‘But this residency thing, it’s a big deal, right? You musta thought about it.’
‘Sure, I’ve thought about it.’ I look elsewhere. ‘But there’s no point thinking about something that can’t happen. Photography is just a hobby. And I have responsibilities here…’
‘But you’re not gonna stay in the Mallee, living at your dad’s forever.’ His expression, as he glances away, is horrified. ‘Christ, I couldn’t imagine anything worse.’
I don’t know if I agree with him. ‘My cousin, Jasminder, is doing it. She was born here, and she’s married here, and she’ll grow old here. Some people are happy exactly where they are.’
‘Not you, though.’ He examines my face. ‘You got that look in your eye…’
‘What look?’
‘Like you’re searching for the horizon.’
‘I don’t know about that.’ I sit up, cradling the camera in my lap. This conversation is making me restless so I pass back his question. ‘What doyouwant to do?’
‘Get out.’ His response is immediate. ‘Get as far away from here, from anywhere my dad is, as fast possible.’
My head feels scrambled by the intensity of his words. ‘So you really want to go.’
‘Fuck, yeah.’ He looks away to the river.
‘And I have to stay.’ It comes out more plaintive than I intend.
He bites his lip, looking at me. The moment is awkward until his gaze returns to the water.
‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to fire up.’ He reaches for a dried leaf on the ground, crumbles it into dust. ‘Guess I should tell you the big news. Leon has started batching. I mean, obviously not Leon personally. He’s got blokes to do it for him.’
I squint at him. ‘What’s batching?’
Harris picks at the gumnuts on the ground, his hands agitated. ‘Homegrown meth. Get the right gear and you can cook it up yourself. Leon’s planning to start up a local crop.’
‘And you know for sure it’s happening?’
He flicks gumnuts towards the water. ‘Saturday, I had to deliver a package. I know it’s an important package, cos Mick the Leb comes with me –’
‘How do you know he’s Lebanese?’ I cut in.
Harris shrugs, flicks another gumnut. ‘I dunno. His name’s Mick, everyone calls him Mick the Leb. Anyway, I get a big fat envelope from Leon, and Mick does the driving –’
‘You’re being chauffeured now?’
‘Special occasion. So we drive out to this shed north of bloody nowhere, and there’s a guy with a van. Here’s the plate number, I wrote it down.’ He passes me a slip of paper, which I pocket, and continues. ‘I wait in the car while Mick goes to have a look, then when he’s checked it all out, he gives me a nod. I give the van-man his money. He says to tell Leon he’s waiting on some equipment, but the first package will arrive soon after that.’
‘What’s Leon paying for?’
‘Chemicals, my guess. S’pose there’ll be a couple of boys cooking up the whole mess in that little nowhere shed, far enough away that no one’s gonna smell any fumes.’ He looks at me. ‘If I was your dad, I’d wait until the first batch is ready, then when the delivery day comes… Nail ’em.’
Harris’s face is hard when he says that. Sometimes the stuff he tells me, the things he’s doing – this thing we’rebothdoing – seem so divorced from real life I have trouble reconciling it all in my head. But this is real life too, just like the sari and jewellery issues I’ve been dealing with over the last few days… The juxtaposition makes my brain hurt.
He lifts his chin at me, at the camera. ‘You gonna take some photos or what? Your auntie’ll get suss if you come home without any, won’t she?’
‘Huh?’ I blink. ‘Oh. Yeah, I s’pose.’
He looks at me sideways. ‘You could photograph me. I wouldn’t mind.’
‘Oh, I don’t take photos of people,’ I say quickly. ‘I mean, I’m taking shots for the wedding, but I don’t really –’
‘Why not?’
