Will went to private school, and Julian went

to juvie. Will is running from a family secret,

and Julian is running from the goat next
door. The boys meet pushing trolleys, and
they find a common enemy in the Westie
hoons who terrorise the carpark.
After a few close calls, Will has to nut up
and confront his past. But on the way, he
learns a few things about what it means to
be a friend and what it means to be family.

ISBN: 978-1-76029-039-9

Cover design: Astred Hicks, Design Cherry

9 781760 290399

FICTION

spine 15.25mm

This project has been assisted by the Australian Government through the Australia Council,
its arts funding and advisory body.

First published by Allen & Unwin in 2016

Copyright Scot Gardner 2016
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by
any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information
storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The
Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of
this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its
educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has
given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.
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A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the National Library of Australia
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ISBN (AUS) 978 1 76029 039 9
Teachers notes available from www.allenandunwin.com
Cover design by Astred Hicks, Design Cherry
Cover photos: Red Wall: Christian Adams / Getty Images; Shopping trolley: Glenn Homann /
EyeEm / Getty Images; Goat: Eric Isselee / Shutterstock
Set in 11/15.8 pt Bohemia by Midland Typesetters, Australia
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10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Smashed
What were looking for, Julian began, and
I paused to listen, is a group of hot Asian chicks.
Younger than say . . . twenty. School kids ideally, but
theyre probably all at school.
Id followed him through the tradesmans entrance
into the food court to do what a hundred and eleventeen other people were doing at lunchtime on a
weekday, but he seemed to have lost focus.
Youre having hot Asian chicks for lunch?
Theres a thought.
His tattooed biceps twitched as he drummed without
rhythm on the back of an empty chair and scanned the
crowd. A pair of sparrows flew low over the tables.
Bingo! he hissed, and began weaving between
the seated diners. He stopped short of a group of

four girls, each with long, straight black hair and

delicate physiques, eating delicate food with delicate
movements of disposable plastic forks, chatting
in . . . Mandarin? Ijoined Julian. Yes, Mandarin.
What are we Iwhispered.
Julian raised a finger and stared absently at the
front of the ice-creamery.
The girls collected their phones and handbags
andleft.
Julian swept into one of the vacated seats and
gestured for me to sit opposite.
Weve got a fair whack of noodles here, even if she
did eat all the chicken.
He handed me a plastic fork and began shovelling
sauce-stained noodles into his gob. Sit, he said.
Have some of that rice.
Im not sure about eating a strangers leftovers.
Theyre not strangers, Will. Theyre hotties you
havent hooked up with yet.
I looked around. People ate. Isat down.
Julian inspected a serviette then wiped his mouth
with it. I ask myself, Would I get nasty with that
woman? If the answer is yes, then eating her lunch
is like fast-forwarding to the good bits. Sharing spit
can be gross or horny you choose.
Germs?
Dont think about it, cant catch it. Thats my
motto.

Why not buy your lunch?

Could, he said. Im providing a community service
here. Recycling. Stops the bins filling up.
Why Asian women?
Julian shrugged. Eat like birds. Never clean up.
I took a forkful of rice.
Julian chewed and nodded. Seeing this is our first
official date, I think you should tell me a bit about
yourself. How long you been pushing trolleys?
Three months.
See, thats just sick. How could we work for the
same company for three months and never have a
proper conversation?
Easy, Isaid. While Doug was sick you were always
with Ricky.
And you were a total loner.
That was Joanies idea. She gave me a days work
without any promises and I went at it as hard as
Icould. Iturned up the next day and the next and she
eventually gave me regular shifts.
He nodded and shovelled more noodles. What did
you do before this place?
School.
Oh yeah? Which one?
St Alphaeus.
Whoo, an Alfie? You gay?
Not that Iknow of, Isaid.
Where do you live?

