Through the Cracks (14 page)

B
lood was thick between Billy’s fingers. It was slick down his arm. Sun sizzled Adam’s nose and cheekbones. A persistant fly kept landing on his uncovered stitches. They crouched beside a paling fence and caught their breath. With his good hand, Billy counted the money. Adam waved flies from both their faces. The air was so hot it made Adam breathless.

‘It’s eight thousand.’

Billy tucked the wad of money away again.

‘We’ve gotta do this right. They’re gonna put that fire together with Joe’s. We gotta get out of these clothes. One thing at a time. Clothes first. We’ll get that sorted and then we’ll think of the next thing.’

Sweat trickled down Billy’s temples. His lips were grey.

Adam had to help him to his feet.

At the first full clothesline they came to, with an empty driveway, Billy went into the yard and yanked the clothes from the pegs. They crouched between two parked cars in the street. Billy went through the clothes he’d taken, tossed away the small shorts and the blouse, held up the pair of jeans, passed them to Adam, held up the T-shirt, passed it to Adam too; he kept the long-sleeved top for himself.

Further along, inside a bus shelter, they got changed. It was Adam’s first pair of jeans. They were tight. Wranglers, Billy said. Adam slipped his sneakers back on, having not untied the laces. He pulled off his sweaty T-shirt and pulled on the clean one. It had a collar and a pocket. Adam had never before felt so dressed. He was holding the gun, not sure what to do with it. Billy turned him around and pulled out the waistband of the jeans.

‘Room in there?’

Adam tucked the gun in against the small of his back. Billy shook his head.

‘Stupid. We’re getting rid of that thing, first chance.’

Adam put the spare bullets, the bottle opener, into his jeans pockets, squeezed in the tiger. He pressed his fingers to his cheeks. The skin was burning. When he blinked his eyelids stung and stuck together. Billy sat down on the wooden seat and borrowed Adam’s bottle opener. Bare-chested, he used the blade to cut and tear up Adam’s old T-shirt. He made strips out of the fabric and bandaged his arm with them.

The money was under the waistband of Billy’s shorts. His cigarettes were on the other hip, across from the cash. Adam leaned back against the tin of the shelter, let his eyelids droop a moment.

‘Heaps better,’ Billy said.

He stepped out of the bus shelter and looked around.

‘Not sure where we are. I’ll see something that makes sense soon.’

Billy put on the long-sleeved top.

At a garden tap they washed their faces, had a drink, washed their hands and wet their hair. Billy pulled out his cigarettes and flipped open the top of the packet. The sight of that, the sound of the lighter flicking, soothed Adam. The smell of smoke relaxed him. Billy coughed, persevered with the cigarette. You could hear how tight his chest was. He didn’t drag the smoke deep. He kept it high and light inside him.

E
ach lick of Adam’s lips tasted of salt. There were shooting pains in his legs, tingling in his pelvis, pinpricks of light appeared in his vision. Blood had soaked through Billy’s sleeve. He was silent. His shoulders were rounded. His head was low. They walked on, down quiet streets, across parks and through empty sports fields. Their steps were trudging. Billy went to a streetlight and leaned against it. He stayed like that, head down, breathing.

‘Are we lost?’

‘I’ll work it out.’

He didn’t, though. Billy squatted on a footpath in a street lined with green lawns and brick houses. He turned and looked back the way they’d come. He tried to stand, swayed, squatted again. He looked like a sprinter at the start of a race, the fingers of his good hand steadying him, sucking in air through his teeth and peering ahead. Blood dripped from his elbow and hit the pavement.

‘Can’t you walk anymore?’

‘I’ll be okay.’

They’d stopped in front of a house with big windows that faced onto the street. The curtains were lace. The blinds weren’t drawn. The air conditioner on the roof was silent. There were no cars in the driveway or under the carport. Billy looked at the house from beneath his lowered brow.

It was as though he knew exactly how many steps he had left in him – he made it around to the back of the house and no further, sank down the moment he stepped onto the concrete path, and he sat there in the thin strip of shade. Adam crouched beside him. He wouldn’t have thought that a brown face could lose its colour, but it had. Billy was breathing open-mouthed, panting. The strip of shade wasn’t much. The concrete was hot beneath them. The backyard had plenty of green plants, but they were all small and low to the ground. There was a big dug-out hole in the middle of the lawn, where a pool had either been taken out or was going in. A bike was lying in the short grass, glinting in the sun. Down the back of the yard there was a shed – small and windowless. The hum of the neighbour’s air conditioner and the occasional warble of a magpie were the only sounds. Hardly any cars came down the street. No breeze.

