Miscarriages Chapter 3. Where loves roses grow

3. Where loves roses grow

That horrible day. The day my Dad was carted off to the cemetery with me auntie sitting up like a cockie in the back of the black limo.

Mr. Counter’s at my side, and he hands me a beer. I walk back outside and watch the limo disappear up the Melbourne road and I down the beer in one big gulp. I push aside the greasy canvas hanging in the doorway and walk back into the bar. There’s a bounce to my step. I bang the empty glass on the bar and yell at the barman, “gimme a whiskey,” and he looks at Mr. Counter who nods. I grab it, and swill it down. “Gimme another,” I yell. My voice, it was screeching like a cockie’s. The blokes in the bar. They all was gone quiet. Mr. Counter mutters, “one more and that’s it.” I grab it and rush outside to see the hearse, but it’s gone, and I picture it rolling over the flat hills, up past the burnt fields of thistles, going somewhere, I dunno where. They were going to stick my Dad in a hole. Bastards, that’s what they were going to do. I go back in and I down the whiskey, neat again. Nearly choked, and the other blokes, they begin to laugh. And the hecklers start.

“Hey Eddie, give him another. Nah, give the little shit a brandy next. He’s gotta learn the hard way.”

I look at this bloke and I rush at him. He was a little bloke, pretty old. A few silvery whiskers sticking out of his cheeks. I grab him by the neck with my spare hand and I’m going to pummel him with my beer glass, right in his fuckn face, that’s what I’ll do. And he’s coughing, dribbling beer and spit out of the corners of his mouth that’s wide open, and I can see his rotten teeth.

“This fuckn glass is going right down your throat, ya cunt!”

I’ve got my arm up and the glass pointed right at him and it’s coming down so hard it’ll come out of the other side of his neck. Except that an iron clamp grabs my wrist and before I know it, I’m down on my knees and Grecko the bouncer’s got my arm twisted up me back and I’m screaming in agony and there’s real tears coming down my face.

Then the blokes turn on Grecko.

“Give him a go. He’s just a kid.”

“I’m no fuckn kid!” I call out in between sobs.

Mr. Counter comes up and takes the glass out of my hand.

“You need to sober up, son,” he says quietly so the other blokes won’t hear.

“I’m all right. I just need another beer to calm me down.”

“Give him a drop a plonk like his dad used to drink. That’ll fix him. Poor little bugger,” some bloke says.

Mr. Counter looks at Grecko who loosens his grip just a little. I can stand up, and now I’m licking the tears round my lips, and trying to wipe them off my face with me free hand. Gees, I’m crying and all the bar’s looking at me. Mr. Counter grips me on the shoulder and squeezes hard and I wince and nearly start crying again. It’s the worst moment of my life. All these blokes looking on. And me crying, trying like hell to hold it back. A bloke comes over. It’s Bossie, one of Dad’s old drinking mates from before he got into the booze and started drinking by himself. Everyone said the grog had got him then. He hands me a glass of the red stuff. I look at Mr. Counter. He doesn’t say nothing, just stares at me like there’s a pimple on my nose or something. So I grab it and take a big mouthful. Me eyes tear up again, and my mouth and cheeks, I dunno, shrink or something, it was so bitter.

“Hey!” calls one of the blokes, “put some sugar in it for him.”

Everyone laughs, so I down the rest of it and smack my lips.

“Not a bad drop,” I says, “I can see why me Dad kept it under his bed.”

I smiled and the rest of the blokes in the bar burst out laughing and then there was the loud din of the blokes talking and jabbering about nothing. I felt really like I was back home though I didn’t really have a home as of now. But I just felt OK. Right in my place.

I looked at Mr. Counter and he smiled back. He gently patted me on the back and said, “all right. I can see you’re going on a bender. Probably best to get it over with, and tomorrow we’ll talk about what you’re going to do with yourself. You better stay with the beer though, or you’ll get real sick.”

Mr. Counter handed me another beer and a fiver to spend the rest of the afternoon.

So, Dad. There you have it. That’s how I ended up the day you left us. I knew you were going to kick it, I knew, OK? It’s not your fault. You were just like the blokes in the bar said. You was got by the booze and there was nothing you could do about it. You did your best, Dad. I know. Don’t feel like you could have done anything else. I knew what was coming and I was ready for it. I just had a few second thoughts or something. Don’t know what it was. But Mr. Counter, your best mate, was right there for me. And the blokes in the bar, they were great too. We had a great time that day and well into the night. I nearly saw it through. I did pretty good.

*

I’m out to it on the bed in my clothes. I don’t know where I am. I lick my lips, they’re dry as a bone. I’m poking me finger into my mouth, scraping off the dried stuff caked to its roof. I don’t know where I am because I can’t bear to open my eyes. I feel the sun streaming in through the window like one of those laser beams in a Flash Gordon comic. I’m looking at my eyelids from the inside, they’re bright red and I’m squeezing them tight. Someone’s poking me in the ribs, poking real hard.

“Fuckn go away. Leave me alone!” I growl.

“Don’t you swear like that to me, ya little bugger!”

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Abbie, and Mr. Counter said you have to get up and go to school.”

I roll over to get away from the poking and fall off the other side of the bed.

“Ya silly little bugger. Whatchya trying to do? Get up and into the shower. There’s a towel on the dresser. Now go on. Get!”

“Fuck you!”

She’s pulling my hair. “Just cos you’ve got those lovely brown curls doesn’t mean you can swear at me! Now get up or I’ll get Grecko to come and throw you into a cold shower!”

I sit up and open my eyes a bit, shade them with my arm. The sun’s glare is awful and me head’s throbbing like I never knew. It’s the maid or whatever they call them. She’s got this dark oily skin and big round face and huge teeth. Gotta be an abo.

“Fuck you, you black bitch. You’re not my mother!”

“Lucky for you I’m not. And I’m not a bitch either!”

She pulls me up by my hair and pushes a towel into my face. “Now get going. I’m telling Mr. Counter. I’m supposed to make the beds. I’m not your babysitter!”

“I’m not a baby!”

“Then don’t act like it!”

I climb back on to the bed and lie flat on my belly. My head’s going round and round, and the bed feels like it’s going to tip me out. She pulls me over on to me back and slaps me face. Then she grabs me by the nose and pulls me up, helpless, out of the bed¬room and down the passage to the shower.

“Now getcha self ready. Mr. Counter said you have to go to school.”

She throws the towel in after me and slams the door shut. I take my clothes off and they stink of beer and smoke. I dare not look in the mirror. I showered until the hot water run cold. I put the towel around me and walk back to the room, carrying my clothes. “Hey Abbie,” I call, “I can’t wear these shitty clothes to school, so I’m not going.”

She comes to the door and eyes me up and down. I give her a little smile. She’s not that bad, too bad she’s so old. She’s got an armful of clothes.

“Mr. Counter sent Grecko over to your old house to get your clothes. He says you’re staying here for a while.”

“Yair? So who’s he to tell me what to do?”

She chucks the clothes at me and I have to drop the towel to catch them.

“You better behave yourself,” she says as she looks me up and down again. I stand there starkers, and she steps back real quick.

I got dressed, then sank back on the bed. My head ached like never before. I suppose it was my first real hangover. I put my head between me hands and rubbed me fingers through my hair. Shit! What the hell am I going to do, Dad? I got to talk to Mr. Counter. So I follow the smells of the kitchen, feeling like I’m going to throw up, and step out of the gloom of the passage into the kitchen, full of people working away and Mr. Counter’s sitting at an old wooden table that had been scrubbed so much the top was furry.

“You’ve got time for some bacon—very good for you in your condition,” he says without looking up, chewing on his own bacon and grinning at the same time.

“Time for what?” I says.

“Before the bus comes and you go to school.”

“I’m not going to school.”

“Yes you are. Your dad said so, because you’re doing matric and going to Teachers College aren’t you?”

“Everything’s finished anyway.”

“What do you mean? I saw all the kids going off to school this morning.”

“I’m doing matric. The exams are in a couple of weeks. All we do is study. There’s no classes. There’s only a few of us anyway.”

Abbie drops a plate of bacon and eggs on the table and pushes me on to a chair.

“I’ll throw up if I eat eggs,” I say.

“Then leave ’em. Now listen to Mr. Counter.”

“All right. So here’s the rub. You can stay here at the pub until you figure out what you want to do. If you don’t want to go to Teachers College, that’s up to you and your Dad. But you can’t stay here unless you go and do those matric exams or whatever they’re called.”

“I want to stay in my old house where me and my Dad were.”

“I know you do and so would I if I were in your shoes. But you can’t. They’re pulling the place down this week. Besides, it’ll make it a lot harder to get over losing your dad if you stay there even one day more.”

“I don’t want to get over it.” I’m chewing a really nice piece of bacon, having a lot of trouble listening to Mr. Counter.

“Yes, sure. But you have to stay here. You can study in that back bedroom we put you in last night. It’s nice and quiet.”

“I don’t like it quiet.”

“Yes, you do. You like it that way so you can have your talks with your dad.”

“That’s none of your business.” I felt my ears go all red and my cheeks flushed. I swallowed me bacon, and sat, sullen.

“Agreed? You can go over there after you get back from school and clear out everything and bring what you want over here. I’ll send Grecko over with you to help.”

I stood up and grabbed my cup of tea, gulped it down and looked sideways at Mr. Counter and then looked right at Abbie. She was grinning and showing all her big teeth.

“And you can earn your keep by working around the pub and in the bar when you’re not studying. Fair enough?” said Mr. Counter.

Well, what was I going to say? I love the pub life and yesterday, gees, I felt like I really belonged here. It did feel like home, and it was Dad’s home most of his life anyway. So why not me too?

“Mr. Counter. Thanks, mate. But after yesterday…”

“Yesterday was a special day. We don’t need to talk about it. Abbie put you to bed. You were out to it. But you were OK. Except for the bloke you were going to smash in the face. But Grecko and I talked with him. It’s all OK.”

“I really like working in the bar. Can’t I just do that? Why bother with school?”

“Because your dad wanted it. And so do I. Just do the exams and everything will be all right.”

“But I’m going to fail. They’re not easy you know.”

“You’re a smart fella. I know you can do them.”

I swallow really hard and rub the back of my neck. Truth is, I was about to start sobbing again. “Seeyas,” I mutter as I turn away and run out straight to the loo way down the end of the passage near my bedroom.

“Yair, my bedroom, Dad. Doing it all for you. Hope you’re happy.”

*

“Stop muttering, laddie!”

“Stuff you, I’ll talk to me Dad any time I want.”

“Show consideration for others. And enough of that language.”

“I have to go to the toilet.”

