not have been as locked. Beneath the headache his curiosity was perhaps gentler. On the floor beneath the toilet roll was a stack of car magazines. Spots of mould dotted the ceiling. Yellowed newspaper pages were on the windowsill. Adam could hear the murmur of Billy talking in the hallway. The voice of the other man was louder. He had a high, shrill voice.
‘How do you know he’s not going to pinch something. If he does, you’re paying for it. I got no idea why you think it’s all right to bring some loser kid into my house. I don’t want him wandering around. What am I meant to do with him? I got shit to do today. I don’t need this bullshit.’
A door across the hallway slammed.
The floor outside the toilet squeaked. There was a knock.
‘Scotty’s all good,’ Billy said from the other side of the door. ‘I’m heading off.’
It wasn’t the other man’s angry words or the slammed door that made Adam’s heart pound; it had been pounding before that. His skin had already felt slimy. He’d felt ill before sitting down, like he might be sick. He leaned forward on his knees.
‘Kid? You right? Don’t worry about Scotty. He gets overexcited.’
There was a pause and the soft sound of Billy inhaling. He was smoking again. He breathed out smoothly.
‘Hang tight. Be good. Don’t shit yourself.’
Laughing, Billy left.
Beside the toilet was a bathroom. Adam washed his hands. He dried them on his shorts. A black spider was in the tub. The shower curtain had pictures of umbrellas on it. Adam went into the hallway. The floor creaked with every step. He walked through the kitchen. On a board on the wall were rows of hooks with keys on them. Above each set of keys was a number. On the kitchen bench was a bowl of green apples. Adam went through into the lounge room and eased down in the only armchair, sank low into it. Instead of a curtain, a stripy bedsheet was strung up over the window. From down the hallway came the sound of a door opening, and then the shower being turned on. Adam leaned back and closed his eyes.
What were the chances of him falling asleep? Was he more afraid now than he had been with his father? It was a different kind of fear. His father wasn’t here. Adam rested his eyes and listened. It took a few seconds for him to realise he was checking for his father all the same. A further few seconds for Adam to remember that his father was dead. Adam’s eyes reopened. How could he be dead? Could a person like his father even die, when the fear he caused had been so much a part of who he’d been? He was a smell, a feeling, a taste, a sound, a chill, a sweat; he was any footstep, any creaky floor, the rattle of any door handle, the slide of any latch. He was there now in Adam’s own shaky breathing. The things he’d been didn’t disappear just because his body had.
Adam said, beneath his breath, ‘He’s dead.’
It wasn’t until he’d chanted it in a whisper that he was able to close his eyes again. Repeating the words didn’t block all the new fears, though. Adam calculated: the walls in Scotty’s house were thin, cars passed so close he could hear the crunch of the tyres on the gravel, someone had turned on a radio a few vans down, he could hear the drumbeat of the song playing. If Adam could hear all that, people would be able to hear him if he had to scream.
W hen Adam woke, Scotty was standing in the doorway, eating an apple. He was dressed in tight jeans and a T-shirt. His hair was slicked back. His face was small and pale and he was wearing wire-framed glasses. Adam knew it was Scotty because it was the same wound-up voice he’d heard talking to Billy.
‘Thought you were never gonna wake up. I have to go down to a van. If you pinch something, I’ll know. I don’t care if you shoot through, just don’t take none of my stuff when you do. By that I mean clothes too.’
He glanced at Adam’s feet. He took another bite of the apple, chewed open-mouthed. Frowning, he moved
‘How do you know he’s not going to pinch something. If he does, you’re paying for it. I got no idea why you think it’s all right to bring some loser kid into my house. I don’t want him wandering around. What am I meant to do with him? I got shit to do today. I don’t need this bullshit.’
A door across the hallway slammed.
The floor outside the toilet squeaked. There was a knock.
‘Scotty’s all good,’ Billy said from the other side of the door. ‘I’m heading off.’
It wasn’t the other man’s angry words or the slammed door that made Adam’s heart pound; it had been pounding before that. His skin had already felt slimy. He’d felt ill before sitting down, like he might be sick. He leaned forward on his knees.
‘Kid? You right? Don’t worry about Scotty. He gets overexcited.’
There was a pause and the soft sound of Billy inhaling. He was smoking again. He breathed out smoothly.
‘Hang tight. Be good. Don’t shit yourself.’
Laughing, Billy left.
Beside the toilet was a bathroom. Adam washed his hands. He dried them on his shorts. A black spider was in the tub. The shower curtain had pictures of umbrellas on it. Adam went into the hallway. The floor creaked with every step. He walked through the kitchen. On a board on the wall were rows of hooks with keys on them. Above each set of keys was a number. On the kitchen bench was a bowl of green apples. Adam went through into the lounge room and eased down in the only armchair, sank low into it. Instead of a curtain, a stripy bedsheet was strung up over the window. From down the hallway came the sound of a door opening, and then the shower being turned on. Adam leaned back and closed his eyes.
What were the chances of him falling asleep? Was he more afraid now than he had been with his father? It was a different kind of fear. His father wasn’t here. Adam rested his eyes and listened. It took a few seconds for him to realise he was checking for his father all the same. A further few seconds for Adam to remember that his father was dead. Adam’s eyes reopened. How could he be dead? Could a person like his father even die, when the fear he caused had been so much a part of who he’d been? He was a smell, a feeling, a taste, a sound, a chill, a sweat; he was any footstep, any creaky floor, the rattle of any door handle, the slide of any latch. He was there now in Adam’s own shaky breathing. The things he’d been didn’t disappear just because his body had.
Adam said, beneath his breath, ‘He’s dead.’
It wasn’t until he’d chanted it in a whisper that he was able to close his eyes again. Repeating the words didn’t block all the new fears, though. Adam calculated: the walls in Scotty’s house were thin, cars passed so close he could hear the crunch of the tyres on the gravel, someone had turned on a radio a few vans down, he could hear the drumbeat of the song playing. If Adam could hear all that, people would be able to hear him if he had to scream.
W hen Adam woke, Scotty was standing in the doorway, eating an apple. He was dressed in tight jeans and a T-shirt. His hair was slicked back. His face was small and pale and he was wearing wire-framed glasses. Adam knew it was Scotty because it was the same wound-up voice he’d heard talking to Billy.
‘Thought you were never gonna wake up. I have to go down to a van. If you pinch something, I’ll know. I don’t care if you shoot through, just don’t take none of my stuff when you do. By that I mean clothes too.’
He glanced at Adam’s feet. He took another bite of the apple, chewed open-mouthed. Frowning, he moved
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