Carnies Page 8

  There was no one there.

  Paul swore under his breath, shaking his head. Then he looked out again, more careful this time. The car park outside the motel only contained a couple of cars and an old van. The van stood out like the proverbial sore thumb, its battered silver paint glinting in the early morning light. Paul looked at it more closely. It seemed very familiar, somehow, but he couldn’t quite place where he’d seen it before. The windows and windscreen were heavily tinted, so he couldn’t make out if there was anyone inside it or not. He considered going over and seeing if it was occupied, but he realised he was only wearing a pair of old boxer shorts. It might be early and quiet, but he was still unwilling to venture outside in his underwear. He closed the door and went back to the couch, grabbed his clothes and threw them on. Once he had jeans and a t-shirt on, he returned to the door and opened it again.

  But the van had gone. He stepped outside and looked up and down the road for a sign of the van, but there was nothing, just a deserted highway. Paul stood there for a moment longer, in case it reappeared, but there was nothing at all.

  He sighed and returned to the room, closing the door behind him, still trying to remember where he’d seen the van before. He decided to have a shower, to try to jog his memory. Not that he was particularly bothered. He didn’t need to know who’d slipped the note under the door, he just needed to follow its advice. Dig deeper, he thought, smiling, as he entered the bathroom.

  Damn straight.

  -12-

  For a few unnerving seconds after awakening, David thought he hadn’t slept at all. He was greeted by the exact same noises he’d dropped off to: the rattling and rumbling of the dodgy plumbing in the motel room. Then he saw the sunlight, and realised he had got some sleep, though not very much by the looks of it. He glanced at his watch. Early, he thought, groggily. Too early. But he couldn’t fall asleep again. The room was too bright and the pipes too vocal. With a soft groan, he climbed out of bed and looked around.

  Only the bare necessities were still outside his suitcase, the rest had been packed the night before. A stitch in time, he thought with a small smile as he put on the clothes he’d laid out the previous evening, packing his pyjamas into the top of his suitcase. He left his toiletries bag out, ready to shave, brush his teeth and comb his hair once his brother got out of the shower. He could hear Paul gargling in there again, louder even than the rattle of water in the old plumbing, and clenched his teeth. Just the ride home, he thought to himself, then it’s over. He had to admit that the trip had been worth it. Even though the story wasn’t quite the scoop he’d hoped for, it would keep him afloat for a while longer. And the photographs were... well, they were good enough, though he liked to think he could have taken them just as well himself. Still, he thought, all in all, a worthwhile little adventure. Even taking into account the irritation factor.

  As if summoned by that thought, the sound of the shower stopped, and a few moments later Paul came out of the tiny bathroom, still soaked and dripping, a towel wrapped around his waist, his clothes in a bundle under one arm, his cane tucked under the other. He saw David and smiled.

  ‘You’re up,’ he said, stating the obvious.

  David nodded, allowing his annoyance to show on his face. ‘How could I sleep through that? It sounded like you were working in a foundry.’

  ‘It’s that bad?’ Paul asked, and his smile didn’t budge.

  ‘It’s that bad.’

  His brother shrugged. ‘Sorry, mate. I couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘Misery loves company,’ David muttered.

  ‘Huh?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing. Forget it.’ He grabbed his toiletries bag and walked to the bathroom. ‘You may as well pack up your things, since we’re both up. We’ll make an early start, get back to town by lunchtime or so.’

  ‘I’m not going back,’ Paul said, his tone casual as he limped towards the couch. ‘Have you seen my shoes anywhere?’

  ‘What?’ David asked, incredulous. He wondered if he was still asleep after all.

  ‘My shoes. They’re black sneakers, size nine?’

  ‘Don’t get smart with me, Paul,’ David snapped.

  ‘What do you mean, you’re not going back?’

  ‘Ah, here they are,’ Paul exclaimed from next to the couch, and bent over to pick up the sneakers. He groaned as he did so. ‘Man, I hurt something chronic.’ He straightened again, carrying his shoes as well as his clothes and cane. He smiled at David. ‘Don’t freak, David,’ he said, still smiling. ‘I just want to hang around here for a few more days. Make a holiday of it.’

