All material on this site, except where otherwise explicitly stated, is copyright of the author known as Ann Somerville. All art, except where otherwise explicitly stated, is copyright of the artist known as Kiriko Moth

  Means of support

Copyright © 2008 Ann Somerville

  Chapter 1

“Shut up, dog.”

By this stage, I didn’t bother yelling. It was more stress relief than anything else. Next door’s mutt, Sally, had been barking on and off since Pam and Lachlan had gone to work and sooner or later, she’d calm down, unless another cat got into the backyard. I’d have to have a word with them about her again, but they’d been working at the problem with extra walks and so on, and I’d hate to see them get rid of Sally. She was a nice dog, just bored.

Skype flashed up a message, so I slipped on the headset and clicked on the ‘Answer call’ button. “G’day, Cam.”

“Hi, Evan. Working hard?”

“Always, mate. What can I do for you? Site giving you problems?”

“No, it’s fine. I even trained up another volunteer on Joomla this morning. I deserve a bloody medal.” I grinned. “Listen, Evan, I’ve got a young fellow here in a bit of strife. He got chucked out of home a month or so ago, same old story, and the place where he’s staying can’t take him any more. Your sleepout’s still free, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. How old? And is he sane?”

“Eighteen, barely, and he’s a nice kid. Quiet boy from the bush. He’s desperate, mate. Think you could put him up for a few weeks until he gets his legs under him?”

“Sure. Bring him around this arvo? I’ve just got some things I need to do this morning, and I need to haul the corpse out of the backroom.”

Cam laughed. “Yeah, right. Afternoon’s fine. He’s going to go back to his place and pick up his things, and I’ll drive him over after lunch. Thanks, Evan.”

“No worries, mate. See you then.”

I hung up. Hmmm. Cam wouldn’t ask unless the kid was decent and desperate, but Rod only left a week ago and I still hadn’t cleared up completely. Oh well, if the kid was being kicked out of his place, then he wouldn’t be picky.

I stood, stretched my short leg, and then went out of my office to the sleepout to throw some windows open. I’d vacuum after lunch, but for now, I chucked some bleach in the loo, wiped Pine-O-Cleen around the basin, and put all my dirty dishes into the little dishwasher. Maybe it was time I put a load of washing on too.

That was all I had time for before I had to knuckle down to finishing off a prototype site and answering the less urgent emails. I had a tender to submit but I needed to think about whether I really wanted the job. I looked up when my stomach growled. “Bugger.” One o’clock. Cam would be here any minute and I hadn’t finished cleaning up.

I dragged out the vacuum cleaner and did a race around—or what passed for it with me—then remembered the washing. Had to hang it out or it’d go all smelly.

Someone called out from under the house. “Anyone home?”

“Out back, Cam. Sorry, just finishing things.”

“No worries, Evan.” My friend grinned as he came out into the backyard and saw me hanging up my underpants. “Mate, this is Paul. Paul Fitzgerald.”

I couldn’t help staring, because behind Cam stood a vision of young, dark-haired, blue-eyed male loveliness. Oh god. I put my tongue back in my head and managed a “Hi,” as I wiped my hand on my jeans before offering it to the kid. “Evan Sutherland, nice to meet you.”

Paul, unsmiling, shook my hand. Firm grip, but too hastily released as if he was afraid of causing offence. “Nice to meet you, Mr Sutherland.”

“I'm just Evan, Paul. So, I hear you’re stuck for somewhere to live.”

He nodded but didn’t give me any details so I looked at Cam. “His cousin’s missus is about two seconds from having her sprog and they haven’t got the room for a guest as well. Paul’s looking for a job but he needs somewhere safe to stay.”

“Problems with your people?” I asked Paul.

He nodded, clearly not about to enlighten me but I kept looking at him. At some point, he had to talk to me, not through Cam, if he was to live in my crazy little household. “Uh, yeah. D-Dad and me...over Christmas. Um....” He appealed to Cam with those big blue eyes.

