Inconsolable Page 4

Robbo let go. “What? Nah. What?”

  “Let’s see if he can fly.”

  “No!” The kid shouted. “No. Let’s go. Let’s just go.”

  “Pick him up. The both of you, pick him up.”

  Robbo hauled Drum upright, giggling like a teenage girl.

  “No.” The kid was panicked and Jonesy loved it.

  Drum would never know what kind of man Jonesy was sober. Tonight he was as close to a dead man as anyone accidentally need come.

  He struck, two quick jabs to Robbo’s head, and the man went down moaning. One was safe. Jonesy laughed and shaped up. If the kid stayed out of it, two would be safe. Drum could spar with Jonesy till he ran out of high and it would be an end to it. But the kid picked this moment to have his own opinion.

  He jumped on Jonesy’s back, too slight to bring the man down but surprising enough to make him stagger. Jonesy grappled with him, dragging him towards the edge.

  Drum followed, his body so strung tight he could levitate. “Let him go.”

  “Fucking little snot. Let’s see if snot can fly.”

  The kid’s screams would wake half the suburb. Jonesy held him in a headlock, side on to the edge. All the kid would see was the big black and his own terror.

  “Take me instead.”

  Jonesy dropped the kid like he was a one-night stand and laughed. The kid scrambled away on his arse, cursing, sobbing. Behind them, Robbo moaned.

  Drum said, “Go. Don’t come back,” but didn’t shift his eyes from Jonesy, knowing he’d given the man what he wanted—a confrontation with a more worthy opponent. A moment to prove he was king of shit.

  Drum turned from Jonesy and stepped up to the edge, curled his toes over the rough rock edge. He closed his eyes. He’d made his peace with this ledge, this jump off point. He’d done it the night he’d first come here and found the cave. The night he realised it was hopeless, that he’d never be able to stop it, or fix what he’d set in motion; it would go on and on, a crime, a stream of pain and wealth. He made his peace with it that night and he’d done it every night, all the nights that followed.

  Going over the edge didn’t scare him. It never had. Staying on it was what scared him. And that’s why he needed to live close to it. To remember, to stay scared.

  But he wasn’t scared now. He was doing the scaring. “If I jump I win.”

  Jonesy’s breath was ragged with adrenaline. “You won’t jump.” Robbo was moving around, grunting.

  “You’re sure of that?” Drum softened his knees, let his body sway. “You lose if I do. You have to push me to win.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “No one will know.”

  “I’ll know.” Robbo, close, but not too close. “Don’t do it. He’s sick, Neil. Leave him alone.”

  “I’d be ridding the world of a useless parasite.”

  “You’d be a hero,” Drum whispered.

  “Neil, fucking come away. I’m not kidding. This is not the same as a B&E. This is not okay. I’m not going to be here for this.”

  “Then go, you fucking pussy.”

  Drum moved a foot and both men yelled. “Robbo, you should go. Neil and I will take it from here.”

  “Fuck, this is not right.” Robbo’s voice cracked. “This is the shit. You’ve had too much. Both of you come away from there.”

  “If you don’t go I’ll throw him over.”

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m done with you. I’m done with your shit.” Robbo was backing away, his shoes dragging, scratching, his breathing wild. Then there was the sound of him scrambling up to the top ledge, the way the kid had done.

  Two were safe.

  Drum shifted. Knew Neil Jones’ attention would be on him. “It’s just you and me now. What’s it going to be? You going to choose to be a murderer tonight and every night? It’s a stain. It’ll never wash out.”

  “How would you know? Is that why you live here? You’re filth.”

  “I’ve hurt people. I gave them a push. You can be just like me.”

  He felt warmth at his back, his shoulders twitched, his thigh muscles jumped. Neil Jones clamped his hand around Drum’s neck and spat the words, “You’re a fucking freak,” in his ear and then pulled him backwards with a shout and let go.

  Drum lost his balance, went down on his hands and knees, face close to the edge. He stayed there, watching the white caps below crash on the rock fall, listening to Jonesy heave himself up the ledge, run across it back to the path, as if evil might catch him.