Garland.
Ha! Whys an Alfie from Garland pushing trolleys?
Shouldnt you be in a bank?
Not my style.
Whyd you leave school then? How old are you?
Seventeen?
Yep, Isaid.
Julian munched. Munched and stared. And?
I shrugged. Its complicated.
Julian rocked back in his chair. I hate that. Its
complicated. Just answer the question.
I . . . Id had enough of school.
Whats complicated about that? School sucks arse.
I laughed and took another forkful. The rice was
good.
Family?
Dad works offshore. One older sister, Sofie,
studying Arts/Law at Huddington. They dont talk.
Do you guys talk?
Father, no. Sister? Facebook, mostly.
Pets?
Two dogs. Rottweilers.
Names?
Dillon and Maude.
Named after relos, Ibet.
I shook my head. Poets, Ithink.
Only in Garland! he said. Girlfriend? Or boyfriend? Whatever.

Girlfriend. Not anymore.

Enough said. Mum?
She died when Iwas five. Is that my twenty questions done? Im trying to eat.
Sorry, Will. Sorry. You ask me.
Okay, same.
Thats just lazy, he grumbled.
So fire me.
Youre fired, he said, and shot me with a finger
pistol. I live in West Tennant. Westie born and bred.
He held both fists in the air and nodded to the indifferent crowd as if they were his fans. His tribal tattoos
continued onto the pale skin under his arms.
I was in juvie for smashing a bloke. Mum and Dad
are around but they dont live together. I live with
Mum and my older brother, Duane. Hes gay but he
doesnt know it. Got a hot girlfriend, Nishi and a
Maltese terrier, Booboo. Been working here for a year.
You smashed a bloke?
He stacked his empty container on another and
swept them both into a plastic bag. He had it coming.

Purse

Working alone, were allowed to push a maximum of twelve trolleys. Together, twenty.
That afternoon, out in the broad savannah of the
southern carpark where boss Joanie couldnt see us,
Julian and Idrove huge pythonic trains of fifty trolleys
each. Joanie never walked if she could avoid it and
when she came out to the carpark her tractor and
trailer rattled like old metal garbage cans over every
speed bump. We heard her coming over the crashing
waterfall of white noise that a hundred moving
trolleys make. We diced our snakes into man-sized
bites before heading for the collection bay.
Whos the fastest out of youse two? she asked, as
she killed the tractor. Whoever is the fastest can run

down to the fire hydrants and collect that runaway

before she gets lost.
I reckon thats you, Will, Julian said.
Thanks, Isaid, and jogged off.
I stretched out my stride. If nothing else, Julians
short legs would have added another fifty steps.
As it turned out, Icollected first prize for my efforts.
Beneath a ribbon of till receipt in the dumped trolley
was a womans black leather purse. New and glossy,
it bulged at the seams.
Dont worry, madam, Ithought, your purse fell into
the right hands. Stuffing it into my back pocket,
I trotted the rogue trolley back to the trailer and
shoved it aboard.
Youse two do the western carpark now, Joanie
said. Ricky and Doug are cleaning up the north.
Tefari and Jelat are up on the second level, over east.
Ill see youse there in half an hour. Run if you have to.
Julian scoffed, mostly to himself. Yep, see you
there, Joanie. Dont be late!
I chuckled. I doubted Joanie had been late for
anything. Ever. She should be working in public
transport where that sort of compulsive disorder is
welcome. She started the engine.
What did you score? Julian whispered.
Pardon?
What did you find in the trolley? Wallet?
What?

He scanned my pockets.
You shifty bastard, he said. Its a purse, isnt it?
What are you
He pointed at my backside, and clicked his fingers.
Hand it over.
I jogged for the western carpark.
Julian appeared beside me, his legs and arms
pumping. You should hand it in.
I will, Isaid.
Give it to me. Ill hand it in.
He flicked my shirt up and made a grab for the
purse. Islapped his hand away and turned up the pace.
Julian matched my speed. Its the right thing to do.
You know its the right thing to do.
Of course its the right thing to do. And Ican trust
me to do it.
He grabbed the back of my shirt and yanked me off
balance. I stumbled, righted myself and turned on
him. Let go.
Ill hand it in, he said again. He didnt let go.
I twisted hard. My shirt ripped and popped free of
his grip. Ibolted.
In ten strides hed caught me again. This time, with
knuckles wrapped in my shirt, he kicked my foot out
from under me. I hit the tarmac hard, knees and
hands first.
Julian let go. He hooked the purse from my pocket
and took off in the direction of the main entrance.

I sprang to my feet and gave the pursuit all I had.