  ‘A holiday?’ David blinked a few times. ‘A holiday from what? You’re unemployed, remember?’

  ‘You think I’d forget that?’ Paul’s smile remained, but there was no humour in it now. ‘I want a holiday from my life, David. From my whole life. Just for a few days,’ he repeated, like a mantra. That made David suspicious. He interviewed enough people to recognise that particular pattern. When people lie, they do so over and over again, as if repetition will make it true. Especially if they’re lying to themselves.

  Still, Paul was a grown man, even if he didn’t act it, and David wasn’t going to spend time arguing with him about this. Instead he decided to be practical. ‘How are you going to get back to the city?’ he asked.

  The about-face seemed to throw Paul a little. He was probably expecting more of a fight. ‘Uh... I thought I’d catch the train. We’re not that far from the line. I remember passing a station up the highway, maybe twenty k back.’

  ‘And how are you going to get there?’

  Paul shrugged. ‘Bus, I guess. Or hitch. I could probably walk it, if I had to.’

  ‘Walk?’ David’s laugh was more cruel than he’d intended. ‘You can barely stand without help!’

  ‘I’m not a fucking cripple, David.’

  ‘Mind your damn language, Paul!’ David roared, then closed his mouth, as surprised as Paul at his outburst.

  Paul looked at him, the smile gone, with a strange emotion in his eyes. They were both silent for a long time. David’s cheeks burned with a mixture of anger and shame. Finally, Paul spoke.

  ‘Jesus, David, you sounded just like Dad then.’

  David felt his rage billowing up inside him again at this, like the sails of a ship catching a stiff breeze, red and heavy. He held it down, though, determined not to allow Paul to see him upset again. He took a few deep breaths.

  ‘I think I’ll skip a shower and a shave,’ he said calmly, walking back over to the bed and putting the toiletries bag on top of the folded clothes in his suitcase. ‘An early start will be good. Get ahead of the traffic.’ He continued to speak as he zipped up his suitcase, then attached the straps that ran across it. He was aware that he was only talking to keep himself from thinking too hard, but he didn’t mind. ‘I’ll be back in the city before lunch. Then I can clean up in my own bathroom, and work on the story in the afternoon. It’ll be good. It’ll be good.’ Repeating yourself, he admonished himself. He picked up his suitcase and headed for the door. ‘Want me to talk to the motel manager, let him know what the story is?’ he asked, not meeting Paul’s eyes, looking anywhere but there.

  ‘No, it’s okay,’ his brother said, his voice soft. ‘I’ll take care of it.’

  ‘Need any money?’

  ‘Nah, I’ll be fine. Worst comes to worst, I’ll use the plastic.’

  ‘Can you afford that?’ David asked, aware that he was starting to sound paternal again, but he couldn’t help himself.

  ‘I guess we’ll see,’ Paul said with a small laugh. ‘Go on, get outta here, bro. You’re cramping my style. And I want to get dressed sometime today.’

  David smiled a little, but he didn’t feel amused. He just wanted to leave. But his instincts were holding him back. ‘You take care, Paul. Call me if you need me,’ he said, lugging his suitcase over to the front door. On the way, he also grabbed his laptop case. He put down the suitcase once he reached the door, th
en turned the handle and opened it. ‘You undid the chain,’ he observed, the criticism reflexive, automatic. ‘Make sure you put it on when I leave.’

  ‘Yeah yeah,’ Paul sighed, and for a moment David felt like the decades had fallen away, and Paul was just a kid again, with David the only one looking after him. He shook off the sensation and grabbed his suitcase again, then stepped out of the door. He paused for a moment, looking back at his brother, who was bedraggled, half naked and still dripping with water, and this time his tiny smile was genuine.

  ‘See you, Paul.’

  ‘Ciao, bro.’

  David closed the door behind him, then lugged his suitcase and laptop to the car, dropping them next to it. The doors unlocked with a press of a button on his car remote, then he opened the boot and placed his luggage in it. This done, he closed the boot, then walked back to the open car door. As he did so, he glanced at the motel room, not sure what he was expecting or hoping for.

