Smoke in the Room (6 page)

The girl shrugged. ‘Just normal.'

Katie laughed and turned to the women on the seat but they were busy not hearing.

‘I've told you before not to run ahead like that, Sal,' the girl's father said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

‘Sal was just telling me that the beaches in England are different to here,' Katie said to him. ‘That the ones you have are normal.'

The man nodded at her with a tight smile, then turned to his wife who was a few steps behind him. ‘This is our bus now. Just made it.'

The women on the seat stood as the 440 approached. Katie shuffled towards the gutter, feeling in her pocket for her transport card. Behind her she heard the Englishman say in a low, angry tone, ‘How many times, Sal? Don't run ahead and don't talk to strangers.'

Katie looked back over her shoulder – the girl was staring at the footpath, biting her lip. ‘It was my fault,' Katie said. ‘I asked her a question. She was just being polite by answering it.'

‘Well.' The man looked at his wife. ‘She should know better.'

‘Just being friendly. It wasn't like I was asking for her address and a spare set of house keys.'

‘Come on,' the man said and walked past Katie. She watched as the two women and the family boarded the
bus, none of them speaking or looking back. A fluttering started in her chest; she couldn't bear to sit on the bus with them all
not
looking and
not
speaking.

She stepped into the shelter, sat on the empty seat and lit a cigarette. There would be another bus soon. She had plenty of time before her appointment.

A few seconds after the bus pulled away a grey-haired bloke in jeans and a faded U2 T-shirt sat on the other end of the seat. ‘Um, excuse me,' he said.

Katie smiled. ‘Yeah?'

‘Can you smoke somewhere else? It's blowing right in my face.'

Katie kept smiling. ‘Yep,' she said, standing up. ‘No problem.'

She walked quickly, past the kebab shop and 7–11, to the ATM, where she withdrew her fortnightly pension. She doubled back behind the bus stop, paused and crushed out her cigarette before continuing on to the Liquorland at the end of the block. She bought a bottle of bourbon, a six-pack of Coke and two packets of cigarettes. At the newsagency next door she bought the week's magazines,
The Sydney Morning Herald
and a jumbo bag of salt and vinegar chips.

She checked her phone; if she ran all the way, she could drop this stuff home and still make it back in time for the 8.35 am, which would get her to the doc's office only five minutes late.

Back at her building, panting hard, she rapped on Phyl's door. ‘Just me, Phyl,' she yelled. ‘Brought you the paper. Got your mail, too.' After a few seconds she heard an odd metallic clunk from inside, followed by a shuffling sound. Another clunk, another shuffle. And again.

The door opened a crack, then there was more shuffling and a thump, before it opened wide enough for Katie to see Phyl bent over a metal walking frame. There was a yellow bruise on her left cheek and a bandaid under her eye.

‘Bloody hell! What happened?'

‘Not as bad as it looks, love. Tripped over my own feet, knocked my face on the corner of the telly. This enormous bloody thing is to stop it happening again. Doctor threatened to have Aged Services swoop in if I didn't agree to use it.'

‘You should've called me.'

‘What for? I'm fine. You're the one needs worrying about. How you going up there with the new bloke?'

‘Fantastic. He is, just –' Katie kissed her fingertips. ‘Yummy.'

‘Why your grandmother keeps renting to single young men, I'll never know.'

‘Speaking of single men – not young, though – Gran's renting out the third bedroom. This old guy moved in, um, I don't know, three days ago or something. I haven't seen much of him.' She leant forward and grinned. ‘Me and Adam have hardly left my bed all week.'

‘Oh, Katie. You just throw yourself right in, don't you? I thought after the last –'

‘Ugh, let's not talk about
that
. Adam is totally different.'

‘I'm sure he is, love, but you're –'

‘I'm still me. Yeah, thanks, I know.'

Phyl sighed. ‘Just go easy, eh? Take your time. Life's long.'

Katie laughed. ‘Everyone else says it's short.'

‘Everyone else is an idiot.' Phyl sighed again. ‘Feel like a cuppa?'

Katie glanced at her phone. If she ran all the way and didn't have to wait for the lights . . . ‘About time you offered.'

At 9.45 am Katie went back out to the street and called Gran.

‘Calling to report mission completed.'

‘Good girl. Same doctor as last time?'

‘Yep.'

‘And he's still happy with your dosage?'

‘Yep.'

‘Did he say anything else?'

‘Nope.'

‘And you're feeling okay?'

‘Yep.'

‘How are the new tenants working out?'

‘Good. Gran, I've got to go, the bus is coming. Love ya, bye.'

Katie was lying on her bedroom floor reading about a British singer's drunken rampage through her recording studio when Adam finally woke.

‘What time is it?' he asked.

‘Almost three.'

‘Shit. Shit.' He coughed. ‘I've gotta stop this. I've gotta find some work. Tomorrow morning, early, I'll hit the streets.'

Katie climbed onto the bed and rested a hand on the lump of his covered feet. It was, she knew, as much contact as she could get away with this early in his day. ‘No point
looking tomorrow,' she said. ‘Who's going to hire you on a Friday? Wait 'til Monday.'

‘I'm nearly out of money.'

‘Yeah, well, I have some influence with the landlady. You won't end up on the street if you get a little behind with the rent, I promise.'

‘It's not just the rent.'

‘No, I know. You need drinking money. Well, check it out!' She whipped the freshly withdrawn cash from her pocket and fanned his face with it.

‘I could swear you spent your last ten dollars on cigarettes around two this morning.'

‘I know, but do you think I can find them anywhere? I had to go out and buy some more already.'

‘With the money you found since two this morning.'

‘Exactly.'

Adam yawned and rolled towards the wall, tucking his feet up away from her hand. ‘What is it that you do, anyway?'

‘Huh?'

