Black Ice Part 19

'Okay, sounds good,' she said. 'I talked to Last too, last night. He didn't say a word about you, but I did get him to okay me buying a private mobile phone to use only to take Damien's calls. I don't want Damien calling me on my work phone; I don't want to get confused about whether I'm Krystal or Jill, and I want to know immediately if it's him when he calls.'

'Good thinking.'

They watched a cyclist fly by. 'What's that, his fifth lap?' said Gabriel.

'Sixth,' she said. 'Listen, I was thinking last night about what I'd say if anyone from the block saw us here together.' Her cheeks felt suddenly hot. She reached out and started to pick at the registration sticker on Gabriel's windscreen. 'I kind of told Ingrid and some others that I was seeing my boyfriend again. So we can use that.'

'So, I'm your boyfriend?'

'Well, I know you're not coming in undercover. I know we're not going to deliberately get noticed or anything, I just figured that if anyone saw us . . . And also I have to explain why I'm away from the unit block more than usual. You have to talk a lot about stuff with these people. They want to know everything.' She was rambling. Was she rambling?

'So if we get noticed, should we kiss?' Gabe suggested, with a grin. 'Maybe we should role play a little.'

'Would you stop f.u.c.king around, Delahunt?'

'I'm just thinking maybe we should practise, that's all. I mean, we've got to look authentic if someone sees us. We're talking about some heavy people here.'

'I have to get back to the shops,' she said. 'I'll set a time to meet when Damien calls in. I'll get back to you.' She pushed the door open, stuck one foot out.

'Okay, darling, we'll talk soon then. I love you.'

'Idiot,' she said, and ducked her head to hide her smile.

38.

Thursday 11 April, 2.30 pm.

Seren thrummed her fingers against her thigh and waited. Hurry up and wait. She'd heard that war veterans described deployment that way. Lots and lots of waiting for the action; as a recent excon, she felt she could relate.

She'd been in this room twice now, and already she could close her eyes and describe every feature. Diarrhoea-coloured walls and industrial carpets, the latter always some hideous cla.s.sroom-blue, or synthetic-gra.s.s-green. These places all looked the same. She could've been waiting in the emergency department of St Vincent's Hospital, the visitors' reception at Silverwater gaol or her local medical centre. How did they get these places so dispiriting? Was there some sort of secret awards ceremony, where designers could submit their best effort at creating urban depression? If there was, she could nominate a good MC. Welcome everybody, if you could please take your seats, I'd like to introduce your host for the evening, Ms Maria Thomasetti!

'Seren Templeton.' Flat, dead-fish voice.

Seren opened her eyes and looked over at the people in the cage.

'Yo,' she said.

Muster. She was still in gaol, and now her son was in lock-up too. You're a total f.u.c.k-up, Templeton, she told herself, walking over to meet her probation and parole officer.

'You realise, Ms Templeton,' said Maria Thomasetti, 'that I could be transporting you back to Silverwater right now?'

'Yes, Ms Thomasetti, I do. And I'm eternally grateful that you have chosen to give me a pa.s.s, given that I managed to pay my rent first thing this morning.'

'Yes, well, there's that,' said Thomasetti. 'Another P&P might have given you a hard time about how you could come up with a hundred and ninety-five dollars at such short notice, when all of your cash was supposed to have been stolen from your flat.'

'So good of you not to do so,' said Seren. 'Of course, another P&P might have at least found out what was going on before handing someone's kid over to DoCS.'

Thomasetti coughed.

'And I'm curious,' said Seren. 'Did Fiona from the real estate call you? It's just that I did explain to her that I'd get her the rent this morning.'

Maria Thomasetti studied a crease in her skirt; she smoothed her chubby palm across it, and then looked up. 'Why no, Ms Templeton. I'm your P&P. I told you that I'd look after you. I called Fiona to make sure that you were keeping up to your obligations. I've got a job to do and I'm doing it. She told me that things had gone awry, and, of course, I had to take action. You'll find that I do things like that pretty swiftly around here.'

'Oh, I can see that.' Seren smiled sweetly across at the woman who could lock her up with Crash and Little Kim for the next hundred days. 'It's obvious you're more than up to your job. But you'll excuse me if I'm in a hurry to p.i.s.s into your cup? It's just that I need to go and pick up my child from DoCS.'

