She remembered. Geoff felt his heart beat harder. “You helped me get some good stuff.”
“Well, that’s my job.”
She attempted to move past him, but he held up the flowers, unable to take his eyes off her chest.
“These are-um-for you,” he said.
“Thanks, but I already have a boyfriend,” she replied. “Look, I’m sure you’re a nice guy. Maybe some other girl would like them.” She sidestepped and started walking. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Wait. I picked these especially for you. Don’t you like them?”
Her heels clomped faster. “Look, I told you. Thanks, but no thanks.”
This wasn’t the way Geoff had imagined it. She was supposed to take them. She had been nice to him when he bought the clothes. Now she was being rude.
He hurried to catch up. “I don’t understand. You acted all nice; now you’re not.”
“I was doing my job. What did you expect?” She stopped and glanced around. After looking him up and down, she softened.
“If it makes you feel better, I’ll take the flowers.”
He handed them over.
“But don’t get the wrong idea. I told you I’ve got a boyfriend and he is really jealous. You’d better not come around again. If he catches you, he’s likely to do something stupid.”
“They’ll die if you don’t put them in water.”
She waved the bouquet in the air and walked away.
Geoff followed her down to the corner and watched as she walked down the next street. Outside a block of units, the girl walked up to a rubbish bin, opened the lid and tossed the flowers away.
Nick Hudson stood with his empty glass. “Another beer?”
Geoff kept his face buried beneath his cap. “I want coffee.”
“You’re kidding, aren’t you? This is a pub, mate. The first one you’ve been in for twenty years. Remember Pat French and Tom Bowles from school? They moved here from the Bay a few years ago and bought the place. We get mates’ rates.”
“Geez. Did every bastard from home move here?”
“No real choice, mate. When the mines closed up north, all the work dried up. Reckon half the Bay came here looking for a job because of the chicken factory opening up. C’mon. How about another beer?”
Geoff dug the tip of a dinner knife into the wooden table, chiselling a divot.
Nick sighed. “Coffee it is.”
Geoff didn’t look up. The remains of his second schooner had sloshed out when he bumped the salt- shaker.
He didn’t understand why everyone in prison reckoned alcohol was great. After someone got caught making moonshine, they were only ever allowed to have a couple of pieces of fruit in their cells. Geoff didn’t get it. He’d never really liked the taste of beer, wine or spirits. And then there was having to go and take a piss every time he drank the stuff. It just went right through him. He’d already fought his way to the men’s toilet three times and they’d only been here for one hour and three minutes.
This floor was sticky and covered in spills from the drinkers standing around, waving their arms as they crapped on about something they thought sounded smart. He didn’t like the smell, either. Stale beer smelt worse than piddle, he reckoned.
Nick returned with a cappuccino and a small glass with a brown and white drink.
“Thought I’d have a cock-sucking cowboy to get things moving. Pat says hello,” he said. “She’s at the bar if you want to-”
“I’m hungry,” Geoff grunted.
“Mate, food’s on its way. They’ll bring it when it’s ready. Pat’s organized a double-size feed for you.”
It was past dinnertime and Geoff didn’t like it. He was only here because Nick had brought him to meet some of the old gang from Fisherman’s Bay.
“Do you like being out? I mean, it must be kinda strange being free after all this time.”
“I like
“That’s great, mate, but how about the other stuff, like meeting people?”
With the cap firmly over his eyes, Geoff confided about the girl and the flowers.
“So that’s why you looked so down when I picked you up. You don’t need a bitch like that. She’s probably so far up herself she’d disappear if she sneezed.”
Geoff snickered. The thought of someone being blown out her own nose made him laugh. Just like that guy from the
“Mate, I need to ask. Is there someone special you’ve been keeping a secret?”
“Nuh.” Geoff sneaked a look at the women around the bar. “I’m not good at talking to girls.”
“Well, who’s this?” Nick pulled a photo from his wallet. “You left it in one of your pockets. I found it in the laundry basket.”
Geoff studied it. So that’s where it had gone. “She is special. She wrote me a letter and put it in my pants when I got out. When all those people were yelling at me. I didn’t even see her.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you’d take her away.”
“Man, if she approached you, that’s different. What did the letter say?”
“Dunno, stuff about how she liked me. And how she liked to play rough.”
“Jesus, mate!” Nick grabbed the photo. “Her address is on the back.” He gulped the cocktail. “If you don’t call, I sure will.”
“Who you harassing now?” A stranger in a black T-shirt and jeans sidled up, beer in one hand, other hand anchored in his coin pocket. He looked like the bad guy in a spaghetti western waiting to draw his six-shooter.
Following him were three other guys who stood around the table.
Geoff didn’t like being crowded. He put his head down, grabbed the photo back from Nick and put it in his pocket, not wanting any trouble.
“Luke. Great to see you.” Nick stood up and slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Hey, Badger, Gazza, Carrot, remember my cousin?”
They all sat down, cramping the small table.
“Geoff, remember Luke Platt? Used to live up the coast. Thought we could have a bit of a reunion, like the good old days back in Fisherman’s Bay.”
Geoff refused to acknowledge them, but had already sized up the visitors. Prison had taught him to check men out to see how dangerous they were. Luke-average height, weight, athletic. Pigeon-toed, too. Could be a good runner. Barry Lerner-Badger-had a head like a busted toilet, looked like a boxer with his cauliflower ears and had the build for it, too. At least that’s what his cellmate would have said about the “new boys.”
They both looked familiar, but neither had ever been a friend.
Gazza used to work in the mines and he was the sort of guy you wouldn’t look twice at, the kind who stood with his arms crossed to make himself seem bigger. Carrot-red hair, freckles; used to be a dickhead when he worked in the boat shed. By the way he sat down with a dopey grin on his face, he still was.
“How’s it going?” Luke held out a hand to shake.
“It’s past dinnertime.” The table scored another divot.
“Don’t mind him,” Nick explained, “he’s got the shits because a girl from the local Vinnies shop gave him the brush-off.”
A plate of steak and chips arrived, along with a bowl of pasta.
“Thanks, darling,” Gazza said, winking at the bargirl.
Geoff noticed her face and smiled. “Are you Pat? You look just like Daisy in
The young girl blushed and grinned while she rearranged the salt and pepper shakers. “No, I’m Maddie.”
“Well, mate.” Luke stood up. “I better be off. If the wife asks, I was at work late again. All right?” He stood up, scraping the floor with his chair. “It’s the only way I get a leave-pass these days.”