“This way then.”

He might as well handcuff me, the pommie bastard. Calls me “laddie” all the time.

“This way and keep your eyes straight ahead, laddie. I’m on to people like you.”

I’ve been sitting in this tin-can church hall for a couple of hours trying to do my Latin exam. I’m trying to translate this paragraph from Ovid. I can’t believe they chose this of all poems. I hate the fuckn poetry, can’t understand a word of it. Have to memorize the translations then I just write them down in the exam. I’m staring at this sentence:

Odi concubitus, qui non utrumque resolvunt. Hoc est, cur pueri tangar amore minus.

Shit! Is it saying what I think it is? Struth! It’s my last exam. I have to give it a fair go. I thought I did pretty good in my English exam. I wrote about my Dad kicking it. A real tear jerker and all those sentences with very correct grammar that I learned from my Latin. Why don’t the shit-heads write like they talk? All the words have to be exactly right and the verbs have to be in the right place and match the subjects and on and on. By the time the words are on the paper, who would want to read them, Dad?

“Dad?”

He’s not answering. Probably into the plonk again, Bet they have it in heaven too. Good old Dad will sniff it out if it’s there.

“Laddie!”

There’s a hand pulling my ear. I stand up to relieve the pulling and knock over my chair and make an awful noise. The other couple of kids, from the grammar school probably, keep writing away, don’t even look up.

“This is your last warning. Now stop your muttering or you will be sent out. You hear me laddie?”

He let’s go me ear and I pick up my chair and bang it down. I stare at the sentence. I know what it says. I’m going to translate it my way, so I write:

Simultaneous orgasms are best which is why I don’t fuck young boys.

How’s that Dad? Gees, dad, I dunno. It’s what this bloke is saying, I know it, so why shouldn’t I write it down just like we all talk?

*

You gotta understand, Dad. Those exams they nearly killed me. So when I ran into Iris just as I came out of the Baptist Hall, and I’d written “fuck” in my Ovid translation, I was kind of crazy. I stopped at the bottom step, almost bumping into her..

“Fancy seeing you here!”

She smiles and wiggles her little thin body.

“Whatcha doing here?” she says.

“Done me last exam.”

“Exams in a church? What silly exam is that? You going to be a preacher?” She looks flabbergasted and she stands back eyeing me off, suspicious.

“Nah. Doing my matric exams. Me dad made me do them.”

“Yair? So you do everything he tells you?”

“Yair, mostly.” Fact is, I wanted her body right then and there. I was all worked up over that Latin exam, feeling crazy, and free, free of everything. Free as a bird, like they say.

“So wanna do something?” She comes up to me and I think of Ovid, the dirty old bastard. She strokes my hair – they all seem to like my hair – and then gives me a nice wet kiss on my cheek.

“Yair, let’s go for a walk.” I take her hand and look at her. She looks thirteen to me. Well, maybe fourteen.

“Where to?”

“We can have a look at the new houses,” I say slyly.

“You mean all those commission houses like mine?”

“Yair, if that’s what you live in.”

I pull her along and we run down Spruhan avenue, then stop and kiss. Her sloppy kisses, they just drive me out of my mind. Then she breaks away and I chase her. She runs into a house that’s half finished, the roof is on and some of the walls, and half the floor is done. She leaps inside and lightly dances across the open beams in the floor and then leaps to what’s probably the bedroom. I leap over several beams and fall gently into her. She grabs me and then we’re at it. I never felt so free. We’re down and we roll on the half-made floor, roll over loose nails and don’t feel a thing. Everything in my life that’s gone before, it’s given up for a few seconds. “Ovid!” I call, “Ovid, you bastard, take this!”

We never had time to completely undress, so we’re lying there half naked. And I’m exhausted. All that study and that three-hour exam, and now this. I’m completely fucked, lying flat out on my back. But she’s not. She’s running her hand through me hair. And I turn to her. She’s lying on her side, her super short tartan dress bunched up above her hips and her panties completely gone I dunno where. She runs her hand down to my legs. They’re bare, dunno where me pants are. I roll towards her and unbutton her little white blouse. And pretty soon we’re both naked and this time we’re at it again. Dad, I tell ya, you never told me how good this is. And to think that I once even was tempted to have a go at your Millie.

“Who’s Ovid?” she asks.

“Never you mind.” I rub my cheek on her belly so she can’t see me grin.

“So why aren’t you at school?” She grabs my hair and gives it a bit of a tug.

“Why aren’t you?”

“I asked first.”

“I’m a sixth former, that’s why. I’m done with school as of today.”

“Think you’re smart, don’tcha?”

“Nah. I just did it because they all made me.”

“Who did?”

“Me Dad.”

“Who’s he to tell ya what to do? And just because he says so, ya do it?”

“Well he can’t now, but Mr. Counter does it for him.”

“What are ya fuckn talking about?” Mister who?”

She pulls my head around by my hair and plops one of her wet kisses on me forehead. I roll back and then I start looking at her body all over again. Gees Dad, I’m out of control.

“You’re so piss-weak you just do whatever your dad tells ya?”

“Mind your own fuckn business,” I says, big smile, trying to be kind of dreamy like Dean Martin. I want more. I’m moving in on her again.

“So tell me,” I grin and she grabs my hand and chews my fingers, “what about your mum and dad? I s’pose you asked them could you come here? Why aren’t you in school?”

“None of your fuckn business either!”

“So now we’re even!” She rolls me over and suddenly she’s on top of me. And then we’re into it yet again. Dad, what’s she doing? Oh gees! Oh Dad!

*

She’s asleep. I must have dozed off for a while, and I wake up with a shiver. A cool breeze has come in off the Corio bay. I get a familiar whiff of sulphur as it drifts in from the Phossie plant. I can’t stop staring at her body. I force myself to look out through the open walls of the house and I see bare beams and half-finished roofs everywhere. I look up through the open roof and squint at the deep blue of the late November sky. I hear the distant banging of hammers and shouts of the builders as my eyes settle on her white, glistening body. She’s gotta be more than fourteen. But her tits are small and I suppose still growing. I put my hands on them and rub each one gently. They’re nice and firm. What more could a bloke ask for? Thank goodness I took the Latin exam, Dad, or I wouldn’t have run into her! Dad, I know it was your doing. Thank you Dad! Thank you!

I must have rubbed her a bit hard. She wriggles then wakes up with a bit of a start.

“Shit!” she says. “What time is it?”

“Five o’clock. I better be going. Gotta work in the bar till six. What about you?”

“I’m staying here.”

“What? You can’t! What if someone comes? And it’ll get cold.”

“I can’t go home.”

“Why not?”

“None of your business. I’m never going back to that shit hole.”

“But you can’t stay here. If they find you they’ll call the cops.”

“Do what you like. I’m staying here.”

I want to grab her and fling her over my shoulders and carry her away with me, just like that picture in my Latin book of the Romans carrying off the Sabine women.

“You’re coming with me, then.”

“We can go to your house?”

“No, there’s workers in there, pulling it down.”

“What for?”

“They’re building a new pub. I’ll think of something on the way. Come on!”

“Nah! I’m staying here.”

I grab her and pull her close to me. We’re still stark naked and I’m getting ready to go again. Oh God!! Then I feel her shivering. She’s cold, I guess. But then she starts sobbing something awful.

“Gees, Iris, what’s the matter?” I look around for my school pants and shirt. They’re pretty filthy. Only ones I’ve got anyway. Now Iris is holding me tight, her fingernails digging in to my back. “Ouch, Iris, what’s going on? It fuckn hurts!”

“Fuck you. You got what you want and now you’re running off. Me mum said they all do that.”

“Shit Iris, I want you to come with me.” I kind of push her away and she clings even tighter. “Iris, let me go! I gotta go to work.”

“Fuck off then!” She pushes me away and then drops down and curls up on the floor.

“Shit Iris. You’re all fucked up. Come back with me. You can stay in my room.”

“What room?”

“At the pub.”

“They won’t let me in there. I’m too young.”

“They don’t care. There’s kids running around the Ladies Lounge all the time.”

I pull up my pants and tuck in my shirt. I take her clothes to her and say, trying to be funny, “you want me to dress you?”

She throws her clothes back at me and calls me all the shits you ever heard of. She jumps across the beams to the corner of the room and squats down hugging her knees. I lean forward with her clothes and hold them out, just like I was feeding a croc at the zoo. I dunno what’s going on Dad. I mean, we were going at it just a while ago. And now…

“Stop muttering,” she growls, “who are you talking to?”

“You’re the only one here.”

“I’m not your dad, then,” she says with a smirk. Baiting me I think she was. I squint at her. She’s a lot older than she looks, I say to myself yet again.

“I wasn’t talking to me dad. I told you, he’s dead and gone.”

“Yair, sure.”

“Get your clothes and let’s go.” She squats down straddling the open beams and has a piss. I look away, can’t bear to watch her. Gees, I dunno, Dad.

*

That fuckn dog. They called it Nipper. Mr. Counter kept it tied up on a ten-foot chain hooked on to the tap at the gully trap just out¬side the kitchen door. There was no one in the kitchen at half past five, peak hour in the bar. We’d come in the side gate. So we had to pass by Nipper, a vicious little shit of a thing, a foxy with a full tail. I tried to pat it and talk to it but it wouldn’t stop yelping. And it bit at my pants and tore them with its razor teeth, but had to let go to bark. And it just wouldn’t shut up. Then it runs up and down, straining at the end of the chain, getting it wrapped around me feet.

“Nipper, you little shit,” I say trying to be nice, “shut the fuck up!”

It barked even more and rushed so fast to the end of the chain it was jerked back by the throat and launched into the air.

“Why don’tcha be nice to it?” says Iris. I was keeping her behind me so she wouldn’t get bitten.

“I’m trying. What’s it fuckn look like?”

Iris pulls me away and laughs. “You silly bugger,” she says. Then she gets down on all fours and crawls up to the dog. Nipper stops in his tracks. I’m frozen shitless. I can see it all before me. The fuckn dog’s going to leap at Iris and tear a piece of flesh right off her lovely little face.

“You silly bitch,” I mutter, “get away for Christ sake. He’ll bite your fuckn head off!”

Iris squats, just like when she had a piss at the Commission house. She puts her hand out and beckons with her fingers. Nipper’s fucked up. He doesn’t know what’s going on. He starts walking around in circles. And the chain’s getting all tangled up. And bugger me, he stops barking. He starts whimpering instead. Iris’s fingers just touch the back of his neck and she manages to wiggle them into his fur. And now she’s patting him with smooth slow strokes, starting at the top of his head, then right down his back.