“Paul’s dad found out he was gay and kicked him out,” Cam said bluntly. Wasn’t the first time he’d had to make the same kind of explanation to me. “On Christmas Day, too.”

“I'm sorry, Paul. It’s something that happens too often. Did Cam explain what kind of place I run here?”

“Yes.” He ducked his head. “He said you...you take young people who need a safe place.”

“Yes. Young people who don’t fit the mould of ‘normal’ sexuality and who want to live where they can be open about who they are. So it’s not just a house share, okay?”

He nodded quickly. “Uh...I don’t have much money. For rent. I'm looking for a job, honest. I’ll pay you rent as soon—”

I held up my hand to stop the panicked words. “It’s okay, Paul. You’re not the first and you won’t be the last to turn up here broke. Come on through and you can see what’s here.”

“What about your washing?”

“It’ll wait. Come on.”

I already had reservations about Paul. He was quiet, all right—too quiet. And my bunch of crazies were the noisiest buggers on the planet. I wondered if he’d even survive his first night here.

I led him back under the house. “Everyone else lives upstairs. I’ve got a flat down here and my office, so I don’t want someone in the sleepout who likes loud music. Do you?” Paul quickly shook his head, apparently terrified I’d take against him. “Great, because between Sally the mutt next door and the elephant feet when everyone gets home, I can’t hear myself think sometimes. Here she is. It’s not a palace but it’s safe enough.”

Paul stared around the sleepout, which, I had to admit, had seen better days. The whole underhouse space was built in, with my flat and office on one side, the sleepout-storeroom, single car garage and laundry on the other. An open passage between the two sides, running front to back, gave both levels some ventilation. My side I kept clean and fresh because I lived there, but the sleepout tended to get a bit musty when it sat empty, adding to the pongs and the damp from the laundry and garage. I kept thinking I should repaint it, tart it up a bit, put carpet tiles on the floor or something but it never seemed to be empty enough for long enough.

“I can lend you sheets and towels and all that. Bar fridge and kettle in the laundry and you can wash up in there. Don’t leave any food or any open containers lying around because the mice don’t need encouraging. You’d know that though,” I added as he nodded. Of course he’d know about mice. “If you need more furniture, we can look at second hand things. Bathroom through here next to the laundry, just a shower and loo. There’s two more upstairs and I have one in the flat. Your kitchen’s up there, I have one down here. Can’t make the stairs too often with my leg, you see.”

“Leg?”

“I’ve got nothing against his right leg,” Cam said with a smirk. “Neither does he.”

I poked him. “Got old about three years ago, mate. Peter Cook called and he’s after the royalty cheque.”

“Sorry?”

I took pity on Paul’s confusion. “I'm an above the knee amputee. Left leg. So I can do with a hand with the gardening and housework and so on. Are you any use around the house?”

“Yeah, I'm good at all that sort of thing,” he said eagerly. “I’ll work hard, I promise. I know carpentry, and plumbing—”

“Which you won’t be touching because it’s illegal. But someone who can swing a hammer will be handy. What do you think? Needs a coat of paint, but you can sort that out if you’re feeling energetic.”

“It’s fine. Can I stay?”

Too desperate to be fussy, just like I thought. “Yeah, you can stay. I need to talk to you about house rules and all that but we can tide you over for a bit.”

Cam clapped his hand on my shoulder. “Thanks, Evan. Look, I need to run. I’ll see you Tuesday. Paul, you give me a ring if you need any help. Evan’s a great bloke, you’ll be right with him, I promise.”

“Thank you, Mr McNulty.”

Cam shook his head and grinned at me. “Now I feel as old as you.”

“Bugger off, Cameron. See you next week.”

“Come grab your gear from the ute, Paul. Catch you later, Evan.”

“Paul, I’ll be out back. Dump your stuff in the room and we can have a chat.”

I finished hanging up my washing and then went over to the wooden bench seat. It needed a coat of paint too. In the bright afternoon sunshine, the defects of my house maintenance were all too obvious. Oh well. Next door, Sally the mutt started up again.

