‘Offloading Greg’s works of art on the endearing Australian public, are you?’
‘Yip. What’s your name?’
‘Mac.’
I put my hand out to shake his. He stubbed out his cigarette before shaking mine, making me wait with mine outstretched.
‘Mac. You Scottish, then? I’m working with a guy called Scotty.’
‘Well, I was certainly born there, but that’s going back a bit.’
‘What part?’
‘Dundee. Why? Think we might know the same people, do you?’ He laughed unnecessarily again.
‘No, I’m from Edinburgh. Only been here and there.’
‘This is some journey here, is it not? Doing the backpacking bit, are you?’
I could hear much more of his Scottishness now. ‘Not exactly. I’m on a young person’s work visa because I’m under twenty-five, so I wanted to make the most of that while I could.’ I’d almost finished my beer and shook the bottle to ask him if he wanted another.
‘Val will get us another.’ He finished his beer. ‘Val!’ He clicked again. The barmaid turned round, rolled her eyes and brought us a refill. I had potted two, he was on his last ball; Mac had put aside some serious pool practice in his time. With another cigarette in his mouth, he slammed the ball off the top end of the table and doubled it back to knock it into the bottom left-hand corner pocket, just where I was leaning.
‘Oh yes, got to make the most of things, very important,’ he drawled.
‘So what do you do then, Mac?’
‘I play pool a lot.’
‘What, professionally?’
‘No, not professionally, for fuck’s sake. Among other things.’
‘Such as?’
‘I have a job.’ He set up another game, intermittently looking me up and down. I felt good; I was getting a tan and my legs looked good in my denim skirt.
‘Well, what do you do?’ I persisted.
He stopped before he hit the ball and looked up at me; he made me wait for everything. ‘Well, I’m a sports journalist for the
Sydney Morning Herald
.’
‘You don’t strike me as very sporty.’ Now it was my turn to laugh.
‘I cover the horses, the track. Have you ever been to Harold Park?’
‘No.’
‘Well, maybe I’ll take you one time.’
‘What, if I’m good?’ I felt like playing around with him now that my beer was kicking in.
‘That’s right, if you’re good.’
‘And what if I’m bad?’
He was leaning over the table; he dropped his head onto it and laid it there for a moment. Then he looked up and belted another ball, which slammed off the end of the table and bounced up in the air, landing on the floor, causing the barmaid to shout over, ‘Mac. I’m warning you!’
‘Well, answer my question. What if I’m bad?’
‘Then you’ll be sent to Dundee, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.’ He took a packet out of his pocket and lit up his last cigarette.
‘I’ll have one, thanks.’ I said, putting out my hand. He slammed some coins onto the table; Val threw him a new packet from behind the bar.
‘Tired of pool,’ he said, drawing up two barstools. I joined him, lighting up the cigarette he gave me. I looked over at the others and waved to them. Scotty waved back.
‘Is that your boyfriend?’ Mac sniggered.
‘No, it is fucking not!’ I was embarrassed, quickly turning the questioning back towards him. ‘Where do you live?’
He pointed to the ceiling.
‘Here?’
‘Yep, upstairs.’
‘Why do you live here?’
‘What do you mean, why do I live here? Because it has everything I need, and I don’t have to go far to get here, do I?’ He tapped the bar. I liked him; I didn’t know why because he wasn’t exactly friendly. I knew he was dangerous and slightly attractive, if beat-up looking around his face now that I examined him closely. I also knew that his difficult and evasive manner was down to years of boozing and being alone.
‘Are you married?’ A predictable question, I thought, just as I’d asked it.
‘What do you think?’
‘I think you were and now you’re divorced,
‘Yip. What’s your name?’
‘Mac.’
I put my hand out to shake his. He stubbed out his cigarette before shaking mine, making me wait with mine outstretched.
‘Mac. You Scottish, then? I’m working with a guy called Scotty.’
‘Well, I was certainly born there, but that’s going back a bit.’
‘What part?’
‘Dundee. Why? Think we might know the same people, do you?’ He laughed unnecessarily again.
‘No, I’m from Edinburgh. Only been here and there.’
‘This is some journey here, is it not? Doing the backpacking bit, are you?’
I could hear much more of his Scottishness now. ‘Not exactly. I’m on a young person’s work visa because I’m under twenty-five, so I wanted to make the most of that while I could.’ I’d almost finished my beer and shook the bottle to ask him if he wanted another.
‘Val will get us another.’ He finished his beer. ‘Val!’ He clicked again. The barmaid turned round, rolled her eyes and brought us a refill. I had potted two, he was on his last ball; Mac had put aside some serious pool practice in his time. With another cigarette in his mouth, he slammed the ball off the top end of the table and doubled it back to knock it into the bottom left-hand corner pocket, just where I was leaning.
‘Oh yes, got to make the most of things, very important,’ he drawled.
‘So what do you do then, Mac?’
‘I play pool a lot.’
‘What, professionally?’
‘No, not professionally, for fuck’s sake. Among other things.’
‘Such as?’
‘I have a job.’ He set up another game, intermittently looking me up and down. I felt good; I was getting a tan and my legs looked good in my denim skirt.
‘Well, what do you do?’ I persisted.
He stopped before he hit the ball and looked up at me; he made me wait for everything. ‘Well, I’m a sports journalist for the
Sydney Morning Herald
.’
‘You don’t strike me as very sporty.’ Now it was my turn to laugh.
‘I cover the horses, the track. Have you ever been to Harold Park?’
‘No.’
‘Well, maybe I’ll take you one time.’
‘What, if I’m good?’ I felt like playing around with him now that my beer was kicking in.
‘That’s right, if you’re good.’
‘And what if I’m bad?’
He was leaning over the table; he dropped his head onto it and laid it there for a moment. Then he looked up and belted another ball, which slammed off the end of the table and bounced up in the air, landing on the floor, causing the barmaid to shout over, ‘Mac. I’m warning you!’
‘Well, answer my question. What if I’m bad?’
‘Then you’ll be sent to Dundee, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.’ He took a packet out of his pocket and lit up his last cigarette.
‘I’ll have one, thanks.’ I said, putting out my hand. He slammed some coins onto the table; Val threw him a new packet from behind the bar.
‘Tired of pool,’ he said, drawing up two barstools. I joined him, lighting up the cigarette he gave me. I looked over at the others and waved to them. Scotty waved back.
‘Is that your boyfriend?’ Mac sniggered.
‘No, it is fucking not!’ I was embarrassed, quickly turning the questioning back towards him. ‘Where do you live?’
He pointed to the ceiling.
‘Here?’
‘Yep, upstairs.’
‘Why do you live here?’
‘What do you mean, why do I live here? Because it has everything I need, and I don’t have to go far to get here, do I?’ He tapped the bar. I liked him; I didn’t know why because he wasn’t exactly friendly. I knew he was dangerous and slightly attractive, if beat-up looking around his face now that I examined him closely. I also knew that his difficult and evasive manner was down to years of boozing and being alone.
‘Are you married?’ A predictable question, I thought, just as I’d asked it.
‘What do you think?’
‘I think you were and now you’re divorced,
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