Harris seems pleased with his new cane. Well, I don’t know if ‘pleased’ is the right word; more like ‘relieved to not be on crutches’. But that’s something positive. God knows, with Dad chasing Gavin Donovan all over the district, Nani calling to ask me if I think Apu would like a new suit to wear to the wedding, Robbie harassing me about the residency and Nick’s updates about his planned departure, the last week has had a serious lack of positive.
I finish re-dressing Harris’s leg, then pull my lanyard over my head. Today’s shift was draining: two patients on the ward have gastro. I just want to go home, shower and change my clothes before flopping on my bed. But I still have to call Nani tonight, and make dinner. Dad has said won’t be back until late.
‘Tired, eh?’ Harris eases himself off the examination table, tugging the drawstring of his trackies tight again.
I shrug. ‘Joys of nursing. And I smell like crap.’
‘Nah, you don’t,’ Harris says.
‘Yeah, I do.’ I grimace. ‘I mean, I literally do – bedpan duty. Don’t worry, I’ve scrubbed all the way up to my elbows.’
‘Joys of nursing.’ Harris makes an amused face. ‘You smell all right.’ He colours, glances away. ‘So you’re heading home now?’
‘Yeah. You’re my last port of call.’ I smile as he tries out the cane, takes a few tentative steps. Then I remember. ‘Oh shit, I was gonna give you the keys.’
‘The what?’
I tear off my glove, flapping a hand. ‘Nick gave me the spare keys for the Subaru. He forgot to pass them on the day you bought it. I wrote it down, to bring them, but I’ve bloody left them behind.’
‘It’s okay. I’ll just drop you home and I can get them. Or did you drive in?’
‘Yeah, I’ve got my car.’
‘I’ll follow then.’ He seems happy to be able to say that. ‘I mean, if you’re okay with me coming to your house…’
‘Sure, it’s fine,’ I say, flapping again. ‘Just let me sign off?’
On the drive back, I glance in the rear-view and see Harris following behind me. It’s a bit weird seeing him at the wheel of Nick’s car. But I don’t feel bad about putting the hard word on Nick to sell low: Harris needed a ride and I know he’s broke.
Harris has named the car the Pitbull, and it sounds as if he’s spent the last week tuning the engine to a humming growl. The car seems to suit him. I don’t know if it’s had any other material effect, except to make Harris feel better, which I guess helps. But whenever I ask him about work, or his father, or where he’s going from here, he deflects. Things are obviously still far from okay.
He’s bloody gutsy, though, I’ll give him that.
When we arrive at my place I show him into the house. ‘I won’t be a sec. The keys are in my room.’ And I can go and get changed out of my horrible work clothes, into something more normal. ‘You okay to loiter here?’
Harris leans his cane against a chair. ‘I can loiter.’
‘Great. One minute.’
One minute is all I need to dash down to my room, strip off my yucky nursing gear and pull on some cut-offs under a yellow sundress and a purple cardigan. No shower, but clean clothes will have to do. I’m balanced on the edge of my bed, slinging my boots on, when I hear Harris’s voice in the hallway.
‘Um, Amie?’
‘Yeah?’ I poke my head out, yanking the elastic band out of my plait.
‘Your dad’s not home, is he?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ I don’t remember seeing Dad’s stuff on the table. ‘Sometimes he comes home at lunch to tinker on his cars, but it depends on what sort of day he’s having.’
‘Oh. Okay.’ Harris looks nervous, listing in the hallway.
I grin to reassure him. ‘He won’t bite your head off or anything.’
‘Sure.’ His right hand shoves deeper into his trackie pocket. ‘I just thought, y’know, he might not be cool with me being in the house –’
‘Harris, it’s fine. I invited you in.’ I’ve got my hair mostly unravelled now. ‘Oh – hang on. The keys.’
I dart back for them. While I’m still rummaging amidst the crap on my desk, Harris leans around into the doorway.
‘Hey,’ I smile over at him. ‘They’re here somewhere…’
‘Mm.’ His eyes travel round the small space. ‘Your room, huh?’
‘Yeah.’ I see it through his eyes for a moment. ‘Uh, I guess it’s kind of bohemian in here.’
As in, it’s messy: there are clothes on the floor and over the backs of chairs. A gold-beaded, toffee-apple-red dubatta curtains the big window beside my bed, keeping the room rose-tinted. Satin cushions plop on my bed and multi-coloured saris are draped over the walls, adding to the theme, which I’ve elaborated on over the years with candles in bottles, a hat-rack near the door, a fringed shade over the ceiling bulb.
