
He touched her cheek with a dusty finger and she flinched. ‘Did you do this to yourself?’
‘Look –’ She pointed at the table. ‘Steak and kidney pie and mashed potatoes. I made it.’
‘You made it? Out of what?’
Katie shrugged, picking up the pie. ‘If you don’t want any.’
‘I want some. Just let me clean up.’
‘He’ll be gone soon,’ Katie said after Adam had left the room. ‘Soon as he’s got enough money he’ll be gone.’
Graeme took the pie from her. ‘I’ll put this in the oven. Heat it up for him.’ When he returned, Adam and Katie were sitting across from each other. Graeme cut a large slice of pie and put it on Adam’s plate and then filled each of their wine glasses.
‘Damn.’ Adam spat half-chewed pie into his hand and poked it with his finger. ‘What the . . .’ He sniffed it before taking another bite. He chewed slowly, exaggeratedly, his eyes widening.
Katie’s hands twisted in her lap.
Adam took another bite, chewed, swallowed, laughed softly, shaking his head. ‘Thank you, Katie, for the very, ah, interesting meal.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘You said you’d made steak and kidney pie.’
‘So?’
‘So . . .’ Adam laughed. ‘So, it’s chicken. You’re so out of it you can’t tell bird from cow!’
Katie looked at Graeme. ‘But you didn’t say anything! You sat and ate it and didn’t say a word!’
‘It wasn’t important. You’d gone to so much trouble.’
‘Gone to trouble?’ Adam slapped his thighs. ‘It’s not so hard to sort through a couple of trash cans, right, Katie?’
Katie stood with hands on hips, her flippy dress kicking at an odd angle where she’d been sitting on it. ‘For your information, the pie was still in its cellophane wrapper. It said “Steak and Kidney Pie – Baked Fresh”. I have the wrapper. I can show you if you don’t believe me.’
‘Maybe,’ Graeme said, stepping between the two. ‘Maybe, someone made a mistake in the packaging and that’s why it was discarded?’
Katie’s hand shot out and grabbed his. ‘Yes! That’s what happened. Ha!’
‘You still served your friend here a dumpster dinner.’
‘Why are you being like this? I tried to do something nice.’
‘Oh, you did. Look how nice.’ He gestured to the table, stopped suddenly and acted out counting the plates. ‘Oh, wait? Is someone else coming? Is this meant to be a double date?’
Katie turned to Graeme. ‘I thought it looked better with four. It looked nicer. You know?’
‘Yes. It looks neater,’ he told her. ‘Two each side.’
She smiled at him and touched his arm.
‘If you two want to be alone . . .’
‘Thanks for dinner,’ Graeme said, smiling. ‘I’m going to turn in.’
‘No!’ Adam said. ‘Come on, man. Stay, drink, eat some more garbage.’
‘Yes,’ Katie said. ‘Stay. I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Graeme.’ She turned and stalked down the hall.
Adam drank from his glass. ‘Not bad for something out of a box. Thanks, man.’
‘I didn’t buy it. She did.’
‘She doesn’t have a cent. Jesus, you’d think if she was going to steal she could have taken some decent food while she was at it.’
‘She did go to some effort.’
‘The effort wasn’t for me, dude.’
‘Of course it was. The hair, the food, the dress. It’s all for you. I just happened to walk in to the middle of this little drama and so she gave me a part. She’ll be in there now, waiting for you to make up.’
Graeme carried Adam’s empty plate into the kitchen along with the remaining cutlery and glasses. When he came back to the living room, Adam was staring straight ahead, biting his lip. Graeme took the ashtray, emptied it into the kitchen bin, rinsed and dried it and placed it back on the coffee table.
‘I don’t – I don’t know what’s going on with her, with me,’ Adam said. ‘She made me so angry today. I felt like I could . . . I can’t even remember what started it.’
‘Maybe,’ Graeme said, ‘maybe your anger isn’t really to do with her.’
‘So Katie told you . . . of course she did. Jesus. One of the stages of grief, right? Yeah, could be, could be. I don’t know. It feels like it’s Katie, though. She’s just so –’ He clenched his fists. ‘I don’t know. I need to get out of here.’
