The Legend of Kevin the Plumber (19 page)

‘Should take her with you,' he said, and winked.

So there I was, walking to Ash's place with a thousand dollars in my pocket, feeling like the old bastard might have been talking sense.

‘Would you come with me? To Queensland?'

‘What, for a holiday?' Ash said.

‘No. To live.'

‘I . . . I don't know, Gaz. I have a few plans for myself,
you know. I want to go to uni and that.'

‘You could go to uni in Queensland. They have unis there, don't they?'

‘Yes. I couldn't afford it.'

‘Look at this,' I said, and showed her the envelope.

‘Thousand bucks? That's shit-hot, Gaz, really, but it wouldn't last very long.'

‘Bullshit. I could live on that for a year, I reckon.'

Ash huffed. ‘A year? I doubt it. Then what?'

‘I'd have a job by then. In the movies or something.'

She was shaking her head.

‘It was just a suggestion,' I said.

She put her hand on my forearm. ‘Yes, and it was a fantastic suggestion. It really was. If only you knew how fantastic that suggestion was. How it'd be like a dream come true. I'm just not ready to up and leave, Gaz.'

She was still touching my arm. I could feel her fingers burning into my skin. It was a warmth that went right into my bones. She was staring at her hand, then she realised I was watching her.

She patted my arm like I was a dog. ‘You go though, Gaz. It's your dream. At least I'll have somewhere to go for my holidays.'

The bungalow was suddenly filled with cheery electronic music. Ash and I had time to exchange puzzled looks and listen for where the sound was coming from before I realised it was my phone.

It took me ten frantic seconds to work out how to answer the thing. It was Aggie. His voice was all shaky and high.

‘What's up, mate? You sound like a girl.'

‘Ha! Yeah, I probably do. I'm at the hospital with Mum. Gel's been in a car accident.'

‘Fuck. Is he all right?'

‘Well, he's not hurt very badly if that's what you mean, but he's not all right. He was driving a stolen car.'

‘Oh, shit.'

‘Vanessa was with him when they crashed —'

‘Bloody hell.'

‘But she's okay. Some scratches but she's gone home.'

‘Thank Christ,' I said.

‘Yeah, but he's probably going to jail.'

‘What, for nicking a car?'

‘No. For killing the guy he ran into.'

Mum drove us to the hospital in her Hyundai. Me and Sharon and Ash sitting there in a paralysed silence. It was horrible. Fucken horrible, but not as horrible as the ghost of Gel that sat on the edge of a chair in the waiting room, hanging his head. I could see black stitches in his lip. He tongued at them carefully and said nothing. Mum said hello to Carole — Aggie and Gel's mum, with the red-rimmed eyes — and Carole lost it and hugged her.

Gel groaned and stood up as if to leave.

‘Sit down,' Carole squealed, her voice thick with her accent and desperation. ‘Sit down and don't move. Don't move until someone tells you to move. Do you hear?'

Gel sat.

Aggie's eyes were puffy, too. He sort of smiled. His mouth made the shape but it wasn't really a smile. Carole eventually honked into a crumpled tissue and sat down.

‘I shouldn't have left them alone. I blame myself for all this,' she said.

‘Don't be silly,' Mum said, with a hand on her back. ‘Our boys are big enough to make decisions for themselves, now.'

‘Ya, but they are just boys. Some of the decisions they make are not good. Some of the decisions they make are stupid. Stupid! Dangerous and stupid. Deadly, even. And now Gel will live for the rest of his days with that man in his nightmares. Stupid.'

Gel wiped his nose on his sleeve.

Two uniformed policemen appeared in the waiting room. Without saying a word, Gel stood and walked with them through the automatic doors into the night.

Sharon asked if we could call in at Vanessa's place on our way home. Ash and I stayed in the car. Mum and Mrs Daly talked at the front door like they'd known each other for years. Sharon's sleeve was wet with tears when she got back in the car.

‘She's all right. Just two little cuts on the back of her arm. She said she's got a sore throat from screaming.'

‘Maureen's thinking of building a cage for her,' Mum said. ‘She sounded half-serious.'