  The three of them were safe.

  He sat back on his heels and breathed until his heart was happy to stay inside his chest, then he got up and went to the table. This was another way out. Ready for the taking. A gift for his trouble. He picked up a plastic packet and shook it. So easy. He bundled the gear in both hands and went back to the edge. He dropped it over.

  Now all of them were safe.

  Except for Foley.

  5: Smirk

  Hugh gave Foley the wait five and follow look. A head tilt, a chin jerk, a raised brow, a slightly suspicious lip lift. A look well on its way to demented, except it was done so quickly with such an intense focus in her direction, no one else would think he was having a fit. He saw the bag of oranges and that got her a change of expression. A self-satisfied smirk.

  She’d once loved that smirk so much she’d decided she had to have it for herself. She’d followed that smirk home from a party. She’d danced barefoot in that smirk-wearer’s kitchen with a bottle of tequila in one hand and the back pocket of his torn jeans in the other. She’d let him undo her zipper and she’d kissed the smirk off his face. And they didn’t bother to exchange names till the next morning. That was the day she got the tattoo.

  She didn’t get the regret till much later. And later still she got Hugh as her boss. Well, he should’ve been her boss except as Council General Manager, he was Gabriella’s boss.

  While spending time together horizontal, Hugh had put Foley forward for an interview for a council job that paid better than the part-time check-out chick job she had. She got the job. She spent the next six months holding a traffic stop sign while wearing a fluoro orange safety vest and a hard hat. Meanwhile, Hugh moved from road construction crew to his first desk job.

  Around about that time they stopped kissing and started arguing. Neither of them could remember what they’d argued about, it was easier to remember what they hadn’t argued about: all sports cars should be red, anchovies did not belong on pizza and Hugh’s smirk had a hotline to Foley’s inner bad girl. They split up. One night at a bar, Hugh smirked at her and they got back together. They did that three times before they figured out the smirk was letting them down, something about them being together wasn’t right and they called it quits for good before they wrecked a decent friendship based on the love of a good argument.

  Along the way, Hugh got a fiancée and lost his hair. Foley got her nose pierced and her first desk job in the permits department. She organised licences for buskers, personal trainers and businesses who wanted to use council facilities or land. Then Hugh got married and Foley went to uni part-time and had a disastrous affair with a lecturer who never bothered to mention he was a married father of one—for three years.

  Through all this, Hugh smirked at Foley, but the smirk came to mean something different. It no longer meant let’s ditch our dacks as soon as possible and climb all over each other. It meant, I bet I know what’s going on with you, and, oh no you don’t, you smug sod.

  They were about to have an, oh no you don’t, you smug sod, conversation.

  Foley waited till Hugh disappeared down the hall towards his office, went to the staffroom and made two cups of coffee. People knew she and Hugh were friends, but anyone who’d known they were the pants off kind of friends had long since left council and it was better for both of them if the whole smirk, tequila, sexual favours in storage cupboards, and that one time in the cabin of a road grader, were forgotten. It didn’t mean they couldn’t talk, but the
y tried to make it look like it was mostly business.

  Since Gabriella had arrived, Hugh had been playing it very straight, not wanting to give Gabriella any reason to feel undermined by his friendship with Foley.

  Pity Foley didn’t feel the same way. She took the two coffees up the hall but restrained herself from making eye contact with Gabriella as she passed by her desk.

  Hugh was on the phone. She put the coffees on his desk and kicked the door closed, then annoyed him by picking up anything that looked remotely interesting on his bookshelf and putting it back in a different place. Hugh was a neat freak. This was calculated to make him twitch.

  He hung up, picked up the coffee cup and used it to gesture to the closed door. “You want people to think we’re on with each other.”

  Foley opened the door; he could have his way for now. She went back to the bookshelf and did annoying things and watched Hugh try not to twitch.

  “Where’s my orange?” he said.