I guess it makes sense, Seren thought, sitting in yet another waiting room. Why wouldn't they put a DoCS office in the middle of a suburban shopping centre? Go to where the people are. That way, you can visit your kid and pop into Franklins to pick up some c.o.ke and Doritos at the same time.

She clutched her arms to her chest, pretending that she was holding Marco in her lap. She didn't mind at all what Maria Thomasetti thought of her, and she couldn't care less about what the woman behind this desk was thinking. What Christian felt about her would matter not one iota in a couple of weeks from now. Truth be told, she could even live with it if Angel was disappointed in her. No, when Seren stared into someone's face, there was only one person whose appraisal mattered to her: a ten-year-old's.

The door opened and Marco emerged with his school backpack over one shoulder, his eyes on the floor.

She rushed forwards. 'Baby, I'm so sorry! Come on, let's get out of here,' she said.

Marco sidestepped every attempt she made to touch him and she decided not to push it. Of course he was furious at her, but not as angry as she was with herself. How could she keep hurting this little boy when she would do anything to make him happy?

'I thought maybe we could pick up some yummy things and go back home for a feast,' she said. 'Or maybe we could go to see a movie?'

They stopped outside the DoCS offices, opposite a chicken shop. Marco just stood there.

'You don't have to worry about the money,' she said. 'I got a loan from a friend. We'll be fine until payday next week.'

Marco stepped backwards to allow a woman pushing a trolley to roll past them.

'So, what'll it be, honey? Movies?' she said.

When he didn't answer again, Seren knew she'd have to try something different. The woman behind the counter in the takeaway shop openly stared; this was her afternoon's entertainment. Seren imagined she'd witnessed plenty of drama in this food court.

'Marco, baby, I'm really so sorry,' she tried again. 'I don't know what they told you in there. They were going to lock me up because I didn't pay the rent, but what was I supposed to do? We'd been robbed! I can't believe they took you. I got the rent to them first thing this morning. That's why I'm working so hard, baby, to try to keep this all together. It's not going to be much longer; things will be better soon, I promise.'

Seren thought she saw her son's shoulders relax a little. She held her breath, praying he was coming around, would forgive her just one more time. Her knotted stomach loosened a little in hope when he raised his eyes to finally meet hers.

'I just want to get to school,' he said. 'I've got to get some sort of education. I don't want to end up some dumb s.l.u.t like you.'

39.

Thursday 11 April, night.

'So, what'd you get up to today, Krystal?' Ingrid asked.

Jill glanced over from the stove, where she was helping Jelly make dessert. She pushed his hand away from the saucepan. Again. 'I saw Gabriel,' she answered.

Ingrid blew smoke. She had no problem wearing her pyjamas when she had houseguests. In fact, unless she had to run an errand, Jill had noticed that it was her standard attire. Ingrid sat at her kitchen table, playing solitaire while Mrs Dang watched. Every now and then, Mrs Dang would crow with laughter and slap at the cards, scattering them, bawling out something unintelligible. Ingrid would re-deal patiently, call her neighbour a silly old bat or somesuch, and take another sip from the mug next to her.

'I f.u.c.ken told ya!' said Ingrid. 'I told everyone you were gonna take him back. Didn't I tell you that, Mrs Dang?'

Mrs Dang tried to smack again at the cards; she threw her head back in hysterics when Ingrid blocked her with an arm.

'So when do we get to meet him, Krystal?' asked Ingrid.

'Yeah,' said Jelly. 'Who are we talking about?'

'Gabriel,' said Ingrid. 'Krystal's boyfriend.'

'SHUT UP!' bellowed Jelly.

'What's your f.u.c.ken problem, Jelly?' screeched Ingrid.

This is another thing about this undercover job, thought Jill. It's so b.l.o.o.d.y loud. It's ten o'clock on a Thursday night, and here I am making honeycomb with an alcoholic, a schizophrenic and a hundred-plus-kilo man with the mind of an eight-year-old.

'Look,' she said to Jelly. 'This is the important step.' She added bi-carb soda to the concoction in the pot. 'You've got to stay alert, Jelly. You've got to tell me when it all starts to bubble up. Reaaaady look!' The mixture in the saucepan fizzed and seethed; it frothed to the top of the pan faster than she had antic.i.p.ated. She whipped it from the stove just before it spilled over.

