‘Did Mum ever ask about me? In letters or anything?’ I have to look out the window as I say it.
The silence in the cab now can’t be masked by radio music over the speakers. It’s deeper than any old Cold Chisel song, deeper than the hollow gong in your guts after a quarry explosion. I get a terrible sense of having crossed a line and my eyes drag sideways against my will.
Dad’s not looking at me, though. He’s looking through the windscreen. I’d hate to think what he’s really seeing.
‘I’ve told you plenty of times already,’ he says softly. ‘Anthea knew the rules.’
The softness doesn’t fool me. His voice is full of menace and he’s gripping the steering wheel. If this was happening at home, I’d be laid out on the floor by now.
‘We split it fair and square,’ Dad goes on. ‘She took her stuff, I got the house. She got the girl, I got the boy. I told her never to come back. And if she tried to find you, to take what was mine by right…’
His eyes lock on mine.
‘…I said I’d fucking kill you myself before I let that happen.’
Dad pulls the handbrake and I realise we’ve rolled to a stop. All my skin is cold. My throat is too dry to spit.
‘Right. Let’s go have a beer.’ Dad pushes out of the cab, doesn’t wait for me to follow.
I sit there for a full minute before I can move. The hair on my arms is still standing up when I hobble my way into the pub.
The inside of the Five Flags seems surreal after the conversation I’ve just had. There’s the long solid bar, with Col Geraldson pulling beers for a few local boys. There’s the pool room, the dark drinking tables with the wooden chairs, the jukebox in the corner. A few other blokes in workboots and jeans are slugging back their drinks.
My brain and my body aren’t playing nice, neither of them cooperating as I crutch over to where my father is quietly arguing with Col at the bar. I feel like I’m moving through molasses.
‘…don’t wanna be rude, Dennis, but I can’t serve you until you’ve fixed up the tab,’ Col says.
Colin Geraldson is burly – when he played centre half back in his younger days his nickname actually was Burly Geraldson – and he’s not just the local publican, but our landlord. He doesn’t look unkind but he’s not a guy you wanna cross. His current expression is like a brick wall.
‘I’ve got it,’ I say quickly. I reach for my wallet and fish out one of the last of Terry Watts’s fifties.
‘See? Harris has got it.’ Dad has a note of victory in his voice. I don’t look at his face; he’ll be smirking. Even being close to him is making my gooseflesh rise.
Col appraises me before sliding the fifty off the bar, grabbing two pint glasses. ‘Fine then. But I’m cutting you off after the cash is gone.’
‘Harris wants a UDL,’ Dad says.
Col sighs and puts back one of the glasses.
Once Dad’s got his beer and moved off to a table, Col finds me a can of bourbon and coke, speaks quietly. ‘You know I can’t keep serving you unless Dennis pays his tab.’
We’re both watching my father. I nod, resigned. ‘How much does he owe? Maybe I could fix it up, so he’s not –’
‘A grand,’ Col says. ‘He owes me a grand, Harris. The tab here, plus two months’ rent on the house.’
I stare.
Col nods grimly. ‘And another grand in utilities, I hear. He might owe some money at Metcalfe’s as well. You didn’t know about that, did you? Your dad’s been racking up a few bills lately.’
For fuck’s sake. That isn’t ‘racking up a few bills’. That’s a solid debt. And the worst thing is, it’s kind of my fault. Dad’s been crapping out on everybody all over town in my absence and part of me knew he’d do it. When I left for Melbourne with Mike and Rachel, I figured I’d cut loose. Dad would have to sink or swim without me.
But now I’m back here, back in the mess he’s made. He’smyfather. He’s my responsibility.
‘Something else you should know,’ Col goes on, disguising our chat with a wipedown of the bar. ‘Your dad’s in hock to some bookie in Mildura. Don’t know all the details. But from what I’ve heard, he could be neck-deep.’
‘Neck-deep?’ My voice is hoarse. ‘How much are we talking?’
Col shrugs. ‘Dunno. Could be as high as five grand.’
