Smoke in the Room (13 page)

‘I'm sorry to hear that.'

‘It's not like she was abusive or anything. She was always just trying to fix me.'

‘Fix you how?'

‘Oh, you know, I didn't talk much, stayed away from people as much as I could. I wasn't, like, bookish or anything – I just didn't
get
other people. I didn't know how to talk to them; I'd always say something and freak them out. My Year Six teacher told my mum I had a negative effect on my classmates and she decided it was her fault. Reckoned she'd stuffed everything up, didn't know what she was doing and how could she be expected to since she was only sixteen when she had me. Gran got really pissed when she said that, because
she
was only seventeen when she had Mum. Anyway, I guess Mum thought that she could make up for it by giving me extra attention, coaching me and stuff before I started high school. It didn't work, though. I think it made me worse.'

‘What do you mean? How was it supposed to work?'

Katie picked up her fork and stirred the potato on her plate. ‘I had this notebook and I wrote down all the things Mum told me. “Show an interest in other people.” “Be generous with compliments.” “Always have three topics of conversation prepared in case of silence.” But I don't know how to ask questions without being pushy or when to stop with the compliments. I came across as insincere or
inappropriate or just bloody insane. I went from being a silent freak to a chattering one. And you know, even though I can, like, analyse the way I was as a kid, I'm still that way. I see it but I can't stop it.'

You're
still
a kid
, Graeme was going to say.
It's normal at your age, the doubt, the self-consciousness
. But she tilted her head and the light caught the shiny blister on her cheekbone and his words fell away. ‘Still what way, Katie?'

She stuck out her tongue and panted. ‘Like a puppy. I feel myself doing it and I can't help it. I can't see until later where the place was that I should've stopped. Like last night, I don't know why I kissed you. I saw straightaway it wasn't the right thing.'

‘It was fine.'

‘But it wasn't really, was it?' She drained her glass. ‘The kiss, this dinner. It's too much. The thing with Adam . . .'

‘Did Adam hurt you?'

‘Only here.' She touched her chest, her hand spread wide. ‘Not . . .' Her hand flickered over her face. ‘He didn't do this.'

‘How did . . . ?'

‘Cigarette lighter. I don't know why. He walked out of here and I felt so fucking angry. See, I go too far and I know right away when I have and then it's just . . .' She closed her eyes; put her head back on the couch. ‘It's embarrassing.'

‘Katie? I wonder . . . Have you considered seeing a doctor? About this, hurting yourself?'

She smiled sadly. ‘Yeah, yeah, I am. Don't worry.'

The front door opened and Adam walked in. His clothes and face were covered in grey powder.

‘What happened to you?' Katie asked, standing up.

‘A job.' Adam walked up to Katie until their bodies were almost touching. ‘What happened to
you
?'

‘Nothing.'

He touched her cheek with a dusty finger and she flinched. ‘Did you do this to yourself?'

‘Look –' She pointed at the table. ‘Steak and kidney pie and mashed potatoes. I made it.'

‘You made it? Out of what?'

Katie shrugged, picking up the pie. ‘If you don't want any.'

‘I want some. Just let me clean up.'

‘He'll be gone soon,' Katie said after Adam had left the room. ‘Soon as he's got enough money he'll be gone.'

Graeme took the pie from her. ‘I'll put this in the oven. Heat it up for him.' When he returned, Adam and Katie were sitting across from each other. Graeme cut a large slice of pie and put it on Adam's plate and then filled each of their wine glasses.

‘Damn.' Adam spat half-chewed pie into his hand and poked it with his finger. ‘What the . . .' He sniffed it before taking another bite. He chewed slowly, exaggeratedly, his eyes widening.

Katie's hands twisted in her lap.

Adam took another bite, chewed, swallowed, laughed softly, shaking his head. ‘Thank you, Katie, for the very, ah,
interesting
meal.'

‘What does that mean?'

‘You
said
you'd made steak and kidney pie.'

‘So?'

‘So . . .' Adam laughed. ‘
So
, it's chicken. You're so out of it you can't tell bird from cow!'

Katie looked at Graeme. ‘But you didn't say anything! You sat and ate it and didn't say a word!'

