As Nick grabs a bag he’s slung over one of the tables, Josh perks up from where he’s draped across a couch. “Any chance we can stop for a Bloody Mary on the way? I could really use some hair of the dog.”
I see Nick’s spine go rigid, and when he turns, his face is a deep maroon. “Oi. It seems like some of you think this program is a chance for you to get away from school and be loose and loud and do everything you wouldn’t get away with at home. But it’s not. This is an educational opportunity.” He delivers the last phrase with a healthy string of saliva. “You’re not at home anymore, no mum or da here to keep an eye on ya. And you better believe Hari and I won’t be babysitting yous. You’re on your own out here, so ya best start acting like adults.”
The speech is so similar to one of my father’s scoldings that I can’t help but sit up a bit straighter.
“Straya,” Nick continues, “is a dangerous place. It’s home to moredeadly species than any other country in the world.” Taking the time to make eye contact with each of us, Nick rolls up his sleeve, baring his forearm for the entire room to see. Even from here, I can make out two red dots amid the bush of ginger arm hair. “King brown snake,” he says, using his left hand to point at the scars. “The largest venomous snake in Australia. Had to suck the venom out myself when I was hiking outside Jagged Rock, where we’ll be going. Yous need to be vigilant. Careful. Focused on something other than flirting and drinking.”
He shoots us another look as if daring one of us to contradict him. “Now head to the bus,” he orders.
I begin following the others to the door, but Nick’s gruff voice stops me.
“Oi, you.” When I turn, he’s pointing one of his hot dog-like fingers in my direction. “Stay back a minute.”
He waits for everyone else to leave, until it’s just the two of us.
Goose bumps prickle my skin as he walks towards me, apparently no longer concerned with keeping the bus waiting.
He doesn’t stop until he’s close enough that I can smell his breath, his broad shoulders leaning over me. I clock again how much larger he is than me, how easily he could break me. My spine stiffens as I hear that voice again.I can do whatever I want to you and nobody would care.
“As I said,” Nick says coldly. “I don’t tolerate that type of bullshit on my programs, got it?”
“I didn’t—”
“You did. I know your sort. Privileged, rich girls used to getting away with anything. Acting like you’re better than everyone.”
Despite the fear flooding through me, I feel a small ripple of anger. “That isn’t me,” I say, even though it’s not that far from the truth. “And you don’t know anything about—”
He grabs my upper arm, tight. I try to gasp, but my breath catches in my throat.
“Listen.” Specks of saliva land on my cheek and I cringe. “You do not want to fuck with me.”
I stare up at him, too stunned to speak, already feeling the bruises blooming beneath his fingers.
“Now get to the bus.”
He releases his hand from my arm and shoves me towards the door.
11
Claire
Now
“All signs point to overdose.”
The EMT who arrives to take Hari away is a no-nonsense woman in her forties who looks like she’s seen enough to last five lifetimes. “There was a syringe on her nightstand and track marks running up her arms. Unfortunate, but fairly standard. We’ve been seeing them more and more in this neighborhood.”
We’re standing outside Hari’s apartment building, the shock of finding her body only just beginning to fade, the image of her lying prone on her bed still camped decisively behind my eyelids.
The rest of the group is silent, and I watch them as I try to take it in. Hari’s death isfairly standard. I can’t stop picturing her as she was years ago: full of life, always jumping at an opportunity to introduce us to something uniquely Australian. The first one to crack a joke to relieve an awkward moment, always walking around barefoot,however inappropriate that was given the venue. The only person I ever met who could make Nick Gould laugh.
And now she’s gone.
There was nothing back then to indicate a fondness for drugs, nothing to suggest her life would eventually take this path. I mean she drank quite a bit, but didn’t we all? No matter how hard I try, I can’t make it fit, how she ended up here, sticking a needle in her arm, her dreams long forgotten.
“What time did she die?” Declan asks.
“Hard to tell without an autopsy,” the EMT muses. “If I had to guess, based on the state of the body, I would say sometime yesterday. Afternoon or evening. But I’m no coroner.”
