Smoke in the Room (15 page)

Within seconds of entering the kitchen, Adam's shirt was stuck to his back. Mrs Lewis was bent over the stove top, stirring. She was dressed in an orange tank top and jean shorts. Every few seconds she stopped stirring and leant towards the window. There was no breeze at all.

‘Can I help?'

She looked over her shoulder, wiped her forehead with one hand while continuing to stir with the other. ‘All under control in here. You can let Graeme know I'm about to serve up, if you don't mind.'

‘Katie said he wasn't –'

‘Katherine!' Mrs Lewis took the pot off the stove, wiped her forehead with her hand, then her hand with a tea towel. ‘Katherine! In here please!' She opened the fridge, and grabbed a bottle of VB, which she handed to Adam. ‘There wasn't a need to dress up, you know,' she said. ‘We're very casual around here. Too hot to stand on ceremony.'

‘Yeah, what?'

‘Katherine, Adam tells me Graeme isn't joining us?'

‘Nah. Busy. Gran, don't sigh like that. It makes me
worry you're going to faint dead away, expelling so much breath at once.'

‘I bet you didn't even ask him. People don't stop wanting to make friends just because they're over fifty, you know.'

‘I
did
ask,' Katie said, but her grandmother had already gone. ‘Poor Graeme. She's going to make him come out here.'

‘Why not poor Adam? I have to be out here.'

‘Poor Adam. Man, you're sweating like a pig. Put a singlet on or something.'

Mrs Lewis marched in, Graeme dragging behind her. ‘I told you he'd want lunch.'

‘So, Graeme,' Mrs Lewis said when they were all seated around the table. ‘How're you settling in?'

‘Fine. It's nice to be able to walk to the office, not have to sit in traffic and find a parking space and all that.'

‘I bet. It's why I like the night shift. Peak hour traffic drives me mad. The other day I had to go into Surry Hills for an appointment. Nine o'clock it was and . . .'

Adam tuned her out as easily as if she were his own mother. He ate slowly, stopping after every few mouthfuls to drink some water and wipe his forehead with a paper napkin. Now and again Katie nudged him and rolled her eyes or grinned.

As Adam was mopping up the remaining gravy with a slice of white bread, he became aware that the conversation had moved on. Mrs Lewis's voice had become softer, less confident. Adam tuned in just in time to hear Graeme say, ‘No, no, I missed out. Luck of the draw.'

‘That's all it was, though,' Mrs Lewis said. ‘Good luck or bad luck in the draw, then good or bad luck over there. Ron said he couldn't complain about the first bit of bad luck, because compared to some other buggers he saw, he had damn good luck over there.'

‘Luckiest man alive, he always said.' Katie turned to Adam. ‘He wasn't
really
that lucky. Teenage dad and then his daughter a teenage mum. He just used to say it to compliment us. Me and Gran and my mum.'

‘He meant it,' Mrs Lewis said. ‘'Course he meant it.'

‘Oh, Gran.' Katie patted her arm.

‘When did –' Graeme began.

‘Who's for dessert?' Mrs Lewis got up from the table.

‘Four years ago,' Katie said.

A slice of steaming apple pie was placed in front of Adam. He waited for Katie to comment, but she was crouched next to Graeme, whispering in his ear.

‘And how about you, Adam?' Mrs Lewis asked.

‘How about . . . ?'

‘How's the shoe business?'

‘Fine, fine.' He met Graeme's eyes. ‘Always busy.'

‘Mmm. I bet it's hard to get enough staff, isn't it? My friend Bridget works at Myer in town and she says it's impossible to keep good staff.'

Adam ignored Katie's under-table shin kicks. ‘Yeah, it's tough, all right.'

Mrs Lewis spooned custard onto their apple pie. ‘Here's a thought,' she said and Katie kicked Adam hard. ‘What if Katherine came and worked with you?'

Kick, kick, kick
. ‘It's not really up to me.'

‘No, but you'd have some influence, surely. You could talk to the manager.'

‘I don't know. I mean . . .' Adam looked to Katie for help, but she was digging a hole in her pie. ‘Katie – Katherine, here, I don't know she'd be right for our store. I mean, I don't think she even likes shoes.'

‘Ha!' said Katie.