‘I think I’m gonna spew,’ Billy murmured.

The sky was whitish-blue. It was hard to see where the sun was. Adam’s head had begun to ache. The gun was digging into his back; sweat trickled down around it. He found a tap, but didn’t know how to get the water across to Billy, who was trying to stand. He’d get to his feet, sway, and sink down again. He closed his eyes, and you could see he was working up the energy to try to stand again. Adam had no experience with cuts and blood loss, no experience with outdoor heat. He guessed that a cut shouldn’t bleed that much or for that long. He took cues from the hush of the neighbourhood, the way it was deserted, not even the birds seemed keen on getting about, and he remembered the advice on the radio: keep indoors.

The windows at the back of the house were locked. Adam shaded his eyes and put his face close to the glass. The living area and kitchen were one big room. The furniture was low and brown. Adam tried the sliding door. It was locked. The toilet window wouldn’t budge. The sun swapped sides. Billy’s shade was gone. Adam stood on the steps at the laundry door and thought about what to do. There was a sound down by his feet. A big tabby cat pushed its way outside through some flywire covering a hole cut in the door. The cat looked up at him, casually turned around and went back inside. Adam knelt and lifted the flywire, looked in through the hole. It was a big gap for a cat. Adam had squeezed through smaller. The cat flopped onto its side on the tiled laundry floor. Its tail snaked. The animal lay there staring at him. Adam put his head through the hole, began to try his shoulders, he pulled out and checked on Billy. He’d propped himself against the brick wall. His good hand was against his neck, tipping his head back, as though to hold it up. His eyes were closed. Adam stuck his head in the animal door again. He wriggled and twisted. The cat got up and wandered off down the hallway.

The house wasn’t as cool as it would have been had the owners shut the blinds, but it was cooler than outside. Adam walked down the wide passageway and unlocked the sliding door.

He put his arm around Billy. Together they stood up.

‘We can’t go in here.’

Billy’s words ran together. There was no conviction in his voice. His legs buckled under him. Adam took his weight and they struggled up the steps.

Adam steered Billy through the kitchen and over to the couch. Billy managed to stretch out and lift his head onto the cushion. Straight away he looked more at ease. Adam’s nose was running from exertion, also a precursor to tears. He sniffed determinedly. He was not about to cry.

The cat flopped onto its side on the carpet. It watched, tail flicking and winding. Adam looked over into the kitchen.

He took the tea towel from the handle of the stove, used it to wrap around Billy’s arm. Adam returned to the kitchen and got Billy a drink.

Billy groggily sat up, sipped the water. He nodded and lay back down.

‘What will I do? Should I wave a car down?’

‘What? No. Jesus.’

‘What should I do?’

‘I’ll be right in a tick.’

Within seconds he was asleep.

T
o keep awake Adam stayed on his feet.

Starting in the kitchen he did a slow lap of the house. The pantry was filled with what seemed like every single supermarket item. There was an entire row of boxed breakfast cereals, all different types. The fridge was crowded too. There were casserole dinners, half eaten, foil over the top. Plates and bowls in the cupboards matched, brown with green and yellow swirls. Mugs were lined up in rows. The glasses were etched with a pattern of vines and flowers. There was a picture of the family: the dad, the mum, a girl, a boy. Adam stood in front of the photograph. He looked from one face to the next, the way each person was dressed, the smiles on their faces. The father was young. The only deep lines were those either side of his mouth. He had no grey hair. The mother had glasses. She was pretty. Her smile was the nicest.

Their TV was in a long low cabinet.

They kept their things very tidy.

Down the hallway were more photographs. The girl was older in them. She played sport. Her legs were long, slim and tanned. The boy had a freckled face. Adam went into the parents’ bedroom. The bedcover was blue. Lampshades were blue. A picture of a glittering gold sunset hung on the wall.

The girl’s bedroom door was closed. There was a long piece of red cardboard stuck on it, handwriting all the way down it, and pictures from magazines cut out and stuck in amongst the writing – a pasted-on picture of a skeleton, a pair of eyes, a knife. Warmth increased the perfumed smell in her room. A wave of dizziness stopped Adam. The lightheaded feeling kept returning. He felt it again walking into the room, and at different times while looking around. She had posters of men on the walls, on the ceiling. There were clothes on the floor. Half the drawers were open, clothes shoved in and spilling out. Her bed wasn’t made. She had a full-length mirror. In it Adam saw how sunburnt he was – arms and face and neck. He turned to look at his jeans from the side, pushed his fringe back, straightened up his shoulders.