  Whatever it was, it didn’t happen.

  He stood for a moment longer there, then shook his head and climbed into the car, closed the door and started the engine. He had a long drive ahead of him, and this time he’d have to do it on his own. And then he had a story to write.

  Everything else could be shoved into the WAIL box. And stay there.

  -13-

  Paul stood outside the front door of the petrol station, leaning on his cane, his face red and sweaty. Despite the cool air outside, he felt like he was about to melt, like the mild mid-morning winter sun was boiling his brain inside his skull. He knew it was just exertion, though, something he really wasn’t used to these days. His ankle was throbbing again, and he realised he shouldn’t have walked so far on it, especially after the hell he put it through the night before, but he’d felt embarrassed at the thought of hitching a couple of kilometres down the highway. The pain in his left leg was telling him he should have swallowed his pride, though.

  He’d decided to come back here after hanging around the motel for a while. There was only so much country television a city boy could handle. While the actual programs were pretty much the same as those he’d normally be watching, the advertisements were so cheap and corny that they made the worst city ads look like works of art in comparison. They were funny at first, but after seeing each a few dozen times the novelty wore off. Then he’d remembered the petrol station they’d stopped at on the way into Tillbrook, and the reaction of the lady behind the counter when he’d mentioned the carnival. At the time it had seemed odd, but he’d dismissed it. After last night, though, he was finding himself more and more interested in what the locals had to say.

  And anyway, he was hungry.

  ‘Are you okay, mister?’

  Paul looked around at the little girl standing behind him. She looked around eight or nine, and was wearing a pale blue dress that had definitely seen better days. Her feet were bare, and her blonde hair was tied into a ponytail. She was watching him with a combination of curiosity and concern. There was no fear there. Maybe it was another country thing, like the slow talking. He managed a smile.

  ‘Yeah, I’m... all right,’ he panted. ‘Just had a... bit of a walk.’

  ‘From the motel?’ she asked.

  ‘What?’ he asked, startled. ‘How did you know that?’

  She grinned. ‘Where else would you be staying?’ She turned away and skipped a little, watching her feet. There were chalk marks on the pavement. ‘You were here yesterday,’ she said, not really paying attention.

  ‘I saw you. You talked to Mum.’

  ‘Mum?’ he asked, a second before the penny dropped.

  ‘Your mum works in the station, hey?’

  ‘Owns it,’ the little girl corrected, still skipping. On one leg she turned around and looked at him again, curious. ‘What happened to your leg?’

  Paul was a little taken aback by the blunt question.

  ‘Uh... I, er, had an accident.’

  ‘Is it a wooden leg?’

  He laughed at this. ‘No, kiddo, it’s all real. Just a busted ankle.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, sounding a little disappointed. Paul smiled at the girl. ‘I’m Paul.’

  ‘Sarah,’ the little girl replied. ‘I’m nearly ten.’

  ‘Really?’ he asked, feeling a little awkward. He hadn’t had much experience around kids, and tended to avoid them if he possibly could. He was never sure exactly how to talk to them, what to say. They were like little aliens, as far as he was concerned.

  Sarah nodded. ‘You asked about the carnival,’ she said, still in that matter-of-fact tone.

  ‘Yes, I did,’ Paul said, paying closer attention to the girl now. ‘Your mum doesn’t seem to like them much.’

  ‘She thinks they stole Toby from us.’

  ‘Toby?’

  ‘My brother. He went there, and now he stays there. He doesn’t want to come back.’ She looked sad for a moment. ‘Mum says they made him hate us. But I don’t believe it.’

  ‘No?’

  She shook her head. ‘I reckon Mum just doesn’t want to go there to see him. I reckon she’s scared.’

  ‘Scared?’ Paul asked, frowning. ‘Scared of what?’ In his mind he thought he already knew the answer. It was huge and hairy and could leap tall fences with a single bound.

  ‘Of them, of course,’ she said, as if saying the most obvious thing in the world. ‘All of them.’