Gimpy at first, Ishook off the pain and closed the gap.
Julian glanced over his shoulder his lips were
smiling but Isaw the panicked white of his eyes. Then
he put on a burst of speed; like a rabbit, he darted
between a pair of cars. There was a crunch of plastic
and Julian swore. Hed hit a mirror. Imissed the turn
and slid between another pair. The gap between us
halved. At full tilt, Ilaunched myself at him and rode
him to the tar. The purse clattered clear.
Julian squirmed beneath me, his eyes shut and
mouth tight with pain. Iclimbed off him and collected
the purse.
Julians shoulder hit me in the middle of my back
and I went down again. In a flash, hed locked my
neck in the crook of his elbow and punched me in the
mouth. In the cheek. In the eye. Itore my head free
and shoved him off balance. Once he was down,
I pinned him with a knee and gave him a few fisty
repayments. Plus tax. The fight quickly went out of
him and Istood.
Julian lay curled on his side, his bloody hands
covering his bloody face. He spluttered.
Someone was screaming. Stop, stop! A woman in
a hijab held her childs hand and watched us, eyes
wide. Leave him alone!
There were witnesses. My guts chilled. This was a
public space my workplace. Assault was instant

dismissal. Assault was a criminal offence. I didnt

need that complication.
Sorry, Isaid. Julian?
I reached for his wrist to help him up. He whimpered and pulled away.
I dropped the purse and ran.

10

Cat

I collected my backpack from the brew room and

ran to the gym. It was too early to go home and
Ididnt know where else to hide.
You okay? the woman at the counter asked. Sabine.
I flashed my membership card and she scanned it.
Fine, Isaid, and forced a smile. Had an argument
with the stairs at the post office.
Oh, dear. That sounds nasty.
My fault. Shouldnt text and walk.
She covered her smile.
I thanked her and slunk off to the change rooms.
Ishowered and inspected my face in the mirror. One
cheek was redder than the other and my right eye was
bloodshot. I tongued the cut inside my lip. No

11

grotesque swelling or bruising. Sabine would be the

first and last to know Id been injured.
I bought a sports drink and flicked through a
day-old tabloid in the cafe. Apparently, an IED in
Pakistan had killed seven people and wounded twentythree others. Apparently, sporting hero turned
commentator Ian Gale had yet another teenaged girlfriend. Apparently, salmon was the trending colour
for spring. A salmon neckerchief? Its hard enough to
feel like a man without the handicap of a salmon
neckerchief.
I phoned my sister from the payphone in the foyer,
but it went straight to her voicemail. Hi Sofe, its
Will. Just wondering how you . . . yeah. Ideactivated
my Facebook account. Still havent got a number you
can call back on. Catch you when Ido.
The clock in the gym cafe had a bent minute hand.
Iwaited until the tip made it to four oclock before
Iwalked home. Idid my usual recce pass of the front
of the bowling alley and veered into the lane. A quick
head check, and then onto one knee to open the
crawl-space door. Ifelt the gravel keen on the fresh
grazes under my jeans. Ishut the door behind me and
reached between the slats to slide the pad-bolt home.
From the outside, youd just see a locked door.
A cat was curled on the foot of my sleeping bag.
Istopped it hadnt heard me enter. Iheld my breath.
Until that moment, it hadnt been more than a fleeing

12

tabby streak. I made a high-pitched squeak that

pierced the low rumble of bowling balls rolling
overhead and the cats ears pricked.
Hey, little mate, Isaid gently, and it blinked awake.
Isqueaked again and it bolted. Iwatched it squeeze
beneath the slats and gallop up the neighbours paling
fence. It had eaten some of the tuna Ileft it. It had
drunk all the UHT milk from my plastic breakfast
bowl. Ifelt its warmth lingering in the hollow it had
made in my sleeping bag.
I decanted some water from my camel pack and
boiled it on the hiking stove. Two-minute noodles and
a can of sweet chilli tuna, a quick rinse of the saucepan.
The grazes on my knees had begun to crust and
Igroaned like an old man as Ilowered myself onto my
bedroll.
Someone was bowling on the seventeenth lane the
one right above my bed. Balls intermittently growled
past and collided musically with the pins. Another
strike. And another. Bowling is a more interesting
game from beneath the floorboards. Theres no
winning or losing, no shoe hire or scoring and
noartificial tension. From my bed Igot the rolling
thunder and the wooden chimes of success. Igot the
steampunk rhythms of the pin-setting machines and
ball return and Icould enjoy it all with my eyes closed.
The downside was Icouldnt really hear anything
else until the place closed.

