‘Don’t worry,’ I reply. ‘I’m not planning on staying long.’
When I pass Gem, she looks at me like she wants me gone. I totally get that. I mean, we barely know each other and the first time I met her I was hardly what you’d call impressive. Now that we’re face-to-face, I’ve gone all stupid again. I nod my head, smile a stupid smile, and walk to the chocolate section to grab a Kinder Surprise.
On my way back I take two choc muffins from a cake rack. By the time I get to the counter, Marty’s gone and it’s as if nothing’s happened. Gem’s busy with some paperwork, chewing on the end of a pen. She doesn’t even look at me. She raises her head a little, just enough to see my things on the counter.
‘Do you want a bag?’ she asks.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘A bag would be good.’
After ringing everything up, she places my stuff into a plastic bag and pushes it forward across the counter.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask.
But Gem doesn’t answer. She underlines something on the invoice in front of her, walks around the counter and heads for the back of the store.
SEVEN
As we walk up the driveway, I hear banging noises and music coming from the workshop near the jetty. Henry quickens his pace and when he reaches the house, Barry launches himself off the verandah as if he’s been waiting for Henry’s return. The two of them race off towards the workshop.
I walk slowly, take off my shoes and socks at the boathouse and then continue on. When I get to the workshop I see Mick inside wearing a t-shirt, board shorts and thongs. He’s bent over the boat, a face mask pushed up onto his forehead and safety goggles hanging around his neck. Henry’s beside him wearing what looks like a Viking helmet – a brown plastic headpiece with two ivory horns sticking out from the sides. For some reason, I’m not surprised.
‘Morning,’ I say.
Mick straightens up and half smiles, but it’s not enough to hide the disappointment in his face. It’s as if he’s just woken from a deep and contented sleep and seeing me is a sudden reminder that his life has taken a wrong turn. I feel like that chore again, the unwanted nephew forced upon him by a sister he hardly knew.
‘Sleep all right?’ he asks.
I move into the workshop so I’m not straining to hear. Mick’s covered in wood dust.
‘Like a baby,’ I say.
I stand there for a bit, feeling useless, then I hear some familiar words in the music that grab my attention.
I look over to the speaker sitting on a table. ‘Is that the Bee Gees again?’
Mick looks up for a moment then returns to the boat. ‘It’s Malaya’s favourite song,’ he says.
‘So that’s why you play the Bee Gees all the time,’ I say. ‘It’s because of Malaya. You said she was no one. Who is she?’
Mick takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.
‘Come on,’ I say. ‘You’ll have to tell me sooner or later.’
‘She’s my wife,’ he says.
For some reason I look around the workshop as if she might be hiding somewhere. ‘You’ve got a wife?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, where is she?’ I say.
‘Broome,’ says Henry, straightening his Viking helmet. ‘Malaya went to Broome.’
‘Broome? Isn’t that in Western Australia?’
Mick puts the goggles back on. ‘Last time I checked, yeah.’
‘Has she gone on a holiday, or something?’
Mick doesn’t answer. He stretches his arm out and feels for something on the underside of the boat.
‘Okay, so when is she coming back?’ I ask.
‘Soon,’ says Mick.
‘Soon? What does that mean?’
‘It means I’m not sure.’
‘Not sure?’
‘Yeah, as in uncertain. Don’t know.’
‘But you must know when she’s coming back. How long’s she been away?’
‘Eleven months,’ says Mick. ‘Eleven months and fifteen days to be exact. It’s just a break. Some time away. She’ll be back.’
All of a sudden, things start to fall into place – the Bee Gees, the table setting, the two metal Ms on the mantelpiece and the name on the fishing boat, Forever One.
I stand there and look at Mick fussing over something. I watch him go to the table, grab a wooden mallet and hand it to Henry who kneels midway along the boat. He only takes a few steps but the movement is enough to stir things up. It whips up particles of wood dust and they dance about in the shaft of morning light spilling in through the window.
I go back to Croxley, to the day I first met Mick, and I realise now what’s responsible for the hurt I saw in his eyes. It’s a broken heart.
Before Henry can get to work on the boat, a bell starts to ring somewhere in the distance. It’s a clanging sound like one of those hand-held bells they used to ring at school to signal the start of classes. Henry turns his head to the sound, lifts the Viking hat from his head and places it on a shelf at the back of the workshop.
He heads for the door and, just before he disappears outside, Mick calls out after him. ‘Bye, Gunter,’ he says.
I stare at the open doors, but I give it away after a few seconds when I realise there’s no point trying to make sense of what just happened. When it comes to Henry, things are what they are, and I’m starting to think that it’s best to roll with it.
But it’s awkward when he goes. It makes me wonder what Mick and I would have without him – if we’d have anything in common at all. I stand there for a bit, not sure what to do.
‘Righto, then,’ says Mick.
He picks up the mallet and starts banging, so I turn and walk away.
EIGHT
I spend the morning on my bed in the boatshed. Mick works on the boat through lunch, only stopping for a light snack and a drink. We manage to avoid each other for most of the day.
I go up to the house for toast and then read my book on the jetty and before I know it, it’s time for dinner. Not surprisingly, it’s the same routine as the night before. Barry gets gourmet chicken and rice, while Mick and I enjoy a microwave-zapped Lasagne each. While the Lasagne itself is only marginally better than the Steak Diane, I’m surprised Mick’s allowed us to have the same thing on the same night. I wonder if it might upset the balance of numbers and the meticulously labelled, neatly stacked frozen dinners in the freezer. After a few mouthfuls of cheesy slop, I decide to voice my concern.
‘Is this allowed?’ I say. ‘Both of us having the Lasagne, I mean?’
‘Not really,’ he says. ‘But it’s Friday. Let’s go crazy, hey?’
We eat in silence for a bit until Mick clears his throat.
‘There’s something I want to run by you,’ he says. ‘I was going to wait a few days, but we may as well get into it now.’
I stop chewing and sit up.
‘Thing is, we used to farm oysters here,’ continues Mick. ‘Your grandpa Walt started it all. Anyway, about two years ago, this virus appeared from nowhere. Wiped everyone out, everyone who was farming along the Glamorgan. The local industry went balls up.’