‘You have work now,’ Graeme reminded him. ‘You’ll be able to go home soon.’
Adam shook his head. ‘I had work. I had ten hours of shifting bricks and then I had fifty bucks put in my hand. Dodgy asshole.’
‘You can report him. There are laws.’
‘Yeah and I’m the one breaking them. I don’t have a work visa. I’m not even supposed to be in the country. I never sorted all that stuff out. I never thought I’d be here so long. I just . . . I stopped thinking about anything else the minute I found out my life had cancer.’
The slip up was so obvious, so bluntly Freudian, that Graeme wondered for a moment if it had been intentional, a maudlin play on words.
But then Adam said, ‘She was the one who organised everything for our trip here. She – we – didn’t think of me here without her. We should have left months ago.’
‘As it happens, I know something about this immigration stuff. You’re an overstayer, which is bad, but not as bad as if you’d never had legal entry in the first place. You can apply for a bridging visa, which would give you time to get yourself organised legally. That’s a little risky, though, since you’ve overstayed by more than a month they could decide to repatriate you on the spot. Possibly put you in immigration detention until they can be bothered flying you out. Plus you’ll be slapped with an exclusion order.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It means you won’t be allowed back in for at least three years. And even then only after you’ve repaid the government for your detention and repatriation.’
Adam chewed his lip. ‘I can’t risk that. Eugenie is . . . I used to think people who visited cemeteries, took flowers, were ridiculous . . . But now . . . Even though I know it’s just a hunk of stone, a patch of grass . . .’
‘Look, I can lend you the money to get home. The exclusion order might still be imposed but at least you won’t have a debt to the government.’
‘I’d have a debt to you.’
‘There’d be no rush.’
‘No, no, there’s no way, man. Thanks, but no. I’ll figure it out.’
‘Think about it. You could be home by the weekend.’
Adam held up two hands and cringed at the floor and Graeme saw, for an instant, a refugee, yearning for a place that no longer exists.
‘Hey, now.’ Adam chuckled. ‘You’re pretty keen to get me out of the country. You sure there’s nothing brewing between you and Katie?’
‘If I was twenty years younger . . .’
Adam was quiet a while. ‘Her face,’ he said, touching his own. ‘Did she do that because of me?’
‘The fight probably sparked it, but I think . . . she’s probably got a history of this kind of thing.’
‘Shit. Yeah, you know, when I think about it . . . Down at the pub these friends of hers told me that she’d . . .’ Adam closed his eyes. ‘And she has these lines on her thighs, real straight. Motorbike accident, she said. But her face. That’s so extreme.’
‘It’s obviously important to her that others see how much pain she’s in.’
Adam rubbed his face with both hands. ‘Shit. I never would’ve . . . Shit. I suppose I should go talk to her.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Right.’ Adam stood slowly, nodded at Graeme. ‘Night.’
‘Go
odnight.’ He washed and dried up the dinner plates and glasses, took the garbage out to the street bin and then swept the kitchen floor.
As he passed Katie’s room on the way to his own he heard her voice. I fucking love you so much. He paused to hear the reply, but none came. There was only the sound of a bed thumping the wall and the girl’s declarations, over and over.
13.
Adam rolled off and fell asleep within seconds of coming. Katie wondered if he even noticed whether she came or not. She lay there for a few minutes, torn between the desire to press against him and finish herself off, and the urge to slap him awake and insist he do it for her. He began to snore.
She got out of bed, pulled on her underpants and one of Adam’s T-shirts. She yawned and, as her skin stretched, the burns on her face smarted. She grabbed the anaesthetic cream and went to the bathroom. ‘Idiot,’ she said to her reflection, dabbing the cream on her forehead and cheeks. No wonder Adam kept his eyes closed while they were screwing. No wonder he turned away and slept the minute it was done.
Back in the hallway, Katie noticed faint light coming from under Graeme’s door. He had shown her kindness and affection tonight and even – maybe she imagined it, but she didn’t think so – recognition. Graeme had looked at her, for a second at least, the way she’d hoped Adam would when he saw what she had done to her face.