I like my room: it’s relaxing to be in, and has a sort of ‘lady’s boudoir’ feeling which has discouraged Dad from invading. I’ve staked out my claim to one room in the house that isn’t purely functional, that doesn’t contain spare car parts or utilitarian appliances. Although, admittedly, my own utilitarian appliances – my camera, the charge cords that go with it, the lenses and chips and other paraphernalia – occupy a dedicated shelf in my cupboard.
I gesture at the mess. ‘I think this room has been mine my whole life. We’ve always lived here. I was born in Ouyen hospital so I’ve never really strayed.’
‘Huh.’ I can’t quite read Harris’s expression: it’s a mix of quiet surprise, curiosity and some other emotion. It’s like he’s looking at the landscape of another planet. When he speaks, his words are halting, almost shy. ‘I was born in Adelaide. We moved here when I was a little tacker.’
‘Still in the same house, then?’
‘Yeah. But, y’know…it’s Dad’s house.’
I know straightaway what he means. His dad’s house. Not his. Not him and his father peacefully co-habiting, like Dad and I do.
Harris licks his lips. ‘Did a bit of couch-surfing before I went to Melbourne, when things got a bit…difficult.’
‘Was that when you worked at the quarry with Mark?’
‘Yeah. Dad wasn’t always on board with me working with Westie.’ He doesn’t elaborate. ‘Anyway, yeah, I squatted at Meary’s or at the old Watts place when I needed a roof.’
…and now he’s living on the couch at Mark’s house. Suddenly I know what the expression on his face is saying. It’s saying he’s never had a home. Not a home he can feel comfortable in, the way I do in mine.
The understanding strikes me like a blow. Why does so much shitty stuff happen to nice people?
I turn back so I can hide my face. My room really must seem like an alien planet to him. It must seem like Mars. ‘Sorry – one sec.’
I fumble around for the keys, fish them out of the detritus. There’s a moment’s silence, then: ‘Wow.’
Harris has listed over to the wall with my collage of pictures. I haven’t pinned them up in any order. I like seeing them scattered on the wall, angled here or tacked up randomly there.
‘What’s that?’ he asks, pointing.
I walk over to stand beside him. ‘Um, that’s Antelope Canyon. It’s part of the Colorado Plateau in the U.S.’ I scan the other pictures, nodding at the ones I look at all the time. ‘And that’s Machu Picchu in Peru. And that’s the Himalayas.’
‘In Nepal?’
‘Yeah.’ I smile at the picture. ‘I like that one a lot.’ I wave a hand at my pile of magazines under the tableau. ‘I cut them out and stick them up. Mostly from old National Geographics – I gave you some of my stash when you were in the hospital.’
His eyes take in the stack at our feet. ‘Are those travel brochures?’
‘Huh?’
‘You got some brochures tossed in there with the National Geographics…and is that a travel guide? Did you go overseas or something?’
‘Oh, those.’ I scuff the pile of old dreams with my boot. My inner voice wheedles: If you were accepted for the residency… I tell my inner voice to shut up. ‘Nah, I was gonna go after school. But I put it off when I got the CNA job. Dad and the family kind of need me.’
‘Right.’ His eyes pause on my face, turn back to the wall. ‘What about these pictures?’
He’s pointing at some of my prints now. I feel my cheeks warm. ‘Mm. The photos.’
‘Did you take these?’ Harris peers at them, leaning on his cane.
‘Um, yeah. I kind of go off with the camera sometimes, just walking around and finding stuff. That’s the gate near the Malcolm’s place. And that’s up near Pink Lakes.’
Harris leans in. ‘Mistletoe – that’s the stuff that infests the mallee trees, yeah?’
‘Yeah, the framing in that one turned out really nice.’
He touches a finger to the edge of another print. ‘Isn’t that in Murrayville?’
‘Some of them worked out good. Some of them are a bit boring.’
‘No way. These are cool.’ Harris seems fascinated.
I can’t help but grin. ‘You think?’
‘Sure.’ He nods at the ones higher up the wall. ‘Those big landscapes are the best. They look really wild.’
‘Oh –’ I blink at the washes of light and colour in the high prints. ‘They’re really old ones. I haven’t done open landscapes for ages.’
