13

TIME TO go home to bed. I stopped at the lights on Ballarat Road. The passing traffic was partying; music doofed. Then, crossing the road right in front of me, I saw Alma. She must have come straight from the abandoned drug deal in the car park. She walked fast, holding her bag to her chest.

I flicked my left blinker and followed her. She was headed to the Macca’s up the road. It had been a long time since my last McNugget. I passed Alma and pulled into the McDonald’s car park. She was sitting down in a quiet section near the toilets when I entered the building. Near the entrance to the kids’ play equipment, a table of delinquents had chips, eating some and throwing the rest. I stood in the queue behind a man in hi-vis, and studied the board. God help me, I couldn’t go through with it. Even the thought of the soft-serve made me want to puke.

I stepped up. ‘A cup of tea. Thank you.’

I took my tea to a table near Alma, facing the door. In the eye-aching glare of fluorescent lights, I felt myself sinking. This place was a nightmare. Joy could not survive in here — too much convenience. I jiggled the tea bag. My reflection in the window appeared weary and resentful. If I turned my head slightly, I had a view of the girl.

The auto doors parted and a slim woman came in, brown hair in a bun, wearing a professional-looking pants suit, a leather satchel over her shoulder. She scanned the place, looking for someone. Alma raised her hand and the woman hurried over, brushing by me as she went.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said to Alma. ‘How’s the treatment working?’

Alma touched her cheek. ‘Great. All cleared up.’

Intrigued, I moved closer and bent over my phone, pretending to scroll through something on the screen.

‘And the new hair colour?’

Alma swished her hair. ‘Love it.’

‘Great. So tell the others.’

Alma sighed. ‘They don’t care about skincare.’

The woman pursed her lips. ‘What they care about is irrelevant.’ She pulled a stack of files from the satchel. ‘I need to schedule appointments for the tests.’

An adolescent shrug from Alma. ‘I told you, offer them smokes and shit. That’s the way to get through.’

‘Community workers don’t bribe their clients.’

Community workers? What community worker meets clients after midnight?

A pause. The woman straightened her back. ‘Right. What can I get you?’

‘McFlurry.’

As she walked by, I leaned out of my chair to put my phone in my bag, and we connected hip-to-head.

‘Sorry, mate,’ the woman said.

I caught sight of a blue tatt on her wrist, uneven scribble. ‘Nice bit of ink,’ I said.

‘This?’ She laughed and held it out. ‘It really is ink. Biro, actually. A phone number.’

‘Oh, right. I thought it was a home-made job, like a prison tatt.’

She ripped her hand away. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I … wait, what? I didn’t mean —’

‘You fucking —’ She swiped at my cup, sent it skittering, tea splashing the wall.

‘Wow. Okay.’ My hands were up, palms out. ‘I’m going now —’ I was stepping backwards and grabbing my handbag. I had made it to the doors when Crazy in the pantsuit came at me.

‘Wait! Listen,’ she said. ‘I want to apologise.’

‘No need. Forget it,’ I said, flustered.

‘Come on, hear me out. I’m not a bad person. It’s just that I can fly off the handle sometimes.’

‘We all can. No worries.’

She lowered her voice, almost pleading. ‘So there’s no need to make a complaint about me or anything, is there?’

‘Last thing I would do.’

‘Because I’ve been inside, and I’m a bit touchy about it.’

‘That’s understandable.’

‘Don’t need the parole people breathing down my neck.’

‘Of course not.’

She pointed to Alma. ‘I’m making up for it, working with these kids.’

She stared at me with clear, unblinking eyes. Up close, I saw that some hard years dragged at her cheeks. A tooth was broken at the front. Community workers needed clearance, and jail time was a deal breaker. Whatever this was, it was less than legit.

‘Case work of some kind?’

Her laugh was deep, the pack-a-day kind. ‘I’m all about the kids.’

Not exactly an answer. ‘How’s that?’

She paused, appeared pained. ‘I don’t want anyone to go through what I’ve been through. I try to reach them early, before they get addicted.’

I acted impressed, thinking that this psycho should not be anywhere near kids. On the other hand, right now she might be useful: she might have connections, know people — dealers perhaps. ‘So community work? Me too, sort of, a social worker.’

She looked astonished. ‘No way! Really? Hey, I’m Josie. Let me buy you another cup of tea.’

I hesitated.

‘Come on. We can both have a chat with young Alma.’

I didn’t want tea. But Alma, yes, I wanted to chat to her. ‘I’m Stella.’

‘Grouse.’ She lowered her voice as we walked back to Alma. ‘This kid, I swear she’s got a death wish.’ She laughed again. ‘We’ve all been there, right?’

‘Ha ha, yeah.’