The kid came back out, hesitating before joining me on the seat. “Where are you from, Paul?”

“Um, out past Charleville. I mean, that’s where Dad farms.”

“Ever lived in Brisbane before?”

“No. We came down a few times for concerts and outings when I was at school in Toowoomba, but I never lived here.”

“Don’t like it?”

“No,” he said glumly. “My cousin lives here and Danny—that’s my brother—said I should come here rather than go to Toowoomba. I mean...you know, with me being....”

“Gay? You don’t like saying it.”

“I don’t even know if I am. Dad just asked me if I was a poofter, if I liked men better than women, and I said I wasn’t sure. He told me to get out and not come home until I was sure I wasn’t one of ‘them’.” He clenched his fists on his knees, his chin trembling.

“That’s pretty harsh of him. Unfair. Okay, we won’t use the ‘G’ word. I'm not a big fan of labels anyway.”

“But if I'm not gay, what am I doing here? I just want to go home.”

“Well, why don’t you?”

“I can’t. I can’t lie to Dad. It’s wrong.”

“There you go. Feel like something to drink? Coffee, tea, cordial? I’ve got beer.”

His bottom lip still looked shaky. “Uh, tea. I can make it.”

“No, I’ll sort it out. Come inside, Paul. It’s too hot out here anyway.”

He stared at my kitchenette table the whole time while I boiled the kettle and set the mugs out.

“Milk? Sugar?” I asked him.

“Yes, please.”

I put everything out, and some biscuits too because I still hadn’t had lunch, then sat down. He sipped his tea but wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Everyone here has a story like yours,” I told him. “Everyone who’s stayed with me. Families, friends—lovers. Rejection, abuse, fear, uncertainty. Loneliness. When you don’t fit the norm, it’s hard.”

He looked up at me from under long lashes. God, he had lovely eyes. “Are you gay?”

“I'm bisexual. Widowed.”

“You were married?”

“Yeah. She...uh, died. Car accident. I’ve had it easy compared to some, but I know what it’s like, not talking about who you are, what you feel. I’ve got friends like Cam who’ve been through it all. You’re not alone, Paul. And while you’re in my house, you’ll be completely safe.”

He nodded and sipped his tea. I snuck a bikkie while he thought. “Want to hear about the rules?” I said eventually.

“Yes. I just want to fit in.”

“You’ll be fine. The main rule is tolerance. So no harassment, no abuse, no phobias or isms of any kind. The rest of the world wants to make us feel like shit for not being straight. It doesn’t come past the front door. No overnight visitors without approval, and no visitors who break house rules full stop. This is our safe place and that’s the most important thing. Understand?”

“Yes. What about the rest?”

“Oh, normal stuff. You were a boarder in Toowoomba?”

“Yeah. At Downlands. We're Catholic.”

Great. “Then you know about sharing space. Consideration, give and take. Once a week we have a meal together, no exceptions, and that’s when we talk about any problems. I don’t want you eating in your room if you can manage it, because being with the others is good for you and you for them. I'm not running a hotel. We’re here to help and support each other and others like ourselves.”

“What if they don’t like me? Will I have to go?”

“Eventually,” I admitted, and his face fell. “No, wait. Even if they said tonight they couldn’t stand you and wanted you gone, you’d have a month, and no way would you be leaving until I was sure you had a decent place to stay, and you were safe there. Not a hotel, remember? But it won’t happen, unless you’re a complete dickhead and I don’t think you are.” The briefest smile appeared, but the sad expression soon returned. “What work are you looking for? What would you be doing if you hadn’t left home?”

“I uh, was supposed to start an engineering degree at Griffith Uni. I cancelled the enrolment. Couldn’t face it with all this going on.”

“Fair enough. You can pick it up later. So you’re just after casual work until you know what you want to do?”