‘So these are the latest?’ He pushes up his hoodie sleeves and examines the pictures right in front of us. ‘That’s tight. You’ve got all the tiny details… That one’s the old machinery at Kow Plains, isn’t it?’
‘Yep.’
‘It seems different.’ His eyes sweep around the whole display. ‘Everything looks different.’
‘Things look different in close-up.’
When I turn to say that I realise how close up we actually are. Harris’s shoulder is right beside mine. I can feel his body heat. Me and Harris have been this close in the treatment room – I’ve seen him with his jeans off, for god’s sake – but now I notice things about him as if I’m seeing them for the first time.
The tops of his cheeks are smooth, even though his jaw is golden with stubble. The golden is all over him: it’s in his tan, his hair, the fine pelt on his forearms. He has a scent – that warm male scent I noticed the first time he was admitted, half perspiration and half something else… The scent of his skin, I guess. And his eyelashes are long, incredibly long. Wasted on a boy, Nani would say. They look soft.
My hands suddenly go sweaty. I rub them on my dress. Then I feel the metal under my palm and remember what I was doing.
‘Right, um, keys.’ I hold them up, dangle them in Harris’s direction.
‘Ah, cheers.’ He reaches to take them and the moment is broken.
I gesture back up the hallway to the kitchen. ‘So, you wanna, um, have a cuppa or something? Maybe a cold drink?’
‘Yeah. Sure. A cold drink would be good.’ His eyes dart around and I wonder if he’s thought about my dad before replying.
The kitchen seems spartan after my room. Dad and I live a simple life. Four tumblers on the shelf, a few plates, half a dozen mugs, a smattering of cutlery – just the bare minimum. A workshop lamp hangs down above the kitchen table, which is hardly big enough for me and Dad to eat together. From the table you only need to walk about one step further in each direction to reach the benchtop, exit to the living room, or open the back door for the steps to the workshop.
I grab tumblers, and juice and ice from the fridge.
‘It’s kind of a small house.’ I wave an unoccupied hand around at the space. Harris seems to take up a lot of it.
‘Nah, it’s nice. Cosy.’ Harris is looking out through the back louvers. ‘So your dad’s a bit of a part-time mechanic, is he?’
He must’ve seen the workshop. ‘Oh, yeah. He’s pretty good at it, actually. Keeps our two-car fleet going. He tunes all the squad cars, too.’ I settle the drinks on the kitchen table. ‘Tinkering, he calls it.’
‘Right.’ He takes another look. ‘That was my dad, too, originally. Diesel mechanic.’
I nod, sitting down. ‘So it’s just you and him? Over in Five Mile?’
‘Yeah.’ He clears his throat. ‘Mum took off years ago. Went back to Adelaide, I think.’
‘Right.’ I push his drink towards his side of the table. ‘Here you go.’
‘Ta.’ Still standing, he grabs the glass and drains off the top.
‘No worries.’ I watch him fidget for a second. ‘You can sit down, you know.’
‘Oh, right.’ He fumbles his glass and his cane, puts down the glass, finally manages to seat himself.
‘Harris, if Dad comes back, he’s not gonna arrest you or anything.’ I smile. ‘We’re just having a cold drink in the kitchen.’
‘Sure.’ He blushes, makes a snorting grin at himself. ‘Yeah, sorry. I’m just more used to dealing with your dad when he’s in uniform on the other side of the desk.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘Right. Anyway…’ He searches for another topic of conversation. ‘Your family’s always lived here, you said?’
I nod. ‘I grew up here. But it’s just been Dad and me since Mum died.’
‘Oh.’ He looks directly at me, blinks. ‘Shit, that was rude. I’m sorry –’
‘It’s okay. It was four years ago. Aneurysm.’ I say it casually, like I don’t think about Mum every day. ‘She moved here from Mildura – I mean, her family is still up that way. I still see a lot of my grandma, and my aunt’s family. Dad’s family are sort of scattered, mostly in Queensland, so…’
‘That’s good,’ he says. ‘I mean, it’s good you’ve got some rellies around.’
‘My dotty nanna,’ I say, grinning. ‘Yeah, she keeps in touch a lot. They’re her saris, hanging up in my room. Old ones, from when she was my age.’
‘So your mum was from…’
‘India, yeah. From the Punjab, originally – that’s in the north. She and her sister came as students, and they brought my nanna over. How about you, you don’t have any grandparents here?’
