Thunder Road by Ted Dawe

the ceiling for a while. And then almost immediately closed his eyes and went to sleep. I studied him. We were the same age but Devon was painfully skinny. He ate like a horse but never put on weight. Mind you, he did smoke incessantly. Why had my life been so dull since he had been away? He was trouble. He was unpredictable . He was out of control. But more than all of this, he was essential.

    The next thing I knew there was this Bang! Bang! Bang! at the door. It was Mrs Jacques and she was highly pissed. The last thing I had done before I dropped off into Wonderland was to pull the chest of drawers in front of the door. I didn’t want any embarrassing discoveries. Devon was still so out of it, he hadn’t heard anything. The big black plastic bag was in the middle of the floor and the room stank of chopped vegetation.
    ‘Trace, what’s the matter? Why won’t this door open? Who’s in there with you? Why aren’t you going to work?’
    The questions came at me like machine-gun fire. I leapt up, my mind in a mad panic as I rushed around, trying to hide incriminating evidence. I threw the bag out the window. When I staggered over, hauled the drawers back and opened the door, her eyes were shiny and she was jumping from foot to foot as if the floor was red hot. ‘What’s going on, Trace? Who’s there? What’s that smell?’
    When someone else has really lost it there is a bit of time to play with. I let her work it out of her system for a while. I felt like patting her on the head but restrained myself. No point in pushing my luck. With a smile I pulled the door open, showing the sleeping Devon and the room in its usual mess.
    ‘What’s the panic? Nothing unusual!’
    ‘When did Devon get here?’
    ‘In the middle of the night. I’m taking the day off. He’s been tramping and has stunk the room out with his bush smell.’
    I had this slightly outraged tone of voice. I was amazed at my own inventiveness. She was starting to back off. I didn’t want her nosing around. Devon was bound to have left that jumbo joint to smoulder out on the carpet.
    ‘Smells fishy to me,’ she said, but went back to the kitchen.
    I could hear sniggering behind me and saw Devon’s form jerking away in fits of laughter under the covers. He had just been faking, letting me handle it by myself. I was a bit pissed off. Thinking on my feet is not what I do best. That was his area.
    ‘Where’s the dope bag?’ he asked, sounding a bit edgy for once.
    ‘Sergei put it out for the rubbish truck,’ I answered in an off-hand sort of way.
    That made him sit up fast. I pointed out the window. ‘It’s out there. You’re going to have find some secure place to hide it. Somewhere that won’t stink the house out.’
    ‘I know that,’ he replied, grabbing his keys and levering himself out the window. He scooped up the bag and put it in the boot of his car. When he turned around he found himself face to face with August. They had some sort of conversation, August in his grey shorts, red blazer and cap. The image of a little private school boy. They both walked up onto the verandahtogether. When August had gone into Sergei’s practice room, Devon told me that he wanted to know what was in the bag.
    ‘What’d you tell him?’
    ‘Grass clippings.’ He raised his finger as though teaching a lesson. ‘Never lie unnecessarily, remember. “The truth shall set you free”.’ He had this Sunday school teacher’s voice on.
    I shook my head at him. ‘If you’re not careful the truth will lock you up.’

Chapter seven
    THE DAY STRETCHED before us like an untold story – full of possibilities and excitement. It was like I’d been bailed out of jail: I relished my new-found freedom.
    Devon wooed Mrs Jacques with stories of the terrible living conditions he had suffered up North and how he was so pleased to be back ‘in the bosom of the family that’s more of a family than my real family’. I shrank a bit; it seemed mean to lead on people