He’s right: I’m not in the same position as a lot of rural kids around here, compelled to stay with the family farm. I’m not tied to the land here. But the idea of leaving Walpeup, leaving Dad alone in this little house…
I feel my face screw up. ‘But I want to be where you are!’
‘And I like having you around, don’t get me wrong.’ Dad pats my forearm on the table. ‘But that doesn’t mean I think you should live with me forever.’
But who will look after you if I leave?I can’t sacrifice dad’s health for some photography pipe dream. I won’t. More importantly, if I go, he will have lost another person. I don’t think I could do that to him. And what about my family in Mildura? What about Nani?
‘I-I don’t know, Dad.’ My hands are clasped in my lap. ‘My mental picture for the last four years has always just been of you and me, here.’
‘It’s pretty normal, I think, for kids to move out of their parents’ house at some stage.’ Dad’s look is dry. Then he leans back, starts picking at the table edge with a fingernail. ‘I’ve been anticipating it. You, leaving. It’s not like I haven’t thought about it.’
I can’t do anything except reach over and clasp his hand. Because since Robbie and Nick told me about the residency, I’ve thought about it, too. It’s been tormenting me.
But if I let go of this picture I’ve always had, of me and Dad and this house, and Nani in Mildura, what will flood in to fill the gap? All those photos inNational Geographic– they’re just scenery. Not places where you arrive, step out, breathe in the air or feel the sun. It’s been a long time since I imagined myself in any of them. They’re two-dimensional and they don’t feel quite real.
This– this feels real. Sitting in the cool dingy kitchen with the mozzie zapper buzzing outside. The smell of tonight’s dinner still hanging around, settling into the curtains over the sink.
Dad’s hand, grimy with engine grease, curled around mine.
*
I don’t know what time it is. I fell asleep on my bed, in the middle of reading through the papers in the purple folder Robbie gave me. Then my phone chimes again and I realise what’s woken me.
I push my hair out of my face and grab my phone off the dresser. The first text from Patient #451 – which is how I’ve saved Harris’s number in my phone – saysNeed to schedule new apptmt. Pls get in touch. It’s from ten minutes ago. The newest message is the one that just woke me; it readsCall if available. It’s our pre-arranged signal: it means Harris is out of his sharehouse and free to talk. But this is the first time he’s used it.
I hit Call, anxious there might be some emergency. ‘Hey, what’s up?’
‘Ah, hey. Sorry to wake you.’ Harris’s voice is gravelly. He sounds like he’s been drinking.
‘It’s fine.’ I rub my eyes. ‘How’d you know I’m not out raging?’
I can hear his smile down the line. ‘It’s one in the morning. I know you’re not on shift, cos it’s Friday. And…you sound different. Sleepy.’
I huff out a laugh, settle myself back on the pillows. ‘Yeah, I’m a bit sleepy. It’s okay, though. What’s happening?’
‘Friday night, hey? Parties all over – it’s a busy time. Look, I thought your dad might wanna know Leon offered me a gun.’
I sit up again. ‘He wants you to carry a gun? Why?’
‘I’m the runner, yeah?’ Harris sighs. ‘I’m cruisin’ around town with bundles of cash stuffed down the front of my shirt. And Leon’s not the only game in town. The big bosses, they fight over turf all the time. According to Snowie I’m nuts if Idon’tcarry.’
‘But if you get busted by the Mildura cops with a gun –’
‘That’s what I’m talking about. I said thanks but no thanks. Bad enough if I get hauled in by the cops with a cash delivery, let alone if I’m sprung with a pistol down the back of my pants.’ He makes a snort. ‘I told Leon I was worried I’d accidentally shoot myself in the arse.’
‘And what’d he say to that?’
His tone changes. ‘He said it was my funeral.’
‘I think you did the right thing.’ I marshal my thoughts, try to keep my voice light and even. ‘I’ll let Dad know, but I reckon you’re much less likely to cop a charge if they bust you and you’re unarmed. And yes, less likely to shoot your arse off.’ I think about it more seriously. ‘But Harris, do you need to be carrying some kind of weapon? If there’s a situation, and you feel threatened –’
‘Hey, if there’s a situation and I feel threatened, I’m gonna drop the cash and run. I’m not gonna throw myself in front of a bullet to protect Leon’s profit margin. If that ever happens, you’ll know I’ve switched sides.’ He pauses. ‘The money these guys throw around, Ames… It’s crazy. Ando’s bought himself a new car. Some bloody ridiculous Land Cruiser thing, he’s driving it through town, parking it in Amblin Court. Like, Jesus, why don’t you put up a big sign sayingDrug Dealer In Da House?’
I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop myself from laughing. Harris laughs too, as if I’ve surprised him. It’s one in the morning, we’re both tired, and we’re laughing over this insane thing… The laughter brings me back into myself, reminds me of why I think Harris has volunteered to do this. It isn’t for the money. It’s never been just about that.
‘What are you doing right now?’ I ask softly.
I get a shiver when he sighs again, long and low. ‘I’m up near the milk bar. I’ve only got a minute, hey. But I really needed to get out for a bit. It’s good to hear your voice.’