“I applied for some supermarkets and things but I don’t have a car, and I don’t know Brisbane.” He set his mug down, his jaw working hard. “Everything’s a mess.” He wiped at his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Hey, don’t apologise. Bet you haven’t been sleeping properly either.” He shook his head. “Okay, this is how it works. Give yourself a week or two to just settle in here. Let’s get your room tidied up. If you want a desk and chair we can sort that out, curtains and stuff. Needs to be done up anyway. You just make yourself at home—”

“Unless they want me to leave.”

“They won’t,” I said, fixing him with a firm look. “Don’t worry about that, okay? You take a couple of weeks to settle down, put some job applications in. I’ve got the computer and internet here, you can read the local papers, and all the supermarkets are online now. You take your time, find something local or on the bus route. Save up, get a car or a bike, then you can start to make other decisions.”

He rubbed his nose again. “What about the rent?”

“Look, paying a gardener and housekeeper would cost me more. I can manage cutting the grass if I have to but it’s a pain in the bum with my leg, so you doing that, some of the housework, maybe slapping up some paint here and there, would be worth more than rent to me. If you get a full time job, then we can talk about money. But if you don’t, or you decide to do that degree at Griffith and stay here while you study, then working for rent is a better deal for me. It’s not charity, Paul. I'm not running a charity. It’s about helping each other, and you can help me a lot, if you want to.”

“I do. I mean, I will. Thanks.”

I patted his arm, and stole another bikkie. “No worries. Now, drink up and I’ll show you around. We can go upstairs later since it’s house meal night.”

I gave him a brief tour, showed him the tool shed and asked him to cut the lawn in the next day or so. He didn’t have much in the way of clothes and shoes with him, so I figured I’d have to lend him some money. Cam would pay me back if I needed it but I didn’t. The day I didn’t have enough in the bank to help out a nice kid like Paul, was the day I’d have to chuck it all in.

I let him have a bit of time to himself before Lisa came home, which she would any time soon, and answered some more emails, though my mind was still on Paul’s miserable eyes and the homesickness in his voice. I’d heard his story so many times over the last four years, but it still staggered me that any father could reject his own child like that. If Paul were a better liar, he’d still be at home, or studying the course he’d had his heart set on. I doubted he could lie to save his life.

I found myself wondering how Alison would have handled him, what she’d have made of him. Fallen for his big eyes and soft heart, probably, and given him a cuddle like the poor sod desperately needed. Mothered him....

I jerked myself out of those thoughts because that way lay depression and anger, and hell, I had enough paths to that. I heard the clatter of Lisa’s Honda and its loose muffler, and then Sally the mutt went nuts again. “Shut up, dog,” I said as I climbed to my feet.

“Hi, Evan,” Lisa sang out as she headed for the stairs.

“Hold on, Lisa. Come on in, will you?”

She bounded in, full of energy even after a hard day’s work, sweaty and grimy, dust in her short blonde hair. “What’s up?”

“New recruit. Paul! Come out, I want you to meet someone.”

“Another bloke?” she whispered.

“Harmless, I promise. Paul!”

He came out, but almost bolted when he saw Lisa. “Paul, this is Lisa. Lisa, Paul’s one of Cam’s refugees.”

“Another one,” she said, voice dripping with scorn as if she hadn’t been one of Cam’s finds too. “Well, come out, let me get a look at you.”

“Pull your fangs back in, sweetheart.” She turned around and stuck her tongue out at me.

Paul crept forward a little. “Hi. Um...nice to meet you, Lisa.”

“So, Paul. Mum and Dad kick you out when you got knocked up or what?”

“Lisa....”

She ignored me. “Evan’s going to use you as slave labour, right?”

“Lisa!”

“I'm only teasing,” she said, pouting a little. I didn’t believe the pout or her words. She was testing, not teasing, and Paul wasn’t up to it.

“Paul’s staying here and working for me, yes. It’s all above board.”

“I’ll pay rent when I get a job,” Paul said, chin tilted a little in defiance. “I’ll pay my way, whichever.”

