The Legend of Kevin the Plumber (7 page)

‘Now what?' I asked. The pit was deep enough to echo like a cave when I talked.

‘Just grab the head. It'll be there somewhere. Hurry though because at any minute —'

He didn't get to finish his sentence. A waterfall erupted
from the pipe next to my thigh. It flooded my boot. And the smell. It stank like a fridge surprise. One of those cartons that had been tucked up the back for a month too long. The milk that doesn't pour onto your Weeties, it vomits. I gagged.

‘Just grab the thing before you get totally drowned,' Kevin said, and I stuck my hand into the brown-green goop. Nothing. I swapped hands and eventually found the rooter head two metres from where I saw it land. I chucked it out of the pit and nearly chucked up on myself.

‘Well done, Gary. Give me your hands. Wipe them first.'

I shook my slimed fingers and wiped them on my coveralls. Kevin hoiked me out of the pit like I was a two-year-old and I stomped my boots near the edge.

‘I think you might need a new set of boot covers,' Kevin said, and I thought I saw him smile. Underneath all that beard, I'd swear I saw his lips move.

He kicked the head of the rooter clear and grabbed the grate. I took the end of the mesh and had to hold back my own smile.

‘One . . . two . . . '

We hauled on three and the metal lifted. We shuffled and I could feel my grubby fingers slipping.

I lost my grip.

There was a commotion and Kevin dropped his end of the grate. It came down with a crunch and clatter and Kevin thudded onto his bum. He howled like that big hairy dude off
Star Wars
. He didn't stop.

His ankle was under the metal.

‘Arghh! Get it off!' he screamed, and I was there beside
him. I held the grate and it lifted like a paperweight. I don't know where the strength came from. I held the thing like Superman as Kevin scrabbled free, then dropped it. It rang like a gong but it didn't drown Kevin's groaning.

‘Are you all right?' I asked, and felt like a total dick again. What a fuckwit thing to ask. What a fuckwit thing to do. I'd dropped the grate.

I put my hand on Kevin's shoulder. He pushed me off and shook his head.

I carefully removed his boot cover and pushed the leg of his overalls up.

He stopped groaning and started sucking air.

There wasn't much blood, but I could see the bone.

‘Fuck,' I said.

Kevin's face had gone white. ‘Back off. Just back off.'

‘I'll get them to call an ambulance.'

‘Don't do
anything
!' he snapped. ‘Just stay out of the way.'

I stood there, useless, as Kevin struggled to his feet. His good leg shook and he screwed up his face then hopped across the factory floor. No-one had noticed the accident. No-one had seen us leaving.

‘Finish the job,' Kevin said, as we got outside the front door of the factory.

‘What?'

His eyes were scrunched shut.

I flicked my slimy boot covers off and headed back through the door. I could see prints of slime on the foyer carpet. I scuffed at one with my boot and managed to spread it around.

It took every shaking muscle in my body to drag the grate back into place. I was carrying the probe and the sewer rooter through the foyer when the bloke with the thick glasses ducked out of the office.

‘How did you go?'

‘Ah. Yes. We sent down the probe and found a blockage. Got the rooter down and she's all flowing again now. Job's finished.'

‘Fantastic. Do you have an invoice for me?'

‘No. I . . . they'll send you one.'

‘Good. All done then?'

I nodded.

‘Thanks. I hope we don't have to see you again for a while.'

He held the door open for me. I thanked him, prayed that he didn't look at the mess on the carpet, and left.

Kevin's face was still white. He hadn't been magically healed. I stuffed the gear in the back of the van and climbed into the passenger's seat.

‘Are you okay to drive?'

He gritted his teeth as he pressed the clutch. He started the van and backed out of the car park like Grandad.

It was an accident, I told myself. I didn't mean to drop the grate. It wasn't my bloody fault. He didn't have to get all shitty with me.

Kevin drove to the depot, panting through his beard whenever he had to change gears. He parked the van beside the shed and, using the chain mesh fence as a crutch, dragged himself to the front gate.

I stood beside the van. All I could do was watch.

‘Tell Phil I'll call him later,' he said, and limped across to the crappy Toyota ute with the green plastic boat strapped to its racks. The engine started, the wheels coughed on the gravel and he was gone.