P
hil had left a message on the phone. It was a squeaky teenager voice that had me wondering who it was at first. He said Homer would be around in the van at seven thirty to pick me up.

Homer, being like an encyclopaedia of news (not), filled me in on our way to Christmas Bay.

‘You know the kid that stacked that car yesterday? At Blinley? Killed that bloke?'

‘Yeah, sort of,' I lied. ‘He went to my school.'

‘They said on the news that he'd stolen at least a dozen cars in the last two weeks and the fucken cops couldn't catch him. Slack-arsed bastards.'

I nodded. It was a slow sort of head-rock of realisation. Mario's car was probably one of that dozen. Shameless prick.

‘Wouldn't have been from not trying to catch him though,' I said. ‘He was pretty crafty about it. I heard that he stole cars out of people's driveways in the middle of the day.'

‘Yeah? That's fucken gutsy.'

‘Or fucken stupid.'

We spent the day repairing roofs that had leaked on Thursday. Cleaning gutters on top of the primary school on Smith Street. Sealing around a skylight that had dropped about twenty litres of water on the carpet at the solicitors. Quoting on some drainage works at a mansion overlooking the bay, a mansion surrounded by rolls and rolls of wet carpet. Homer had a bit of an allergic reaction to ladders so I spent the day being his gopher. Up and down. Up and down.

At lunch, Homer showed me the list of jobs we were working on. It ran to two A4 pages. Little jobs, medium jobs, huge ones. I remembered a time not that long ago when a list of jobs like that would have made me feel like going home and watching a video. Instead, that afternoon, I caught myself whistling along to bloody Madonna on the radio. I laughed at Homer's lame jokes. When it came to knock-off time and he offered me a lift in his VL, I asked him if he'd drop me in town so I could get a lift home with Mum (and see Kevin).

He revved the poor little box hard. So hard that I could smell clutch, rubber and oil burning. He steered with one hand and hung the other out the window. He got the wheels screeching at every corner. When I got out, I had to slam the door three times before it closed properly.

‘Fanks, Homer.'

‘No worries, Gary. Did you want me to pick you up tomorrow?'

‘No, I'll be right mate. It's all organised.'

I dropped my bag at the salon, kissed Mum and jogged to the hospital. My hands were blackened and sticky with silicone and dirt.

Kevin was slumped in bed with the curtains closed, watching
Wheel of Fortune
. His head turned when I knocked but he didn't sit up.

‘Gary? Come in,' he grumbled, and waved me in with three fingers.

He put his hand out to me and I shook it. His skin was cool. He didn't let go. My insides sort of rattled, my heart and my lungs. Something bad had happened. Kevin looked like he was dying.

‘You . . . you look like shit,' I said. I didn't know what else to say.

A smile parted his beard. ‘I look better than I feel.'

‘What happened? I thought you'd be out the door.'

He raised one eyebrow. Raising two might have been more effort than he was capable of. ‘Don't know. Got the doctors scratching their heads. They reckon my blood is crook but I think they're guessing. Nothing they've given me has helped at all.'

He turned his face to the television. He was still holding my hand, his fingers curled deliberately and solidly around my palm.

‘Food still good?' I asked.

‘Tastes all right,' he said. ‘On the way down at any rate. Not quite as flash on the way up again.'

More shouting from the television to cover the silence.

‘Have Noelene and Vanessa been in today?'

‘Maureen.'

‘Ha. Just testing.'

He nodded. ‘They've just left to get some dinner. They should be back soon.'

‘Jeez, Vanessa was lucky yesterday.'

He turned to me and frowned. ‘How so?'

I could see — five seconds too late — that they hadn't told Kevin for one reason or another.

‘Oh, it was nothing really.'

He pulled on my hand. ‘What?'

‘She was in a car with my . . . with someone I know yesterday and they had a bit of a ding. She's fine. Obviously. The bloke I . . . the driver got a few stitches in his lip.'

‘What was she doing in the car?'

‘I . . . I um think he was dropping her home.'

He yanked on my hand again.

‘What?'

He stared at me. His eyes were yellow where they should have been white. ‘Tell me what happened.'

So I did. I left out a few little details, like the fact that the car was stolen and the fact that I'd found Vanessa in Gel's bed. And I left out the dead man.