“Yes, he will,” I said, giving Lisa a stern look, “and he’s coming upstairs for dinner too. Which reminds me—I said I’d bring some fruit juice but I forgot. Paul, there’s a foodstore up on the main road, about ten minutes’ walk. Do you think I can ask you to run up there and pick up some orange and mango for me? Four litres would be enough—there’s a backpack on the hook there.” I pulled out my wallet and offered him a twenty. “End of the street, turn left, and you’ll see the shops. It’s the Foodworks at the end of the block. Cheap brand is fine.”

He practically ran for the door, no doubt glad of the escape. As soon as he was clear, I turned to Lisa, who, to give her credit, looked a little ashamed of herself.

“Don’t do that again, Lisa. Poor little bugger’s had a hell of a time.”

“What’s his deal then?”

“Kicked out by his dad, had to give up his studies, been worried sick about what’s going to happen to him. He needs this place, Lisa. I want him to stay. He’s the kind of person I wanted to help right from when I set this up. Just because he’s got balls, doesn’t make him your enemy. Give him a chance, please.”

“I will. Sorry. I'm just in a bit of a mood today.” She gave me a peck on the cheek. “You look worn out.”

“Missed lunch, that’s all. Be nice to him? It’d mean a lot to me.”

“I will but I was hoping we could get another woman.”

“Damn it, there’s four of you already. Terry says all the oestrogen in the air is giving him manboobies.”

She giggled. “Shame it doesn’t make Natasha’s dick fall off and save her the op. I need a shower, and I said I’d make quiche, so I better start that. Does the boy cook?”

“No idea, but unless you want a bloody mess, I don’t think you should ask him to help tonight. Give him a chance to settle down. He was a wreck earlier. He’s homesick and lonely. You know what that’s like.”

“Yeah.” Lisa’s family hadn’t thrown her out because she was gay but she’d had to get out in a hurry anyway because her father was an abusive drunk with some fairly nasty friends and an unhealthy fascination with her sexuality. She’d left her mother and siblings behind but she hadn’t had any choice. “Okay, I won’t bite him again. Not hard, anyway. Did you tell him about this gang of nutcases?”

“Don’t have to now he’s met you.” She screwed her nose up at me. “I thought I’d let him meet them first.”

“Natasha’ll eat him alive.”

“No, she won’t because she’ll take her lead from you and you’re going to be lovely and sweet and kind or I’ll hide all your Indigo Girls albums and replace them with Sibelius.”

“You bloody won’t.”

“Bloody will, so behave. Shoo, you stink.”

“Piss off.”

“Love you too. Shoo!”

Paul came back an hour later, sweaty and rumpled looking so I figured he wanted to be sure my mouthy little hoyden had disappeared before he returned.

“I, uh, went for a little walk. Looking around. And they were doing three bottles for five dollars, so I got the extra but I can put the dollar in—”

“It’s fine. Thanks. You saved me hauling it back. Leave it over there, we can take upstairs in a bit.”

He nodded and set the backpack down, then came back and held out a handful of notes and coins. “Here’s the change.”

“No, keep it. You’ll need some pocket money. Advance on the wages.” His expression went blank. Oops. I’d buggered up. “Come into my office, will you? I’ve got some stuff to give you.”

He looked around at the organised mess, the three working computers and the three dead ones, two printers, two filing cabinets and the four hundred CDs on the walls, but was too polite to express any opinion on how any sane person could work in these conditions—the answer was, naturally, no sane person did.

“Do you like music?” I asked him as I rummaged around in the desk.

“Yeah. My CDs are all at home, though. Everything is.”

We needed to do something about that, but it’d take time. “I've got an MP3 player my brother sent me for Christmas from the States. I never use it, so we could fill it up for you. The lunatics upstairs have a hell of a collection. I'm sure there’ll be something you’d like.” He smiled a little, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Anyway, this is stuff you need.” I handed over each item as I described it. “Prepaid mobile with twenty bucks credit. You can use it for emergencies and work contact but if you run out of money on it, then you have to fill it up yourself. That’s my business card with my address, email and phone numbers, and on the back is the phone number for upstairs. Don’t lose it. Keys for upstairs and your room. Don’t lose that either or I’ll kick your backside. Don’t forget to lock up, Paul. It’s not the bush here.”

