We stand there for a second, just looking at each other. I want it back, the easy rapport we had before I was discharged. No – I want that feeling I got when she sat with me that night, when we spilled our secrets out into the air and into each other. But that moment is gone.
We say our goodbyes and I crutch out of the hospital, make my shambling way along Britt Street. Turn at the corner of Rathmine, thinking the whole way. I’d like to get to know Amie better, but she’s a police sergeant’s daughter, and I’m a… Fuck, I dunno what I am. Things have whirled and changed so much I don’t know where I stand anymore.
Okay, I’m homeless, jobless. Not without prospects: I’ve got Snowie’s phone number on the coaster in my wallet. But is that the kind of job I want? Really? If I take that step, if I become a dealer, I’ll never be able to look Amie in the eye again.
I try to screw my head on straight – I shouldn’t limit my options. I can’t eat good intentions. The question isn’t do I want the job. The question is, how desperate am I?
And I dunno why I’m factoring Amie into this anyway. I only see her once a week now and maybe that’s just how it’s gonna be. Maybe that’s for the best – especially for her.
By the time I get to Nick Partridge’s place, I’m sweating. Sun scours the roof of the little brick veneer house behind him, glints off the metal of the car Nick’s leaning against. This weather feels more like early summer than the end of the cold season.
Nick pushes off the car bonnet when I come closer. He looks quietly disbelieving. ‘You made it.’
‘I did.’
I’ve made a few phone calls since I saw him last, too. Mike seemed overjoyed at the idea of lending me money. I hated doing it, so I just stuck to the basics: everything’s fine, but I need a car, could he front me a deposit. I didn’t say anything about Dad or the debts.
Nick stands aside so I can walk – sorry, hobble – around the vehicle. When I’m done looking, and he’s done being patient about me looking, I turn to him. ‘It’s a WRX.’
‘Yes, it is,’ Nick says.
‘But not a cool eighties model.’
‘Alas, no.’
The car is – I remember this word from when Amie used it – an enigma. Its advantages and disadvantages seem to cancel each other out. First of all, it’s a shit-brown colour, which is nice and nondescript. Good for slipping under the radar. On the down side: it’s a shit-brown colour. It has black racing stripes, which is cool, because racing stripes. Except on this daggy Subaru model, racing stripes just seem to make the car look embarrassed, like a shy girl in a red vinyl miniskirt.
‘Does it run?’ I ask.
‘It…runs,’ Nick says.
‘You’re filling me with confidence.’
‘No, it goes okay. But Amie’s right, it needs a tune. I mean, it pretty much constantly needs a tune. That’s what I’m having trouble with.’
‘Not mechanically minded?’ I get him to pop the hood, have a look at the beast’s innards. Can’t see anything rusted out.
‘I can manage the basics.’ Nick shrugs. ‘I got this car off my brother, but Grant’s more of a revhead than me. I need something a bit less high-maintenance. So what do you reckon?’
‘Start her up and we’ll see.’
He slides into the driver’s seat and we both listen as the engine chugs, catches, chugs again. Our eyes meet just as the car revs to life. Nick’s expression is relieved. As I close the bonnet, he switches off the engine, gets out.
‘How much you want for it?’ I ask.
‘How much can you offer?’ He looks at me then, and I know he knows. I’ve been in and out of hospital, word gets around. People have figured out I’m not working, which means I’m broke.
I bite down hard on my pride. Think about what I’ve got. Mike offered me two grand – I caught my breath, kept my voice steady and said if he could put eight hundred in my account, that’d be plenty. Now I’m holding the money in the hand tucked in my pocket. But I’m gonna be living off it for a while. I want a car, badly, but I’ve still gotta eat.
Whatever I offer won’t be enough, but Nick Partridge might be willing to negotiate. Amie says he’s an okay guy, in spite of his bullshit attitude.
‘How about nine? I can give you five hundred now,’ I say. ‘I got a bit more, but I kinda need it.’
‘I was gonna ask for twelve.’ He chews his lip, like he’s considering his chances of getting a better offer. The car is kind of crap.
‘I can give you five now,’ I repeat, ‘and another hundred every week as it comes in. I dunno when that’ll be, but –’
‘I can’t go lower than nine,’ he says.
