Sold. Blair Denholm
that made me buy it. The fact that it’s a great little car doesn’t mean much. Lots of dealers have quality cars. And there’s the private sales. But I wanted to buy a car from you, Gary.’
Bloody hell, I think she’s trying to hypnotise me. He drained the last of his beer.
‘Well, I do love my job; most of the time,’ said Gary. ‘To tell you the truth, the last couple of months have been a bit hit and miss. But I’ve got some big sales coming through next week. I’m a bit like a kid though, ‘cos one of the best things about the job is getting to drive fancy cars every day.’
‘My client just walked in the door.’ Dawn dropped her red purse into her handbag and snapped it closed. ‘It’s been great to see you again. Take care and good luck with the car sales.’
She eased herself off the barstool and headed towards a stocky bald man in a high-viz singlet.
‘Hang on a sec. That stuff you said about real estate. Sounds interesting. I’d love to chat a bit more, if you don’t mind.’ Gary dropped his card on the bar. ‘Maybe a career change is just what I need.’
Dawn took the card, leaned in and pecked Gary on the cheek. ‘See ya.’ She took a card from her pocket and handed it to Gary. ‘You may as well take mine too.’
Her perfume was subtle, musky – unlike any scent he’d ever smelled on a woman – he found it intoxicating. He hoped he’d be seeing Dawn again soon, either to discuss a possible new career or to… no, that would have to be the only topic of conversation. No indiscretions. He’d managed to cover up a one-night stand, long ago, and had kept his nose clean since. And he wanted to keep it that way.
He resumed his examination of the form guide. Clapper Belle – a longshot in the next race at Sandown. He liked the name, and decided to throw $30 on the nose for a win, which left him a tenner for another schooner. The selection method was a departure from his usual approach: analyse past win ratios, weight handicaps, state of the track, jockey’s mother’s maiden name, run it all through the horse racing algorithm in his head and pick a loser anyway.
On the way to the betting counter, he saw Foss swaggering into the pub. Foss waved hello and headed for the bar.
‘Grab me one too, will ya?’ Gary called.
‘Fuck me.’ Foss placed Gary’s beer on a coaster. ‘I thought you were going to stop chucking money away on the horses. Mate, if you’ve got cash to spare, I can point you in the right direction with sound, high-yield investments.’
Foss undid his top button, loosened his yellow and black power tie, ready for a relaxing session on the piss. He was six foot three, lean and angular, with a BMI at the lower end of the scale in a third world country and limbs that stuck out like a praying mantis. Deep brown eyes peered at Gary from behind frameless glasses perched on wingnut ears. In a pub filled with tradies, the two friends looked as out of place as snowboarders in Darwin. But they were regulars and accepted by all.
‘I’ve got it all under control.’ Gary waved a hand in the air. ‘Let’s just have a quiet beer without any lectures, okay?’
‘Sure thing.’ Foss took a long draught from his pot. ‘Don’t bite my head off. I’ve always got your best interests at heart, you know that.’
‘Yeah, mate, sorry. Just got a lot of shit happening. You might be feeding me grapes at the Southport hospital next week.’
‘Bloody hell, mate. What have you got yourself into this time?’ Foss burst out laughing.
‘It’s not funny! I owe this bookie nearly four grand. Bastard’s threatened to send one of his thugs around to bash me if I don’t settle by close of business Monday.’ He sucked in a big breath. ‘Thankfully, Max advanced me the money, which I’ll pay back when I sell four cars to one customer. But don’t say anything about this to anyone, especially about Max lending me the money. Promised I wouldn’t breathe a word to anybody.’
‘You are a complete fuckwit, seriously.’ Foss shook his head ‘You haven’t sold a car for weeks and now you reckon you’re going to offload a bunch of ‘em?’
‘It’s a certainty. I’ve got a Russian businessman primed to make the deal on Monday morning.’ Gary beamed hopefully. ‘One car for each member of the family.’
‘Mate, that sounds like a fairy story to me.’
‘He’s for real, I know it. I’ve had deals fall over at the last minute but usually I get a feeling if things are going sour. This time, I dunno, something tells me it’ll be sweet.’
The volume of the TV increased. Gary pulled a betting slip from his pocket. ‘Hang on. My horse is about to run.’ He swung around to watch the plasma TV above the bar. On the screen, seagulls hovered over the starting gate; some perched on the metal barriers and dropped little messages of good luck onto the jockeys’ hats.
The gates flew open and a mass of brown horse flesh and harlequin silks burst out of the barrier. Soon Gary’s horse was dead and gone; it trailed the pack by a length as the beasts thundered around the last corner. He couldn’t watch. Clapper Belle’s performance proved why the TAB and bookies rated her a rank outsider. When the race caller declared the winner and place-getters, Gary tore up his ticket.
‘Have a feeling about that horse, too? Like the feeling you’ve got about your Russian saviour?’ said Foss.
Gary looked up slowly. ‘Spare me the sarcasm. Horse racing’s just a laugh. Selling cars is my real game and I’m telling you to put money on the Russian deal happening.’
She chuckled softly as the clip played. a small child fell off a swing and swore. ‘Fookin’ ‘ell!’ the toddler cried in some northern English accent.
The little girl’s parents must be monsters. Any child Maddie raised would just cry and howl, like most kids. Fancy posting a video of your kid swearing on YouTube! But she had to admit, it was bloody funny. A friend of her cousin had posted the clip on Facebook. Maddie shared it on her page and hoped her friends would think she was cool for liking it.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. Eleven o’clock and still no Gary. She thought back to today’s conversation with her boss about doing more shifts at the coffee shop. The extra money would come in handy, but the work was hard. She’d got home at three and her back was still aching from being on her feet for hours.
Since then she’d been piss-farting about on Facebook and playing online video games.
She wished she and Gary had a little girl to brighten their lives. Her own life at least; Gaz said the time wasn’t right to have kids. Around the time they got married, he said they could have a child when he reached 35. Only three years away but she knew Gary didn’t want kids at all, ever.
Her mum suggested Maddie go off the pill and see what happened. Mum reckoned if Maddie fell pregnant, Gary would show his true colours. But Mum was just gunning for a grandchild to match and colour coordinate with the other two; Mum was forever going on about the gorgeous grandkids her brother Mike had produced. But Maddie just couldn’t bring herself to deceive Gary, even though he deceived her all the time.
She clicked the home button of her Facebook page. Katrina posted a photo of her dog on the beach chasing a stick. Tiffany shared a recipe for mud cake. Brendan put up a video of his Irish uncle falling off a ladder and Debbie was at the park having a picnic with her vanilla family. Same old shit, different day.
The computer’s clock glowed 00:12. Maddie shut down her laptop, put it in its carry bag and placed it under the bed. She put on a terry towelling dressing gown and wrapped it tight around her body, suddenly shivering for no apparent reason.
She shuffled into the bathroom and fumbled in the vanity cabinet drawer for her tablets. She’d stashed a strip of Xanax in her contraceptives