Tunnel Vision by Andrew Christie

Author:Andrew Christie [Christie, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-9925747-3-4
Publisher: Painting the Bridge Books

John hadn’t really expected to find Billy at Tom’s house, but he had hoped Tom might know something.

He drove back to Newtown and parked on Australia Street. The Courthouse Hotel was getting busy, with lots of young people meeting up there for a Christmas drink and a meal. John found a table free in the main bar and ordered the roast turkey special. Billy and Rashmi had to be hiding out somewhere. How they thought that was a good idea he didn’t know. It wouldn’t take the cops long to find them once they started looking. There might be a bit of a grace period over Christmas, and even New Year’s, with people on holidays, but sooner or later the police would want to talk to Rashmi again, and if she wasn’t around, well, John didn’t want Billy getting caught up in that. Not if he could do something about it. His first beer had disappeared quickly, and he was halfway through his second when the buzzer rattled and danced across the table, announcing his lunch was ready. The roast turkey was mainly special because it came with chips and roasted potatoes. Still, it wasn’t bad, and there was plenty of it. He had another beer and texted Shasta.

~how’s it going?

The reply came within a minute.

~potato salad dramas…can’t wait to get home

~?

~just amy being amy

While John was typing a reply, two more messages pinged up on his phone.

~whatever I do is never good enough

~total bitch

He hit “send” on his own message before she could send any more.

~sorry it’s so painful…when will you be home?

~5ish loveya

John stared at the screen for a moment before he pocketed the phone. Was that the first time she had used the L-word? He couldn’t remember her ever saying it before.

He finished his beer and ordered a serving of Christmas pudding with custard from the kitchen, and, from the bar, a double Jameson. Happy Christmas to you, mate, he thought, as he knocked back the whisky and prepared to dig into the steaming pudding.

It would be a while yet before Shasta would be home, so John walked up to King Street. There was no sign of Billy or Rashmi outside the Hub or near the station. Too much to hope for, he supposed. There weren’t even any buskers around. They were all probably at home, having their own Christmas pudding. The afternoon sun lit up one side of the King Street strip and cast the other in deep shade. Most of the shops were closed, with just the pubs and a few restaurants open. A few people were out for an after-lunch stroll, probably trying to walk off their second and third servings.

The homeless people were still about. Where else would they go? The supermarket was closed, but the usual blokes hustling for drinking money were there anyway. John stuffed ten bucks into a paper cup held up by the one with the Santa hat and showed him a photo of Billy on his phone.

The man took the phone in his cracked, two-tone hands and held it close to his face.

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