He set the phone and cash down on the desk, but put the card carefully into his wallet, and the key into his pocket. “No, I know. Adrian—that’s my cousin—told me all that when I got here. Evan, about the money—”

“Coming to that.” I handed him the chores list. “The stuff on this side, like the lawn-mowing, is to cover rent. The stuff on this side, or anything not listed, is extra and you’ll be paid for it. I’d have to pay someone else to do it, so you should be paid as well. It’ll tide you over until you get that job. You can check those rates if you want—call around, see what other people charge. Never mind what Lisa said, the little cow.”

He scanned the jobs carefully. “She didn’t like me.”

“She doesn’t like men full stop. She has some damn good reasons not to.” He looked up, eyes full of confusion. “Everyone here has a story to tell, Paul. Everyone hurts in their own way. Lisa will back off because I asked her to. But if you want to be friends with her, you’ll have to wait for her to see how you act towards her and the rest of us.”

“She’s, uh...a lesbian?”

“Yes. She broke up with her girlfriend a month or so ago. Messy.”

“She seems to like you.”

I grinned. “She gave me honorary female status. She says it’s because she can outrun me.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say.”

“Yeah. She’s nearly as bad as Cam.”

His eyes were still wide with surprise. “You don’t mind people making jokes about it?”

“Would it stop them if I did? One leg’s shorter than the other. It’s just a fact of life. The thing about her and Cam is they’re not actually mean. They poke and joke and wind everyone up but Cam would do anything for a friend, and Lisa’s a good kid. Doesn’t deserve the things that have happened to her. Not that anyone does, but you know what I mean.”

“I guess.” He stared at the list of jobs again. “I'm not going to scab money off you.”

“You won’t have a chance to. I want a proper account of what’s done, what I spend on you and what I owe you. We can settle everything up later. About work though—did you manage to bring your birth certificate and references with you or are they at home?”

“No, here. Danny made sure I had all that. I wasn’t really thinking. He said make sure I had those, my passbook, the important things. He put five hundred dollars into my account too, and said he’d send some more as soon as he had it. He did what he could, even though he couldn’t talk Dad out of kicking me out.” A little wobble crept into his voice. He still wasn’t over the shock of what had happened, let alone the grief. It’d take more than a month, for sure.

“I know it sucks right now, but while you’re here, you should make the most of it. See it as a learning experience. You’d be down here anyway if things hadn’t gone sour. Tomorrow, we’ll do some shopping and we should have your documents photocopied. If you need another reference, Cam or I can give you one. Won’t be the first time I’ve told fibs to Coles or Woolies. You just need the first break and then you can use that as a stepping stone.”

“Yeah. Um, Evan, I don’t think I want to have tea with everyone tonight. Can we leave it until next time?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. I know you’re a bit shaky, but you need to meet them. We can go up now. It’s only Lisa there and she’ll behave. We can have a beer and I can show you the rest of the house.”

He really didn’t want to, I knew, but sitting in his room getting all worked up wouldn’t do him any good at all. “Come on,” I said.

He climbed the stairs as if he was ascending the gallows. Now I wished I’d waited to introduce him to Lisa but I thought if he got the short sharp shock first, then we could let him down easy after. I hadn’t figured she’d be quite that bitchy though. First new inmate since she’d broken up with Sharon—poor Paul had taken the brunt. I crossed my fingers and hoped she’d taken my words to heart.

There was a warm, inviting smell through the house as I opened the door to the upper level, and Lisa was propped up in front of the TV with a beer. “Hi guys. Paul, would you like a beer?”

“Uh...if that’s all right.”

I settled in one of the armchairs. “Shove one of those juices into the fridge, and bring two stubbies over, if you don’t mind. I bought the beer so don’t feel guilty about drinking madam’s.” She pulled a face at me. “How many quiches did you put in, Lisa?”