‘Nah.’ He rubs at a dribble of condensation on his glass. ‘No idea about that. Could be in Adelaide, could be gone. Never really knew ’em.’
‘Oh.’
He shrugs. ‘It’s okay. Don’t miss what you never had, right?’
‘Right. I guess.’
‘Anyway,’ he says again, eyes skittering towards my face, ‘I’ve been meaning to say thanks. For helping me out with staying at Westie’s. For the car –’
‘Well, that was Nick,’ I point out. ‘He’s been wanting to offload that car for a while.’
‘Yeah, but… You looked out for me. In the hospital.’ He takes another quick sip of juice. ‘I just wanted to say thanks.’
I shrug and smile. ‘That’s okay, but come on. I mean, that’s what I do. That’s my job.’
‘Not finding people places to live. That’s not part of your job.’
‘I did it cos I wanted to,’ I confess. ‘You wanted to get out of your dad’s place, right?’
He lifts one shoulder. ‘Yeah, I kinda had to.’
‘Now you’ve got a good place. Barb’s happy cos you’re keeping your appointments, Westie’s happy cos you’re helping him out –’
‘I dunno how I’m helping him out. I’m just taking up space on his couch, I’m not even paying rent…’ Harris’s eyes zero in on my face – goddamnit, I have to stop blushing, I’m giving everything away – which is when his expression changes. ‘Shit. Amie, did you pay my rent money? What the hell?’
‘It’s not rent.’ I fight against the blood in my cheeks, make my voice firm. ‘It’s just a few bucks for groceries, Harris. Would you have knocked Mark back if I told you?’
He scrubs his face with one hand. ‘I fucking can’t believe you did that.’
‘Hey, forget it. It’s no big deal, and I reckon Mark enjoys the company. Like I said before, everyone’s happy.’
‘It’s all gravy.’ He makes a humourless laugh, shakes his head at the tabletop. ‘Yeah, that makes it sound easy, doesn’t it? Some kind of easy simple thing.’
I’m not sure I like the sound of that laugh. It seems too lost, too helpless. ‘Harris, what is it?’
He’s still looking down. ‘I been meaning to say this for weeks. But I could never put it together right.’ He shoves his blond hair out of his eyes and finally meets my gaze. His face is very earnest. ‘All this stuff… What you’ve done for me… I dunno if you understand what it means.’
His eyes are a deep verdant green, with little brown flecks in them. I suddenly get this powerful feeling, the same feeling I got that time in his hospital room: like the air between us, everywhere around us, is humming.
I put my forearms on the table to steady myself. ‘What does it mean, Harris?’
He waits a long beat before replying. ‘Amie, I –’
‘Amie!’ There’s a shuffle from the hallway. ‘Amie, d’you reckon you could get Nick to shift his car? I wanna –’
The sound of my dad’s voice gets Harris moving before I’ve even registered it. By the time Dad steps into the kitchen and cuts himself off mid-sentence, Harris is out of his chair and standing beside it. His blank neutral face is firmly back on. Dad takes one look at Harris and changes expression in an instant.
‘Ah. Right.’ He glances between me and Harris, back to me. ‘Sorry, I thought you were talking to Nick. I saw the car and I just forgot…’
‘Hey, Sarge.’ Harris stands, fidgeting with his cane.
‘Hey, Harris,’ Dad says.
‘Dad, I’m sure Harris will be okay about moving the car.’ I speak clear and slow, still adjusting to the rapid shift in emotional temperature, trying to lower Harris’s tension. I gesture at the glasses on the table. ‘Is it urgent, or is it okay for him to finish his drink?’
Dad takes in the table setting. ‘Ah, sorry. No, sure, it can wait.’ He seems to think for a second. ‘Actually, I might get a drink m’self.’
‘We’re out of juice,’ I warn.
‘Milk, then. A glass of milk’ll do.’ Dad lumbers towards the benchtop. I have to move my chair around to the side so he can get to the fridge and bench cupboards. The kitchen suddenly feels a bit…cramped.
I sigh. ‘Harris, can you sit down again? He’s not gonna throw you out.’
‘Ah…’ Harris says.
‘Yes, for god’s sake, sit, sit,’ Dad says, ushering with his hand.
Harris sits.
I swivel to look at Dad. ‘What happened? I didn’t think you were gonna be back home until later tonight?’