He nodded and thanked me when I was finished. He let go of my hand and I discreetly wiped it on my overalls.

‘Can I bring you anything?' I asked.

‘A new body,' he said.

‘That'd be pushing it. Would a blow-up one be okay?'

His smile was weak, but it was still a smile. ‘In that case, bring me a bullet.'

‘Bit soon for that, don't you think? We'd have to check with your doctor.'

He blew air from his nose then looked at my face. I heard voices in the corridor and hoped it wasn't Vanessa and Maureen. I didn't feel up to talking with them. Dodging the truth of Vanessa's joy-ride with Gel.

‘I'd better be going. Mum's waiting for me.'

‘The ocean,' he said.

‘Hey?'

‘Bring me the ocean.'

‘Right,' I said, and rolled my eyes. ‘I think I'll bring you that bullet.'

‘Thanks for dropping in. How's everything at work?'

‘Okay. Fine, in fact, if you forget about Homer's bum crack for a minute.'

His body shook with a laugh that didn't make it past his lips. He waved me off and the television broke to adverts. I jogged to the stairwell and skipped over every other step on the way down. It was good to feel the warmth of the afternoon air on my face.

Mum made pasta for tea. I peeled and sliced the onion for her. Up until that little effort, I didn't realise that onions had to be peeled. Mum was gentle about it, not taking the piss or anything when I had to confess I didn't know how to peel an onion. She did let out a few cluck-laughs when the onion got in my eyes and they started pissing tears. Scrag. She'd changed since I'd told her that I was moving out.

Ash wasn't home.

At eight thirty-five I hopped on my bed with the
portable phone and called Dad. It rang nine times then a kid answered. A girl.

‘Hello?'

‘Hi, is um . . . Darcy there, please?'

‘No. Just hang on a minute, I'll get Mum.'

Clunk clunk.

Nah, it's okay, I thought, my ticker drumming in my neck. I'll call again . . .

(Muuumm! Someone on the phone.)

‘Hello?'

‘Oh, hi. It's Gary here, I was wondering if Darcy was available.'

‘Gary? Gary who?'

‘Gary Sleep.'

‘Oh god, that Gary! How are you? Gee, we haven't heard from you for a while. Darcy's . . . he's not here. He hasn't spoken to you?'

‘Yes. I spoke to him on my birthday a couple of weeks ago.'

Silence.

‘Listen, I'll have to get Darcy to ring you back. Would that be okay?'

‘Fine. Does he have a mobile phone?'

‘Ah, no. I'll get him to give you a call.'

‘Do you know what time he'll be in?'

‘No. I don't. Not really. I'll get him to give you a call, okay?'

‘No worries. Bye.'

Didn't have to be a genius like Ash to work out that something suspect was going on. If I guessed right and
that was Bernie ‘The Slut' Clymo, who was the kid calling her Mum? Kid? Could have been a teenager. Chances are, I thought, I've got another friggin half-sister in Queensland. And where was Dad? The cracks in my world were getting bigger.

I dreamed that Muz and I were playing beach cricket and the bastard kept getting me out. Every ball, no matter what I did, he bowled me, stumped me, and caught it if I got my bat to it. He kept getting me out but insisted that I keep batting. It seemed to go on all night. I woke up with an aching jaw from biting down on my teeth.

The morning was overcast but the clouds had burned off by the time I hopped my bike up the gutter at work. Phil was unlocking the office and Pip stood two steps behind him, hugging a folder to her chest, a black handbag hooked on her shoulder.

‘Good morning, early bird,' Pip said.

Phil looked up, startled. His eyes were pinched like he'd had a big night on the piss. His chin was peppered with grey stubble. ‘You mad bastard, Gary. Why didn't you give me a call? I could have got Homer to pick you up.'

‘No, it's cool. I wanted to ride.'

He shook his head. ‘I wish I had the energy to burn.'

Pip laughed. ‘Yeah, that would be good.'

I wanted to block my ears. I wasn't supposed to get that.