Jelly cavorted madly around the kitchen, causing a mixing bowl to clatter to the ground. 'Honeycomb! Honeycomb!' he shouted.

Jill transferred the caramel-coloured sludge to a tray she'd purchased that morning for this purpose. 'It's got to go in the fridge now,' she said.

'We don't need the fridge!' Jelly held a spoon ready.

She had prepared for this eventuality. 'Okay, okay,' she said. 'But just stand back, Jelly. We can cool it faster, but it won't taste the same.' She grabbed a saucer from Ingrid's cupboard and dolloped a big spoon of honeycomb into the centre. She smeared it across the plate and turned to the freezer, blocking Jelly and his spoon with her body. 'Three minutes,' she said, 'that's all.'

'Oh, come on,' said Jelly, jogging from foot to foot.

'What kind of a name is Gabriel, anyway?' asked Ingrid.

'He's an angel,' said Mrs Dang. 'Archangel Gabriel,' she said. 'He watches over all of us. He's a soldier. He came to me last night. He told me he found my cat.' She cupped her hands together and made a rocking motion; tears sprang to her eyes. 'My little baby, my little kitsy, kipsy-cat. Archangel Gabriel will get my cat back from the government.'

'An angel, eh?' said Ingrid. 'I don't know about that. Seems to me that there ain't many angels that go around beating up women.'

Jelly hurled his spoon at a cupboard door. The crack was like a gunshot. 'WHO f.u.c.kING DID IT?' he hollered.

'Jelly! Jelly. It's okay, it's okay. No one hurt anyone,' Jill picked the spoon up and moved to Jelly's side, stretching her arm around his huge shoulders to hold him close. 'Shh,' she said. 'You want to wake the little baby next door? You know he's only been home from the hospital two days.'

Jelly shuffled his feet. 'Sorry,' he said. 'I don't like Archangel Gabriel.'

'That's okay, Jelly,' said Jill. 'What's really important is whether or not you like honeycomb.' The bell sounded on the microwave and Jill pulled out a bowl of melted chocolate. She opened the freezer and pressed her finger into the honeycomb mixture. It was set. Just. She drizzled the liquid chocolate over the plate and handed Jelly his spoon.

'Tell me what you think,' she said.

40.

Friday 12 April, 11 am.

Seren made her way through the blood-sloshed gutting hall to her supervisor's office, her tiny camera tucked into her pocket. It was insurance. It's only a matter of time until this guy tries it on, she thought. Or maybe he's just gonna give me some more h.e.l.l about having yesterday off. She sighed. She was definitely not in the mood for either option today. Marco hadn't said anything to her for the rest of the day, and that was fine by her after the words he had said at the supermarket. G.o.d, is that really what he thinks of me, she wondered.

She stepped into the office. Zeko sat behind the desk he was ent.i.tled to use when on duty. His thinning hair, translucent and moist, was carefully positioned over his bald spot, as though he'd just found a moment to comb it, slick it down.

'Please, have a seat, Seren,' he said.

She sat waiting, her hands in her lap. What would it be this time?

'It's your son,' he said.

When she lurched to her feet her chair toppled backwards and crashed to the floor. 'What?' she said.

'Hey, hey, hey,' said Zeko, waving his hands. 'Your son, he is all right. He's all right, now. Shh. Sit down, sit down.'

Seren slammed hands flat on the desk. 'What's going on?' she said.

'Your son's school called here. There's been some trouble. Your boy's in trouble.'

'What happened?' she demanded. 'Would you just tell me what's happened?'

'They would not tell me. I told them you were working and that I was your good friend, but they would not tell me. They only said he is all right and he has been bad, and would you come to get him.'

Seren thought quickly and turned to leave the room. She'd just grab her things and catch a cab over there.

'Wait, Seren.'

She turned back to Zeko, her brow creased.

'I think you should let me go to get your son,' said Zeko.

'You?' she said.

'I can go and pick him up in my car and bring him back here before the boss notices. You can call the school and tell them I am on my way. I can drive you and your son home when the shift finishes.'

'I don't think so.' She again moved to leave. 'Thanks, anyway,' she said.

'Seren, I think you had better think more carefully about what you do,' he said.

'What are you talking about?' Would he just b.l.o.o.d.y shut up? She needed to get over there.