“There, there Nipper,” she says in her thin little voice, “we’re going to be good friends, aren’t we?”

I’m starting to edge back out of Nipper’s range. I don’t trust the little shit of a dog.

“Iris,” I whisper, “we gotta get away from here. He’ll turn on you, I tell ya.”

She ignores me. She’s got Nipper in her sights and she won’t let go. Nipper whimpers more and more, then for shit sake, he starts to rub his head against Iris’s leg and she responds by twiddling with his ear. I’m feeling fuckn jealous! I step back, a big step back, and I see Nipper’s other ear twitch and I know he’s watching me out of the corner of his eye.

“There, there,” says Iris, “there’s nothing to be upset about. We’re friends you and me.”

I take another step back, and Iris gives me a look, as if to say, “you fuckn idiot.”

Then all hell breaks loose. Nipper jerks his head back then snaps at Iris’s hand. She loses her balance and falls over back¬wards. Nipper grabs the closest thing to him, Iris’s foot. And he won’t let go, all the time snarling and baring his teeth. I grab Iris by her armpit and pull her away. Her sandshoe comes off in Nipper’s teeth and he rushes in the other direction until the chain jerks him into the air by the neck. And the barking starts all over, Iris’s shoe sits chomped up out of reach. I’m waiting for Iris to cuddle into me, make herself feel safe in my arms.

“You fuckn shit. Why didn’t you stay still? You nearly got me bit!” she growls.

“You’re the fuckn shit. Trying to show off. I told you the fuckn dog’s mad.”

“Now he’s got me shoe, thanks to you!”

“Soon fix that!”

I step forward, right within Nipper’s reach. The shoe’s in easy reach, but I know if I put my hand down, the fuckn mad dog will bite it off.

“Here, Nipper, come here old fella,” I call.

Nipper couldn’t care less what I’m saying. He lunges at me and I’m ready. I give him my best kick in the ribs and he screams, yelping as the force of the kick sends him flying across the other side of the gulley trap. I grab the shoe and retreat to Iris.

“Your shoe!” I say, all proud of myself. She looks at me like I was her father or something.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, looking scared.

“I gotcha shoe. Fuck you.”

She looks at me like she’s going to slap me or something. She’s a silly little fuckn bitch. This is all fucked up. “Come on, I’m taking you home. You can’t stay here.”

“You said I fuckn could!”

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

“I have to work.”

“You said that before.”

“I know.” My mouth is moving, saying things I don’t want to say. “It’s not gunna work out.”

“Then why’d you bring me here?”

“Because I couldn’t leave you in that half-built commission house, you silly shit.”

“Me mum was right. You’re sick of me. I don’t need you anyway.”

“All right then. Fuck off!”

Now she’s crying. Works all the time. I look over at Nipper. He’s eyeing me off, but he hasn’t left off barking. If he could get loose, I know what he’d do. I stamp my foot at him and he goes nuts. The chain practically pulls his head off when he leaps at me. Iris is squatting down again. Like she’s having a piss. Dad? Dad? Are you watching this? Was mum like this? I dunno what’s going on.

Iris looks up, her lips twitching. “I’m going,” she says.

“OK. Go then, fuck you.”

“You don’t have to talk like that. Just because I let you fuck me.”

“Yair, right! You fucked me, that’s what you did!”

Dad, I think I just said the wrong thing. Dad! Dad, are you there? I need you.

She’s snivelling now. It’s like she’s been smacked by her old man and she’s feeling like she did something bad. “I can’t go home,” she says and looks up at me. And now I’m going to pieces. Gees, Dad. What am I going to do? I don’t really want her here all the time, but I do want her.

“Why can’t you go home? You never told me yet.”

“It’s me dad.”

“So what, he’ll give you a back-hander?”

“Nope, probably not. Not at first.”

“Then what’s wrong then?”

“He’ll fuck me…” There’s that snivel again. I dunno what to say. I mean, she’s got to be lying, hasn’t she, Dad? I’m just frozen speechless. Don’t know what to say.

“What about your mum?”

“She won’t be home.”

“So have you told her?”

“I don’t have to.”

“What the fuck are you saying? Course you have to.”

“She watches us.”

“Shit!”

“Yair. She watches us. While she prays to Jesus.”

She snivels again and there’s lots more tears. I grab her in my arms and she whimpers, just like Nipper. I give her a squeeze and she clings to me. I look across at Nipper, fucking stupid dog. I want to kick him really hard. I mean really hard. I’d like to kick every fuckn bark out of him. I take Iris’s hand and pull her along to the kitchen door. We slip through the kitchen then run down the passage to my room. The noise of the bar fades as we slip inside. I give her my nicest sweetest kiss on her always wet lips. I take her gently to the bed and she plops down, sitting on the edge. She can see what I’m thinking and it’s not good. Dad, I can’t hide it. I just can’t. And I can’t help it.

“Got to go to work. They’ll be running out of glasses. Mr. Counter will be cheesed off.”

And I’m gone.

*

Iris fell back on the bed and rolled on to her side, facing the little window. The old blind was closed, a narrow rip down its middle letting in a red shaft of light from the setting sun. She rolled off the bed and stood at the window, peering through the rip. The curved silhouettes of the Quonset huts that housed all the New Aussies hovered over the dark outlines of drunks staggering around to piss at the back fence. She fell back on to the little narrow bed and hugged the pillow. It smelled of him.

“I could love you,” she murmured, “but I could hate you too.” She buried her face in the pillow, still snivelling. She dreamed of strolling in the bush, hand in hand, smelling the gum trees, frolicking in lush green grass by a billabong.

*

A huge roar rises up from the crowded bar. I’m trying to squeeze my way through the pack to bring in the dirty glasses. The barmen have run out of glasses. I’m holding handfuls of them above my head.

“Get ’em down, I can’t see,” someone yells above the roar. They’re watching the Olympic games on the new TV that Mr. Counter put up specially for the Games. It was the first TV any of us had ever seen. I reached the counter, put down the glasses and struggled out to get more. Outside there was a bloke taking bets. They were all giving him money on John Landy to win the gold 1500. “Paying gold or nothing!” calls the bookie, and they can’t give him their money quick enough.

“When’s the race?” I ask the bloke next to me.

“Stuffed if I know.”

I don’t recognize the bookie. He’s not Skeeter who I usually ran for back behind the fence near the dunny. He spies me looking at him.

“Piss off, sonny, you’re too young to bet,” he yells in between calling out, “Landy to win, c’mon, place your bets!”

“Two bob to place!”

“No, nothing doing. Win or nothing! It’s five to one to win! Place your bets!”

“Two bob for him to lose,” I says, without knowing what I’m doing. I don’t even have two bob on me.

“Piss off you little shit,” the bookie scowls, “go home to your mother.”

My ears go red and me eyes are burning. I’m gonna blow. I leap over the blokes crowded around him and grab his nose. He’s only a little bloke, and his nose is all puffy and red, not that different from my old man’s.

“You leave my mother out of it!” I shout.

The bookie shrieks and grabs my wrist. He’s got these big hands and in no time, I’m down on my knees, his hand bending back my wrist.

“Next time pick on someone your own size, sonny,” and he knees me on the chin and I go sprawling backwards, and my face bangs against the blokes’ legs and boots. They take no notice. I crawl away, and they’re still betting like nothing happened. I stand up feeling stupid. Now I’m flushed all over and I’m going to rush back into the mob and have another go. I feel a bit of blood dripping off my chin and pull out my hanky to wipe it off. Then I see Grecko standing on the other side of the mob, his arms crossed. He’s eyeing me off. I start collecting glasses.

I make my way back into the bar. There’s a hush and low mutters all round.

“What’s going on?” I ask a bloke.

“It’s the Landy race.”

And they’re off! I turn to see where the bookie is, but he’s nowhere in sight. The runners are all spread out, but Landy’s keeping up. By now, though, we can all see that he’s not going to win. Poor bastard. Everyone had a lot riding on him. The blokes in the bar start yelling.

“C’mon, ya tired shit! Run, you fuckn idiot!”

Poor bugger ran his heart out, but it wasn’t good enough. The blokes start calling out for more drinks. I look for the bookie again. He’s gone. No wonder he wouldn’t take bets on a place. Landy gets the bronze. Poor bugger.

The six o’clock bell goes and the barmen start filling up the glasses for the final swill. I’m running around grabbing up glasses. There’s a lot of drunks staggering around outside. I’m laughing and joking with the barmen. I’m looking forward to a beer with them once we get the bar cleaned up and the last of the customers out the doors.

*

It’s Saturday night and we’re all sitting on the floor in the passage outside the old bar back door, leaning against the wall, legs stretched out in front of us, our beers sitting on the floor next to us. It’s half past six and the cops have left already, each of them carrying a couple of bottles of beer under their arms. Mr. Counter is in his little office counting the money with Sugar, the head barman. We’re talking about the race.

“Landy should have won.”

“Bull shit. Never had a chance.”

“The Argus put too much pressure on him.”

“Either he could do it or he couldn’t.”

“Did ya have anything on him?”

“Yair, just a couple of bob.”

“I tried to bet on him losing,” I say, “but the fuckn bookie wouldn’t take the bet.”

“Watch your language, young fella!”

As if anybody cared. It was old Bulla talking – had a big name for himself because nobody ever heard him swear. A big bloke, as wide as he was tall and big beefy hands that made a beer glass look like a toy. He was the size a Mount Bulla, so that’s what they called him.

“Get stuffed!” I say, a cheeky look at the other blokes.

“Hey Bulla, you gunna take that from a cheeky little kid?”

“I’m not a little kid,” I says.

Bulla is the only one of us still standing. We all knew why. Because if he sat down on the floor he couldn’t get up!

“You see this?” says Bulla, looking very serious, his eyes just little slits sitting behind a round puffy face. He puts the glass of beer to his lips and gulps the beer down, then holds out the glass. “Think of this as your neck,” he says with a smirk. Then his fist starts to tighten around the slender little glass and you can see his face going red like he’s trying to lift a big weight. His whole arm is shaking with the pressure, and we all start clapping, “Go! Go! Go!” and he clenches his teeth and then, “Pop!” the glass shatters in his hand and bits fly across the room and he drops what’s left of it on the floor.

We’re all cheering.

“You beauty! G’donya mate! Give him another beer!”

There’s blood on his hand, but he just licks it off. Mr. Counter comes out of his office. He’s got a shitty on.

“You better clean it up. Then piss off home. No more free beer tonight.” He looks across to me and calls me to his office. He sends Sugar out and pulls me in, closing the door.

“So, who you got in your room?”

“What do you mean?”

“The girl, I know you got her in your room.”

“Girl in me room? Gees, wish I did!”