It wasn't even lunchtime.

Fuck it, I thought. I gave it a go.

I started walking to the gate.

The office door banged open. ‘Oi, David!' Phil said. ‘Where are you off to? Where's Kev?'

I shrugged. ‘Up the hospital, I think.'

‘Hospital? What happened?'

‘He dropped a metal grate on his ankle. He said he'd phone later.'

‘He what?'

‘Big metal grate. It was an accident.'

‘Jeeeeezus,' Phil said, as he jogged across the car park to the black SS. The wheels span on the gravel then shrieked as they hit the tar. He kicked the V8 in the guts and redlined it to the corner. Nice note, I thought. A flash of brake-lights in the mid-morning sun then he was gone, too.

I smiled. I shook my head and walked to the highway. I thought about thumbing a ride back to Mullet Head but the day had opened up nicely and my boots scrunched on the side of the road, one after the other. I could walk home, I thought. All the way. Fifteen k's or so. Easy. I wished I had a smoke. My thighs were tight, probably still recovering from the ride with Ash. I'm such an unfit bastard, I thought. The walk would do me good. I jogged for a while:
about thirty steps in all. I was puffing when a car approaching me from behind started winding down through the gears. A van. A dusty blue-green van with kids in the back crawled past me and pulled onto the side of the highway. A woman with curly black hair called from the window.

‘You want a lift? Gary, isn't it? We're only going to Mullet.'

I jogged another five paces and she dragged a newspaper off the passenger's seat.

She apologised about the mess and one of the kids in the back burped like a bar rat.

‘I've just seen your mum. Had to make an appointment to get my hair done next Wednesday. It
is
Gary, isn't it?'

‘Yes.'

‘Your mum was just saying that you'd got a job. Plumbing, isn't it? Fantastic. You'd do all right out of that. My nephew, Gregory, he's a plumber up in Sydney. He's twenty-three and he owns his own business. Got three people working for him. Three or four? Anyway, he works hard. There's plenty of money in it if you're prepared to put in the hours . . .'

The woman, whoever she was, just talked and talked all the way to Mullet Head. Talked about how we'll always need plumbers and how important they are in the world.

‘If we didn't have plumbers . . . God, imagine that. If we didn't have plumbers, we'd certainly be in the poo. Literally!'

She dropped me at the door and I thanked her. Muz's car wasn't in the drive but I didn't go home. I waited until the van buzzed up the road, with the woman waving from
the window and driving over the white line. I walked across to Ash's place. The bungalow was locked but there was a white plastic chair under the window. I dragged it into the shade, sat and waited. Waited for Ash, maybe. Waited for Mario to come home so I could explain what happened. He'd be pissed off at me, sure, but none of it was my fault. I wondered if they'd pay me. I turned up for the day, so they should pay me for the day. It was only fair.

I got hungry at about one o'clock. I decided to do a fridge raid and bring back whatever I could find to eat in the shade next to the bungalow.

Muz's car still wasn't in the driveway. Trixie was. She was growling and poking her arse at a scruffy-looking black poodle. I'd seen the poodle before; it lived down near the caravan park. I'd never seen it pay so much attention to Trixie. And Trixie, the slut, was just lapping it all up, prancing around then stopping so the poodle could smell her butt. They'd be interesting puppies; poodle crossed with a Shih tzu. Little shit poos.

The TV was roaring. Mario was on the phone. I'd let the flywire door slam before I realised he was home.

‘Hello? Who's that?'

‘Me,' I said.

The floorboards squeaked under his heavy footfalls and I held my breath.

‘Where's my car?' he asked.

‘What?'

‘Don't play stupid. Where's my bloody car?'

‘I don't know. You dropped me off in it this morning. I haven't seen it since then. How would I know?'

His hair flicked through the air as he spun and stomped down the hallway.

‘You there?' he said into the phone. ‘Gary's home now. He doesn't know anything about it . . . Yep. Gone. Right out of the driveway. While I was still inside the house . . . Yes . . . No, I haven't rung them yet, I've only just realised it was stolen . . . Right. Goodbye.'

The phone made an ugly crack as he slammed down the receiver.

