connected to me now. Like, she doesn’t have to explain how she’s feeling because I know what happened.’
‘You’re a good kid, Luce,’ said Troy. He leaned into the fridge. ‘Steak all right with you?’
‘I’ve got honey-soy-garlic chicken drumsticks in the oven,’ she said. ‘You should be smelling them soon.’
‘You see, this is why I buy you Tim Tams,’ he said.
Troy grabbed another beer from the fridge, left the kitchen and dropped onto the lounge. He’d missed the top of the news and wasn’t sorry. He’d had enough real life the past couple of days.
He put his beer on the table just as the key turned in the door. Chris walked in, dumped his backpack on the floor and then held the door for two friends to come in behind him. One skinny white boy wore a plus-sized basketball singlet that fitted him like a prom dress. The other had been here once before – Jayden, a Koori kid. He had the hood up on his baggy black sweatshirt, his obsidian eyes and broken nose in shadow beneath the deep cowl. Chris wore a hoodie too – a new one. Troy hadn’t seen it before. His little brother’s skin was the darkest of the family, but his eyes, today almost hidden by his trucker cap, were amber. The boys wore matching baggy jeans and bad attitudes. Without speaking, they moved towards Chris’s bedroom.
‘You guys want some dinner?’ Lucy called from the kitchen.
‘Nah, we’re going out,’ said Chris, without turning around.
‘Where?’ asked Troy, standing. ‘I thought you told your sister you were at Makayla’s tonight.’
‘We just left there,’ said Chris, his hand on his bedroom door. He closed it. Hard.
Lucy had moved. She stood between Troy and the bedroom.
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked quietly.
‘Talk to him.’
‘You’ve been drinking.’
‘Don’t start, Luce.’
‘Well, promise me you won’t–’
‘I’m just going to talk to him.’ Troy stepped around his sister, knocked on his brother’s door.
‘What?’ Chris opened the door.
‘Where do you want to go?’ said Troy.
‘Just out, you know,’ said Chris.
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Troy. ‘You want to go out and fuck around. Get into trouble.’
‘You don’t even know my business,’ said Chris. ‘How would you know I’m gonna do anything wrong?’
‘Because you’re wearing shit I’ve never seen before, and you’ve got no money to buy it. I reckon you stole it. Because you’re speaking and acting like some wannabe American gangster, and because you’re hanging out with these two–’
‘These two what?’
Chris now stood as tall as Troy. He thrust his chest forward, ready to go. His boys behind him watched; the white boy’s eyes afire; Jayden’s dead. Troy moved away from the doorway. He hadn’t hit Chris for years. Raised the way they were, it had been an automatic reaction to give his brother a backhander, or even a flogging, when he’d done something wrong. But one night, when Chris was twelve and had been suspended again, Troy had walked into their unit and been almost physically ill at the sight of his brother dropping to the ground, curling into a ball, ready to take a beating. He’d pulled Chris up and hugged him, promised to never hit him again.
‘Yeah, you’d better step back, boy,’ Chris said. The white boy behind him caught Chris’s hand in a ghetto slap.
Oh, for God’s sake. Troy took a deep breath. ‘Chris, I’m going to ask you again not to go out,’ he said. ‘I really want you to stay home tonight. I know you’re going to get hurt or get in trouble if you leave. And I’m not a cop anymore. I can’t get you out of any shit you get yourself into.’
‘We’re not gonna get in trouble,’ said Chris. ‘We’re not gonna get hurt, bro.’ The threat had dropped from his voice. ‘What are you doing home, anyway? Aren’t you s’posed to be at work?’
‘Someone got killed at the restaurant, Chris,’ said Lucy. ‘Troy’s had a shit couple of
‘You’re a good kid, Luce,’ said Troy. He leaned into the fridge. ‘Steak all right with you?’
‘I’ve got honey-soy-garlic chicken drumsticks in the oven,’ she said. ‘You should be smelling them soon.’
‘You see, this is why I buy you Tim Tams,’ he said.
Troy grabbed another beer from the fridge, left the kitchen and dropped onto the lounge. He’d missed the top of the news and wasn’t sorry. He’d had enough real life the past couple of days.
He put his beer on the table just as the key turned in the door. Chris walked in, dumped his backpack on the floor and then held the door for two friends to come in behind him. One skinny white boy wore a plus-sized basketball singlet that fitted him like a prom dress. The other had been here once before – Jayden, a Koori kid. He had the hood up on his baggy black sweatshirt, his obsidian eyes and broken nose in shadow beneath the deep cowl. Chris wore a hoodie too – a new one. Troy hadn’t seen it before. His little brother’s skin was the darkest of the family, but his eyes, today almost hidden by his trucker cap, were amber. The boys wore matching baggy jeans and bad attitudes. Without speaking, they moved towards Chris’s bedroom.
‘You guys want some dinner?’ Lucy called from the kitchen.
‘Nah, we’re going out,’ said Chris, without turning around.
‘Where?’ asked Troy, standing. ‘I thought you told your sister you were at Makayla’s tonight.’
‘We just left there,’ said Chris, his hand on his bedroom door. He closed it. Hard.
Lucy had moved. She stood between Troy and the bedroom.
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked quietly.
‘Talk to him.’
‘You’ve been drinking.’
‘Don’t start, Luce.’
‘Well, promise me you won’t–’
‘I’m just going to talk to him.’ Troy stepped around his sister, knocked on his brother’s door.
‘What?’ Chris opened the door.
‘Where do you want to go?’ said Troy.
‘Just out, you know,’ said Chris.
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Troy. ‘You want to go out and fuck around. Get into trouble.’
‘You don’t even know my business,’ said Chris. ‘How would you know I’m gonna do anything wrong?’
‘Because you’re wearing shit I’ve never seen before, and you’ve got no money to buy it. I reckon you stole it. Because you’re speaking and acting like some wannabe American gangster, and because you’re hanging out with these two–’
‘These two what?’
Chris now stood as tall as Troy. He thrust his chest forward, ready to go. His boys behind him watched; the white boy’s eyes afire; Jayden’s dead. Troy moved away from the doorway. He hadn’t hit Chris for years. Raised the way they were, it had been an automatic reaction to give his brother a backhander, or even a flogging, when he’d done something wrong. But one night, when Chris was twelve and had been suspended again, Troy had walked into their unit and been almost physically ill at the sight of his brother dropping to the ground, curling into a ball, ready to take a beating. He’d pulled Chris up and hugged him, promised to never hit him again.
‘Yeah, you’d better step back, boy,’ Chris said. The white boy behind him caught Chris’s hand in a ghetto slap.
Oh, for God’s sake. Troy took a deep breath. ‘Chris, I’m going to ask you again not to go out,’ he said. ‘I really want you to stay home tonight. I know you’re going to get hurt or get in trouble if you leave. And I’m not a cop anymore. I can’t get you out of any shit you get yourself into.’
‘We’re not gonna get in trouble,’ said Chris. ‘We’re not gonna get hurt, bro.’ The threat had dropped from his voice. ‘What are you doing home, anyway? Aren’t you s’posed to be at work?’
‘Someone got killed at the restaurant, Chris,’ said Lucy. ‘Troy’s had a shit couple of
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