‘I know she doesn't present as an ideal shop assistant, but perhaps in a few weeks when her hair's grown back and those, er, tribal markings have worn off . . .'

‘Gran, I told you, they're permanent. What would be the point of tribal branding if it wore off in a few weeks?'

Mrs Lewis pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Katherine, you are not an Aborigine.'

‘I'm not? Really, Gran? You're just telling me this now?'

Gran stuck her tongue out at Katie who winked at her. Adam wondered why no one else seemed bothered by the heat and lack of air. Why did no one suggest a fan or some iced water?

‘What about at your office, Graeme? I don't suppose you have any positions vacant? Front desk or filing or something? Katherine did a course in word processing and she can type.'

‘
She's
sitting right here.'

Graeme smiled. ‘No jobs at the moment, I'm afraid.'

‘Well maybe – if you have time, of course – maybe you could help her put together a resumé. I mean, you'd know better than me what employers are looking for.'

‘Great idea!' Katie thumped her palms on the tabletop. ‘Let's start now. Better grab a pen, Graeme, there's a lot to get down. So, right, education: um, passed all my subjects in Year Ten at Bondi High on only my second try. That'll impress 'em, right? What else? I've got extensive experience in medical administration – filled out lots and lots of
forms. That goes for social security, too. I'm an expert on all aspects of applying for the disability pension and unemployment benefits. And what about all the time I've spent in court and juvie? We could write
experience navigating the juvenile justice system
.'

‘All right, Katherine.'

Katie's face was reddening, she blinked fast. ‘What else? Oh, I know. Drug knowledge. I could write a book on the effects of SSRIs, anti-psychotics, tranquilisers, and especially their interactions with each other and with alcohol.' She stood up suddenly; her chair skidded back. ‘Alcohol! Make sure you include that, too. I'm a fucking specialist. Oh! Oh! A
fucking
specialist. Yes, yes. Something else I can do. Wait, I don't think I need a resumé for
that
, do I? I could probably just head on down the street and –'

‘Katie,' Graeme said, softly. He stood and took hold of her upper arm.

She turned to him and smiled brightly. ‘I'm fine, I'm fine,' she said. ‘Just making a point.'

Mrs Lewis sat very still, sweat dripped from her hairline. ‘Okay, sweetheart. We all get it. You can sit down now.'

‘Can I? I don't know, Gran.' Katie was vibrating on the spot, Graeme's hand still on her arm. ‘I really don't know if I can.'

Graeme said, ‘Would you like to come for a walk? A wander through Victoria Park?'

‘No.' Katie held his gaze. ‘Sorry, I'm fine.' She took a deep breath and sat down. She smiled at each of them.

Mrs Lewis gathered up the plates and cutlery and carried them to the sink. Graeme picked up the water glasses and followed her. As Mrs Lewis scraped plates into
the garbage, Graeme said something Adam could not make out.

‘With respect, Graeme,' she said, plonking the dishes into the sink, ‘you don't know what you're talking about. The last thing Katherine needs is another well-meaning stranger trying to help her.'

Katie was smiling brightly but her eyes were wet and wide, her hands twisting on the table in front of her.

‘Katie,' Adam said, reaching for her hand. ‘You okay?'

She pulled her cigarettes from her pocket, lit one and inhaled deeply. ‘That's better,' she said.

Graeme mumbled something else Adam couldn't hear and Mrs Lewis exploded. ‘Well, it seems she
is
being watched. It seems you, Mr Reynolds, have managed in less than a fortnight to analyse my granddaughter's history and behaviour, diagnose her with one or another
condition
and appoint yourself her guardian.' She wiped her hands on a tea towel and picked up her handbag from the counter. ‘I'm just the silly old lady who's kept her alive and off the streets for the last decade. What would I know?'

‘Mrs Lewis, I –'

‘Didn't take you long, did it?' Mrs Lewis said to Adam, gesturing at his hand on top of Katie's. ‘Katherine, I'll call you during the week.' She bent and kissed her granddaughter on the forehead. ‘Take care of yourself.'

‘You too, Gran. Thanks for lunch.' Katie followed her grandmother as far as the front door, Graeme and Adam trailing behind her. ‘I love you, Gran,' she called. ‘Love you to bits and pieces.'

She turned from the door and placed a hand on Adam's chest. ‘So,' she said, blowing smoke in his face. ‘Guess Gran knows we're shagging now.'

