Smoke in the Room

Emily Maguire is the author of three novels –
Smoke in the Room
,
The Gospel According to Luke
and
Taming the Beast
– and
Princesses & Pornstars
, a work of non-fiction. Her articles and essays on sex, religion, culture and literature have been published widely, including in
The Sydney Morning Herald
,
The Age
and the
Observer
.

Also by Emily Maguire

Fiction
The Gospel According to Luke
Taming the Beast

Non-fiction
Princesses & Pornstars

EMILY MAGUIRE

Cover

About Emily Maguire

Also by Emily Maguire

Title Page

Copyright

Epigraph

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Acknowledgements

First published 2009 in Picador by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited
1 Market Street, Sydney

Copyright © Emily Maguire 2009

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

Maguire, Emily, 1976–

Smoke in the room / Emily Maguire.

9780330424820 (pbk.)

A823.4

Typeset in 12.5/17pt Minion by Midland Typesetters, Australia
Printed by McPherson's Printing Group

Papers used by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

These electronic editions published in 2009 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd
1 Market Street, Sydney 2000

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.

Smoke in the Room

Emily Maguire

Adobe eReader format: 978-1-74198-647-1
EPUB format: 978-1-74198-759-1
Online format: 978-1-74198-591-7

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Is there smoke in the room? If it is slight, I remain.
If it is grievous, I quit it.
For you must remember this and hold it fast,
that the door stands open
.

E
PICTETUS

Katie's last flatmate was taken away by ambulance at the end of November and, despite a Sydney-wide housing shortage, the spare room stayed empty until the first week of January. Katie was irritated by her grandmother's assertion that it was worth going without rent for awhile if it meant finding the
right
tenant. As though it had been the past tenants who had mucked everything up for Katie and not the other way around. Katie knew that Gran's re-writing of history came from love, but it frustrated her all the same. Blind love was one thing, being seen and loved another.

She watched from the window as the chosen one came up the front path. He wore a long-sleeved business shirt even though it was beach weather and Saturday. The shirt was tucked into dark blue jeans which had creases ironed down the front of each leg. A child's yellow backpack bounced on his shoulders as he walked.

‘So what's wrong with him?' Katie asked her grandmother as the man disappeared into the foyer below. ‘Is he autistic or something?'

‘For god's sake. There's nothing wrong with him. He's American.'

‘He doesn't look American. Unless . . . Gran, he's not a Mormon, is he?'

‘I didn't ask him his religion, Katherine. If you'd met some of the weirdos who applied for the room . . . Believe me, this bloke is a prize. Steady job in a shoe shop. Doesn't drink or smoke –'

‘Oh,
god
.'

‘And he looks fit. Strong. I worry about you here alone. There are some real boofheads in this building.'

‘Harmless boofheads. Anyway, I'm safer with boofheads down the hall than some religious nut-job muscle man in the flat with me.'

‘He's not a nut-job. He's a nice, quiet bloke who wants a nice, quiet place to live. I've got a really good feeling about him. I think he'll be good for you.' Gran reached for the door handle. ‘So, please try to be nice, okay?'

Up close he was no more attractive, although he was more interesting. His teeth were toothpaste-ad-white but his eyes belonged to a man in a drink-driving commercial. White scar tissue squiggled down past his left ear ending with a pea-sized blob on his chin. His sandy hair was slicked back with enough oil to fry a bag of potatoes, and its ends kicked out over his buttoned-down collar. When he wriggled his backpack off, his shirt threatened to tear across his chest and around his biceps.

‘You must be Katherine.' He flashed his big smile, placed his cardboardy suitcase on the floor and extended his hand. ‘I'm Adam.'

Katie glanced at his smooth, pink nails and clasped her own hands behind her back. ‘How did ya get the scar?'

‘Katherine!'

‘This?' He covered it with his palm.

‘I'm sorry,' Gran said, picking up his suitcase. ‘Excuse my granddaughter.'

Gran took off down the hallway towards his room and the American skittered along behind her saying
It's fine
and
I can take that
and
Please, Ma'am
and
It's heavy
.

Katie followed them and stood in the doorway of his bedroom as Gran demonstrated how to operate the venetian blinds, ceiling fan and window locks, as if these were high-tech devices he would never figure out all on his own. He said
Mmm
and
I see
and
Well, thank you
which made Katie wonder whether he was stupid or just a big suck-up.

