31

AFTER A short drive through the mostly deserted streets, we arrived at Talbots. It was closed and the garage doors were down. I imagined that cars I’d seen outside were secured within, my Mazda among them. I lifted my gaze to the flat, and weathered a wave of panic. I stopped. There was still time to back out. Brophy did a U-turn and parked across the street.

I was about to jump out when he turned off the engine and sighed like a condemned man. ‘She refuses to read The Lord of the Rings.’

Felicity again, always Felicity. ‘Why, because it’s unfair to orcs?’

‘Because there’s no decent female characters.’

‘That’ll show Tolkien. What a misogynist. He’ll change his ways now.’

He stared straight ahead. ‘Saruman’s shadow defeated him.’

This, I knew. ‘And Gandalf defeated his.’

He grimaced like he doubted it was possible for anyone to defeat their dark side. For myself, I chose an uneasy cohabitation. Darkness and I split the bills, had a roster for the dishes. It seemed to work. I didn’t pretend to be a good person.

Brophy rubbed his forehead. What was he so afraid of? That he’d drift back to heroin? Or was there another darkness he grappled with?

He’s finding it hard to adjust, and he doesn’t feel supported by her. That bloody street kid was now the voice of my conscience. How the heck did that happen? ‘Don’t worry about Felicity. I’ll speak to her.’ It would be a lightning visit. I’d hear her confession: theft, of cash, boyfriend, and photos; then I’d bolt home to enjoy a quiet evening eating pumpkin mash and watching the rest of Blood Diamond. ‘If I see her, I’ll report back. Is that helpful enough?’

He smiled. ‘I don’t know what you’re doing out here, but be careful.’

We said our goodbyes and I tore myself away.

I walked towards Talbots Body Works thinking about Enright. A woman on parole was likely to stay clean, keep within the law. Nothing to fear from her, I told myself, get this done.

Onward, upward.

I was halfway up the stairs when Enright came out wearing a lime-green velour tracksuit, hair down in curls that didn’t move in the breeze. She gave me a quizzical look. Either she took a moment to recognise me or she was amazed I had the guts to approach her.

‘Stella, what the fuck are you doing here?’ Her tongue behind her top teeth, happy smile.

‘Well, if it isn’t Josie … then it must Philomena Enright.’ I smiled, too.

She closed her mouth with a shake of the head, like she was sorry to have to kill me. ‘So you know about me, hey? So what? It’s my name, either way. What’s your point?’

‘Hey, that’s cool. Don’t take me the wrong way. I’m not hassling you, promise. Truth is, I read your story. I see you want to get into community work. I thought I’d help you out, as a mentor sort of thing.’

‘How the fuck did you find me?’

‘Funny story. My car’s booked in here and I happened to see you coming out of the flat when I was dropping off my car. And I asked the mechanic, just to be sure it was you.’

‘Jim?’

‘Is that his name? Anyway, I thought I’d let you know — that volunteering you do will get you into hot water. There’s so many laws about working with kids now. If you want a career, you don’t want to get off on the wrong foot.’

She scratched her hairline. ‘That so?’

‘Yes. But if you want a job in the community sector, I can help you. Despite your record, there’s legit work you can do.’ I paused. ‘If you want.’

Her face broke into a smile. ‘Come on up, mate, I’ll put the kettle on.’

I trotted up the last few steps.

‘Nobody lets you forget your past, do they?’ she asked. I would have agreed with her, but she didn’t wait for an answer. ‘If I’m Josie, I can move on with my life.’

‘Fair enough. Alma spoken to you lately?’

‘That kid, I tell you. Too smart for her own good.’ A burst of laughter. ‘How you been, mate?’

‘Not bad,’ I followed her into the flat. It was fitted out in fifties retro, or maybe it was all original. An engine in pieces on the floor.

‘Don’t mind Ox’s shit. Messy bastard. Men, eh?’

‘Yeah.’ I thought of Brophy. He was neater than me.

‘Take a seat, mate. Cuppa? Earl Grey?’

A canary-yellow kitchen, a circular glass-top table, four yellow vinyl chairs. Checkerboard lino and lace curtains on the window, drawn back fifties-style. She took some tea bags from a yellow canister. I pulled out a cane stool, cushion upholstered in yellow floral.

It was hot in the flat, and she stripped off her tracksuit top to the tank top beneath. She had thin, muscular arms, a couple of smudges of blue ink — definite prison tatts — and across each wrist a long white scar. ‘Sugar?’

‘Two,’ I said.

She grinned. ‘Yeah, me too. Didn’t have a sweet-tooth until Thailand. They put sugar in everything. Pretty soon I’m on board. Five years is a long time. A hit of sugar helps.’

