Years ago, this mate of mine had a dog for round-ups that got poisoned when she ate fox bait. When we dragged her out from under their old house, her body was stiff and stretched, her mouth a death-grin, her exposed belly white and vulnerable.
That’s how I’ve felt since I arrived in hospital, like someone stretched my skin taut. These last two days have been shit. Police interviews, and talking with Rachel on the phone, dealing with her dad…
The business at the quarry.That’s what the sarge called it. Thing is, I wouldna been anywhere near the quarry, my former place of employment, if I’d known it was gonna turn into a total fuck-up. But Mike’s sister, Rachel, needed a hand. By unfortunate coincidence, I’ve had a thing for Rachel for years. It was during the quarry business that I realised Rachel’s in no way interested. So I’ve been chewing over that concept while the pain chewed through me.
Meanwhile, my own dad’s been hovering around like a blow-fly over roadkill. Today my leg was throbbing with a false heartbeat and I’d had enough. I gave myself permission to be a bastard for a while, let myself drift.
Then Amie Blunt arrived to change the sheets. She asked me about the pain – no idea how she knew – and came back with Bette, she of the scritchy polyester pants and the brassy voice. The name tag on her bosom readBarbara Dunne. She pumped a shot into my IV line and the pain was magically, amazingly gone. The relief made me want to weep and cheer at the same time.
Now it’s night. Don’t know when we got through afternoon, but it’s pretty dark in here. I’m lying flat, feeling floaty, just listening. The hospital has a muffled quiet by evening. You can hear faint beeps from other rooms, the hum of the air-conditioning. It’s like being underwater.
So I hear it when someone raises their voice down the hall. A ruckus in Admissions, maybe. I can’t make out words. I lie here, trying to work out what’s going on from the wailing. The noise masks the beat of fast-moving footsteps, which is why I’m caught by surprise when Amie Blunt ducks into my room.
She closes the door, turns, and leans her spine against it. Could be she’s just something I’m dreaming up because of the drugs I’m on. But I can see details that tell me she’s real. Her hair, dark and shiny, is slipping out of her plait; she rakes it back. Her hands are shaking, and she’s breathing hard.
‘Amie?’ My voice comes out rough.
She jumps, the whites of her eyes flashing. ‘Oh, sorry. Sorry, I thought you were asleep. I wouldn’t have come in if I’d known you were –’
‘You okay?’ Her voice is tight and her movements are small, jerky. Doesn’t take a genius to figure things out, which is good cos I’m no genius at the moment. ‘You’re upset.’
‘No, I’m…’ She stops. Takes a breath, releases it. ‘Yes.’
‘Okay,’ I say.
She swipes her palms down her work pants, closes her eyes. ‘I just need a minute.’
‘Not a problem.’ I’m hardly gonna say no after what she did for me this arvo. I wriggle myself up. ‘What’s happening?’
‘You shouldn’t be moving.’ She says it on automatic as she looks over. ‘Just a… A bad case.’
‘Oh.’
‘Craig Davies was admitted,’ she blurts out.
‘What?’ I blink.
‘You know him?’ She looks away to the other side of the room. ‘He was…messy. Off his face on ice. Barb had him transferred to Mildura for treatment.’
Ice. Fuck.
A mate – well, he’s my dealer, but he’s still a mate – slipped me some in a bong during a bonfire night about a year ago, and it nearly took the top of my skull off. Holidaying in your head is one thing, but ice turns you into a fucking lunatic. Blind paranoia and rage, and a hefty dose of crazed energy that leaves you champing at the insides of your mouth…
It’s the closest I’ve ever been to feeling like I’d slipped into my father’s skin. It scared the shit out of me. I’ve never wanted to be near the stuff since.
‘I know Craig.’ I sound dazed. Or maybe it’s just surprise: Craig’s the last person I would’ve pinned as an ice user.
Amie’s eyes are shadowed. ‘He attacked his sister.’
‘What?’ Now I’m sitting up, as up as I can manage.
‘I can’t…’ Amie shakes her head. Her cheeks are still blanched. ‘I can’t talk about it. I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘His sister, Clare?’
Amie nods, very small.
My voice comes out strangled. ‘She’seleven.’