‘Out of the way, Katherine. Let me show Adam the rest of the place.'

Gran backtracked through the living room to show him the kitchen and bathroom, and then returned to the hallway to point out the door to Katie's room. As they walked in single file towards the study, unused since Katie had dropped out of secretarial college two years ago, she placed her hands on Adam's arse.

He spun around. ‘What are –?'

‘What's wrong?' said Gran from the doorway of the study.

Adam looked as though his lunch had been ground into the dirt by a bully's heel.

‘Sorry,' Katie said, feeling like both the bully and the sandwich.

He smiled like he was about to break bad news. ‘It's fine.'

‘What's fine? What happened?'

‘Nothing. Just a little collision,' he said. But she knew it wasn't nothing. That look in his eyes: like she'd hurt him very, very badly. Like he wouldn't recover from this terrible injury for a long time.

But maybe she hadn't hurt him, maybe he was already hurt, but super good at covering it and her touch had caught him off guard. That look probably had nothing to do with her at all. Most things didn't have anything to do with her. This was something she needed to remind herself of often.

Gran narrowed her eyes. ‘This is the study, Adam. Come on in and have a look.'

‘What are you studying?' Adam asked.

‘Nothing,' Gran said. ‘This room is wasted.' She gave Adam an apologetic smile. ‘I'm planning to turn it back into a bedroom. I did mention there'll be another tenant moving in, didn't I?'

‘Maybe, uh, I don't remember. It's fine. I keep mostly to myself, anyways. Speaking of which, I might go and . . .' He gestured vaguely in the direction of his room.

‘Yes, go on and get settled,' Gran said. ‘I'm leaving in a sec, but give me a call if you have any problems. My number's on the fridge.'

‘Another tenant?' Katie asked when he was gone.

‘Yep.' Gran had already started clearing the piles of old magazines off the desk and placing them by the door.

‘What? You just decided, did you? I suppose I don't get a say at all? I'm the one who has to live here.'

‘Yes, and I'm the one who has to pay. It's not just the mortgage, either. Council rates and utilities keep going up.
Everything
keeps going up. It's not easy doing it all on my own. It wouldn't kill you to show a bit of gratitude.'

Katie stepped in between Gran and the doorway. ‘And it wouldn't kill
you
to let me have some say over who lives here.'

‘You know Josie from work? Her husband's an estate agent and he says I could be renting this place out to a family for five hundred a week. Maybe five-fifty. Reckons I'm mad not to.'

‘So go ahead and rent it out. I can find somewhere else.'

Gran dropped a stack of magazines onto the floor at Katie's feet. ‘Your name's magically off the rental blacklist now, is it? Or were you thinking of going back to one of those junkie slums without running water? Maybe you could find a nice little out-of-the-way bridge to sleep under? Should be comfy enough, at least until autumn.'

Katie wanted to get up and go and not look back, but she was old enough now to see the future as a real thing that must be protected against. She was frightened of ending up shoeless and mindless, picking cigarette butts out of gutters and shouting at people on buses. She felt in her pocket for her smokes, then, not finding them, she took a deep drag of the study's stale air instead.

‘I'm sorry,' she said. ‘I didn't mean to be ungrateful. I was just surprised.'

Gran twisted her thick black hair up in a bun, held it there for a second and then let it fall over her shoulders. ‘The other solution – money wise – is to sell my place at Bondi. I could move up north. I never see Sue anymore and your brother must be –'

‘Half-brother. Gran, come on. Mum doesn't need you; I do.'

‘I'd still pay the bills, don't worry. You can do all that over the internet now, you know.'

‘That's not why I need you.' Katie put her arms around her grandmother and pressed her cheek against her neck. It smelt like backstage at a school play. ‘I need you for lots of things.'

‘Such as?'

‘You know, all the things people mean when they go on about family being important.'

‘Silly girl.' Gran shook free, crossed her arms and looked around the room. ‘I'm going to have to invest in some new furniture. A bed and lamp table, at least. Curtains, too. The view from in here's awful, if I remember right.' She went to the window and leant out, her hands on the sill, her masseuse sandals barely touching the floor, denim shorts riding up her thighs. From the back, and ignoring the chunky purple veins clustered behind the knees and dripping down the calves, the body hanging out the window could have belonged to a teenager.