13

Ive learned to surrender.

When a sudden light scorched my eyelids, I may
have been asleep.
I sprang to my feet, half-blinded, and snatched up
my pocketknife.
Whoa, settle down there, Will. Its just me.
I recognised Julians voice before he flashed the
torchlight on his own face.
What do you want?
Nothing. Ijust thought Id come and see how the
Alfie boys live in Garland. It was Garland, wasnt it?
How did you
I saw you dart down the lane yesterday. I got
curious.
He shone the torch into my camp space.
Cool set-up, he said. All the best gear.
Cats began fighting in the laneway.
Oh, its on like Donkey Kong out there. That your
Rottweilers going at it?
I stood mute. In a single day Id lost my job and the
security of my hide, and all thanks to Julian.
I think you should leave, Ifinally said.
I just got here! You got a beer or a Coke or something? Duh, no fridge. Cup of tea?
My fingers curled around the pocketknife.
Hot chocolate! I could go a hot chocolate. Any
marshmallows?
Get out, Igrowled.

14

All right, all right. Im out of here.

He scanned the floor with his torchlight.
Youve got your water there, your stash of food. Bed
looks comfy.
Leave!
Okay!
He turned for the door but paused, looking at my
breakfast bowl on the ground. The torchlight wobbled.
A stream of piss arced through the light and splashed
in my bowl.
Mind if Iuse your toilet? Julian said.
I charged at him and he spun to piss at me. The light
blinded me again and then he was gone, out through
the crawl-space door and into the darkened lane.
It was his receding laughter that pushed me over
the edge.
I bent to go through the door and chased the light.
I ran hard and made good ground, but every time
Igot close he opened up and surged ahead. He was
taunting me. Despite his short legs, Julian was fast.
He ran straight and hard and didnt seem to be feeling
it. Igritted my teeth and imagined a finish line with
his face ground into the soil beneath it. Icould hear
him breathing like a steam train. We flashed from the
shadow of a tree into the glare of a streetlight and
Julian tripped and tumbled. I veered wide and
watched him roll to a stop against a fence. My runners
skidded on the footpath. Iturned with fists balled and

15

closed the gap between us. He made no attempt to

stand and fight. Holding up a hand for mercy, he
clambered against the fence. He tried to get up, and
then dropped heavily onto his behind.
Okay, he said. You win.
I rested my knuckles on my hips and caught my
breath. You run like a rabbit.
Yeah, and you gallop like a racehorse and all.
We puffed some more and Julian spat on the
concrete beside his feet.
Sorry for the . . . you know . . . facial massage, he
said.
No harm done, Isaid. Im sorry about the purse.
No harm done, he echoed.
I reckon were about even, then.
Not quite, he said, and handed me a fifty-dollar
note.
Whats that?
Um, fifty bucks. Never seen one before? Oh, thats
right, youre from Garland. They dont keep small
change like that, hey?
Why are you giving it to me?
Your half of the reward. Weve got a thing with
Bernie in Centre Management. If anybody comes to
claim a lost purse or wallet, she hits them for ten per
cent of what theyve got in cash. She said the purse
had a grand in it.
You hadnt even looked?

16

Nah. Ive tried being a scumbag, but its not my

style.
You just pissed in my breakfast bowl.
Oh shit, sorry. Ithought it was your toilet.
We laughed then, all breathy and easy as if wed
been sharing jokes for years. Ioffered him a hand, he
held my thumb in a brotherhood handshake and
Ihoisted him to his feet.
He opened his arms to the street. The sun had just
set but the horizon still burned. Welcome to West
Tennant, the home of the brave and the stupid.
He thumbed over his shoulder, towards the fence.
Smell that?
Garlic. Lots of garlic. My mouth watered.
Lasagne. You can come in if you want. This is my
place.
Id been set up. Played.
You could have asked, Isaid.
Asked what?
I dont know. Would you like to come to my place
for dinner? or something.
That doesnt sound sus to you?
I smiled a little and followed him inside.

17