‘Five years,’ I muttered, mechanically.

‘Death sentence first, then life, then twenty. Then busted down to nine. I did five in Klong Prem, women’s unit, packed to the shithouse. We were in each other’s armpits.’

‘Sounds like hell.’

‘You get used to it. They reckon for the same amount here I would’ve walked. But after the transfer, to make the Thais happy, they had to keep me locked up.’

‘Smuggling heroin out of Thailand — pretty dicey,’ I said, trying not to sound judgemental. ‘You must have been young at the time, who put you up to it?’

‘No one put me up to it.’ She turned her back, busy at the sink. ‘We knew the risks.’

I glanced around the flat. Leftovers on the kitchen table. A takeaway bag labelled Madame Mao’s Handmade Dumplings. ‘What went wrong?’ I asked. ‘Sniffer dogs at the airport?’

‘Someone talked.’ She faced me, ferociously eyeballing me, like it might have been me she was talking about.

‘Who?’

She shrugged, gave the bench a breezy wipe-down. ‘Dunno. But I’d like to punch him in the face — but then I’d be up for assault, right?’

‘Hire someone else to punch them for you?’

She cracked up. ‘You offering?’

‘Nah,’ I said. ‘I’m making a living, thank you. Just.’

She cocked her head. ‘So, social work. Good fun?’

‘Sometimes. I went bowling recently.’

She laughed her deep cackle.

‘Mostly we settle for a minor gain against the tides of shit.’

She shrugged. ‘World’s fucked up. What are you going to do?’

‘And you’re trying to get through to the kids on the street because of what you went through, is that right? Keep them out of trouble, off the drugs and out of the jails?’

Her eyes wide, big nod. ‘Yep. I’m getting through to them, too.’

‘Awesome.’

The water boiled and she jiggled teabags in the mugs, an image of a woman on each one. They were dressed in black, in a silly pose, back to the camera, turning and blowing a kiss behind them.

‘So you’re trying to keep them out of places like Thailand?’

‘For sure.’

‘And Burma?’

Josie paused the teabag-jiggling for a beat, and then glanced up, smiling. ‘Wherever, mate! Keep ’em out of anywhere you like.’

She placed a mug in front of me and waited behind the counter. I picked it up. The hot water had changed the pictures, erasing the black clothes. The women were naked. ‘Pisser, isn’t it? Had to buy ’em.’

‘Wow. How about that.’

‘Now, Stella, what’s this really about?’

‘Um. Your career.’ I made a note of the exits. It looked like the main door, down to the workshop, was the only one.

‘Alma reckons you’re looking for Mortimer. I said she’s dreaming. You’re too smart to get involved with that crowd.’

I leaned on the counter. ‘The Corpse Flowers, you mean? Like your boyfriend?’

Her head tipped to the side. ‘Ox isn’t a Corpse Flower, that’s all behind him.’

‘Right. I heard that. Good for him.’

‘As for Mortimer, he’s still with them, as far as I know. Don’t really care. Bikies are a bunch of dicks. There’s no honour. It’s money and hurting people for fun.’

‘I have an address in Norlane, his old place. Would he still be there?’

She shrugged. ‘What do you care? I don’t get it, what’s a nice girl like you want with a thug like Mortimer?’

‘He owes me money.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘That’d be right,’ she said eventually.

‘What about his friends, like the Turk? Would he help Mortimer? Hide him maybe?’

She glanced out the kitchen window. ‘Who?’

I turned the mug around; the other side was a full frontal. I sipped the tea. ‘I’ve wasted your time. I’m sorry.’

She rinsed her cup. ‘I bet he’s crawled back to Norlane.’

‘The cops have been there.’

She turned the tap off, turned around slowly. ‘How do you know?’

‘It was on the news.’

‘Is that right?’ A broad smile on her face, but not reaching to her unblinking eyes.

‘Yeah, the cops went there to arrest him, but he’d cleared out.’

‘I’m not surprised the jacks haven’t found him. Not looking too hard. Certain people up high don’t want Mortimer found. Rather kill him than arrest him.’

‘Like who?’ I asked. ‘Which cops might want to kill him?’

‘They’re all bastards.’

The girl on my mug had her clothes back on. Another dead end. ‘I better get going.’

‘Wait, have another cup of tea. Ox is on his way home, he’d love to meet you.’

‘I’d love to meet him too, but I’ve got stuff to do.’

A long pause. We locked eyes. I would not’ve been surprised if a harmonica played a Morricone riff.

She blinked first. ‘I shouldn’t tell you this …’ She leaned over the counter and gripped my arm, hard. ‘And don’t breathe a word to anyone.’ She tapped a finger on her lips.

I crossed my heart.

‘Norlane. Really. He’s back there.’