‘For money.'

‘Oh. Well, the standard stuff. Hand jobs, oral, full sex, but only if –'

‘Right. Whatever.'

Katie thought about kicking him as hard as she could and wondered if he'd even flinch. ‘I don't do anything for money, okay? I've tried, but it happens that I'm crap at pretty much everything. Which is fine, actually. I'm comfortable living off the taxpayer.'

Adam yawned again. ‘Terrific. Not an option for me, though. I need to earn money.'

‘So you'll get a job. I'll help you. Next week.'

‘Monday,' he said. ‘Definitely.'

As they stood at the traffic lights waiting to cross Broadway, they were passed by a semitrailer with
WALKERFARMS
written in green letters as tall as Katie and pictures of kitten-sized cows dancing down its side.

‘Déjà vu,' she said.

‘What?'

‘Nothing.' She had a clear memory of standing here, watching the dancing cows go by. The moment felt important, like she was supposed to pay attention, remember all the particulars. She concentrated as they crossed the road, counting the steps to the centre lane. How long would it take the semitrailer to stop once the driver saw a person standing in the middle of the road? She needed to know all the variables: time, distance, speed. Was there something she was forgetting?

In the back bar of the Lansborough, Dom was slumped in a corner booth, his long black hair half-covering the bottle of red in front of him, his imaginary drumsticks failing to keep time with the Eagles ballad blasting out of the jukebox.

‘Drinking alone, mate?' Katie said, sliding in beside him.

‘Knew someone'd come along sooner or later. It's government handout day. Who you got here?'

‘Hi, I'm –'

‘This is Adam. New flattie.'

‘Yeah? What happened to the old one?'

‘He's gone.' She turned to Adam, who was standing awkwardly beside the table, and handed him a fifty. ‘Get us some beers, hey?'

‘Pretty damn hot, don't you reckon?' Katie said when Adam was gone.

‘Your taste in men, Katie. Jesus.'

‘You should see him with his gear off. Covered in tatts, got a cute little story about all of them. Like, on his back there's this purple and gold bare-breasted woman with pink hair and her arms are spread out. Apparently it's Lilith, Adam's first wife.'

‘Fuck. His naked ex is on his back?'

‘Nah, the wife of Adam in the Bible. Lilith. She refused to lie beneath him or follow his orders and so he pissed off and married Eve. Adam – the one I've been shagging, not the Bible one – he reckons that the tattoo is a reminder of the power and agency of women.'

‘What a load of shit. Is he a poof or what?'

Katie shrugged. The semitrailer was on a loop in her mind. The speed limit of that road was sixty, but it seemed the semi was going faster. She once knew something about how long a car going at eighty takes to stop, but the harder she tried to dredge it up, the faster her brain kept showing her those little dancing cows. She wondered if she should go back out to the street and wait until another semi came along so she could think
semi
without thinking
cows
.

‘Are you even listening to me?'

‘I'm trying, Dom. It's this music. Makes me want to kill myself.'

‘Everything makes you want to kill yourself. You're one of them, um, watcha call it? Emo. Saw a whole thing on
60 Minutes
. These kids all mopey, talking about necking themselves. Reminded me of you, Katie, for real.'

‘Says the old drunk with dyed black hair and smudged mascara.'

‘I had this look before those brats were born. I pioneered this fucking look.' He adjusted the collar on his burgundy-coloured shirt.

Adam was shuffling towards them, eyes on the floor, each hand pressing a beer to his chest.

‘So,' said Dom as Adam sat down, ‘you're into the Bible, huh?'

‘What?' Adam looked at Katie.

‘I was telling Dom about Lilith.'

‘Oh, right. That's not from the Bible. It's a Jewish myth.'

‘So, you're into Jewish myths, huh?'

Katie let the conversation drift over her head. She drank the beer Adam had bought and wondered about visibility. Fog or rain would make a difference, of course. And what if the person in the middle of the road was wearing dark clothing, hair dyed as black as Dom's, skin covered with boot polish? Wouldn't that mean the rest didn't matter? If visibility was almost zero, speed, distance, time would be irrelevant.

‘Katie! Babe!' The voice belonged to Marly, a 45-year-old pisshead who thought Katie was her best friend just because they'd shared a cab home from the Cross one night. Her open-toed stilettos clacked across the tiles as she approached the table with wide open arms. ‘I was hoping you'd be here. I've been so worried about you, mate. How're you doing?'

Katie accepted a slimy lipsticked kiss. ‘Fine.'

‘You're very naughty not to call me.' Marly dropped to her knees, resting her elbows and tits on the tabletop. ‘Your grandma said she'd get you to call me soon as you were out. Or, no, she said as soon as you were feeling yourself
again. But it's been months, babe. And you look good. Normal, I mean.'

‘What are you on about?' Dom asked.

Marly turned to Dom. ‘Thought you two were mates. Little K's been in hospital, you dick.'

‘No, she hasn't.' Dom flicked his hair in Katie's face. ‘She hasn't been anywhere. She's always here.'

‘You were in hospital?' said Adam.

‘It was nothing,' Katie said.

‘Hello,' Marly said, half-standing, shoving her freckled cleavage in Adam's face. ‘You're the rebound shag, eh?'

‘I don't know what –'

‘Lay off, Marly. Adam's my new flattie.'

‘So were you or were you not in hospital?' asked Dom.

‘For, like, five minutes months and months ago. I'd forgotten all about it.'

‘I haven't! And I bet that pretty boy you nearly killed hasn't, either. Your poor grandma's face –'

‘We have to go now.' Katie stood and held out her hand to Adam. He didn't take it, but he did get up and when she started walking, he followed her.

‘Come on. Don't leave,' Marly called. ‘I'll stop talking about it if you want. Didn't know you'd be so sensitive.'