“Don’t bull shit me. And did you do your matric exams?”

“Yair, I said I would.”

“And did you pass?”

“I dunno. Did the best I could.”

“And the girl?”

I look down, decide to come clean, almost. “I met her when I came out of the exam at the Baptist hall.”

“And?”

“That’s all.”

“What’s she doing in your room, then? I’m not running a brothel here, you know.”

“It’s just that…”

“What?”

“Well she didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“What do you mean? Doesn’t she live around here?”

“Yair, down on Spruhan Avenue, I think.”

“So why isn’t she there?”

“Because she hates her father and mother and they kicked her out.”

“She can’t stay here. If the cops found out they’d close me down.”

“I’ll take care of her.”

“I bet you will.”

“I don’t mean like that.”

“Oh sure. You’ve got yourself a nice little piece and you think that’s perfect.”

“I’ll take care of her, I promise. I love her!”

“How old is she anyway?”

“Fifteen.”

“She didn’t look that old to me.”

“You saw her?”

“Yes, when you were mucking around with Nipper outside the kitchen.”

“Please, Mr. Counter, can’t I keep her?”

“No, she’s got to go. What if her parents come down here looking for her?”

“They won’t. They don’t care about her. Anyway, they probably both drink here. Could’ve been here even tonight.”

“What’s their name?”

“Dunno.”

“What’s her name?”

“Iris.”

“Take her home. Now!”

“But Mr. Counter. Just tonight, Let her stay just tonight and I promise I’ll take her home first thing tomorrow.”

“And what about school? Doesn’t she go to school?”

“It’s Sunday tomorrow.”

“She goes now! Go down to your room and take her out. Not through the front door, out the way you brought her in. I don’t want to see her. She’s never been here as far as I’m concerned.”

“But…”

“No buts!”

I said nothing more. I was getting all worked up again. Dad! I dunno Dad. He’s your best friend, and here I am seriously think¬ing of hitting him. And I know if I say anything more, he’ll call me a little shit and kick me out along with Iris. And what the hell would I do then? I’d have to go to Teachers College or something, because I wouldn’t have anywhere else to live. Dad! I need another beer. I’m starting to see why you hit the booze like you did.

The other barmen had left. Only Sugar stayed. He lived in anyway, had the room next to mine. We called him Sugar because he was diabetic. He gave me a smirk as I pushed my empty glass to him and he filled it up. I gulped it down and banged the empty glass on the counter. My fists were clenched tight, the nails digging into my palms. I was all set to knock that smirk off his face. But Mr. Counter was standing up close, watching my face, drumming his fingers on the counter.

“You better go,” he says quietly, looking at Sugar. There were beads of sweat on Sugar’s bald head and he stared right at me too. I don’t think he liked me.

*

It’s Monday, and it’s my first real day at work. I suppose you’d call me the rouse-about. I spent all my time sweeping, wiping down counters and window sills, mopping up floors, chit-chatting the customers, gathering up the glasses and pouring a few beers when the lunch time crowd from Fords showed up.

The worst part of the job was cleaning the dunny. I had to fortify myself, like they say, with a couple of beers before I went out back and tried to clean the ramshackle piece of crap. It was beyond cleaning. I’d just hose it down with lots of water and sprinkle some horrible smelling disinfectant all over. And I did the same to the rotten old back fence with its green mould on it and stench from the piss of a thousand cocks.

This day there was this bunch of blokes squatting down behind the dunny. They were yelling and screaming then all of a sudden they’d jump up.

“Ya fuckn bastard!” yells one. He picks up something, I couldn’t see what it was, a green lump of a thing and flings it out into the paddock and it caught on one of the big scotch thistles and hung there like a wet rag. The other blokes turn and laugh, except for one of them who screams and screeches at them.

“That’s me fuckn favourite!” he screams, “ya fuckn bastards!”

So I go over, and there, sitting quietly are five big green frogs, I never saw any so big, sitting there very still.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask.

“What’s it fuckn look like?”

“Here, sonny, here’s ten bob. Go and get us a few beers, and one for yourself.”

“Give me your old glasses then.”

I run off to the bar. I get up to the tap and start pouring and I see Sugar eyeing me off.

“Where you going with that?”

“The blokes out back want their glasses filled,” I says, “what’s it fuckn look like?”

“You cheeky little shit. Where’s the money? Are you paying for it?”

“They gave me ten bob. Here, see?” I have to put the glasses down on the counter and stop pouring the beer while I reach into my pocket. “Satisfied now?”

I give him a smirk just like he smirks. He licks his lips. There’s those beads of sweat coming out on his bald head again. He’s a skinny narrow shit, even smaller than me. I turn to face the till and ring up the sale, but just as I do, Sugar snatches the note out of my hand.

“I’ll do that,” he says, “you’re not ready to be handling the money.”

“What do you mean?” My ears are already flaming red, I know it. I look at him and grin in a nasty way. I’m looking at his tie. Yair, that’s right. He wears a tie all the time, even in the public bar. I grab his hand with the ten bob note and snatch it back. And then I grab him by his tie and pull it tight. His eyes start to go wide like they were going to pop out. And the sweat is really pouring out of his bare head and down his cheeks and into his eyes. I let him go and ring up the money in the till and scoop out the change. But he’s still standing there, looking like he’s choking to death. Then he starts swinging his arms around and yelling all kinds of nonsense. He swipes his arms across the bar counter and knocks all the glasses, the ones I just filled, right off the bar and they go smashing to the floor. I’m just standing, my mouth open, and I know I’ve got a silly grin on my face, but I can’t help it. Grecko comes up out of nowhere and gathers Sugar into his arms. He looks across at me.

“Run to the kitchen and get a biscuit, some sugar or something.”

I stand there, rooted to the spot. What the hell is he talking about, Dad?

“Go on, you little shit. He’s having a fit!”

“So what?”

“So, if you don’t move yourself I’ll knock your fuckn head off. Now go! He’s going into a coma.”

Gees, Dad. I didn’t know, did I? But Grecko looked like he was really going to do me in, so I took off like you wouldn’t believe and came back with a biscuit. Sugar’s down on the floor, his tongue rolling around in his mouth, spit and dribble all over the place. Grecko rams his fist in Sugar’s mouth so he can’t bite his tongue. Gees Dad! He looks like he’s gunna kick it!

“The biscuit! Stick a bit in his mouth! Go on!”

I push nearly the whole biscuit into Sugar’s mouth and Grecko cries out, “not the whole fuckn biscuit, you idiot, you’ll choke the poor bugger!”

“Gees, Dad! I didn’t know!”

“Gees who? Are you going off the deep end too, are you?”

I’ve got my finger wedged into Sugar’s mouth, between his teeth, trying to scoop out some of the biscuit. I don’t need to, though, because Sugar’s coughing it all up. It’s so disgusting I let go and jump back.

“You fuckn little weasel, you’re a useless shit. That’s what hap¬pens when you stay at school as long as you have,” jokes Grecko.

Some of the bickie must have got down him because Sugar’s gone quiet and he’s not thrashing around anymore. Grecko takes his fist out of Sugar’s mouth and he swallows a bit, and I hand over the few bits of biscuit I have left. He swallows that down too.

“He’s gunna be OK,” says Grecko as he lifts Sugar up onto his wobbly legs. Sugar leans against the bar and Grecko grabs a wet cloth from the sink under the bar counter to mop up the sweat on Sugar’s face and bald head.

“I’m all right! I’m all right!” says Sugar, “leave me, I got work to do.” He staggers off around the bar and starts to arrange the glasses and bottles. It’s just then I remember the four beers I had to deliver round by the dunny. The blokes will be getting worked up. I pour the beers then off I go, proud of my being able to carry four glasses of beer without a tray and without spilling them.

I just turned the corner at the back fence on the track to the dunny, when one of the blokes nearly runs into me.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“Sugar threw a fit. Grecko made me help.”

The mention of Grecko slowed the bloke down. I think he would have hit me. “Gimme the beers,” he says, and he takes two and turns back to his mates. They’re still squatting behind the dunny. I get closer and see the frogs are still where they were when I left. I hand over the other beers and the bloke that gave me the ten-bob note says, “well, where’s the change?” I had to feel around in me pockets because I couldn’t remember what I did with it in all the mucking about with Sugar. “I’ve got it here some place.”

“Come on! Come on! You little shit. I’m putting it all on Toes.”

“Who?”

“Toes. The one on the left, taking big gulps of air. He’s Toes. Can’t you see how big his feet are?”

I find the money in the bottom of my pocket. I hand it to him and he looks it over. I’m not sure if it’s all there.

“All right, I’m putting two bob on Toes,” he calls, standing up to swill his beer, then back down to squat. There’s a bunch of money sitting on the side. “Sonny, you can be the umpire When you call ’go!’ we all set our jumpers to go for it.”

This is fun. I could do with a beer myself. “On your marks!” I says, raising my hand like I’ve seen them do, “go!” and I drop me arm. Then I burst out laughing because nothing happens. The blokes are tickling the asses of the jumpers, but they take no notice. They’re just sitting there like frogs, gulping a bit, but like they were stones.

I just can’t help it. I lean down close within inches of Toes and in my loudest voice I yell, “go you bastards, go!” I saw him flinch and I swear his toes waggled a bit. The other blokes saw it too and they jumped up screaming, “asshole, you can’t do that. It’s against the rules!”

“What rules?” screams Toes’s handler, “there aren’t no rules. Anyway, he hasn’t jumped!”

And then Toes jumped. He went a good couple of feet. Trouble was he didn’t stop there. He kept going. His handler ran after him, struggling through the thistles, getting pricked right and left, falling over, screaming at the thistles calling them every shitty word you could think of. The other blokes started tickling their frogs’ asses. One frog made a little step forward and that seemed to set the others off. They leaped in all directions and kept going. But the one that took the little step stayed put. His handler quickly claimed victory, saying that the frogs that didn’t stay on the course were disqualified! He leaned over and grabbed the pile of money and took off around the dunny and back to the pub. The other blokes were still running in the thistles, getting pricked. I nearly felt sorry for them, because I’ve told you how I hate those damn prickles too. I squatted down and finished off their beers then quietly sneaked away to the pub to do my next jobs. If my job was going to be like this every day, it was going to be great! Couldn’t beat it, could ya dad?

*

Dad I remember you liked the dago. The two of you joked all the time and you called him Spuds, because like lots of new Aussies from Italy, he had a market garden, growing veggies, and he’d bring spuds in to sell in the bar. I thought you were bar mates but you told me that you never bought him a drink and neither did he for you, because you always drank alone.

