"I see."
"I've got a meal arranged-"
"Well, we might as well have it then."
He looks round the pub.
"Piri was coming along too, but I don't see him. He must have flaked."
"At the New Railway as a matter of fact."
"O?"
"The phone operator mentioned it. When I asked him to ring round and find out where Simon had got to."
Joe grips the back of the chair.
"O, Himi's okay. He'll be with the Tainuis."
"He won't. They're over the hill. Still. And he isn't at your place either. I checked."
Anger is welling up in her. Joe doesn't give a damn where the child has gone. And he must have known the Tainuis weren't home when he rang her.
O yes, he knew all right.
His head is downbent, and his knuckles have gone pale on the top of the chair.
Pi is looking at him, and shaking his head slightly. The old lady has stopped puffing her pipe. She holds it inches in front of her, poised and still. Polly is frowning, her eyes fixed on the cards.
Joe sighs, relaxes his grip on the chairback, shrugs.
E hoa, I'm used to him going off, remember. He knows how to look after himself. That's why I'm not worrying much. Everyone Knows him, eh… hell, I expect Morrison or Trover any moment."
There's a forced cheerfulness in his voice.
The other three are all looking at him now.
"Don't you worry, he'll be okay." He reaches for her shoulder, laying his hand there. "But thanks very much for taking a look for him."
She hasn't watched his face fully. She has been looking at Pi and Polly and the old woman. They have all looked at each other and then down at the table, and avoided looking at Joe again.
She has a strange feeling that a chance has passed, but she could not describe the nature of the chance, or even why she feels there was one.
For the first time since they met, she feels alienated from Joe.
All the while she ate and drank and talked smoothly, inconsequentially, the feeling that there was something very wrong between them grew and grew, until there was a wall up.
A glass walclass="underline" she talked, watched him respond to the words, watched his words come at her, made a suitable reply. Nothing communicated.
She was glad when Joe said with embarrassment that it ah was rather late, and uh, he would have to get up very early to check on his son's whereabouts, and ah-
His face looks slack and debauched and aged.
"Right," she said cordially, not looking again at his ruined face, "thanks for the evening. I'll see myself home, and if the boy turns up, I'll let you know."
The door is shut.
She had left it pulled to, with the handle on halfcock.
She knows he will be inside.
"Sim? You there?"
Her voice echoes.
No whistle. No fingersnap. No sound.
She shucks off her jacket, and goes silently up the stairs.
No sound yet.
The fire has died down. The coals are coated with ash and little light escapes, but there is still enough for her to see the shape of the child kneeling on the sheepskin mat, head on his arms, arms resting on the hearthbox.
"Haimona? Simon?"
He doesn't stir. His breathing is even, but somehow thick.
Stupid kid, out all day and caught himself a cold I'll bet. And that's a damned uncomfortable position to sleep in. But then he's got a knack of going to sleep at peculiar angles.
She lights the lamp, stirs up the fire, moving quietly.
The child doesn't move.
At last she says, "Hey Haimona," taking him by the shoulders.
Bed for you, boyo, and berloody oath, that means I get the sleeping bag and the floor again, and
Shit and hell.
The child looks up at her, and there's the ghost of a grin on his battered face.
O hell, you haven't been asleep-
Then he turns away, his hand holding hers, and his hand is shaking.
"O shit and hell," she says aloud, but this time she moves, crouching down beside him.
"o hell, boy, what've you been doing to yourself?"
As gently as she can, she turns his head back, hand under his chin. He doesn't resist but he keeps his eyes closed.
His eyelids are swollen, buddhalike, and purple. His lower lip is split, and blood has dried blackly in the corners of his mouth. Bruises across the high boned cheeks, and already they're dark.
He has been struck hard and repeatedly across his face.
She looks at the hands still holding hers. Unmarked.
"Joe hit you?" her voice as neutral as she can make it.
He opens his eyes. No, he says silently, No.
"Who then?" anger running in a hot flood through her. "Bloody who?"
He stares through the slits of his swollen lids.
"Who, Sim?"
He moves his head reluctantly, side to side.
"Someone at school?"
The fingers say, No No No-
"Damn it, someone you know? I know?"
The child is still.
"Ah sheeit, kid…."
She stands, balling her fists, raises them in the air, lets them fall.
"You don't want to talk about it, okay. I'll just get you a doctor, ring Joe, and they can take it from there."
He gropes for his pad, not shifting his head. As Kerewin moves to the radiophone he holds a hand up, and she stops, still looking at him in that cold angry way.
NO DOCTOR JOE OK IM OK
"I'll bet," she says.
He holds his clasped hands up.
"You begging?" asks Kerewin sourly.
The hands come undone as he makes an affirmative.
"Well, don't. What's wrong with getting a doctor? You need one. You scared of them or something?"
A limp finger fall
She realises Yes isn't really an answer.
She looks down at him, shaking her head grimly.
Supposing nothing's broken inside, his skull okay and none of his face bones cracked, then it's only cuts and bruises. It won't scar him. He'll heal well and quick enough. And it's late to call a medic out. But what if he's got… fractures, concussion, deeper damage?
"Joe can decide," and the child actually smiles.
Not very much, but enough for her to decide it's a smile rather. than a grimace.
"I don't know, boy, I really don't-"
The operator is surprised.
"Well, I never," he says chirpily, "at home all the time eh?"
"Not quite home, and not quite all the time… leave that in till Joe answers, will you?"
The burr-burr goes on for minutes.
"Anyhow, how'd you know he was here just from me ringing Joe?"
The operator giggles.
"Feedback. One of the good things about this job, y'know. Tass Dansy, you know him?"
"Yeah, by repute."
"Well, he saw Simon staggering along the road near your turnoff, and when he made a toll-call a coupla hours ago, I asked him, he told me, you know how it is?"
With you, I can imagine.
"Mmmm, what do you mean, staggering?"
"Tass's word, not mine. Is the boy all right, or is something the matter?"
"He's okay. Just a minute, please-"
She turns the sound down, and tells Simon, "Come over here." No please about it. The anger still burns.
He has folded himself back over the hearth box He stands awkwardly, and she can hear him hissing with the effort.
Staggering isn't quite the word, but he's limping badly… sweet hell, if I can get hold of the person who's knocked him round, I'll make them rue the day they were-
"Hello?" says a voice in her ear.
"Hello Joe?"
"Uh, Kerewin? Uhh," she hears him rubbing his face, and the discreet clit! as the operator gets off the line.
"Sorry to wake you up man, but you can guess who's turned
up.'
"Uh. Good.'
Even allowing he's tired, stupid with sleep, and still heavy with drink, that is one hell of a pause.