Stacks of books were on the shelves and handwritten things were everywhere, taped to the walls, in photo frames, in open books, things written directly onto her wardrobe doors. She’d written things on the posters of the men, words in love hearts, followed by crosses and circles. Adam went to the girl’s bed. He touched her pillow. He was dizzy doing that. It felt wrong and right to do it. He looked at a bra on the floor. Suddenly, vividly, the image of the woman on the back of Scotty’s toilet door filled Adam’s mind. He could recall the woman’s arms, her legs, her waist and neck and, most of all, her eyes. Yet he didn’t think he’d taken that much notice. In his mind the woman moved, she slid off the bonnet, smiled at him. A spear of feeling travelled through Adam. Followed by slow spreading warmth. He drew in a breath. The closest thing he’d felt to this was the energy, the magic, of the tiger – that same thrum and thrill, coupled with light-headedness, giddiness. He tingled. The feeling was as private as the tiger one had been. And as removed from Joe as all good things were. It occurred to Adam that there were things in him too intricate and mysterious for Joe to ever have known. If it had been about ownership, Joe had not succeeded. If it had been about destroying Adam, Joe had failed.

Adam went into the boy’s bedroom. On the mat was a racing car track. The constructed track had a loop. There were cars in a basket, train carriages, some soldier figurines. On the shelves were more toys. The bed had a stripy doona. Adam turned to see the tabby cat had come in. It jumped up onto the boy’s desk and stretched out on an open picture book. Adam leaned down and picked up a matchbox car from the basket. It was detailed inside: a tiny steering wheel and seats. The wheels were rubber. When he turned the car over to look underneath, one of its doors opened. Adam discovered the bonnet opened too, and the boot. In the basket he found other cars with doors that opened and closed. He found a truck with seats inside filled with plastic soldiers, stuck down, all with rifles and wearing army clothes. Adam looked at each car separately, rolled the wheels on his palm.

Tired of the weight of the gun, he took it from the back of his jeans and put it on the rug. Annoying too, was the tight squeeze of the tiger in his pocket. He took the toy out. Put it beside the gun. He knelt and kept looking at the cars.

When Adam stopped, looked up, it took a second for him to remember where he was. For a moment he’d forgotten everything about himself, who he was. His mind a blank slate, facts filled Adam’s head in a way they never had before. He could see a different set of matchbox cars, a different rug, he was in a different house – clean tidy rooms, cream carpet, sun streaming through the windows. He could remember a crowd and the tops of tents, he could hear the people’s voices, and he saw his own feet, small and in bright-yellow sandals, his hands were pushing through bushes, long ferns brushed past his face, and beside him, taller than him, was a boy, walking fast . . . the pale bottoms of the boy’s bare feet, slim dark ankles, and in the boy’s hand, a flash of yellow and black . . . the tiger. The backroom memories flooded in then; they came like the safe door closing – heavy, dense, locking everything out, locking everything in – but then the safe door just as quickly lifted, and it was as though all Adam had was one heartbeat of darkness, one suffocated second of time, and then there he was, in the present, sweating, kneeling beside the boy’s bed. Over on the desk, the cat swished its tail, eyeing Adam. Adam breathed, blinked and swallowed. He looked at the tiger on the rug, stared at it.

‘These people are gonna come home any minute.’

Billy had found him. He was standing in the doorway, holding the frame for support. His eyes were bloodshot.

Adam picked up the handgun and pushed it down the back of his pants, got to his feet.

He left the tiger there; didn’t want to, but it was the right thing to do. Like Monty and Jerry, the tiger couldn’t come. A child’s bedroom was where it belonged.

They took a backpack of things with them. Billy told Adam what to take – cordial, a drink bottle, chocolate, chips, crackers and fruit. He made Adam look for tablets in the cupboards. Adam found bandages and bandaids. He put them in the backpack. There was a black cap hanging on the back of the laundry door. Billy indicated that Adam should put it on. Billy was leaning against the wall, cradling his arm and speaking in short sentences. He kept glancing towards the front windows. Adam put the gun in the backpack. Zipped it up. He pulled the bag onto his back and they set off, left the sliding door wide open, left the tea towel bunched and bloodied on the couch.

The tabby sat in the front window and watched them leave.