‘Just had to drop off the other squaddie for a tune, I’m taking Jared’s car back,’ Dad says over his shoulder. ‘I probably won’t make it home for dinner, love.’ He glances at Harris, perched on the other kitchen chair, and his tone shifts from casual familiarity to ‘we have a visitor’. ‘Right. So. Just a social call, is it?’
‘It was.’ I restrain myself from eye-rolling. ‘Harris is picking up the spare keys for the Subie.’
‘Um, yep,’ Harris says.
‘You’re looking better than last time I saw you.’ Dad pulls a tumbler from the cupboard. ‘Although you looked pretty dire then, of course.’
Harris huffs a soft laugh. ‘Yeah, well, I didn’t feel that great, either.’
‘Fair enough.’ Dad swipes out his glass with a tea towel. ‘Amie says you had another close shave recently – with your mate, Snowie Geraldson.’
‘Dad.’ I purse my lips. ‘You’re really gonna get into this now?’
‘Snowie’s not my bestie, but I know him,’ Harris says. The tone of his voice makes me look over. He has a quiet set expression on his face. ‘It was Marcus Anderson I had a run-in with. Snowie wasn’t throwing no punches, he was just there at the pub.’
‘But you don’t want us to book Anderson?’ Dad says.
‘Nothing in it,’ Harris says. ‘Just a bit too much to drink. Nothing I’d be bothered making a big deal out of.’
Dad doesn’t reply, but he glances at me. I feel like saying, See, I told you. But for a second I get a momentary flash of how frustrating it must be: nobody will tell him the truth, even though he’s trying to help.
Dad nods sombrely, heads for the fridge.
Harris sits there for a long moment before suddenly speaking. ‘Snowie offered me a job.’
My head whips in Harris’s direction. What?
Dad has stopped dead in his tracks. Then he reaches slowly for the fridge door. Pulls it open. Takes out the milk carton. Closes the fridge.
I blink between Harris and Dad. It feels strangely like I’m holding my breath.
Dad holds the carton in his hand, looking at Harris. ‘Why’d you tell me that, son?’
‘Just did.’ Harris shrugs, as though it’s unimportant. But his eyes are focused on my father. ‘Snowie offered – I didn’t accept. Said I’d think about it.’
Dad meets his stare. ‘D’you know what there is to think about?’
Harris’s pause is as small as his nod. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I reckon I know.’
‘And what do you know?’ Dad asks.
Harris reaches for the glass in front of him. Doesn’t raise it yet, just looks at it. Then he seems to come to some sort of decision.
He looks up at Dad again. ‘Snowie’s been moving gear around the stretch between Ouyen and Five Mile for a while. Nothing large – sticks of weed, pills. Friday night deals. But he’s hooked up in Mildura now, he said. I get the impression he’s moved business north. Started bigging up. And the product has changed. Ice, not weed.’
Air escapes my lungs, soft and shaky. Does Harris know what he’s doing, what he’s saying? Looking at his face, I’m pretty sure he does.
Dad makes a heavy sigh, as though Harris has just gone through a kind of test and Dad’s relieved he passed. He puts the milk on the kitchen bench and pulls out the chair opposite Harris, sinks into it. ‘Ice is screwing up a lot of people in this area, you know. A lot of families.’
‘I know it,’ Harris says.
He shares a glance with me and I have a feeling we’re both thinking about the same thing: Craig Davies. But I’m still shocked. Dad is a police officer. Harris isn’t stupid, he has to understand what sharing this information with my dad will mean.
Has Harris tried ice? Does he know about Gavin Donovan? My head suddenly crowds with other questions, but this isn’t the time to ask any of them. Some kind of bass chord has been struck between my father and Harris: a deep thread of communication I’m loathe to break.
‘So Snowie’s looking for a small-time dealer to fill his shoes down here,’ Dad says.
‘More like a few local mates to act as foot-soldiers in Mildura. That was the gist, I think.’ Harris sips his drink, studies the tabletop gravely. ‘Snowie’s never been a real player. But he’s trying to keep his dad propped up with the pub, and I reckon he might be getting in over his head this time.’
‘His mate Anderson is going with him to Mildura?’
‘Ando’s not local, so he doesn’t care where he goes. Ando’s the muscle – and Snowie’s where the money is. He’ll follow Snowie, yeah.’
‘All good to know,’ Dad says. He waits a beat. ‘Still begs the question of why you’re telling me.’