Homer was panting when he arrived at ten past seven. I'd been looking at the jobs on the list and trying to guess the extra tools and bits we'd need. Every hair on his body seemed to be wet from the shower. His moustache, the oily
mop poking from under his cap. His blue singlet was wet; dark in patches under his man-boobs and wet curls of black hair had saturated the shoulders of it.

Phil yelled to Homer from the other side of the shed. ‘Be back by four this afternoon. We need to have a talk.'

Homer swore under his breath and spun the wheels in the gravel of the car park as we were leaving. He was shitty until brew time. He bought a pie and a sausage roll. The pie was hot and he sucked at it and swore and dropped bits of it in the footwell of the van.

I laughed.

‘What?'

‘You're such a fucken pig.'

He smiled. ‘You sound like my missus. I can't help it, it's fucken hot.'

He slurped and chuckled and burped until I got out of the van in protest. When he eventually finished and set the van rocking as he got out, I could see gobs of sauce and gravy in his moustache. Enough to feed a starving tribe for a week. Imagine being married to that.

He was silent all the way to the depot from our last job. I wondered if things had finally caught up with him and he was getting his arse kicked, or maybe even the axe.

Homer was invited to Phil's office. I wanted to wish him luck but Phil called me in, as well.

‘This concerns you, too, Gary.'

Homer sat. I stood against the wall. Pip leaned on the doorframe.

‘Listen. I won't fuck around. My wife and I are splitting
up. She's turned nasty and put me in a position where I have to liquidate the business. She's an equal partner, which made it better for tax purposes, but now she's got me by the balls. So to speak. I've got to sell everything to pay her out. We're closing down as of this Friday. You'll get your two weeks' pay but that's it, I'm afraid. It's all over.'

The office was silent. I could hear the tin roof of the shed cracking and creaking under the sun. I felt numb.

‘Fuck,' Homer said. ‘The bitch. But we've got so much work on and . . . why?'

Phil shrugged and squeezed his nose. He put his hands behind his head. Said he didn't know.

Pip was looking at the floor but there was a shadow of a smile on her lips. She knew. Phil knew. I knew.

‘What about Kevin?' I asked.

‘Fuck Kevin,' Homer spat.

‘Same as you guys,' Phil said. ‘He'll get paid his two weeks and then his job won't exist anymore.'

Talk about kicking a man when he's down.

Phil was going on to Homer about how loyal he'd been and what a great worker he was and blah blah. I stepped past Pip, grabbed my bag and jumped on my bike. I'd taken to pushing my helmet over my Australia hat. The air rushing past me made something on my head buzz. It changed pitch as I slowed for the corners and buzzed harder as I put my back into it. Sounded like a siren. Siren all the way to the hospital.

I didn't recognise Kevin. Not at first glance, anyway. I stepped into the room without knocking and there was a man sitting up in his bed with a crew cut and a clean-shaven
face. I apologised and backed into the corridor. The man smiled and the eyes and the smile were familiar.

‘You didn't recognise me, did you?' he said.

‘You've got to be joking. Your own bloody kid wouldn't recognise you.'

He laughed properly then and the room hummed with it.

‘It's the new robe that confused me.'

Kevin thumbed the collar of his new green dressing-gown. ‘You like it?'

‘Very nice. You seem a bit brighter today.'

‘Oh yes. Chirpier than a cage full of cockatiels today.'

‘You won't be needing this bullet then?'

‘No. Not just yet, but thanks for thinking of me.'

‘What's with the hairstyle?'

‘I start therapy tomorrow and they said it was all going to fall out, so I got Maureen to organise a trim for me.'

‘Trim? Hate to see a haircut.'

He chuckled. ‘How are things with you?'

I shrugged. ‘Not so flash. Phil dragged me and Homer into his office this afternoon to tell us we won't have a job next week.'

He nodded.

‘He said you'll get two weeks' pay.'

He smoothed the blanket under his hand.

‘You don't even look surprised,' I said.

‘No. Phil came in here earlier,' he said, and pointed to a vase of white roses. ‘He tried to sell me the business.'

‘Are you going to buy it? I'd come and work for you. For free. You should buy it.'

He screwed up his hairless face. Without the beard, his expressions seemed to shout at me.

‘Not exactly the best time for me to buy a business.'

‘I could look after it for you. Until you're better and that.'