“Noah, who are you?” she asked the paintings, the room, the universe.
There was no answer.
Chapter 10
Parking on Sydney Road was a bitch even when he wasn’t jumpy about Paula. Noah pulled into a fifteen-minute zone, praying he’d be in and out fast enough to avoid a ticket. He got out and walked as fast as he could without attracting attention, hoping Paula had managed to get to the front of the Brunswick RSL on her own.
No such luck. She was in the corner of the sandstone building, but Shredder was standing over her, talking in a way that suggested a quiet disagreement. Paula was nodding, smiling; you’d have to spot the way the end of her cigarette was quivering to know how scared she was.
Then why’d she fucking call him? What are we doing here?
Questions for later. Noah squared his shoulders and strode toward the unhappy couple. Paula’s eyes lit up. “Hey! You made it.”
“Let’s go,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “Van’s in a tow away.”
He hadn’t expected ignoring him to work, but it was still disappointing when Shredder caught his gaze. His face split into an ugly grin, showing yellow teeth and steel fillings. “Junior! Been a while!”
He was fatter than Noah remembered him but the sneer was the same. So was the anvil tattoo he’d put on his neck five years ago. He felt a flush of fondness for his work before his internal shutters went down, sectioning off the parts of himself he’d die before letting Shredder see.
“We’re leaving,” he told Paula. “Got your bag?”
She nodded, but Shredder took her arm. “Not so fast. Let’s head back in and have a drink. Catch up. There’s a lot of things I’d like to know, Junior. Where you been living? How you been working since you turned your back on us?”
Noah ignored him, taking Paula’s other arm. She shook off her ex-husband and came willingly, but her triumphant smile was as unpleasant as Shredder’s sneer. This was supposed to be over. Yet here he was, mediating another drunk confrontation between a bikie and his missus.
“Heard from your old man?” Shredder said. “Seen him?”
If Noah had it his way, he’d never have seen him. He’d have come out of the womb and into a Harold Newcomb-free world. He tightened his grip on Paula’s arm, lengthened his stride.
“Oi!” Shredder bawled. “Turning your back like I didn’t half fuckin’ raise you. Come back here!”
Passers-by stared but Noah refused to make eye-contact. His blood was burning, the rage that never went away churned through him like magma. ‘Never gone, only dead’, The Rangers said, but he’d been gone. At least, he had until Paula found him. He’d given her a chance and she’d dragged Shredder, fuckingShredder,back into his life. He clenched his teeth, refusing to let anger take the wheel.
Breathe, Edgar used to say, and he breathed. He breathed like a fucking bull as he marched Paula up the street, his skin prickling for the punch that might be coming.
“You fucking dog!” Shredder yelled. “You ungrateful little shit.”
He relaxed a little at that. If Shredder was yelling, there wouldn’t be fighting.
“He’s pissed,” Paula said. “He won’t chase us. He wasn’t that bad anyway. Just too drunk for any fun.”
He didn’t smile. After everything Shredder had done, she’d called him, gone out with him, and now she was making his excuses again. For the first time in years he reached for the mantra that saved him when he thought he’d never untangle himself from The Rangers.Things do change.He repeated it to himself as he unlocked his van and opened the passenger door.Things do change, things do change, it seems like shit stays the same but it changes, you just have to wait long enough.
Paula flicked her cigarette and climbed into the van. “I’m sorry about calling you. I didn’t tell Shredder where we live though.”
“Seatbelt.”
She rolled her eyes and buckled herself in. “I swear, he doesn’t know where I’m staying. That’s why he got angry. He thought he had a root coming, but I wouldn’t fuck him again. I promise. I just wanted to know how things are at home.”
Noah nodded, but he didn’t believe her. She’d called Shredder,seen him again,and in doing that, she’d re-tied the thread that existed between her and The Rangers. That was a fuck of a hard thread to cut, and just like drinking, a relapse made you vulnerable to total collapse. He wanted to ask why she’d done it, but he knew why. Because she was lonely, because things back home were good once. Because she missed the life.
Paula had called him four months ago, so drunk and upset he could barely hear what she was saying. Through sobs, he worked out Shredder had locked her in the house before leaving on a week-long trip to Perth, taking her wallet and phone with her—a long term punishment for flirting with one of the new blokes at the club; the short term being a cut lip and a fractured wrist. Paula had broken a window, hitchhiked to a friend’s and gotten his number from one of his ex-girlfriends—Noah never found out which.
“You’re the only one who’s ever gotten out,” she’d said. “Help me.”
He’d always liked Paula; she was loud and funny and switched on. She was also trapped almost every way a woman could be trapped. He’d left for Sydney that afternoon, brought her back to his place and helped her find a job. He knew he was taking a risk, Shredder was not the kind of guy who took theft, and helping his wife leave him would be seen as theft, lying down. But he owed Paula the same chance Edgar had given him. A stable place where a second chance could take root.
Only, it hadn’t taken root. Nostalgia had pulled Paula past the bruises and bad times and back into her ex-husband's orbit. Now Shredder, and who knew how many other Ranger assholes, were in Melbourne, sniffing around his new life, threatening to fuck up everything the way only bikies could.