  ‘The carnies?’

  Sarah nodded. Then she looked at him closely. ‘You’re going there, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Could you...’ she started to say, then hesitated.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Could you say hello to Toby for me? If you see him?’ She looked around nervously, perhaps for her mother.

  ‘And tell him I miss him?’

  Paul smiled. ‘No sweat, Sarah. I’ll tell him if I see him.’

  Sarah’s face lit up, her grin contagious, then she turned and ran off without another word. She rounded the corner of the petrol station, skidding for a moment as she turned, and then she was gone.

  Paul watched her vanish, unable to stop smiling. Then he looked back towards the petrol station’s front window, and saw the dour face of the girl’s mother watching through the glass, an angry frown on her face. He continued to smile, and waved at her. She turned around and walked away, probably back to the counter. I guess Sarah takes after her dad, he thought, then chuckled.

  A soft grumble from his stomach reminded him of the other reason he’d walked all the way out here. He turned back to the petrol station’s doors, suddenly a little nervous about going in. He knew he’d get a fairly chilly reception, especially if she’d been watching for long, and could guess what he and Sarah had been talking about. But he was hungry, and there was no way he was going to walk somewhere else to get a bite to eat. He pulled open the doors and stepped inside.

  As the door closed behind him, the bell above it jangled a few times and the sullen woman looked up from the counter. Wearing his sunniest smile, Paul walked through the tiny store, looking at the racks of chips and chocolates put there to trick drivers into making an impulse buy. Especially drivers with kids in tow. Or, in this case, one hungry man who’d walked a long way to get there. But Paul was hoping for something more substantial, something hot.

  He came to the counter, and looked at the heated glass cabinet sitting there. It had some pies and sausage rolls in it, as well as a few other items, including one dark red sausage that was so thick and bent that it looked like something else. He looked at the lady behind the counter, still smiling, and spoke.

  ‘How much for the cow’s penis, please?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ the woman responded, her eyebrows arching higher than Paul would have thought possible.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Um... can I have a pie, please?’

  She glared at him, then reached into the hot glass box and pulled a pie off one of the metal racks inside. She shoved the pie into a brown paper
bag, then slapped it onto the counter.

  ‘Three dollars.’

  Paul shoved his hand in his pocket and searched around, fishing out some loose change. He counted out the money, mostly tens and twenties. He heard the woman’s sigh of frustration at this.

  ‘Sorry about the change,’ he said, a little embarrassed. He completed assembling three dollars’ worth of coinage. ‘There you go.’

  The woman pulled the small pile of change across to her and proceeded to count it. Well, that’s fair enough, Paul thought. It is on the counter, after all. He giggled at this thought.

  ‘Is something funny?’ the woman asked, looking up from the coins, one eyebrow doing its arching trick again.

  Paul swallowed his laughter, and his smile with it.

  ‘No. No, nothing.’

  She returned to counting. As she did so, she spoke, her voice very soft. ‘You shouldn’t be asking about them.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘And you should leave my daughter out of it, too,’ she added.

  Paul watched her finish counting the change. She gathered it up, pressed a button on her till, and a drawer ejected from beneath the counter. She put the coins into it, carefully separating the different ones into their correct sections, then closed the drawer again. Hard. Paul jumped at the jangle-slam noise it made, like the sound of a car crash. That seemed appropriate, somehow.

  She looked up then. ‘You should leave,’ she said.

  Paul smiled again. ‘Thanks,’ he said, grabbing his pie.

  ‘Have a...’

  ‘No,’ she interrupted. ‘Leave Tillbrook. You don’t belong here.’

  He blinked a few times, dumbfounded. ‘Is that a threat? Are you threatening me?’

  She smiled then, a thin, cruel smile. Paul didn’t like it one bit. ‘You have no idea, boy. Hopefully your brother does, though.’

  ‘What?’ Paul leaned forward on the counter. ‘What about David?’

  The woman turned away, examining the rack of cigarette packs behind the counter. ‘Good day, sir,’ she said without looking back. There was a note of finality in her voice.