‘Graeme? It’s me.’ She knocked once and then pushed the door open.
‘What’s wrong?’ Graeme was sitting at his desk, wearing blue and white striped pyjama pants and a white T-shirt. His arms were folded, covering something.
‘Nothing. I saw your light. Adam’s asleep already and I’m –’ Graeme slid a book off the desktop and into the top drawer. ‘Sorry, I didn’t think you’d be busy. I just barged in.’
‘It’s fine.’ He stood and smiled. ‘Have a seat.’
‘I can’t sit. That’s the problem. Can’t sleep, can’t sit.’ She jogged on the spot, twirled her arms. ‘I feel all tight. My muscles. They’re scrunched up. You know what I’d love? Two big strong men to pick me up, one on each end, and just pull like they were in a tug-of-war. Stretch me right out.’
Graeme sat down on the edge of the bed. He glanced at her bare legs, then away to the floor. ‘Have you taken something tonight, Katie?’
She rose up on her toes, flexed her fingers. ‘Nope. I’m all natural.’
‘I used to use, you know. Speed, mostly, but other stuff, too.’
His tone reminded her of a high school guidance counsellor. ‘I’m not speeding, dude. I just get like this sometimes at night. Especially after . . . well, you know.’ She sprang onto the bed and bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. ‘I did try speed one time, but it made me crazy. I was jumping out of my skin.’ Her left knee knocked his shoulder. ‘So why’d you stop taking it?’
‘I don’t know.’ He inched away from her, moving towards the bedhead. ‘Seemed the thing to do. I took some risks when I was younger and at some point I realised I had survived them all and perhaps better stop pushing my luck.’
‘Can’t imagine you as a risk-taker. No offence. I just mean, you’re so . . .’ She plonked down beside him. The bed springs squealed in protest. ‘You’re a very relaxing person, you know that?’
‘You haven’t stopped moving since you came in here.’
‘Yeah, but imagine what I’d be like if I wasn’t talking to you.’
‘I really can’t.’
Katie slid from the bed and hopped from foot to foot. ‘Don’t you ever get that feeling like you want to go for a run, but not for exercise, just for the hell of it? Just to be moving? I get that a lot this time of night. Like, soon after midnight, everyone else is crashed out and I’m suddenly all peppery.’
‘Do you mean peppy?’
‘Nope. Peppery. Think about it, it’s exactly the right word.’ She spun on her heels and danced to the desk, leaning over and peering at the map hanging on the wall above. She put her right hand on the desk drawer knob but before she could open it she heard the bed springs and Graeme’s feet padding fast across the carpet.
‘Have you travelled much?’ he asked, standing so close she could smell his minty toothpaste.
‘Nah. Up and down the coast a bit, that’s all. I’d like to go to India. That’d be cool.’ She let go of the drawer and squinted at the Atlantic Ocean. She sensed Graeme moving behind her and held her breath.
‘I spent some time working in India,’ he said. ‘Years ago. Different place now. The scenes from Mumbai on the news . . . I didn’t recognise it. Not only that it had become a war zone, but – why do you want to go there?’
Katie traced the outline of the subcontinent with her finger, balancing her weight on one hand. ‘This girl I knew once had been there and she said it was awesome. She said it was like, chaos, just people and cows and chickens and cars and food and streamers and dirt and flowers everywhere. She said you could do anything. Seriously anything. Like sprint to the next corner and then sing “Locomotion” or get so drunk you fall asleep in the middle of a road or wear so many ribbons in your hair your neck nearly breaks. Just anything at all and people just keep moving around you. Nobody stops and asks if you’re okay, ever.’
‘Your friend may have –’
‘She wasn’t my friend. I just knew her from around. She probably made it all up.’ Katie straightened, stepped back and turned so quickly she was almost kissing Graeme’s chin. ‘You have a great voice, you know. I guess you get told that heaps.’
Graeme took a step backwards, and cleared his throat. ‘Would you believe never?’