Harris considers his glass. ‘Well, Snowie’s a mate. I don’t want him to get sucked too deep into this shit. And you and Amie have always been straight with me, so I figured I’d return the favour.’ His eyes dart towards me as he pauses. His teeth snag at his bottom lip again and again. ‘But the main reason is because…I’m kind of fucked. I’m almost completely broke, but I can’t live at home.’
He doesn’t say why, and we certainly don’t need him to explain.
‘Someone fronted me the deposit for the car,’ he goes on, ‘which is a good escape plan, but I still owe money. And Dad… Dad owes money. Big money. I’m laid up with my leg, so no job prospects on the horizon for a couple of months. If I register for welfare I’ll be waiting three months for my first cheque to arrive. But I can’t live on Westie’s couch forever. There’s other stuff involved as well, personal stuff…’
Dad just looks at him. I look at him. I’d like to reach out and grab his hand, which is squeezing hard on his damp glass, but I don’t think Harris wants me to do that. After a second, he continues.
‘I don’t have a lot of options.’ Harris glances up, snorts. ‘I mean, I never considered a career as a drug dealer, y’know? The whole idea seems kind of revolting. But I need the money. Like, really. And it would make sense for me to take this job.’
He stops then, like he can’t keep going. His other hand comes up from his knee to rub across his mouth. His eyes look hollow. I have to press my lips together to stop myself from saying something, anything, to make him feel better. For a moment it’s as if time is frozen, just the three of us grouped around this tiny table, like a cinematic still. Insects buzz in the afternoon light outside the kitchen door to the workshop.
Dad doesn’t seem to know what to say either. He’s frowning hard, his mouth a puckered line. Then he sighs through his nose.
‘It would make sense. You’re right.’ He frowns even harder. ‘More importantly, it would make sense to Snowie.’
‘What?’ Harris says it half a second earlier than me.
‘It would make sense to Snowie for you to take up his offer.’ Dad nods, almost to himself. ‘And you should. You should say yes.’
Harris’s eyebrows almost meet in the middle. ‘Sarge, I’m telling you cos I don’t wanna be a –’
‘You should say yes, and then you should report to me,’ Dad says.
That’s when I do jump in. ‘Dad.’
‘I’m authorised,’ Dad says to me, ‘and Harris isn’t a minor.’
I hate the sound of this already. ‘Dad, I know you want to make a difference before you retire –’
‘This isn’t about that.’ Dad scowls
‘–and I know you want to cut off the drug supply to the area. But he’s a civilian.’
‘A civilian is what I need.’ Dad turns fully to meet my eyes. ‘He’s street smart, he’s the right age, and most importantly, Snowie’s already asked for him.’
Harris is glancing back and forth between us. ‘Are you talking about me being…’ His eyes settle on Dad. ‘Are you recruiting me for information?’
Dad turns back, nods again. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.’ He sucks his teeth. ‘I don’t know what to offer you except a token payment when it’s all done and dusted. It’d be like a police reward for voluntary information.’
‘Okay – time out.’ This whole out-of-the-blue concept is making my stomach roil. I may not get how the local drug system works, but I’ve heard enough war stories from Dad to know the risks. ‘Can we just pause for a sanity check? Dad, you’ve told me plenty about the scene in Mildura. It’s not safe.’
But Dad is focused on Harris. ‘If there’s a bust I can’t guarantee you won’t lose the cash Snowie’ll pay you, because it’s proceeds from an illegal business. But I’ll see to it that you’re recompensed somehow.’
‘Are you for real?’ Harris seems to be having a hard time getting his head around the idea.
I’m having a hard time myself. ‘You can’t let him sell drugs to get information!’
‘Not selling,’ Dad says, shaking his head. ‘Foot-soldiering. Go-between stuff – delivering cash, setting up meetings, passing on info.’ He looks at Harris again. ‘Tell Snowie that’s what you’d prefer to do. Tell him you need to get outta Five Mile, that you’d like to join him in Mildura.’
‘Well the first part’s true,’ Harris mutters.
I jab the table in front of Dad with a finger. ‘Did you hear me say “it’s not safe”?’
Dad frowns at me. ‘He’ll just be a messenger boy, Amie. And if he gives me anything useful, I can pass it on to Ronnie Murphy up there.’ He glances across the table at Harris. ‘The Mildura CO is an old squad mate of mine. But I can’t register you as an informant with the department because there’s criteria, and you don’t meet them.’
