Lynn is smaller than he is, a fine-boned woman with black feathery hair. She reminds Kerewin of a bird in more ways than one, high-voiced, sharp-nosed, full of quick nervous movement. A sparrow of a woman, but without a sparrow's gamin cheerfulness.
"Secrets eh?" says Piri.
"No. I was merely saying this place is filling up." Joe leaves his hand on her shoulder as he sits. The warmth of it soaks through her jacket, through her shirt, warming her skin. "Filling up fast," he says, and takes the hand away, raising his glass to her.
The early evening drinkers are pouring in: the din increases. She can no longer hear what the others are saying, yet through the general uproar some small sounds are abnormally clear. The plic! of a poolball snicking another. The flat knock the shotglass makes when she puts it down. Polly going "Fsss!" under her breath as she plunks down an invincible card. Pi's soft swear. The old lady looks over his shoulder and says, "Hell!", and draws hard on her pipe. It's gone out since the last puff and Kerewin can hear the sucking sound as though it's being played through loudspeakers.
"Umm… my turn to get drinks eh." Standing, the floor seems to withdraw a little under her feet. "What are you all having?"
"Just some jugs and a few whiskies," says Pi. "We can share them round eh?"
"Right you are," steadying herself unobtrusively. "Would you help us with the glasses, Joe?"
"Gladly."
At the counter, while waiting for the jugs and glasses to be filled:
"and what does the bloody borough do? Put 'em through the stonecrusher!"
"Struth mate, at a dollar a sugarsack?"
"And then they plant them in the bloody tarseal!"
"What's all that about?" thumbing towards the group that's doing the talking.
Joe shrugs. The barman shakes his head, eyes on the squirting stream of beer.
"Stones, I think," he says. "They've found a market for those white ones you can pick up by the ton off Bright Street beach."
"Ah they'll be selling the air we breathe next," snarls Kerewin. "First gold, then coal, then all the bush they could axe, and all the fish they could can. And now the very beach-"
"Ah you never know where it'll end," the barman agrees cheerfully. "That'll be four dollars and 91 cents." He whisks the fiver into the till. "I like your hair like that," dropping the change into her hand.
"My donation to this year's woolclip," she says sourly.
"I like it anyway," Joe smiles, helping load the drinktray.
She has clipped her hair very short: the thick mushroom cloud that had bloomed has been tamed to a neat tightcurled cap. Not a sign of singed hair anywhere.
"Ta, mate." She swaps grins with him.
Joe thinks, Hope to hell she didn't hear what else those buggers said, or that'll really screw things up.
"S'all right for some to talk," one of the group had said after Kerewin's remarks. "She's got more money than she knows what to do with they reckon, but how many of us can say that?" And another added, "Yeah. Lucky bastard Gillayley, looks like he's in on it now."
That had hurt. Thinks Joe, I don't want any part of her money. I just want her. He had made his compliment in a loud voice, covering whatever else the group said.
The hell with what they think… but why can't they keep their big mouths shut?
We're a quiet school, she thinks. A little island of peace in all this racket.
Piri and Lynn are staring tipsily into each other's eyes.
Pi and Polly are intent on their game, cardplayers' eyes flickering like lizard tongues. The old lady drinks and smokes and stares, chuckling to herself over jokes only she knows about.
She and Joe drink in companionable silence. Shreds of conversation drift by her. The poolplayers give the game up in disgust, "… bloody cue's flawed, not to mention the table," and troop down to the other end of the bar where the dartboard is. An old old man to her left is saying, "… and the nurse said, Hold my hand then, ever so nicely."
He's dotted with age freckles, bald but with a thin layer of side hair combed up and across in a vain attempt to hide the baldness; he sits stiffly upright like a poker's rammed up him."… and after my operation on the other side, she said, My, Mr Kissenger, for a man old enough to be my grandfather you certainly know some," she turns her ears away.
A group of men, all dressed in jeans and grey pullovers, discuss fish and boats. One yells, "Hey John! Go get your guitar and we'll have a bit of a song eh?"
"Do, John," she murmurs to herself, and starts as Joe taps her arm.
"You're miles away."
"I was just thinking… something the matter?"
"No, Pi's got some sandwiches for us."
"The old lady makes them and keeps them in her bag every time we come here now," says Pi.
"We got caught by the greasy hamburgers they make down the road a couple of times, and as for the pies here-"
"Help yourself," urges the old lady.
"Is it okay? There's enough?"
"Man, she got tons in the bag there. She always makes enough for the whole damn family in case they turn up," Polly growls. She lost the last game.
The old lady passes over a gory-looking sandwich.
"Have some proper kai," she says firmly, "not like that filthy pie and stuff."
"Looks interesting," opening it, and wishing she hadn't.
A lot of little baby cockles with their siphons erect like tiny penises, arranged on a bed of lettuce leaf and soaked with tomato sauce.
Keck… and I had a greasy hamburger and filthy stuff half an hour ago,
but she takes a mouthful grimly, and is surprised to feel spurts of saliva.
"You know what?" she says after a moment. "I'm really hungry."
Joe grunts, tearing into another sandwich.
Solid chewing all round for the next five minutes.
"Oowe," says Joe, standing suddenly. "Scuse, time for mimi." He clutches at the table, wavering. "Wow, that beer and whisky… won't be a minute you fellas."
He pushes away through the crowd.
Pi says,
"Simon okay now?"
She thinks he is asking Piri, but Piri is leaning towards her.
Pi looks at her steadily.
"Joe treated him all right on this holiday of yours?"
So everybody knew but me… and nobody said or did a damn thing.
"There was no trouble," she says, cool and hard as a rock.
Lynn winces, her eyes filling with tears.
"You know Kere, the number of times we have, Piri has, fixed up poor Himi… he used to come round with terrible weals on him, didn't he Piri? Terrible cuts, and we couldn't say anything to Ma, because she'd get too upset. And we couldn't do anything, because you feel sorry for Joe being alone and all… but that poor kid! God, sometimes he could hardly walk… I'd never treat one of mine that way, though I suppose it's different him not really being Joe's and all, but sometimes I got so wild, didn't I Piri? Sometimes I could have scratched that bastard's eyes out," she ends viciously.
Piri blinks. He's been nodding pacifically along with all Lynn's been saying, eyes half-closed, face slack.
"Simmer down, Lynnie… Kerewin, I thought you might do something as soon as you found out about it, and Joe says you have eh? He didn't say what though."
Meaning, Tell us.
She is silent.
Piri pours the last of the beer out, first in her glass, then in Lynn's; Pi shakes his head and covers his glass, while Polly drains hers and holds it out; some in Polly's, some in Missus' genteel 5 ounce, and winds up giving a half-hearted scowl at the drop left in the bottom.
"Aue… well, my shout anyway." He holds the tray limply, leaning his head back. He says quietly.
"Me and Joe had a big fight about a year ago, over the way he treats his kid. I went in punching, but he's bigger than me so in the end I picked up a bottle, and smashed it on him. It skidded all down his shoulder and ribs… I was lucky I didn't gut him, the way the glass broke eh?"