have preferred a trip to Byron Bay but you can’t have everything.
‘What’s the sister’s name, d’you know?’
‘I don’t know, but I know where she lives—place called Bentleigh. I remember Bill said there was no-one bent in Bentleigh.’
‘Witty. She married, this sister?’
She shook her head and blew smoke over my shoulder. ‘Don’t think so, no.’
‘That’s a help. Can’t be too many Mountains in Bentleigh. Is that witty?’
‘Not very.’
‘A terrible thought just occurred to me, Erica. His name really
is
Mountain, isn’t it? It’s not his nom de plume or anything?’
‘God, that’d screw it up. No, I’m pretty sure it’s Mountain, but I don’t know why I say so.’
‘I’d better go down there and see her.’
‘And what am I supposed to do?’
‘Why did you go to his house the other night?’
‘To work through all his stuff really carefully to see if I could come up with anything. I don’t know what — diary, letters—anything.’
‘That’s still well worth doing.’
‘Meanwhile you go off doing the interesting stuff.’
I looked at my watch. ‘You can come with me when I visit Mal. That’s in about twenty minutes; want first shower?’
* * *
We were preoccupied and not cheerful on the drive to Woolloomooloo. The weather didn’t help; the sky was overcast, with only pale, yellow breaks in it, and there was a swirling cold wind. The water had an ugly grey sheen, and the high buildings looked dirty against a dirty sky. I snapped at Erica when she lit her umpteenth cigarette for the morning.
‘Can’t you cut down on those bloody things?’
Her Oriental eyes widened, the frown line in her forehead deepened and the corners of her mouth turned down. I felt like a bully and was sorry I’d spoken, but she looked calmly at me and took a puff.
‘I’ll quit when you find Bill,’ she said.
We walked across the street, with the wind whipping at us, to the entrance to Mal’s block of flats. The building had had a sort of seedy glamour at night, but in the grey light of day it looked faded and tired. We went into the small lobby and I wondered what sort of image Mal would present in the morning. Dressing-gown? He was hardly the track-suit type; that’d be more Geoff’s style.
I knocked, but there was no response. Another knock brought a slapping of slippers on the stairs behind us.
‘What the hell do you want?’ Glad stuck her head around the corner of the stair, looked down on us, and began an imperious descent. Her multi-coloured hair was up in curlers; she wore a violet dressing-gown with a pink sash and huge, fluffy green slippers. Splashes of high colour showed in her cheeks and her second chin quivered.
‘Go away.’ She looked at me with pale, watery eyes across the top of a pair of half-glasses. ‘And take the little Chink with you.’
‘Easy, Glad. We’ve come to have another talk with Mal.’
‘Don’t you Glad me. If you want to see him you’d better ring up the bloody hospital.’
‘What?’
‘He’s got a broken leg and a broken arm, poor devil.He’s in St Vincent’s.’
‘What happened?’ Erica said.
She came to the foot of the stairs and gave us the whole show—hair, dressing-gown, sash and slippers. ‘They came and did him over in the early hours. I thought it mighta been you from the way you was chuckin’ punches last night.’
I shook my head. ‘Not me. What about Geoff?’
‘Him too. In the hospital.’ She nodded her head as she spoke and her glasses fell off. It had happened a thousand times before and she caught them deftly, without looking. Erica took out her cigarettes and went over to the stairs with the packet extended. Glad hesitated, then she took a cigarette and bent her head to the lighter.
‘Ta. I’m a bit shaky.’
‘Did you talk to Mal? Before he went to hospital.’
‘Couldn’t talk, they broke his teeth. He didn’t think I knew he had false teeth but I knew.’
‘I’m sorry, Glad.’ I
‘What’s the sister’s name, d’you know?’
‘I don’t know, but I know where she lives—place called Bentleigh. I remember Bill said there was no-one bent in Bentleigh.’
‘Witty. She married, this sister?’
She shook her head and blew smoke over my shoulder. ‘Don’t think so, no.’
‘That’s a help. Can’t be too many Mountains in Bentleigh. Is that witty?’
‘Not very.’
‘A terrible thought just occurred to me, Erica. His name really
is
Mountain, isn’t it? It’s not his nom de plume or anything?’
‘God, that’d screw it up. No, I’m pretty sure it’s Mountain, but I don’t know why I say so.’
‘I’d better go down there and see her.’
‘And what am I supposed to do?’
‘Why did you go to his house the other night?’
‘To work through all his stuff really carefully to see if I could come up with anything. I don’t know what — diary, letters—anything.’
‘That’s still well worth doing.’
‘Meanwhile you go off doing the interesting stuff.’
I looked at my watch. ‘You can come with me when I visit Mal. That’s in about twenty minutes; want first shower?’
* * *
We were preoccupied and not cheerful on the drive to Woolloomooloo. The weather didn’t help; the sky was overcast, with only pale, yellow breaks in it, and there was a swirling cold wind. The water had an ugly grey sheen, and the high buildings looked dirty against a dirty sky. I snapped at Erica when she lit her umpteenth cigarette for the morning.
‘Can’t you cut down on those bloody things?’
Her Oriental eyes widened, the frown line in her forehead deepened and the corners of her mouth turned down. I felt like a bully and was sorry I’d spoken, but she looked calmly at me and took a puff.
‘I’ll quit when you find Bill,’ she said.
We walked across the street, with the wind whipping at us, to the entrance to Mal’s block of flats. The building had had a sort of seedy glamour at night, but in the grey light of day it looked faded and tired. We went into the small lobby and I wondered what sort of image Mal would present in the morning. Dressing-gown? He was hardly the track-suit type; that’d be more Geoff’s style.
I knocked, but there was no response. Another knock brought a slapping of slippers on the stairs behind us.
‘What the hell do you want?’ Glad stuck her head around the corner of the stair, looked down on us, and began an imperious descent. Her multi-coloured hair was up in curlers; she wore a violet dressing-gown with a pink sash and huge, fluffy green slippers. Splashes of high colour showed in her cheeks and her second chin quivered.
‘Go away.’ She looked at me with pale, watery eyes across the top of a pair of half-glasses. ‘And take the little Chink with you.’
‘Easy, Glad. We’ve come to have another talk with Mal.’
‘Don’t you Glad me. If you want to see him you’d better ring up the bloody hospital.’
‘What?’
‘He’s got a broken leg and a broken arm, poor devil.He’s in St Vincent’s.’
‘What happened?’ Erica said.
She came to the foot of the stairs and gave us the whole show—hair, dressing-gown, sash and slippers. ‘They came and did him over in the early hours. I thought it mighta been you from the way you was chuckin’ punches last night.’
I shook my head. ‘Not me. What about Geoff?’
‘Him too. In the hospital.’ She nodded her head as she spoke and her glasses fell off. It had happened a thousand times before and she caught them deftly, without looking. Erica took out her cigarettes and went over to the stairs with the packet extended. Glad hesitated, then she took a cigarette and bent her head to the lighter.
‘Ta. I’m a bit shaky.’
‘Did you talk to Mal? Before he went to hospital.’
‘Couldn’t talk, they broke his teeth. He didn’t think I knew he had false teeth but I knew.’
‘I’m sorry, Glad.’ I
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