Swampy shows up this morning and has Spuds in tow. They were waiting at the door right on nine o’clock when we opened up the old bar. I was polishing the counter, trying to look busy, but the truth was I had a hangover from the night before, a biggest night of many nights before, because me and my school mates waited up all night for the blokes in the back room of the Addy to give us our matric results that would be in the newspaper next morning. All but one of us scraped through, and I was proud to introduce most of them to their first serious boozing session. We did a crawl of all the back doors of the pubs in Geelong. Them were the days, I tell you! But now I was paying for it. I was still half asleep and had a sledge hammer in my head. Nearly slept in, I did, and if it wasn’t for Abbie I’d still be sound asleep in me room.

“G’day Swampy,” I say, “how’s the veggies going Spuds?”

“Don’t-a say this is the little shit that was Harry’s-a kid?” says Spuds like a real Aussie. He nudges Swampy with his elbow and grins at me. He’s the only I-tie I know. Solid scrawny bloke, dark greasy looking skin, nearly as dark as an abo, and with lots of black hair. Wavy, a bit like mine, and combed right back, not like mine, because I always had a straight part on the left. He’s got these big hands though, and real thick fingers, I suppose from all that digging in his veggie garden. He ruffles my hair with his big fingers.

“Get out you bastard,” I cry.

“Haw, haw,” growls Swampy, rubbing his stubbly cheek with the back of his grimy hand, “he’s poor Harry’s kid. Hey, you want a beer, kid? It’s on us.”

I’m about to say “you bet” when Mr. Counter comes out from behind the bar and gives me a look. “All right Swampy, none of that leading my men astray.”

“Haw! Haw! We could use a bloke like him today. Canya rent him out? Haw! Haw!”

I’m thinking what the hell’s going on. Rent me out? On a farm? Digging up potatoes?

Mr. Counter pours them a couple of beers. “He’s pretty useless,” he jokes, or at least I hope so.

“We’ll whip him into shape for ya. Won’t we Spuds?”

“Yair,” he says with his big grin, and tries to ruffle my hair but I duck away.

“Fuck off, you bastards,” I say with me own grin.

“Shit! Haw! Haw!” says Swampy, “the little bugger can swear too. That’ll go a long way!”

I look at Mr. Counter. I don’t really want to go with Swampy. I’m looking forward to the next few days. It’s school holidays and Christmas has been and gone. I’m getting the hang of the bar and getting pretty good at pouring beers using the old taps, with just the right amount of head. And I can ring the money up at the old till and do the change quick as lightning. I reckon I’m faster than the other barmen now. A pot of beer is one-and-thruppence-hap-peny—I know, it’s spelled all wrong, but it’s how we say it, isn’t it—so it takes a while to count out the change of a ten-bob note, even a two bob coin. New Year’s Day is a few days away, and on that day I’ll be eighteen so I’m looking forward to a big cele-bration, old enough to drink and drive! But I’m real busy working for Mr. Counter because the old pub’s bursting at its seams with customers. Gees, they put away some grog! Please Mr. Counter, don’t rent me out!

“I’ll tell you what,” says Mr. Counter, a bit of a smirk on his face, looking at me sideways, “you can have him after New Year’s Day. I need him here up to then. Anyway, you two blokes aren’t going anywhere but here the next few days, are you? It’s New Years’ after all.”

“Haw! Haw!” Swampy licks his moustache and rubs his leg with his toe and leans all over the bar counter. “Whatcha think, Spuds old mate?”

“I think we oughta have another beer and-a think on it.”

“Haw! Haw! Yair! Two more beers Eddie, old mate. And one for the young’n here,” and he tries to grab me, but I duck out of his way.

“So who’s paying for this round?” asks Mr. Counter.

“Shit! I forgot me wallet!” says Swampy.

“Poor bugger. He’s got no money,” says Spuds, “hey sonny, ya gonna pay for this-a round?”

“Get stuffed!” I grin.

“Eddie, for Christ sake, when ya gunna teach your barmen some manners? Haw! Haw!” And with that, Swampy plonks down a tenner. Mr. Counter grabs it up and rings up the beers. He looks to me and nods towards the new bar, “You better go across and get it ready to open. The beer pipes need flushing.”

So I took off.

*

What happened to Iris? I know you’re thinking I fucked her over. Well, I kind of did, but not like you think. I mean, she wanted me, didn’t she? She came on to me and just got me at the right time. OK. Any time’s the right time. Shit Dad. What was I going to do? I did the right thing, didn’t I? Poor bitch she was in trouble with her old man, and what the hell, with her mum watching them. I dunno, Dad. I mean, I asked her back to my room at the pub, and she came there and what else could I do? I took care of her as best I could, didn’t I? I even gave up my bed.

That night. I had a few grogs with the blokes after we finished up and the customers were gone and the cops had their fill too. We got into a drinking game and they all ganged up on me and got me to mix my drinks, beer and red plonk and Corio whiskey. We were sitting in the passageway, leaning against the wall, our legs out straight like we always did. They’re all half-pissed, and I’m well and truly gone. I try to stand up so I can shout the round—and it cost a lot because there was at least eight of us, so that’s eight shouts minimum for everyone to do his bit. I’m trying to roll over and put my hands down to push myself up and one of the blokes kicks my foot away from under me and I go ass-over-tit on to the floor and the blokes are laughing their heads off, and then I’m crawling to the little cupboard where I serve the beer for the Snake Pit, and I dig my nails into the old wallpaper on the wall and claw my way up.

“OK mateys. Watchya having?” I don’t wait for an answer, I just call out to whoever is behind the bar in the cupboard, I think it was Sugar, “eight whiskeys and sixteen pots!”

“You’re drunk you silly little bugger,” says Sugar, treating me like he was me big brother or something, his smirk bigger than usual.

“Get stuffed Sugar, you skinny bald shit, or I’ll ram a biscuit down your throat.”

“Yair, you and who else?”

I push myself away from the wall and take a step towards him. He’s holding a beer gun in his hand and he’s got eight pots lined up ready to fill them. He points the gun at me face and I go, “yair, all right,” and I point my finger in me wide open mouth, “fill ’er up right here!” And Sugar’s smirk changes into a big laugh and I can see his yellow teeth.

“OK then. The customer’s always right,” says Sugar and he lets fly with the gun and a big stream of beer hits me in the face and then finds its way into my mouth. I can’t swallow it quick enough and it goes down the wrong way and I cough and choke and stagger back to the wall, beer dripping all down my front.

“You fuckn cunt!” I scream, “gimme more!”

But Mr. Counter shows up out of his office from counting his money and stands there, his hands on his hips, glaring at Sugar.

“For Christ sake, Sugar. He’s just a kid,” he says. And he looks at all the other blokes who are in stitches, but then they see that Mr. Counter is going to tell them to get the shit out. “All right boys,” he says, all formal, “beer’s off. Get home to your wives and kids. And Sugar, shut down the cupboard and clean the place up.” Mr. Counter turns to me. I’m stooped over like a chimp, and I feel like my eyes are going to pop out of me face. “As for you,” he says, “get the hell out of here.” I’m trying to move me feet but they won’t move. I lean against the wall with both hands and I’m stooped over, and then I’m barfing all over the old wall, and the vomit dribbles in big dollops down to the floor. I look around to Mr. Counter, nearly losing my balance and I’ve got a stupid grin on me face.

“You know where the bucket and mop are,” he says, being too calm about it. “Clean it up.” And he goes back in his office.

I wipe my mouth on the back of my bare arm and I stagger off towards the kitchen and out the door to the gully trap and the bucket and mop. Nipper starts sniping at me and I fall over and bang my elbow. Nipper’s got my foot and I swear at him but can’t shake it loose. I reach for the mop and I manage to stand up and I lift it up with both hands then jab it down hard right on Nipper’s head. But he still won’t let go. So I turn the mop upside down and this time jab the handle down hard into his ribs. Lucky for him I was so drunk because the handle wasn’t on centre, otherwise I would have skewered him for sure. But it was enough to make him yelp and I got me foot loose and grabbed the bucket and hose to fill it with water. Nipper’s going crazy and doing that high-pitched bark that drives everyone nuts. I get tangled up in Nipper’s chain and I’m going around and round and don’t know what I’m doing. I fall down, the bucket and mop with me and I’m all wet, lying on my back, Nipper on top a me. He’s going for the juggler, I reckon. I’m slapping at his mouth and he’s baring his teeth and his nose is nearly touching mine. I hear Dad telling me to get up, but I can’t move and I see Nipper coming down on me. I’m going to have a big bite mark on my neck or face. I’m done for, I reckon. I close my eyes and clench my teeth, getting ready for the end and then all of a sudden, I feel someone grab my leg and I open my eyes just in time to see Nipper hanging upside down, Grecko holding him up by the tail. Nipper’s so startled he’s stopped barking for once. And I’m rolling away, spewing my guts out as Grecko’s holding Nipper at arm’s length while he unravels me from the chain. He gently drops Nipper down, and Nipper scurries away and tries to hide behind the gully trap. And I’m now sitting up, feeling sober almost, shaking like you wouldn’t believe. Grecko picks up the bucket that’s still half full of water and he sloshes it into my face.

“Fuck you!” I say, and he laughs.

“You better get yourself cleaned up. You can’t get in bed with your pussy smelling and looking like that.”

And it was then I remembered Iris was still in my room and that I promised Mr. Counter I’d get rid of her. Gees, Dad. I dunno. What am I going do?

“What did you say?” says Grecko looking at me like I was Nipper.

“Nothing. Just talking to myself.”

“Tell you what. I’ll clean up your spew and you get yourself into the bathroom and clean yourself up. You can’t go to bed looking and smelling like that. You won’t get no pussy.” He grins. I look up at him.

“Grecko, me mate. You’re a bloody good bloke, but I tell ya, there’s no pussy in me room.”

“Yair, yair. Now get to the bathroom.”

I’m still looking up at him. I want to thank him for saving my life. I go to shake hands and he slaps my hand lightly and says, “go on! Get the hell out of here!”

I stagger into the bathroom and do what all the blokes say you have to do to sober up. Get into a cold shower with your clothes on. That’s what they say, Dad, you said it yourself enough times, didn’t you? So I did, and it made me as cold as buggery and I dashed out and hit my shins on the bath getting over the lip, and then I look all round and there’s no towel, so I start rubbing myself down with my old pants but they had spew on them and were wet as well, so I got into a panic and rushed out of the bathroom and down the passage to my room and turned the handle only to find that it was locked and I never had a key because I never locked the door. I’m standing there naked, shivering like buggery when Sugar comes sauntering down to go to his room.

“What the hell are you doing!” he asks, his whole body shaking like mine, only he’s laughing and I’m shivering.