‘It wasn't important. You'd gone to so much trouble.'

‘Gone to trouble?' Adam slapped his thighs. ‘It's not so hard to sort through a couple of trash cans, right, Katie?'

Katie stood with hands on hips, her flippy dress kicking at an odd angle where she'd been sitting on it. ‘For your information, the pie was still in its cellophane wrapper. It
said
“Steak and Kidney Pie – Baked Fresh”. I have the wrapper. I can show you if you don't believe me.'

‘Maybe,' Graeme said, stepping between the two. ‘Maybe, someone made a mistake in the packaging and that's why it was discarded?'

Katie's hand shot out and grabbed his. ‘Yes! That's what happened. Ha!'

‘You still served your
friend
here a dumpster dinner.'

‘Why are you being like this? I tried to do something nice.'

‘Oh, you did. Look how nice.' He gestured to the table, stopped suddenly and acted out counting the plates. ‘Oh, wait? Is someone else coming? Is this meant to be a double date?'

Katie turned to Graeme. ‘I thought it looked better with four. It looked nicer. You know?'

‘Yes. It looks neater,' he told her. ‘Two each side.'

She smiled at him and touched his arm.

‘If you two want to be alone . . .'

‘Thanks for dinner,' Graeme said, smiling. ‘I'm going to turn in.'

‘No!' Adam said. ‘Come on, man. Stay, drink, eat some more garbage.'

‘Yes,' Katie said. ‘Stay.
I'm
going to bed. Goodnight, Graeme.' She turned and stalked down the hall.

Adam drank from his glass. ‘Not bad for something out of a box. Thanks, man.'

‘I didn't buy it. She did.'

‘She doesn't have a cent. Jesus, you'd think if she was going to steal she could have taken some decent food while she was at it.'

‘She did go to some effort.'

‘The effort wasn't for me, dude.'

‘Of course it was. The hair, the food, the dress. It's all for you. I just happened to walk in to the middle of this little drama and so she gave me a part. She'll be in there now, waiting for you to make up.'

Graeme carried Adam's empty plate into the kitchen along with the remaining cutlery and glasses. When he came back to the living room, Adam was staring straight ahead, biting his lip. Graeme took the ashtray, emptied it into the kitchen bin, rinsed and dried it and placed it back on the coffee table.

‘I don't – I don't know what's going on with her, with me,' Adam said. ‘She made me so angry today. I felt like I could . . . I can't even remember what started it.'

‘Maybe,' Graeme said, ‘maybe your anger isn't really to do with her.'

‘So Katie told you . . . of course she did. Jesus. One of the stages of grief, right? Yeah, could be, could be. I don't know. It feels like it's Katie, though. She's just so –' He clenched his fists. ‘I don't know. I need to get out of here.'

‘You have work now,' Graeme reminded him. ‘You'll be able to go home soon.'

Adam shook his head. ‘I
had
work. I had ten hours of shifting bricks and then I had fifty bucks put in my hand. Dodgy asshole.'

‘You can report him. There are laws.'

‘Yeah and I'm the one breaking them. I don't have a work visa. I'm not even supposed to be in the country. I never sorted all that stuff out. I never thought I'd be here so long. I just . . . I stopped thinking about anything else the minute I found out my life had cancer.'

The slip up was so obvious, so bluntly Freudian, that Graeme wondered for a moment if it had been intentional, a maudlin play on words.

But then Adam said, ‘She was the one who organised everything for our trip here. She – we – didn't think of me here without her. We should have left months ago.'

‘As it happens, I know something about this immigration stuff. You're an overstayer, which is bad, but not as bad as if you'd never had legal entry in the first place. You can apply for a bridging visa, which would give you time to get yourself organised legally. That's a little risky, though, since you've overstayed by more than a month they could decide to repatriate you on the spot. Possibly put you in immigration detention until they can be bothered flying you out. Plus you'll be slapped with an exclusion order.'

‘What's that?'

‘It means you won't be allowed back in for at least three years. And even then only after you've repaid the government for your detention and repatriation.'

