BY SEVEN O’CLOCK, BRUNO and Pete Reynolds are done. They started the day in the bathroom of a nightclub, now both are bone-tired and silent. Bill Webber remains at large. Reynolds has officially filed his disappearance, to no avail: it’s a busy night on the coast. A shooting in Miami. A drunken brawl in Cavill Avenue. Nevertheless, the night-shift guys promise to call through if there’s news.
‘He’ll pop up,’ says Reynolds as they sit in the car out front of Bruno’s family home. ‘I thought you lived in Mermaid Beach?’
‘It’s my father’s place. My brother and sister are cleaning it out. I promised to put my head in.’
‘Try to get some sleep.’
‘You too. See you tomorrow.’
The yard light is on, some of the interior lamps as well, but the place is empty. A handful of boxes stacked in quiet piles. A vacant living room. A few pieces of bedroom furniture wrapped in bedsheets. Danny and Gracie are long gone.
Bruno takes a shower and uses an old towel hanging in there. The only bed left intact is his father’s. Even stripped bare and dusty, the thing smells like the old man, like his hair wax and deodorant. Bruno feels a huge swell of emotion building in his chest as he lies there, a sickly feeling heating his neck and face.
No.
You can’t afford it.
Not after the day you’ve had.
Bruno steadies himself. He gives himself the seconds he needs.
Within a minute, he’s asleep.
But Bruno remains close to the surface of consciousness, prodded and poked by the trouble he’s in. At ten thirty, he comes all the way awake and uses the bathroom. As soon as he ventures out into the house, barefoot on the plastic hallway runners, a part of him knows that’s all the rest he’s getting.
But the night has barely begun.
Bruno calls home and his brother answers. ‘Sorry I missed you two today,’ he says.
‘You didn’t miss much. Where are you?’ When Danny hears the answer, he laughs. ‘You’re really turned around, aren’t you, brother?’
‘It’s been a weird couple of days.’
‘I’ll say. Are you on the phone in the kitchen?’
He is.
Danny says, ‘Look out the window.’
Bruno checks the yard. There’s a rectangular blue box sitting on the lawn. ‘What is it?’
‘A coffin.’
‘Pretty small coffin.’
‘It’s Dad’s old fishing esky. We cleaned out the shed today and guess what we found in the esky?’
‘What?’
‘The skeleton of a possum.’
‘How’d that get in there?’
‘No idea. It was up on top of the drawers in the shed. Nothing on top of the lid or anything. I figure Dad had it open and the poor bugger took a nap in there and something went wrong.’
‘Bloody hell. That’s dark.’
‘Yeah, it’s not cool. Gracie was beside herself.’
‘The possum’s not still in there, is it?’
‘Nah. She made me bury it. You picked a good day to stay away.’
‘Sounds like it.’
They move on to slightly cheerier topics, but not by much. Realtors are booked to come through in the morning, sizing the place up. Gracie’s keen on a fast sale, still talking a blue streak about needing the cash. Her marriage is shaky.
Danny yawns. ‘Can you let the agents in tomorrow?’
‘I’ve gotta go in.’
Danny doesn’t have much to say about that.
‘Sorry,’ says Bruno.
‘It is what it is. But, you know …’
‘What do I know?’
‘This is actually happening, mate. You can face it now or you can face it later.’
‘It’s going to have to be later.’
Danny sighs. ‘With you, it always is.’
Bruno puts the phone back on the hook and stands by the glass sliding doors, looking out at the esky. He feels compelled to look inside it, so he walks out and stands over the thing. He’s surprised to find that he remembers it. This is the esky they dragged out every Christmas for the prawns and beer. Bruno’s fairly certain it came on camping trips and school excursions. It was where they put the meat and milk during power blackouts.
After a few seconds, he reaches down and lifts the lid.
Empty.
Scrubbed clean and smelling of bleach.
Bruno runs his hands along the hard plastic lining. It’s still wet inside.
It’s strange to think of a dead body in here, touching what he’s touching now. A mass of death and decay nestled within this antiseptic interior. To the eye, it’s clean enough to eat off. A sparkling white rectangle. Almost new.
Bruno stands up.
Something clicks.