I look at him and I can’t say anything because I think I’m going to cry, that’s what! Gees, Dad. I can’t do that. They’ll think I’m a little kid! And I’m so cold! And what will Iris say? Dad! Help me!

“You poor little bugger,” says Sugar. Let me open it. And he uses his key to open my door. I didn’t think to ask him how come he had a key, but I found out later that all the doors opened with the same key!

So he opened the door for me and he tried to peak in to see if it was true I had a sheila in there. But I was sober enough by now to bump him out of the way and push me way into my room and slam the door shut behind me. Then it was pitch black and I didn’t want to turn on the light because I might wake Iris up. So I thought I’d get in my bed nice and gentle and snuggle up to her to get warm, so I did.

Only trouble was, she wasn’t there. Then I saw that the torn blind was gone, and the window was open. She’d pissed off!

*

It’s New Year’s eve and I’m working in the night cupboard next to the old bar pouring the drinks for the Snake Pit. The hags there are enough to turn anybody off sex for life! Then Millie comes up. Yair, remember her Dad? I heard later that she went to your funeral. Can you believe that? You must have turned over in your grave, even if you had a hard-on as well! Gees, sorry Dad. I didn’t mean that. Don’t know what I’m thinking these days. I’ve had a few drinks, I admit. Yair, I know I’m not supposed to when I’m working.

“G’day darlin’,” she says, giving me a sneaky look, “what’s with your little friend?”

“You want a beer or what?” I ask, treating her like the silly bitch she was.

“You got what you wanted then you kicked her out!” she says, looking at me like she was my Latin teacher.

“A beer or what?”

“A beer and a lemon squash for me little friend.” She tries to get up close to me. I pull back like any bloke would. She reeks of brandy. “You can sneak a little gin in the squash if you like. Me little friend would like that.”

“The gin will cost you.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t do that to your little friend would ya?” She grins and licks the corners of her lips like she always does when she’s either coming on to you or she’s making trouble.

I put up the drinks and say, very business-like and ignoring her bullshit, “that’s one and tuppence.”

“You want me to tell her you spiked her drink for her?” Millie asks, full of mischief.

“I gave you what you asked for, Millie.”

“Yair, and so did she, didn’t she?” Millie grabs the drinks and swaggers off down the passage.

“Next please,” and I go on filling glasses. I’m too busy doing my job, but in the back of my mind, I know what she’s up to and I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ve been having such a good time in me job, been so busy too, working for Mr. Counter, and having a lot of fun drinking with me mates, I just never thought much about Iris because she up and pissed off. It wasn’t my fault, was it? I did the right thing. I just didn’t get around to bothering about her after that. I had too much drinking to do.

The six o’clock bell goes and the cops are helping clear the bar and settle themselves in for a drinking session to bring in the New Year. It’s going be a great night! I can see Dopey across the other side of the bar, and the Preacher has just walked into the Snake Pit.

“Good evening Ladies!” he says, standing tall, his bible in hand raised above his head, “may the Lord be with you, and now get the buggery out of here!”

They all snarl at him and call him all the assholes they can think of and someone turns off the lights and it’s pitch black for a few seconds, but they come on again.

“The Lord God has sent you a signal. Time to get out, or you will be stuck in the valley of the shadow of death!” He walks further into the Snake Pit and using his bible as a kind of fly swatter, shoos the women and their men out the door. I’m busy but I’m trying to see who my supposed little friend was, but I don’t see anyone with Millie. And Millie grabs the Preacher by the balls and says, “see ya later darling” as he swats her hand, ever so lightly, with his bible.

“May God be with you my dear!”

*

About half a mile up the Melbourne road from the pub there was an old saw mill. They were pulling it down getting ready for the new double lane highway to come through. I used to visit it when I was little and me mum was still at home. She had a friend there who sometimes took care of me. I was scared shitless of the mill because of the whirring noise of the giant saws. I imagined falling into one and me being sawed in half. Just behind the mill there was an old shack that was hardly even a shack because they’d started to smash it down too, in fact it was a charred wreck because some delinquents (not me!) had set fire to it a few months ago. But like often happens, they’d put the fire out with a lot of water and some nice green grass had grown up in amongst the charred ruins. So when I woke up here, lying on the nice soft grass, I felt like I’d sort of come home, except that who was beside me was none other than Iris, asleep, curled up cuddling into my back. I had no idea how I got here because I got well and truly plastered that night, the night of New Year’s Eve

I twist me head around to look at her. We’re both naked under an old blanket that looked like it had come off my bed back at the pub. My head’s pounding away at me and each time I turn it I think it’s going to explode. I need a drink! A bloody Mary with a heavy drop of bitters the blokes at the pub reckon will fix it. The pain is really bad as I struggle to turn around and face her. I twiddle my finger lightly around one of her nipples and she doesn’t budge. But I can’t get up the energy to keep at it so I fall back and close my eyes waiting for the pounding to stop. My back’s getting cold because the blanket isn’t heavy enough to keep out the chill of the early morning. I can feel the dew on the grass beside me, and the chill coming up from the ground beneath, which is as hard as a rock. I start stroking the contours of her body, at first lightly, then followed by a tickle around her nipples. I don’t know what it’s doing to her, but I know I’m starting to feel it and the trouble is that my head’s feeling it too and the throbbing ache is unbearable.

She’s awake, I know, I can see her eyelids flinch. She’s a pretty nice piece of work, I’m thinking to myself. Can’t believe my luck having run into her outside the Baptist church after my Latin exam. I really like her thick blonde hair that’s cut almost short enough to be a boy’s. But it’s kind of sexy when it resists my fingers as I run them through it, kind of like ruffling Nipper’s fur. And her skin, it’s got a gorgeous light tan, smooth and oily. I love to run my hand over it and rub my leg against hers. She’s a doll, that what she is, Dad. If only you could see me now, Dad. But then again, maybe you can.

“This ground’s getting hard,” I whisper to her. But her eyes stay closed.

“Where the hell are we?” she says, still eyes closed.

“Open your eyes and you’ll see.”

“Shit no. It’s too nice just snuggling here.” She pulls the blanket around her and it slides off my back.

I start to get into her. To hell with my pounding head. I gotta do what I gotta do what I have to do what I wanna do what I…

“Hey, leave me alone. It’s too early.” She tries to push me away and I’m having none of it.

“Come on little nipper!” I cry, and I fling my head back and the pounding nearly knocks me out and she rubs her knee into my groin and I cry out “Oh God!! Oh Ovid!” and I jerk off all over her leg.

“Shit! You dirty bastard!” Iris cries, now her eyes are wide open.

I roll on to my back and my ears are all flushed. There’s a stone digging into the bottom of my spine and I push myself up. The pounding has stopped and in its place I have a dull heavy ache just above my eyes.

“What the fuck are we doing here?” I look down at her.

“We ran away!”

“We what? Ran away from what?”

“We just ran away!”

“Why?”

“Don’t you remember? Of course you don’t. You was drunk as a shit and going on about your Dad. And I got sick of it and told you to shut the fuck up. And you started screaming at me and I started screaming back, and that bloke in the room next to yours started banging on the wall telling us to shut up.”

“You were in my room?”

“Yair. I was.”

“But how did you get there?”

“Sneaked in when you were all swilling it down celebrating New Year’s Eve.”

“Through my window? You sneaked in through my window?”

“Nah. Down that dark passage while you were all boozing. You remember the lights went out in the Snake Pit?”

“Yair.”

“Well I popped out and down the passage to the bathroom, and then later to your room.”

And now it all began to sink in. “So it was you with Millie?”

“Yair.”

“How do you know her? She’s a fuckn witch and the pub bike.”

“Yair, I know. But she’s me sister’s best friend, and I don’t care what you call her, she’s me best friend too because when I have a fight with me Mum and Dad I go to her. And she understands.”

“Shit! Sorry. Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I’ve seen Millie do a few things. Once with my Dad.”

“You’re kidding?”

“It’s true. I could have done her myself…”

“Just like me mum says. You’re a fuckn animal like them all.”

“Being an animal is fuckn good, as long as I don’t get kicked around like Nipper.”

“It’s you does the kicking.”

“Yair, I know. It’s when I lose my temper.”

“Yair, I know.”

I’m on my knees now, kneeling over her. She looks into my face. Her lovely pale blue-grey eyes are so big but I just wonder what’s behind them. I know what’s behind mine, a horrible awful pain. But hers? She didn’t drink much, I don’t think, though how would I know because I was plastered all the time. “You got a hangover like I have?” I ask.

“Nah. Not me. I don’t drink much. Makes me sick.”

“Well, I’ll just have to make up for you and drink your share.” I joke.

“Yair.”

I look at her eyes again, trying to see what’s behind them. They don’t let me in. She doesn’t smile much.

“Where did you go all that time anyway? You took off that night through my window. I was so relieved.”

“You what? You wanted to get rid of me?”

“No, of course not. Mr. Counter told me you couldn’t stay and I had to get rid of you that very night. And when I got into my room, half sobered up after a bit of a run-in with Mr. Counter, you were gone.”

“Yair. I took off because I didn’t want to be your sex slave.”

“Fuckn what?”

“Your sex slave.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“I stay locked in your room until you’re ready and you come in full of booze and root me whenever you want. Me mum warned me about it lots of times.”

“And your dad? Him fucking you and your mum looking on, and you’re worried you’re gunna be my sex slave? Shit!”

“I made that up.”

“Made up what? About your mum or about your dad or all of it?” My ears are getting red, and she can see it.

“I was just trying to get you to let me stay with you. I didn’t want to go home that night.”

“Well, I wanted you to come home with me and you said no and then you said yes. What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“And by the way. Where the hell were you all that time I was gone? You never even came looking for me, did you?”

“I had to work. I never had time. Mr. Counter worked me to death.”

“Bull shit. You never even thought about me, did you? All you blokes want to do is booze, booze, booze. It’s what me mum always said.”

“I thought of you every night and every morning I woke up…”

“Yair, and taking care of things on your own. Men. You’re a bunch of bastards.”

“Your mum’s filling your head with bull shit. Just because your old man’s an asshole.”

“He’s not me father.”

“But you said…”

“Yair well he’s not.”

“But you said he was doing you at home with your mum watching.”

“Yair well I told you I was lying.”

“Lying like how?”

“Me real father’s dead, that’s what.”

“So who’s the bloke at home you didn’t want to go home to?”

“God killed me real father.”

“You’re a fuckn crazy bitch, Iris. What are you going on about?””

“I’m cold. We need to get out of here.”