Adam chewed his lip. ‘I can't risk that. Eugenie is . . . I used to think people who visited cemeteries, took flowers, were ridiculous . . . But now . . . Even though I know it's just a hunk of stone, a patch of grass . . .'

‘Look, I can lend you the money to get home. The exclusion order might still be imposed but at least you won't have a debt to the government.'

‘I'd have a debt to
you
.'

‘There'd be no rush.'

‘No, no, there's no way, man. Thanks, but no. I'll figure it out.'

‘Think about it. You could be home by the weekend.'

Adam held up two hands and cringed at the floor and Graeme saw, for an instant, a refugee, yearning for a place that no longer exists.

‘Hey, now.' Adam chuckled. ‘You're pretty keen to get me out of the country. You sure there's nothing brewing between you and Katie?'

‘If I was twenty years younger . . .'

Adam was quiet a while. ‘Her face,' he said, touching his own. ‘Did she do that because of me?'

‘The fight probably sparked it, but I think . . . she's probably got a history of this kind of thing.'

‘Shit. Yeah, you know, when I think about it . . . Down at the pub these friends of hers told me that she'd . . .' Adam closed his eyes. ‘And she has these lines on her thighs, real straight. Motorbike accident, she said. But her face. That's so extreme.'

‘It's obviously important to her that others see how much pain she's in.'

Adam rubbed his face with both hands. ‘Shit. I never would've . . . Shit. I suppose I should go talk to her.'

‘Yeah.'

‘Right.' Adam stood slowly, nodded at Graeme. ‘Night.'

‘Goodnight.' He washed and dried up the dinner plates and glasses, took the garbage out to the street bin and then swept the kitchen floor.

As he passed Katie's room on the way to his own he heard her voice.
I fucking love you so much
. He paused to hear the reply, but none came. There was only the sound of a bed thumping the wall and the girl's declarations, over and over.

Adam rolled off and fell asleep within seconds of coming. Katie wondered if he even noticed whether she came or not. She lay there for a few minutes, torn between the desire to press against him and finish herself off, and the urge to slap him awake and insist he do it for her. He began to snore.

She got out of bed, pulled on her underpants and one of Adam's T-shirts. She yawned and, as her skin stretched, the burns on her face smarted. She grabbed the anaesthetic cream and went to the bathroom. ‘Idiot,' she said to her reflection, dabbing the cream on her forehead and cheeks. No wonder Adam kept his eyes closed while they were screwing. No wonder he turned away and slept the minute it was done.

Back in the hallway, Katie noticed faint light coming from under Graeme's door. He had shown her kindness and affection tonight and even – maybe she imagined it, but she didn't think so – recognition. Graeme had looked at her, for a second at least, the way she'd hoped
Adam would when he saw what she had done to her face.

‘Graeme? It's me.' She knocked once and then pushed the door open.

‘What's wrong?' Graeme was sitting at his desk, wearing blue and white striped pyjama pants and a white T-shirt. His arms were folded, covering something.

‘Nothing. I saw your light. Adam's asleep already and I'm –' Graeme slid a book off the desktop and into the top drawer. ‘Sorry, I didn't think you'd be busy. I just barged in.'

‘It's fine.' He stood and smiled. ‘Have a seat.'

‘I can't sit. That's the problem. Can't sleep, can't sit.' She jogged on the spot, twirled her arms. ‘I feel all tight. My muscles. They're scrunched up. You know what I'd love? Two big strong men to pick me up, one on each end, and just
pull
like they were in a tug-of-war. Stretch me right out.'

Graeme sat down on the edge of the bed. He glanced at her bare legs, then away to the floor. ‘Have you taken something tonight, Katie?'

She rose up on her toes, flexed her fingers. ‘Nope. I'm all natural.'

‘I used to use, you know. Speed, mostly, but other stuff, too.'

His tone reminded her of a high school guidance counsellor. ‘I'm not speeding, dude. I just get like this sometimes at night. Especially after . . . well, you know.' She sprang onto the bed and bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. ‘I did try speed one time, but it made me crazy. I was jumping out of my skin.' Her left knee knocked his shoulder. ‘So why'd you stop taking it?'