  “Couldn’t spare one.”

  He laughed then grimaced. “You put fingerprints all over that.”

  It was a hunk of perspex. An appreciation award from a local business. Foley put it back on the shelf facing the wrong way. “It’s a dust collector.”

  “It’s my dust collector.”

  She slumped in Hugh’s visitor’s chair and rolled her eyes at him.

  “What’s with all the oranges?”

  “I’m scared of scurvy.”

  He fought off a laugh. “Did you make sure Gab saw you bring me coffee?”

  Foley picked up Hugh’s stapler and studied it. He was so on to her. “So, it’s Gab now, is it?”

  He held his hand out for the stapler, wiggling his fingers. “Give it up about her already. It was a fair fight.”

  She bypassed his hand but put the stapler down. “Wasn’t.” Hugh pointed at the door and Foley got up and closed it.

  “She has more on paper experience than you. And she’s already been through an amalgamation. You know Roger is terrified about that,” he said.

  “That amalgamation is the reason she needed a new job and just because Mr Mayor is terrified of something that might not happen, he doesn’t get to employ friends.”

  Hugh put a hand over his head, rested it there. It was a gesture he’d developed when he started losing his hair, as if he was trying to hold what remained of it in place. “It was entirely above board, there was an external panel. Gab got the job the same way you got your job here, there’s nothing sinister about it.”

  “I got my job here because I was doing you.”

  Hugh choked on a sip of coffee. “Not your lollipop girl job, your indoor voice one.”

  Unconvinced, Foley said, “Friend of the mayor.”

  “Nat has you believing it’s a conspiracy.”

  “I didn’t need her help to believe that. I could’ve done the job. I deserved it.”

  “No one is disputing that.”

  “If that was true, I’d have gotten the job.”

  Hugh’s other hand went to his head. Now he looked like he was trying to stop his brains from doing a volcano number. “Tell me what’s really going on with you.”

  “Gabriella looks at me as if she thinks I just rolled out of bed and don’t know the first thing about how to do this job, but on the other hand she’s just so nice, considerate, reasonable.” Foley tugged at her shirt, mostly so she could avoid looking at Hugh. “I hate her.”

  He laughed. “You don’t hate anyone. You don’t have it in you to hate anyone.”

  Now she looked at him. Arms folded over his chest, watching her. “I hate you. I’ve always hated you.”

  He smirked, and when she didn’t give him lip for that he leaned forward, hands to his desk. “What else is going on? Tell me about the cliff clinger.”

  “Don’t call him that. His name is Drum and between the rangers, the lifesavers and the maintenance crew, we’ve known that for a long time.”

  “Fair enough.” Hugh nodded. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. I know better. But now it’s not safe for him and you’re going to move him on, right?”

  She sipped her coffee. She was a study in muteness.

  “Nod and smile, Foley.”

  “About that, why me?”

  “Gab’s decision.”

  She put the cup down. “Gab, Gab, Gab.”

  “Give it up, Foley. She’s all right.”

  She gave Hugh a death stare. “She didn’t take your promotion.”

  Hugh’s eyes flicked to the ceiling in exasperation. “It’s you because you’ve got the experience, understand the charter, hell, you helped write it. And there is that part where you volunteered, you Fruit Loop.”

  She sighed. She really had to get over this Gabriella thing and it was unfair to vent at Hugh, but the only other person she could vent at was Nat and since she became deputy editor at The Courier she did see conspiracy in everything.

  “I’m an idiot.” She shook a finger at Hugh. “Don’t agree with me.”

  “Not saying a word.” He gave her a toothless frog-face smile. “I get it, Foley. I do.” His voice went warm and low. “As your friend I’m upset for you. As your superior, I need you to do your job. As both, if you feel you need to look for a new job, I hate it, but I’ll support you all the way.”

  “Superior, nice.” She mirrored Hugh’s expression, part smile, part grimace. Now would be the time to tell him she did think Gabrielle was gunning for her in her oh so subtle way. But she didn’t have a lick of hard evidence to back her intuition on that. “I can’t find him.”