Iris stands up and looks around for her clothes. She’s got the same ones she had after me Latin exam. I look for my pants and I see they’re the same ones I had too, me old school pants, and I remember that I don’t go to school anymore, and I have a job and I suddenly feel free, at least for a few seconds. Then I remember that I have to work today, New Year’s Day, a big day at the pub. Mr. Counter will be looking for me. “What you gunna do?” I ask her.

“Go home, I s’pose.”

“All right, then. See ya.”

“That’s it? No kiss good-bye?” she says, half grinning and I’m not sure if she’s joking or not.

“Gees, Iris. What the hell!” And I lean over to her and awkwardly give her a peck on the cheek. She grabs me and gives me her unbe¬lievable wet kiss and I just feel like collapsing, my legs buckle and she can see it. She smiles a big smile.

“See ya,” she says, and runs off, picking her way through the charred ruins of the old shack.

“Hey, wait! I’ll come with you!” I’m running, my head throbbing with every step, trying to miss the giant thistles and the charred ruins, but she keeps running. And I don’t know what I’m doing. because I really like my job at the pub and drinking with the blokes. Dad! Are you there? I really need you. She stops at the edge of the Melbourne Road, and there’s cars speeding past both ways, the dust flies up and gets in my mouth that was already dry. I pull up, out a breath. “Iris! Wait for me! I’m coming with you!”

She turns, her little skinny body, got no shape at all really, but it’s the way she stands with her hands on her hips, smiling bigger than I ever saw her, and she’s not puffing at all like me. She’s standing, her hips pushed forward. And she waits. I take her hand and I wait for another one of those sloppy kisses, but she squeezes my hand tight and drags me across the Melbourne road, a car nearly hitting us as we dart across, the car horn blaring out and the bloke behind the wheel screaming at us.

Now we’re making our way down the newly paved footpath on Spruhan Avenue. Most of the commission houses are finished on this street. Some of them even have gardens and a bit of a lawn.

“Which one’s yours?” I ask, and she let’s go my hand and starts to run again, and my head’s throbbing like buggery. She’s darting around like a little kid. “Gees, Iris, me fuckn head’s killing me.” I’m holding my head and I’m slouching along.

She stops in front of a commission house that must have been one of the first to be built, because it looks all old and worn, and there’s massive weeds in the garden, well not really a garden because I don’t think anything had ever been planted, and of course there’s those damn thistles. There’s weeds growing out of the gutters, even the roof, and all along the front of the house—a double fronted house too, done with that stuff, stucco they call it, a dirty yellow—there’s rows and rows of empty beer bottles stacked up with a few whiskey and wine bottles poking out. There’s a broken front gate that’s hanging off its hinge, all rusted. She steps over it and I stop right at the gate. I’m wondering what the hell I’m doing here.

“Well, are you coming in or aren’t ya?”

“So whose empties are they?” I grin, pointing at the bottles.

“Me big sister and her mates.”

“Nah, women couldn’t drink that much beer!”

“I said her mates, and there’s also me stepfather.”

“Do I have to come in?”

“Well, why’d ya follow me here if you’re not gunna come in?”

“Who’s in there, then?”

“I dunno. Mightn’t be anyone. It was New Year’s Eve last night, remember?”

“Oh, yair. Look Iris, I gotta go to work. I don’t want to get fired after just a few weeks on the job.”

“You’re fuckn scared to come in?”

“I’m already late. I’m s’posed to be getting the bars ready for the big day today.”

“You’re piss-weak, aren’t ya?”

Iris grabs my hand and pulls me over the gate. Just the light touch of her hand buggers me up. My knees are like jelly. She starts rubbing my cheek with her finger.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ve got charcoal on your cheeks.”

I look down and I see I have charcoal all over myself. And so does she. “Shit, Iris, we look like tramps! I can’t go in there look¬ing like this!”

Iris looks across at the stacks of empties. “You think they’ll notice?” And she tugs me some more and I give a little, but then I stop. Dad, thank you Dad. I’ve come to my senses.

“I’m not coming in Iris. I gotta go to work.” I pull my hand away from hers.

“You don’t care about the work. I know you blokes. All you care about is the boozing with your mates.”

“Shit! Iris! That’s not true!”

“Yair? So where were you all this time since we was outside the Baptist church? Bastard!”

She starts off down the drive nearly tripping on the long weeds, and just then the front door opens and a little filthy kid runs out followed by her mum chasing her. And I squint at her, because the sun’s now really bright and it hurts my poor aching eyes to see, but there’s no mistake Dad! It’s Little Linda!

Iris has stopped, and comes back, standing next to the bottle stack. I look at her. She’s nervous, licking her lips. I know she’s wishing I wasn’t here. Even though she made me come. Gees, Dad. Can you believe this?

Little Linda stops in her tracks too when she sees me. “What the shit are ya doing here?” she says. And she’s right, what the fuck am I doing here? My place is at the old pub. This is foreign land to me, Dad. I’m like a fish out of water, like they say, Dad!

Anyway, I ignore Little Linda like she shouldn’t be there and I turn to Iris and I say, “So this is your mum?” She bursts out laughing.

“Me mum? You’re a fuckn hopeless bugger. Does she look old enough to be me mum? She’s me sister, you dope.”

My ears are getting red, and I’d really like to step over to those bottles and smash a few of them. “How am I s’posed to know? She looks old enough to be your grandma!” Gees. Dad. It just popped out! Little Linda would have thrown one of the bottles at me if she wasn’t chasing her brat around. The little kid starts screaming for no reason, and Linda runs after her and grabs her and drags her inside. The kid’s kicking and swearing at her until Linda pulls her inside and slams the door. I look back at Iris.

“I know her, she’s at the pub all the time. And I saw her have that kid in the Snake Pit a few years ago. And I know her dad’s called Tank, right? So he’s your dad, then? The bastard that--”

“He’s me step father, I s’pose. And Linda’s me step-sister. And no, he didn’t…”

“I’m going to the pub.”

“Me mum’s inside, I s’pose.”

“I’ll see ya.”

I’m turning to leave, and Iris is standing there looking kind of lost. “You can come in and see me mum if you want,” she says.

I stop, and my ears are still red. I can hear screaming coming from inside.

“Don’t s’pose you know what time it is?” I ask.

“Nah.”

“I better be going then.”

Iris comes to me. I’m going to get one of her sloppy kisses, I know. I hope. She grabs one of my fingers and pulls me a little to her. And as I go to her she turns her back on me and pulls me behind her. We go around the back of the house and there’s more stacks of empty beer bottles against the house and against the garage, and they even lie beside the few steps going up to the back door. “Come on,” she says, and she pulls open the old screen door that squeaks and there doesn’t seem to be a back door there at all. And then there’s the smell of the kitchen and smoke. It’s not like the smell in the old pub, the stale beer and smoke and decay¬ing lino and wood of the bar counter. I like that smell. I suppose it’s what you get used to. It smells like home to me. But this kitchen, it makes me want to throw up. And there’s this old lady sitting at a green laminex table with chrome legs and chair to match. There’s a big ashtray with mounds of butts and an open packet of Garrick cigarettes. And this old hag sits there, sipping a cup of tea, and drawing on her cigarette. She’s not doing nothing else. Just sitting there and smoking, looking at nothing, except I sup¬pose the old laminated tabletop. Her fingers are yellow from the nicotine, and even around her lips it’s all yellow, and the deep lines in her face, all thin and wrinkles, loose skin hanging from her chin and cheeks, eyes set deep into dark holes, and a nose that’s red where she keeps wiping it and wiping it with an old grey hanky. She doesn’t even look up when we come in. And there’s in the background the screams of the little kid and Linda chasing her around the house.

“This is me mum,” says Iris.

“Hello Mrs…er,” I mumble. For a moment, I think she’s not going to move or say anything and I’m already thinking of leaving. Then she takes a big draw on her cigarette and turns her head, long strands of thin grey hair dangling across her shoulder and says, “leave me daughter alone and get the buggery out.”

I should have left right then. But Iris was standing right there and was squeezing me hand really tight.

“Me mum’s a silly bitch,” says Iris, “that’s her way of saying hello.” But Iris is looking away out the smoky window while she’s talking.

“Get me another cuppa tea,” says the mum. And Iris tops up the old aluminium teapot from the kettle that’s always sitting on the gas stove, then tops up her cup of tea. I’m saying to myself. This is the Iris that made fun of me because I did everything I was told. Shit, Dad! I dunno.

“So what’s her name!” I say to Iris, “Missus what?”

Iris gives me a really dirty look. “It’s not Missus anything. It’s Flo.”

“Flo?”

“Yair.”

“How come I never see her at the pub? Little Linda’s there every day almost.”

“She doesn’t drink. Hates it.”

Flo blinks slowly and turns to look me straight in me eyes. I stare back at hers. They’re grey the colour of her wispy hair. Her Garrick cigarette is hanging on her lip.

“Turn to Jesus, son,” she says, “it’s your only hope.”

There’s this silence, like we’re frozen in time. My mouth is open and I can’t think of anything to say. She’s staring right at me and her face is dead and lifeless. I want to get up and run out of there but I see Iris shifting on her feet. I want to turn to her to see her face, but I’m glued to Flo. Then all of a sudden, Flo takes a big draw of her Garrick and starts this horrible racking cough, like a car that won’t start. I jump back and knock over the chair and I see that she’s got this silly grin on her face but it’s hidden by her awful cough. Then she starts laughing and coughing, you can’t tell which is which. Iris picks up the chair and starts banging Flo on the back.

“Shit, mum!” she says, “when are you gunna give up those death sticks?”

“Mind your own business,” says Flo, “you’re a daughter from hell, that’s what you are!” She looks at me as though it’s my fault. But Iris seems to have calmed her down, because her coughing stops and she settles back into her chair to stare at me again.

“Go to buggery, ya silly old bitch. You’re the devil’s mistress, that’s what you are!” snarls Iris.

“Don’t you dare speak to your mother like that, you little shit from hell!”

Flo starts her rasping cough again and reaches for the packet of Garricks. She stubs out her cigarette, only half smoked, and lights another one with the matches sitting on the table. Iris reaches forward and snatches the lighted match from her hand and smacks the cigarette away from her mouth.

“Ya little bugger!” growls Flo, “I never should of had ya! And you,” she points her yellow finger at me, “get out of here and don’t come back until you’ve gone to Jesus, ya little prick!”

I move towards the back door and it squeaks as I push it open.

“And I mean little prick,” she says, coughing and laughing. And that makes my ears go red, and I feel my fists tighten. Dad, I don’t want to do it, but she can’t talk to me and Iris like that! I turn back and I hear the old wire door creak shut. Flo, she’s stop¬ped coughing. She knows I’m going to clobber her. It’s like she wants me to do it. But Iris gets in the way.