‘I guess.'

‘And yet,' she smiled, ‘you still end up looking like the good tenant!'

‘I'm sorry for upsetting your grandmother,' Graeme said.

‘She'll be fine.' Katie smiled up at Adam.

‘Yes, but I'm not sure you will be,' Graeme said.

Katie's smile tightened; she lifted her hand and tickled the nape of Adam's neck. ‘Hey, can you get me a beer? Gran left some in the fridge.'

As Adam stepped into the kitchen he heard Katie say
Graeme, you're such a sweet bloke, but
–. He opened the fridge and leant into it, feeling the sweat on his forehead evaporating, listening intently to the hum of the motor. He had a perfect memory of doing exactly this, of leaning into the fridge and sighing with relief as the chilled air hit his face and forearms. That had been last summer, the northern summer, July, eight months ago. He was reaching for ice water, not beer. The fridge motor almost covered the sound of Eugenie crying in the next room.

‘Forget the beer.' Katie came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him back into the heat. ‘Let's go out. The pub in Camperdown with two dollar beers on Sunday arvos.'

‘I don't know. I was thinking . . . um, maybe all this drinking isn't good?'

‘Bah!' She lifted his shirt and planted a raspberry on his spine. She followed up with her tongue, darting over his lower back. ‘Guess what my tongue just wrote?'

‘I'm serious.'

‘Wrong!' Another raspberry. ‘I wrote
Adam is a boring old fart
.'

‘If I'm so boring, why do you want me to come out with you? Why don't you ask Graeme?'

‘I did ask him, Mr Smarty Pants, and he said the same thing as you. “Katie Lewis is not allowed to have any fun, ever again, so say all the boring old farts of the world.'”

Adam pressed his head against the fridge door. ‘Maybe, he's right, though. You seem to be –'

‘Shhh!' She nipped at his ear. ‘Listen. He means well, but Gran's right. He doesn't know what he's talking about.' She spun him around and began unbuttoning his shirt. ‘Come on, let's get you out of this ridiculous shirt, then – oh, there's that chest!' She kissed his breastbone. ‘Then, we'll go and sit in some nice air-conditioning and drink cheap beer and just chill out. Okay?'

With Matty and Carl and Trick, Adam had gone to sports bars. With Jo and Ray he went to places with no sign out the front and no way of telling which of the waifs slumped over the bar were staff and which were customers. On his own, he went to an English pub where he was certain he wouldn't bump into anyone he knew. When he met Eugenie, he stopped going to bars and when the box of wine in his fridge ran out he did not replace it. His friends called him pussy-whipped and he let them. It would've been mean to tell them that he had found something better than drinking, found someone better than them.

Sitting in this concrete bunker, the electronic bells of the slot machines bouncing off the bare walls interrupted only by sporadic shouts or guffaws from one or other of the far, dim corners, Adam noticed a single strand coming loose from the mass of grief and loneliness. He missed his
old friends. It was a tiny thing, but he stretched it out in his mind, amazed at finding it at all. This thread of loss related to the living.

‘Hey, what are they staring at?'

Adam followed Katie's gaze. Three men with ZZ Top beards were looking right back at him. A woman in a tartan mini-skirt and matching cap was talking into one of the men's ears and pointing at Katie.

‘You want something or you just having a perve?' Katie called out.

The woman raised her middle finger. One of the men said something Adam couldn't hear and the others nodded. He was aware, suddenly, of Katie's bald head, scarred face and combat boots.

‘Let's go home, hey? There's plenty of beer in the fridge.'

Katie shook her head, smiling at the group across the floor. ‘I like it here. But I reckon the fat one has the hots for me. Probably thinks he could bend me over and have his way before I managed to squeak. Goddamn bully, he'll get a shock, I tell you. Oh, goody, here he comes!'

The man walked towards their table slowly, his legs splayed, his groin thrusting with each step. He nodded at Adam and Adam nodded back. He wasn't sure what this meant. He hoped it meant
everything's cool
, but he felt like maybe it meant
I'm gonna kick your ass
. He had never been in a fight. He had never so much as thrown a punch. He didn't think being half-wasted with a bald, deranged mouse on his arm was a good starting position, but by the speed with which the nodding man was coming towards him he thought he may not have any choice.