‘Uh-huh.’
‘Come on through, I’ll show you which room’s yours.’
We cut in front of Kev’s view of the TV as we turn into a dingy hallway where someone has tagged the whole of one wall in red spray paint. There’s two bedroom doors on the left, and on the right, a white door with bubbled glass panels, half ajar. I see a white shower cubicle, a toilet, and a small hand basin, jaundiced with rust below the faucet line.
‘Bathroom,’ Snowie says unnecessarily. ‘Ah, here we go.’
He moves one padlocked room further and pushes open a wood veneer door to show me the place I’ll be living in for god-knows how long. A window, that’s nice. No curtain to keep out the sun, though. It’s like being inside a mirror ball in here – I have to squint. On the upside, everything’s clearly visible. No bullshit. I can see what I’m getting myself in for.
A stained single mattress, flat on the floor in the corner. Another milk crate, with an old swollen copy of theSunraysia Dailylining the bottom. Light fixture in the ceiling hasn’t got a bulb. Someone’s punched a hole in the plasterboard beside the mattress – I can tell it’s a punch, because it’s fist-sized. What fucking desperado lived here before me? I don’t know. I don’t wanna know.
‘Right, here you go.’ Snowie scuffs the corner of the mattress with the toe of his boot. ‘You can see why the rent’s cheap, yeah?’
‘Um, yep.’ I glance at him. ‘You don’t live here, then?’
‘Me and Ando got a two-bedroom place closer to the main drag,’ Snowie admits. ‘Don’t worry about the décor, mate. It’s just a place to crash.’
‘For sure.’ I try to inject some enthusiasm into my voice. ‘So there’s a few other blokes around?’
‘Well, it’s a mixed bag. Kevin, you just met – he’s a bit of a hippie. Barry’s at work, you’ll meet him later. Steph’s probably asleep. She works nights.’ He flashes me his teeth, so I have an idea what kind of nightwork Steph’s doing. ‘Coupla folks crash here sometimes – Jules, Reggie…’
‘Mildura Motel, is it?’ I say it with the right amount of dry humour.
‘For now.’ Snowie nods. ‘This is just temporary, mate. Coupla weeks, you’ll get some pay in your pocket and then we’ll find you someplace decent, mark my words.’
‘Yeah, all right.’Just temporary. I look around the ratty bedroom, careful not to sigh.
‘Come on back out, you can get your gear.’
My first thought is, I don’t know if I wanna leave my stuff in this house. Might be safer in my car. But my second thought is, it doesn’t matter. I’ve got nothing of value, nothing but my clothes and my phone, and that I’ll be carrying around with me.
When I return from the Pitbull with my duffel, Kevin gives me a cursory wave. He’s friendly. I dump my bag on the mattress in the bedroom. As far as belongings goes, this is the easiest move ever. I wander back out. Snowie’s in the kitchen, rooting around in the fridge.
‘Ah, here we go.’ He pulls out two coldies, passes one to me. ‘You must be parched after the drive from Ouyen.’
‘Yeah, cheers.’ I wonder if there’s anything in the fridge but beer. Something to investigate later.
‘Have any trouble getting away?’
‘Nah.’ I don’t elaborate on my previous living arrangements. Better not to mention Mark West’s name. ‘Dad knows I’ve shifted. He’s happy if I’m sending him a few bucks from wherever.’
‘Here’s to being free of the dads, then, eh?’ Snowie says.
‘I’ll drink to that.’ We chink bottles, and it’s the first time I’ve given him a genuine grin since I arrived.
The beer goes down nicely, very smooth and cold. I’ve already sunk about half of mine when a kid walks into the kitchen. His jeans hang off his hips in the accepted style, and he’s wearing runners that are almost as old and taped-together as mine, plus a green hoodie that looks like it’s seen better days. Dark shaggy hair with a plaited rat’s tail at the back, brown skin. He’s rangy: it’s hard to tell if that’s just his build, but I think he’s probably missed a few meals – I know the look. He goes directly to the fridge and rummages inside as if he owns the place.
‘Reggie, m’lad,’ Snowie says.
‘Hey.’ The kid pulls a half-full bottle of orange Gatorade out of the fridge, thumps the door shut: the bottle has a piece of yellow electrical tape around it, withReggiewritten in black Sharpie.
When the kid turns around I see he’s not as young as I thought, probably closer to thirteen. His rat’s tail is tied with a red lacka band.
He lifts his chin at Snowie. ‘What’s up? You feeding the same line of shit to this bloke that you tried with the last newie?’
Snowie smiles with shark’s teeth. ‘This is Reggie. He lives on the other side of the highway, but we put up with him when he comes over.’ He noogies the kid with a free hand.
‘Fuck off, Snow,’ Reggie says good-naturedly, pushing Snowie away. He glances at me. ‘You from outta town?’