Harris squints as he works it out. ‘So it’d just be old-school-copper style.’
‘Yeah. You’d find out as much as you can about the operation, and who’s bank-rolling the whole thing, and let me know.’ Dad leans further. ‘It’s good you told me. But you should think about what I’m offering, too, before you make a decision. Because Amie’s right, it might be dicey. Might not be the safest working environment.’
‘Hey,’ Harris says, ‘I used to work at the quarry blowing stuff up, remember?’
‘It’s not the same,’ Dad says. ‘These are human explosives – a lot more unpredictable. The people Snowie’s dealing with are bad people, I know that much about them. If it gets scary, you can back out.’
I groan, because now Dad and Harris seem to be occupying their own little bubble. Harris looks curious, surprised, and quietly excited. I’m not excited. Don’t either of them recognise how dangerous this could be?
‘You’re serious about this, aren’t you?’ Harris says to Dad.
‘Deadly,’ Dad says. ‘If you were younger, I’d say steer clear, I’ll help you find a way out of the mess you’re in. And I’m still happy to help you, either way. But you’re grown now, and you’ve come here and spilled this to me like you want some advice on how to handle it. As a police officer, I’m telling you how I plan to handle it – by getting as much info on this bloody cancer as I can while I still have time, then pulling it out by the root. And if we help each other, then the job’s done faster, and more effectively, and you get some benefit from it.’
‘Harris.’ I nearly grab his hand again. ‘He said think about it. Will you please think about it?’
‘I’m thinking.’ He meets my eyes. ‘I’m thinking you and your dad have done right by me plenty of times.’
‘It’s not about paying us back!’
‘It is for me.’ He looks at my father again. ‘So…I accept Snowie’s job offer and head up to Mildura.’
Dad nods. ‘You go up, work it for a bit, see what you find out. When you’ve had enough – and how long that will be is up to you – then pull the pin, tell them your dog died or something, come back to Ouyen.’
‘What happens if they make me?’ Harris asks. ‘What if I get arrested?’
‘Let me know and I’ll get you bailed. If you’re worried you might be in danger, get outta there fast. I’ll help get you out. You’re not like a standard informant, I don’t have anything over you. You’ve just told me off your own bat. That makes your safety my responsibility.’
‘I can’t believe you’re doing this,’ I say to Dad, but he’s not looking at me.
Harris is caught up in the logistics of the idea. ‘Who am I gonna pass word to? A cop in Mildura? Will you tell the station up there?’
‘No, and that will make it more difficult, but you don’t want any silly sideways glances from Ronnie and his crew giving the game away. The cops there won’t know you. I’ll do my best to keep you out of the shit here, but up in Mildura you’ll be on your own.’
‘Bit daunting.’
‘Yes, it is. Like I said, you need to think about it.’
‘So how’s he going to pass on information?’ I ask. I think my nostrils are flaring. ‘Who will he talk to?’
Dad doesn’t even hesitate. ‘Me.’
‘What, he’s gonna have the local senior sergeant on speed dial?’
‘I’ll give him a different phone –’
‘So he’s gonna carry around a secret agent phone? That won’t look suss at all.’
Dad frowns briefly. ‘Okay, maybe it’d be better if he didn’t call me. He could drive down to Hattah, or I could meet him at –’
‘He can meet me,’ I say.
I didn’t mean to say that. I totally didn’t mean to say that. But now the words are out there and I can’t revoke them. I won’t. Even though saying them has made me feel light-headed.
‘What?’ Harris stares. Dad looks like he’s seen something that offends his sense of good taste.
It’s a terrible idea. But I let Harris go back to his father before, and I won’t leave him to do this unsupported now. And now I’ve said it I suddenly realise that – as a concept – it’s actually got merit. Words keep falling out of my mouth like I’ve decided. I think I really am decided. And even though I’m making it up as I go along, I feel lighter and lighter with every word.
‘He’s gotta come back to the hospital for two more check-ups,’ I say, gaining momentum. ‘It will just be part of his normal post-op routine. He can write down the info or give me a verbal report. After a fortnight we can just say he needs more check-ups, and if Barb won’t come on board with that, we can –’
‘Not on your nelly,’ Harris says, at the same time Dad says, ‘Are you outta your mind?’
I finally lose my temper. ‘If you two idiots are going ahead with this, it’s the best way, and you both know it!’
Dad starts, ‘I’m not exposing you –’
‘Oh, so it’s okay for Harris to risk his safety on your behalf, but it’s not okay for me?’
