Death in Brunswick by Boyd Oxlade Page B

George,” and I’ll have to pay him more.’
    â€˜Little bugger! Jesus!’
    He got up unwillingly, pulling his jeans up. He noticed with surprise that he still had his shoes on. Christ! That’s a bit off .
    â€˜Um, Sophie, I hope you don’t think that…’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Well, that I got you here just for…you know… sex. ’Cause I really like you and that.’
    â€˜Well, didn’t you?’ She was laughing. ‘Anyway I got you here, didn’t I?’
    â€˜Yeah, I guess so.’
    â€˜Go on, love. I’ll see you tonight.’
    â€˜Yeah, OK.’
    He put his shirt on. Jesus! I do stink—still I’m only going to work. He picked up his jacket. As he did so he noticed a silent sticky pool on the green plastic; while Sophie was walking to the door he wiped it up quickly with his scarf.
    She waited by the door.
    â€˜OK, Soph, see you later.’
    He kissed her and she tucked his shirt in at the back.
    â€˜Listen, you’ll bring me down a drink tonight, won’t you, Soph, please.’
    â€˜Yeah, if I can, but we’re going to be real busy.’
    â€˜Well, OK, then.’
    â€˜Go on.’
    She gave him a little push out the door and closed it.
    He remembered the neighbours and looked around carefully before running down the stairs. As he reached the street he saw that the weather had changed, the sky was grey and a cold wind blew from the west. He put on his jacket, shivering.
    *
    Now, where the fuck am I? He started up the street. A gang of boys were skylarking on the corner; he hesitated and made to cross the road. No, fuck ’em. He marched on and through them, turning up the collar of his leather jacket.
    Reaching Dawson Street he turned right. He could see the enormous white pile of the town hall in the distance. As he walked along he noticed a tall, blonde, defeated-looking woman pushing a pram on the other side of the road. She looks like Prue. Fuck her—she’ll get no money out of me.
    But what about his daughter? He strained to remember what she looked like; he had a vague impression of white-blonde hair and pretty hazel eyes. He remembered the blue denim overalls she had worn when his wife took her for the last time.
    Poor little bugger— he was flooded with easy pity. I suppose she needs money. I must get a better job. I didn’t treat her…no, it was that fucking Prue’s fault—it was! If me and…and someone like Sophie had a kid, I’d be different, I’d help and everything—I’d look after it.
    A little shocked at the direction his thoughts were taking, he shook himself and hurried on in the chill wind.
    Take it easy! Jesus, I only had a stray screw! Yeah, but it was so good—I was good, she really liked it—I made Sophie come!
    He did a little soft-shoe on the pavement. Then he looked around self-consciously and looking up at the town hall clock stepped out soberly. Five fifteen. Late again—stiff shit! He turned into Basilisk Street and walked toward the club feeling for his keys.
    Yanni’s souped-up panel van was parked by the kerb, squatting like a black toad, flickering red flames painted down the side. A line of new posters flapped in the wind: ‘The Divinyls with Chrissie Amphlett.’ He saw a picture of a tall blonde girl, her hair tossing wildly. She wore a gym slip and lace stockings, her garters showing on her slim legs.
    Ah! Now I get Sophie’s uniform. Silly buggers! What is this? A playboy club? They just better leave her alone.
    He unlocked the side door and walked down the passage past the row of iron gas bottles and into the kitchen. Shit! It was incredibly dirty and cluttered. There was rice and pasta shells all over the floor; crushed pots crowded the stove and the sink was piled with dirty dishes.
    Jesus, this is the fucking limit! He plunged through the kitchen and into the darkened club. Groping through the gloom,