‘Maybe if he skips here he’ll go to the hospital in Mildura,’ I suggest.
‘Maybe he will,’ Barb concedes. She shrugs again. ‘Maybe he won’t. Like I said, best to just let it go.’
As Barb walks off I realise something. Me and Dad are the only ones who know exactly what’s going on. I’m going to hear people slagging Harris off a lot more often over the next few weeks. He already has a reputation in this community and posing as a drug connection in Mildura will blacken it further. Peoples’ opinions of him are only going to get worse.
And hechosethis.
The fact that Harris is making a sacrifice to do this makes me think it must mean something to him, something important. What is it?
Maybe he wants to prove he’s not like his dad, not a heartless bastard. Or it could mean Harris doesn’t care what people think about him – he’s been living with other folks’ bad opinions his whole life. Maybe he doesn’t give a toss what people say anymore. I know he doesn’t let people in often. He must feel very much alone.
But there’s another scenario, and this is the one that worries me most. It’s the scenario where Harris has stopped caring about what he does and what the consequences will be. Whether he lives or dies. I thought that darkness had melted out of him after his last admission to hospital; maybe it just sank deeper, burned down into the core of him. He said he’s being careful, but he’s throwing himself into dangerous situations up in Mildura, double-crossing drug lords who don’t mind a spot of knee-capping, or worse…
Maybe Harris has a death wish.
It’s easy for me to fake disappointment for Barb at the idea Harris might have gone off the rails. But it’ll be even easier to act worried about what might happen to him as a result, because I’m one of the only people who knows what’s really going on in Mildura.
And I know enough to understand that Harris’s death wish could become a reality, with very little effort at all.
*
‘Wow, you’ve got a lot of gear.’
‘You should’ve seen all the shit I left behind,’ Nick says.
It’s Friday. We’re on the verge in front of my house, and Nick’s got almost every possession he owns stuffed inside his new second-hand car. He’s crammed three boxes of gear into the backseat and there’s two suitcases plus more in the boot.
‘Last chance, now.’ Nick eyebrows lift expectantly. ‘You sure you don’t want to climb aboard this train? You know I’d be cool with you crashing with me for a while, if you wanted to come down to Melbourne.’
His tone is joking but he looks hopeful, and I flash on my conversation with Robbie:he’s still into you. There’s so many reasons why I would never take advantage of Nick that way, but I don’t want him to feel bad about it.
I squeeze his arm. ‘If I ever decide to make the move, you’ll be the first person I call.’
His expression becomes resigned but he disguises it by shoving his hands in his pockets. ‘Be nice to Barb. She’s helped me a lot, and it was pretty cool of her to give me references and pay out my leave on such short notice. I feel like a bit of an arsehole for that. But Grant said these guys in Preston are okay for me to let the room in their house, and now I’ve got wheels…’
‘You should strike while the iron’s hot.’
‘This is all happening a bit faster than I’d expected,’ he admits.
‘Yeah,’ I say gently, ‘but you’ve been thinking about it for as long as I’ve known you. Now you get to do it – go out into the world and be awesome.’
I grin at him even though my eyes feel prickly and my head is full of nostalgia. Nick is standing there in his daggiest sun-bleached jeans and a white T-shirt. His black fringe falls in his eyes – all the Partridge boys have the same dark hair. It was one of the things I noticed about him when we first became friends, years before we started dating. I didn’t realise then I was letting into my heart another person who was destined to leave.
But people are impermanent. I should’ve figured that out by now.
‘Promise me something?’ His eyes hold mine. ‘If I take my awesome to Melbourne, you have to make up the difference here.’
‘Or there’ll be an awesome imbalance?’ I joke.
‘I’m serious, Amie.’ He looks serious, too. ‘Go get that residency. You’re shortlisted, that means you have a good chance. Have you signed up for an interview yet?’
‘Um, I’m still just checking out the paperwork.’ I lean back on the car – a white Ford hatchback – and let the heat from the metal bonnet warm me. I’m doing some disguising of my own.
‘Amie.’ Nick extricates a hand and tilts my chin. ‘You’ve only got one life. And it’s yours, not your dad’s or your nanna’s.’
‘I know that.’ I bite my lip.
‘Then stop worrying about everyone else and go live it.’ Nick presses a kiss to my forehead, releases me. ‘And sign up for an interview before the deadline.’