  Hugh pushed back in his chair. “That’s a good thing. Your work is done, he’s moved on.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not a good thing. I don’t think he’d move on without his clothes and books. He could be hurt. He could be dead.”

  Hugh’s composure went from friend and colleague to leader in two blinks. He sat straighter, he pushed his shoulders back. “What do I need to know?”

  “After that first breakfast I haven’t been able to find him. I’ve been back five times, morning, evening, midday. I think he’s watching and he makes himself scarce.”

  “Are we sure he doesn’t have a job? People who live in cars and squats often have jobs. He might not be hiding from you.”

  “If he has a job then it’s even more of a worry he’s living where he is. He’s something else, this guy. Articulate, polite, sharp. No obvious mental illness or substance abuse. I don’t know what happened to him, but he thinks the cave is exactly where he needs to be.”

  “Is he some kind of aesthetic, a top of the line God-botherer?”

  “I don’t think so. Says he believes in science. I left him the oranges and a cask of spring water yesterday. They were found on our front door this morning with a note written on the flyleaf of a book addressed to me that said, ‘thanks for the oranges but the homeless in Cooper Park have greater need of them’.”

  “What book?”

  Foley grinned. She knew Hugh would want to know that. Getting the oranges back was unexpected, but this was the best thing, this proved her point about Drum being a different species of homeless person to what they’d encountered before.

  “A Clockwork Orange. I don’t think that was an accident either. He had a stack of books, the only thing other than essentials in the cave.”

  Hugh’s eyebrow jumped. “So what’s the plan?”

  Foley leaned forward. This was the real reason for the closed door and she still felt like she should whisper. “No one else is working on this, are they?”

  “You’re asking because you think someone is.”

  “It came up in a team meeting and one of the new event co-ordinators Gabriella hired from her old council asked why we didn’t just move him out. Take his junk and toss it so he’d have to go somewhere else.”

  “I waited for Gabriella to answer but she deferred to me, so I explained the law and the charter, how anyone can squat on public land so long as they�
�re not unsafe themselves or making it unsafe for anyone else, and that taking their belongings is theft.”

  “And?”

  “And there was a lot of significant eye contact.”

  Hugh said nothing.

  “You’ve heard the rumours. When Gabriella’s council had that problem with the squatters in the derelict cricket clubhouse, they called the police, they confiscated possessions, they played hardball. They got rid of their homeless. They all moved here.”

  “That’s hearsay. We don’t know that’s what happened. The clubhouse was unsafe.”

  Hugh’s mouth gave Foley the official line, but his expression wasn’t kissing up to his lips. There was a reason Gabriella’s old council had been amalgamated and her old mayor was back to doing people’s taxes, and it had to do with shifty practices the state government had eventually put its foot down on.

  “You’re speculating. Give me something solid and I can do something with it,” he said.

  Foley nodded. She picked up her cup but the coffee had gone cold. She could trust Hugh. Within the bounds of his job, he’d have her back, but he was right, she needed to do her job, and do it well, so there was no excuse for anyone else to think they needed to act.

  “No one else is authorised to do anything about Drum unless they come through you. The issue is yours, Foley and if anyone interferes without your say-so, they’ll answer to me.”

  She took a sip of room temperature coffee and grimaced. “You’re such a control freak.”

  Hugh relaxed into his chair back. “You never used to complain about that.”

  She stood and stepped away from the chair. “Do you want people to think we’re on?”

  He laughed. “What are you going to do with all the oranges?”

  “Not sure, but I need to find a way to make juice that Drum will drink.” She turned the ugly lump of perspex around so it faced the right way.

  “If anyone can do it, you can.”

  She opened the door. Said, “Thanks, Oh Superior Being,” overly loudly so it could be heard in the corridor.

  “Well, hey, minion, I want an update on the Beeton house before you go.”

  She flinched. There was no good news about her other main project, the fight over the heritage-listed Beeton house named Sereno.