Ron McCoy’s Sea of Diamonds by Gregory Day Page A

waited. She pressed her back against the rail, feeling the evening chill in the wood. She wasn’t sure whether or not he was coming back. They never fought. Craig was normally so laid-back. She suspected Colin Batty was giving him a hard time.
    Inside she could hear him talking to Reef now, saying goodnight, telling him to go to bed. His voice was gentle. It always was with Reef. He had this way of teaching his boy. With Libby, of course, he was all at sea.
    Craig came back out through the sliding door with a stubby and his guitar. He sat down again, took a swig and started playing a blues tune without singing.
    â€˜How’s Colin?’ Liz asked.
    He never liked it when she asked a question while he was playing. He was in the middle of a song, for Christ’s sake.
    â€˜Better,’ he squeezed out.
    Liz nodded to herself and stared straight ahead, across the verandah at their bedroom window. A cast of bitterness came over her face. So he shouts at her and then plays a song and drinks. What is this?
    â€˜Do you still love me?’ she shot out.
    He turned his head towards her and dropped his jaw.
    â€˜Liz, I’m playing a song, all right? Of course I still love you.’
    She couldn’t believe her ears. He flattened his hand over the strings and then started picking out a Leo Kottke piece he’d been trying to learn. It was a slow midwestern rag. He’d nearly got it sussed.
    Liz stood up straight again. ‘You can’t just pull out your bloody guitar in the middle of an argument, Craig! What the hell is the matter with you all of a sudden?’
    He could see her face redden, even in the half-light. He stopped playing.
    â€˜Well, how are you?’ he asked her sarcastically.
    â€˜What do you mean by that?’
    â€˜Well,
how are you
? These days?’
    â€˜What are you trying to say?’
    He started picking at the strings again.
    â€˜Craig!’ she shouted.
    He put the guitar down and took another sip of his stubby. Then he stared up at her with a bored look on his face.
    He’s so hard, she thought.
    Craig drew in a deep breath and blew it out noisily. He couldn’t sustain it any longer. His shoulders dropped.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s just a mood.’
    Thank God, Liz thought.
    â€˜I’m just tired,’ he said. ‘Just tonight.’
    â€˜Did you surf?’
    â€˜Nah. It was crap.’
    â€˜What did you do, then? You weren’t home for dinner.’
    He took another big breath. ‘Oh, I just sat in the car and watched. Just unwound a bit.’
    â€˜Yeah, right, obviously,’ Liz said.
    â€˜Yeah, right,’ repeated Craig.
    There was silence for a few moments, just the moths by the light. The TV was turned off inside.
    â€˜Well,’ Liz said. ‘I’m off to bed. Reef’s got to go to that wildlife place tomorrow so we’ll all be up early.’
    Craig nodded. Liz slipped away, through the door, back into the house.
    He felt sad now. He watched the light come on in their bedroom behind the curtains. Heard the beeps as she set their alarm. He picked up the Maton again. Strummed an open chord. Then he went back to the Leo Kottke tune, not because he wanted to finish learning it but because its mood suited his. Like a lot of Kottke’s slower tunes it had an old-time melancholy about it, from the days of the American Civil War. There was a sense in the music of something significant or sad just having happened. And something golden being lost forever.

SIX
A H ANDSHAKE WITH D OM K HOURI
    T he day before Dom Khouri came, Min insisted that she and Ron give the house a spring-clean. Ron had expected this and even though, as he said, they weren’t selling the house itself, he knew his mother would take the visit of an important and wealthy man as a cue for him to get down on his hands and knees and scrub the floors. Once upon a time she would’ve done it herself but her old bones