‘Don’t believe it. It’s one of the best voices I’ve ever heard. Deep and smooth but not too loud.’ She moved towards him. He looked her right in the eye and with the tiniest of movements shook his head. Katie wanted to hug him and thank him, but instead she sank into the desk chair and stretched her legs out in front. ‘God, I can’t listen to people with loud voices. I knew this bloke once and his voice was like BOOM, you know? It was like being lectured by God! Plus he was super tall. Give you a sore neck and a headache. I had to stop seeing him.’
‘I’m sorry for him.’
Katie smiled. ‘I’ll leave you alone,’ she said, standing up. ‘You have work tomorrow.’ She darted forward and kissed his cheek. ‘Sorry, can’t help myself. Night, Graeme.’
The next morning, after she heard Graeme leave for work, Katie went straight to his room and opened the desk drawer. It was empty. She checked the wardrobe and under the bed and behind the bookshelf. She lay down and then, remembering the diary she’d kept when she was ten, reached under his pillow. There it was. She knew, as she rolled onto her stomach, that Graeme wanted her to read it. He knew she saw him with it last night and knew she noticed his anxiety, and yet he’d left it practically out in the open. He’d left it because there were things he wanted her to know, but he was too humble or shy or awkward to sit her down and tell her straight.
The cover was black leather. A white sticky label, brown around the edges said Field Notes: 1981, 2 of 3. Katie read the first page: it was a list of unfamiliar words with dates and times next to each one. The page had been crossed through with a single red diagonal line. A few entries on the next page, which had also been crossed with a red line, made a little more sense: Safe house 12miles east C/ville and Med supplies from Charles Fukaar and 12/3 Meeting with elder council agreed on terms for clinic, see file.
Katie flicked through the diary; every page was filled with black scrawl and most pages had been run through with a single red line. A few bore a large cross. She stopped at one of these and read:
TL village, third house, girls clean, over 16.
NT village, green door, ‘Sally’
CL township, 12 Hende, clean + powder & leaf
She flicked through thirty or so pages with single or double red lines and stopped when she came to an uncrossed section.
19/4 Incident in TL village. Girl of ten or eleven managed to get into the car, hidi
ng herself under tarp. Discovered her when arrived at camp base, 3 hrs out of village limits. Too dark to turn back, risk of bandits & running off road. Fed & put her to sleep in camp bed. I slept in car. In morning she cried & begged to stay with me. No English, but I got the idea she was promised in marriage to a man she was afraid of. Followed protocol on interaction with locals & returned her to village at daybreak.
Postscript: 5/10 Stationed in GR, visit from Mick J, who’s come from TL. Told of a young girl who drowned herself after being gang raped by some local men. Apparently the girl’s prospective husband had rejected her and her family had thrown her on to the street because she had spent a night with a white man who had discarded her after only one use.
Then in red pen: Relevant. File under child welfare, dealing with local customs
Depersonalise. Rewrite in third person? Anonymous report from rookie field officer? Yes.
Katie closed the diary and put it back under his pillow.
She wandered back to her room. Adam was still sleeping. She curled into a ball behind him, holding her muscles as tightly as she could, and sobbed noiselessly until she, too, fell asleep.
She went to Graeme’s room again that night. This time she knocked and waited for his ‘Come in’. He was sitting at his desk, a red ballpoint pen in his hand. The desk was clear.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Feeling peppery again?’
‘No, not tonight.’ Katie sat on the edge of his bed. ‘What kind of lawyer are you?’
Graeme swung the chair around so he was facing her. ‘Hmm?’
‘Do you defend murderers or do tax stuff or what?’
‘Actually . . .’ He rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘Can you keep a secret?’
‘Jesus. You lied about having a job, too? Gran’s going to have to start asking for paystubs or something.’
‘I do have a job. I lied about . . . I tell people I’m a lawyer because it’s easier. It saves me having to explain . . .’ He sighed, then opened his palms towards her. ‘I’m operations manager of a refugee assistance foundation, and that confused look on your face right now is exactly why I don’t like telling people because then I have to explain and that’s . . .’ He sighed again. ‘Very often asylum seekers and refugees arrive here with nothing and with little idea of how to navigate the legal, medical and social service systems. We have people who meet with new arrivals, find out what they need – lawyer, doctor, trauma counselling, English lessons, housing, whatever – and then we try to make sure they get it.’