‘What are you doing here, anyway?' Mario called from the hallway.

‘I was . . . I just . . . just grabbing some lunch.'

‘Hello? Police? Yes, I'd like to report a stolen car . . . '

I made three cheese and Vegemite sandwiches. I slugged some milk from the carton and scurried across the road to Ash's place. I knew she'd be at school. I scoffed the sandwiches. I ate like I hadn't eaten for a week. Who'd want to steal Muz's car? It wasn't a shitbox but it certainly wasn't prestige. They were lucky the thing started. Right out of the driveway? In daylight? That was keen. Or stupid.

And it was probably stupid to leave work but too bad, I'd done it anyway. Mum and Mario could hardly hang me for it. They may never find out. I decided I could easily pretend I was going to work and just bum around. Nobody would see me and nobody would miss me, unlike school where they missed me if I was a minute late for class. Mrs Jefferies would phone Mum and ask if I was going to be joining them that day.

There were no roll-marking Nazis at the plumbers; I just wouldn't get paid. I even thought a way around that
as I sat beside Ash's bungalow and waited. I thought I could go down and collect the dole and pretend I was working, just for Mum and Muz's benefit. I might last a few weeks like that, save up enough money and just disappear up to Queensland where my old man could organise a decent job. Not a bad plan.

‘Oi!'

I'd fallen asleep and the shout startled me.

It was Ash, rattling her keys at the lock on the bungalow.

‘What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be at work.'

I shrugged. ‘They couldn't keep me away from my mate Ash. They tried, but here I am.'

‘You tosser,' she said. She wasn't smiling.

I followed her into the bungalow and she darted into the toilet.

‘Put some music on.'

I picked through her CDs and listened to her piss and fart through the door. Plop, plop. I just grabbed any old thing and stuffed it on to drown out the toilet music. Turned out to be Studded Glory but it was only the CD single and it finished just as Ash flushed.

‘What happened at work?' she asked, pulling off her sweat-pitted shirt.

‘Ha! The bloke I was working with dropped this heavy metal thing on his ankle. I could see the bone.'

‘Gross. So they gave you the rest of the day off?'

‘More or less.'

She grabbed a towel from her unmade bed and wrapped
it around her waist then pulled her pants down underneath so I didn't see her undies.

‘Shit. Sorry. I'll wait outside.'

‘Nah. It's not that,' she said, ‘I just didn't want you to have to see my knickers, that's all. I'd hate you to spew in my bungalow.'

‘Take a bit more than that to make me spew,' I said, and sat on her bed. ‘Oh, I nearly spewed today, at work. We went to that big milk factory . . . on the highway.'

‘Southern Milk?'

‘Yeah, I don't know what it's called. We went in the factory. Had to crawl into a pit filled with slime. It smelled . . . here, smell my hand.' I held out my mit, and she took it and sniffed it.

‘Cor. Smells like duckshit.'

‘Yeah. I had to stand in that crap and fish around in the slime for this . . . tool. The rooter.'

She chuckled. ‘Rooter?'

‘Yeah. Yeah. True. Oh and Muz's car —'

‘What happened to Mario's car?'

‘Someone stole it. Right out of the driveway. Middle of the day.'

‘Bullshit. Did he find it?'

‘Nope. Don't think so.'

Then she was looking at me and smiling.

‘What?'

‘This working is good for you.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Look at you. I haven't seen you this talkative since primary school.'

‘Yeah? Probably won't last for long though, hey. Probably get sick of it and go and live with my dad.'

‘In Queensland?'

‘Yep.'

‘How will you get there? It costs heaps to fly.'

I poked my thumb out.

‘Hitchhike? Some gay boy will pick you up and turn you into his sex slave.'

Ash shoved at my knee and I moved so she could drag the kit from under the bed. She packed a cone and we got ripped. Ash put the Hands of Glory album on and the hard rock bounced nicely against the cotton wool in my brain. We didn't have to talk. Not that there would have been much to say anyway.

Ash's mum and dad came home. Ash, in a mild panic, lit incense, put drops in her eyes and went in when they called her for dinner. I floated home with drops in my own eyes. Mum's car was in the drive.