“Don’t you fuckn touch her!” she warns. I grab her by her skinny little arm and I’m going to push her away.

“Go on then!” says Flo, “show Iris your true colours.”

Dad, I’m standing here, can’t help myself. I’m going to clobber her. I know I shouldn’t but I just can’t take that sort of shit from anyone. I push Iris aside and she falls down, grabbing the chair she’d just picked up.

“Leave her alone, you bully. She’s just a stupid old bitch!” pleads Iris.

And I’m there, grabbing Flo by the collar of her old cardigan that’s got tea stains all down it.

“Go on, then, hit me! It’s all you bastards know what to do!” she cries.

And I’m gunna hit her, I’ve got me fist up, clenched tight. And just as I’m about to do her, Little Linda rushes in chasing her little kid, and behind her is Tank. I stop like I’m in mid-flight and fall across the table, pushing myself away and then I’m out of that kitchen door like you wouldn’t believe. Tank chases me, yelling that he’ll break my neck, but he’s too big and lumbering, can’t catch a nimble bloke like me. And I run and I run, till I’m breathless. And I at last look around and he’s gone. He’s probably in there beating them all up.

I stand there, my hands on my hips, my head throbbing like buggery. I walk and I walk, not thinking where I’m going, till I find myself in the rubble of my old house, looking across the road at the old pub. There’s a bulldozer cleaning up the block, pushing the rubble into a pile. I can see bits of the old cot Dad slept on and I pick my way through the rubble trying to figure out where the cot used to be, where I spent my time with him while we talked, right up to the end. Dad, I miss you, I really do. And now I don’t know what’s going on. But then I feel a dig in my ribs and for a moment I think it’s Tank and I jump, scared shitless. But I feel that steady grip on my arm and I know it’s not Tank. It’s Grecko.

“What the hell are yer doing here?” he asks.

“I dunno.”

“Mr. Counter sent me over. You should have been at work a couple of hours ago.”

“Yair.”

“Yair what?”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

“Well you better hurry. Mr. Counter’s waiting for you.”

I pull my arm away from his grip.

“All right. I know.”

We walk across the road and Mr. Counter’s standing at the entrance to the old bar, the greasy canvas curtain still hanging there, still streaked with black grime of the workers. I feel the sun coming down on me. My head’s exploding, my hangover’s come back. I put my arm up to cover me eyes. I squint at Mr. Counter standing there. He’s angry.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“I, I don’t know.”

“You look like a tramp. Soot all over your face, rips in your pants and shirt, black soot or whatever it is all over your clothes. And you’re two hours late for work!”

“I’m sorry. I got stuck with my girlfriend and her silly bitch of a mother.”

“With your girlfriend? That’s your excuse?”

“I said, and her mother.”

“And that’s it? And that’s how you got all that black over you? And tore up your clothes?”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? You don’t even know what you’ve done. This is a real job I gave you. You turn up to work no matter what and on time, and looking respectable. What are my customers going think?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Counter. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“It better not. I know what you’ve been doing, don’t think you can go on doing it.”

“What do you mean? I’m not doing nothing wrong.”

“Oh? It’s that little piece a fluff that’s got you in, and the grog too. I won’t stand for your boozing all the time. That’s what made you late, isn’t it?”

“No, no. I’m not like that. Besides, it was New Year’s Eve last night.”

“That’s no excuse for not showing up to work on time. You know full well that today is a big day for the pub.”

“Yair. I’m really sorry, Mr. Counter. I dunno what’s wrong with me.”

“I do. You’re getting like your Dad. You’re hitting the booze too much. So lay off it.”

“OK, no more booze.”

“Now get in there and get yourself cleaned up. I’m docking you half a day’s pay for this.”

I’m looking down, can’t look Mr. Counter in the face. Truth is, I haven’t listened to hardly anything he’s said, my head hurts so much, and I can’t help thinking of Iris.

*

Iris sat in the kitchen staring at her mum. Tank came back puffing, out of breath and he was going do something, at least that’s what Iris told me. And he looked around and the little kid is running around and round the kitchen table yelling and screaming and banging anything she could with an empty beer can – and they were big ones in those days. She rushes past Tank and bangs the can against Tank’s shin. It was just what Tank wanted, an excuse to go at it. He lifted the little kid up first by one leg and he’s got her hanging there like he caught a rabbit and was gunna gut it. Linda starts screaming for him to put her kid down and leave her alone. And Iris starts yelling too and grabs his arm trying to get him to let go. But he laughs crazily and lifts the poor little kid up high then turns her back up the right way and sets her down on the floor. The kid thinks this is great fun and asks for more. Tank then does his favourite trick. Using both hands, he grabs the her by the head and lifts her clean up above his head. Flo looks up but she says nothing, takes a draw of her Garrick. The kid starts to go red in the face and she’s decided that she doesn’t like this anymore. She starts wriggling but it means twisting her head on her neck that’s taking all the weight of her body. Iris yells to Linda to save her kid before her neck snaps and her head comes off. Linda, though, has run away into the next room, crying like a little baby. Then Flo gets up, grabs her smokes and matches and walks out after her. “You’re all fuckn mad,” she mumbles.

Tank lowers the kid down and holds her until they’re face-to-face. “Ya learnt your lesson, you little shit?” he says, pushing his nose against her nose, and that scares her more than anything. But what he doesn’t realize is that the kid’s feet are hanging down level with his balls. The kid starts kicking and screaming. Of course, she didn’t know what was there. And all of a sudden, Tank drops the kid like a ton of bricks and yelps, holding himself and limping out the kitchen door. “You’re fuckn shits all of you!” he cries.

Iris grabs up the little kid but she’s already trying to copy Tank. She grabs Iris by the neck and tries to pick her up.

I could have guessed what she did next. Yair, Dad, that’s right. Iris pulls her close and she slops one of her wet kisses right on her lips. Can you believe that? The little bugger giggles and so she gives her another and then guess what? The bugger bites Iris’s lip, and Iris leaps back and she wants to slap her, but stops herself just in time and turns and runs out the kitchen door. That fuckn house. No wonder Iris won’t live there. It’s a fuckn zoo I tell you Dad. And I would have given that little kid a beating she’d remember. Dad, you remember the time you did it to me? I’ve still got the scar on me ass, I think. At least that’s what Iris told me. But I never told her how I got it.

*

New Year’s Day turned out to be a day to forget. My hangover stayed with me right through the day, but at about four o’clock, I couldn’t stand it anymore so I sneaked a couple of beers out the back in the tap room. They were just enough to give me a bit of a buzz and lighten my head a bit. Every now and again one of the customers would want to buy me a drink and of course Mr. Counter had told me I wasn’t allowed to drink on the job, so I always said no, except this day when my hangover was really getting to me. Now, I started having a few as I wandered around the bar gathering up glasses. And it wasn’t long till I started having a sip of the dregs that were left in the glasses. You’d be surprised how much beer the drunks leave behind. So by closing time I was pretty well on, laughing and joking with the regulars who always stayed till the very last minute before closing. I was staying next to Grecko as we herded them out of the bar and they hit the street outside, and the cars were revving up as they all took off home or wherever they were going. We all came inside and lined up in our favourite place in the passageway leading to the Snake Pit, sitting on the floor leaning against the wall, ready for a few more sips. Trouble is, by this time I was pretty well on, plastered really, and when I get plastered, I get loud and my ears go red. Then Sugar clips my ear as he hands me a beer, the first of many, I hoped. Mr. Counter always turned on free beer for us barmen, and we knew we’d get a lot more because it was New Year’s Day.

“What you think you’re doing?” I say to Sugar.

“Take your fuckn beer and shut up if you know what’s good for you,” he says like he’s joking, but I now he’s not.

Just then, Mrs. Counter comes out of the Snake Pit. She’s been tidying up the place, because. as Mr. Counter says, it’s always the women that make the biggest mess. She gives Sugar a look, then looks down at me. I reckon she’s staring at my red ears and I don’t like it.

“I think the boy has had enough,” she says. Sugar quickly passes out the beers he’s got in his hands and goes back into Mr. Counter’s office. The rest of the barmen start sniggering. They’re waiting for me to lose my temper like I always do, and I can see Grecko getting up off the floor, just in case. But I’ve got my beer and I’m happy, and I look back up at Mrs. Counter, her little round face sitting on top of a big hanging bosom, her long skinny neck draped in a gold chain several times round. From where I’m sit¬ting she looks like a rose that’s lost its petals, sticking up out of a big round flower pot. So Dad, I’m trying to hold back a laugh and this big snort comes out of me and the blokes all look at me and they’re not sure if it’s a fart or what.

Mrs. Counter leans back on her heels, she’s upset but she’s trying to hold back a laugh too. I take a big sip of my beer, hoping it will help me and then I see out of the corner of my eye Grecko looking like he’s coming over to me. I’ve got my hand to me nose, squeez¬ing hard, hoping I can stop myself from doing it again. So now my whole face is red as well as my ears, and I’m looking around and everyone’s laughing, so in the end, I down the rest of my beer while I’m still holding my nose. And I thump down the empty glass and let go my nose and look up at Mrs. Counter, a big grin on my face as I suck in a whole lot of air. Mrs. Counter, not to be outdone, leans right over and I press back against the wall. Her gold chains are touching my face and I’m scared her huge cow’s tits will smother me! But a grin is stitched into my face and I can’t move. She looks at me with her little beady eyes and says, “you’re just a boy. Now go to your room!”

Of course, now my ears are on fire and the blokes are waiting to see if I’m going to hit her. But what I don’t realize until it’s too late is that I’m sitting there with my legs spread apart and she’s standing between them. “Didn’t you hear me?” she says, “go to your room!” But I’m frozen to the floor, both my hands pressing down hard. Then she puts one foot forward, a foot clad in an old sand-shoe, and steadying herself with a hand on her knee, slowly presses her foot down on me, right between my legs, and repeats, “just a boy.” And then she pushes herself away from the wall and struts off to the kitchen. And I’m so embarrassed I just sit there, my gob hanging open like a panting dog. The blokes are all gaping at me and they start to laugh because without thinking about it, I’ve got my hand down there, cradling me cock and balls. “I think I need another drink,” I say, and I manage to stand up and I reach out to collect the other blokes’ glasses. I go to the cupboard to fill them and I’m expecting Mrs. Counter or Mr. Counter to come out and stop me. But they don’t. “You better go to your room this minute,” the blokes say, but they’re joking and sniggering. I don’t remember how it ended up, except that I woke up next morning in bed, Abbie shaking me to get me up in time for work. Dunno what I’d do without her, Dad.