I think I’ve finally figured out the deal with the house.
Basically, it’s a bus terminal for small-time distributors, the grunts in this little army. Ando and Snowie call in from time to time, usually only long enough to drop off a package. Kevin hangs at the house, goes out when he gets something to deliver to his cadre or when he needs a break. Barry’s name is on the lease, but he’s never home. His room is just a front. That room, and the caravan, are just way stations for the small privates like Reggie and Dil and Jules, whose own homes are so bad or whose lives are so erratic that they sometimes need a place to crash. As the go-to guy, I qualify as a sergeant in the ranks. Kevin uses his status to boss the kids around. I mainly use it to give myself some privacy.
A few nights ago I met Steph, the other member of our motley household. Walking back from the kitchen with a bowl of cereal – I seem to be living on Weet-Bix a fair bit these days – I noticed the door after the bathroom, the one closest to mine, was ajar. It’s been closed tight with a padlock on every other day. My curiosity got the better of me, and I poked my head in for a gander.
The walls were dark with the curtains drawn, crap everywhere. A full set of motorbike leathers lay draped over the back of a chair, a bike helmet perched on the seat. Someone was sitting on a mattress on the floor, lit by a desk lamp. At first I thought it was another bloke, but then the person looked up from the thick hardback book in their lap and I realised it was a girl.
‘Yes?’ Definitely Indigenous, with a sinewy look, her black hair was chopped rough around her face like she’d done it herself with blunt scissors.
I found myself caught on the back foot. ‘Ah, hey. Sorry. Didn’t know anyone was –’
‘I got that.’ Her expression was parched dry. ‘Who’re you?’
‘Harris.’ I detached a hand from my bowl to wave. ‘Hi.’
‘Steph,’ she said.
‘Right. Nice to meet ya.’
‘Sure.’ She put the book aside – the mattress was covered in paperwork – and got up to walk over. For a second, I thought she was gonna shake my hand. ‘Harris, you said?’
‘Uh, yeah.’
‘Okay. Stay the hell outta my room, Harris.’
She closed the door in my face.
When I tell Reggie about it later, he laughs his head off.
‘Ah, fucking Steph, she’s a classic.’ He guffaws as we walk. ‘Snowie probably told you she’s a hooker or something, did he?’
I shrug. Snowie had certainly implied that much.
Reggie laughs harder. ‘Steph’s not a hooker, mate. She’s a driver. Drives down to Melbourne in the little van, grabs a package, drives back up. Or she goes on the motorbike. And get this – she’sstudying. Goes to night classes and stuff.’
So I’m not the only person in the house who’s trying to do something meaningful while surrounded by shit. I file that info for later examination, keep following Reggie. Over the last week and a half I must’ve heard him whinge twenty million times about how nobody would have a kick with him. Today I finally relented, said I’d walk up to the Mildura South footy ground and keep him company.
He badgers me the whole way, practically skipping with excitement. ‘Who d’ya go for?’
‘Brought up a Magpie. Me dad’s a Magpie.’ I shrug. ‘But mixed loyalties, hey. Me mum’s from Adelaide. I should probably support the Crows.’
‘Shit. You can’t support the Crows, mate.’ Reggie makes a face as we come in sight of the ground. ‘You should do what I do. Screw everybody and barrack for Essendon.’
I snort. ‘You’re a Bombers man?’
‘Underdog team, that’s me.’ Reggie grins. ‘They’re in the doghouse now, eh? Not to worry, they’ll be back.’
Underdog team.Yeah, right. I squint at his dark complexion. ‘How are you a Reggie? You don’t look like a Reggie.’
He points a thumb at himself. ‘Recep. Reggie. Same diff, yeah?’
‘Shouldn’t you be playing soccer,Recep?’
‘Fuck off. Soccer’s for wogs.’ He bounds ahead, rattling the fence as he gets to it. ‘You can’t climb, can ya? No worries. There’s a low place we can skip over.’
It’s actually a relief to get out of the house. The fuggy smells and sounds of Amblin Court seep under the door to my room, get under my skin. But I’m outside now and the day is cold and fresh. A brittle sun makes the details of the Mildura South footy ground snap into focus. Reggie shows where we can slip over the fence, then we’re tooling around out on the ground.
Reggie isn’t one of those cute kids you see on Tourism Australia ads. His face is narrow. He’s got thin lips, and he’s all skinny arms and legs. He’s got good eyes – big, and so dark they’re almost black – but they’re his standout feature. The rest of him is just average.