‘No, it’s not!’ Dad says. He looks at Harris, torn.
Harris raises his hands. ‘Hey, I don’t want her to do it either.’
‘You’re both being stupid.’ I glare between them. ‘I’m not the one who’ll be traipsing around with drug dealers in Mildura – I’m gonna be here, where it’s safe. Dad, you know Harris can’t call you or see you in person. People will figure it out, and word gets around so fast… You’d be endangering him just by contacting him.’
Dad knows I’m right. I can see it in his face. I push my advantage.
‘When I’m at the hospital, I’m invisible. I’m not your daughter, I’m just another nurse. It’s the simplest, least suspect, least dangerous way for Harris to get information back. I’m already in place, and I’m just as invested in keeping Harris safe as you are.’ I don’t stop to ponder what I’ve just said. ‘Dad, you’ve gotta at least think about it.’
Dad has his eyes closed, head shaking. Harris is looking back and forth between Dad and me, but mostly at me.
‘You don’t have to do this,’ he says. ‘I’m the one who –’
‘I offered.’ I still can’t believe I offered. But I’m not going to take it back now. Anyway, if Harris – who has nothing – can take a chance on this, then what’s stopping me? I have to lay my palms flat on the table to stop them trembling, but I make a wobbly laugh as Dad’s head comes up. ‘I’m here and I offered.’
‘This is crazy,’ Dad says.
‘This whole thing is crazy,’ I snap back. I remember Nick’s words: You should do something crazy at least once a day. Well, I guess this definitely qualifies. Then I soften. ‘But, like I said, if you decide to go ahead with it, it makes sense to have me on board.’
‘If you decide to go ahead with it…’ Harris echoes. ‘Jesus.’
Dad’s face, as he turns away from me, has that peculiar time-stopped expression he only uses for really serious issues. It’s a kind of official expression. ‘Harris, say it and it’s happening. Say no, and you walk outta here and go on your merry way. But I’d stay clear of Snowie, if I were you. I’m planning on catching up with him soon, regardless of what you’ve told me, whether you’re involved or not.’
Harris closes his eyes. They stay closed for five long seconds before opening and staring right at me. My whole world is emerald with dark brown flecks for another drawn-out moment before he speaks. ‘All right, I’m in.’
Which means I’m in. I’m in, and there’s no turning back.
‘God,’ I whisper.
‘Right.’ Dad nods firmly. ‘That’s great. Thank you.’ He frowns at me. ‘Amita, you know I hate that you wanna be involved in this.’
‘It’s my call.’ I swallow hard. ‘And I’m doing it.’
‘Amie…’ Harris meets my eyes. When I shake my head to show he can’t talk me out of it, he sighs. He looks at Dad and his eyebrows lift. ‘So that’s it, huh? We’re working with the police. Jesus Christ.’
‘Will you contact Snowie soon?’
Harris looks dazed. ‘I-I’ve got his number in my wallet.’
‘Okay. Good. Call him tonight. Tell him you’re ready to go.’
This time I don’t think about it. I reach across and squeeze Harris’s fingers. ‘What if Snowie wants you up in Mildura tomorrow?’
‘Then he should go,’ Dad says.
‘What about Westie?’ Harris asks.
‘Tell him you got work in Mildura. Or don’t tell him anything. The less you tell him, the better.’
‘I can’t explain any of this to him, can I?’ Harris’s voice is pained.
Dad shakes his head. ‘I’m gonna try to keep this on a need-to-know basis.’
‘Will you tell Jared, at least?’ I’m trying to find the safety net for this operation, even a thin one.
‘Yeah – we might need him at some point. And I want someone else to be aware of this, even if it’s not official.’ Dad faces me, his eyebrows smooshed together. ‘How many people saw Harris come here tonight?’
I look at Harris, and he looks at me.
‘I don’t…’ I start, can’t finish it. ‘I mean, I’m not sure. Just us. Maybe Barb. But she only saw us leave at the same time, she didn’t know Harris was coming here.’
‘This is it, isn’t it?’ Harris says softly. ‘It’s on already.’
‘If you want it to be, son,’ Dad says.
Harris nods slowly. ‘Yeah. Yeah, okay.’
His eyes, with the dark flecks, travel over to mine. I’m still holding his hand – he’s gripping my fingers – and right now, I don’t think either of us wants to let go.