“Two. One for you to take downstairs. He’d starve to death if we didn’t cook for him,” she said to Paul as he brought the beer over.

“I can cook,” I protested. “I just can’t be bothered.”

“I can cook too,” Paul said and then looked as if he was about to be shot for opening his mouth.

“Great, then we can put you on the roster,” Lisa said. Paul nodded and sipped his beer, still eyeing her warily, no doubt waiting for the fangs to come out again.

She ignored him, which was her way of saying he didn’t actively bother her. I drank my beer and pretended to watch the news, while in reality keeping a close watch on Paul. He seemed to relax a little, and started to look around the room in all its chaotic glory. Everyone who lived here was allowed to leave their mark on the place—was encouraged to—so we had paintings and murals and mobiles, even a painted glass window. Colours clashed cheerfully and with a complete lack of taste, but it reminded me a bit of my parents’ house so I liked it. In the corner sat an ordinary TV because I refused to allow one of those massive plasma things in the house, and a modest sound system. One wall was devoted entirely to books, but the rest was furniture for people to sit, sleep or drape themselves on. Over the last four years we’d accumulated cushions and beanbags and sofas and armchairs for the more than occasional drop in and sleepover. Over the last year, Sarah and Natasha had got into the habit of bringing some of their queer fellow students back for coffee and bikkies after lectures, and every so often, Cam had a crisis where a kid needed a place to doss for a night or two and all our rooms were full. Keeping the place tidy was less important than keeping it friendly, but I wondered what Paul made of it.

“So what do you think?” I asked in the ad break. His head swivelled towards me. “The house.”

“It’s really nice. And big. I like that.”

“This isn’t the best bit. Let me show you. Come out to the deck, I want a fag,” Lisa said. “Evan, turn that crap off, will you?”

It was instantly cooler out back, and the tense set of Paul’s shoulders eased. “This is great,” he said as we settled down into our new chairs and he stared out over the shadowed mountains in the west and the television tower crown on Mount Cootha. Lisa, sitting a little further away, lit a cigarette and considerately blew the smoke towards the yard. It was a non-smoking house except for the deck, but she was the only of us who did.

“I bought it for the view as much as anything else,” I said. “But half the house wasn’t here when I did. This is new, and so’s the extension with my office underneath. In fact the whole of downstairs is a new fit out, and I had an extra bathroom put in up here too. If I’d known how long some people spend in there, I’d have put in another three.”

“Don’t look at me, mate.” Lisa took another drag and blew it out. “That’s Natasha and her fucking piercings and all that Goth crap. I'm in and out in five minutes. Terry spends longer in there than me.”

Paul frowned, probably trying to work out who we were talking about, but he’d meet them all soon.

I decided to explain a little more. “I owned a house in Toowong, but after I lost my leg, I wanted a place on ground level. When I talked to Cam about it, he suggested disabled-adapting a two-storey place so I could rent out upstairs. I moved in four years ago. He found me my first couple of tenants and since there’s never a shortage of his kids looking for a place, I decided that I wanted to keep the house queer-friendly.”

Lisa giggled. “‘Lost your leg’ always sounds like you left it on a bus, Evan.”

I snorted. “I never got it back so I guess it counts as lost. Cam said I should have claimed it on the house insurance.” She laughed again.

“I don’t understand,” Paul said. “How did you lose your leg?”

“Car accident,” I said and took a sip of my beer.

“You mean...like your wife?”

“Yeah. Same thing. Wife, son, leg. Lost a family, gained an asylum full of you lunatics.” Lisa gave me a look. Old news to her. “Lucky I bought the house before the prices went through the roof. Never be able to afford it now. Oh, and here come the other inmates,” I added as I heard Sarah’s Commodore engine. “Paul, brace yourself.” He actually gripped the arms of the deckchair, which made Lisa smirk. “What time did Terry and Lucy say they’d be back?”

“Six thirty. He’s bringing cake, yum. Terry’s a chef,” Lisa explained to Paul. “Lucy’s in her final year as an apprentice.”

“They’re straight?”

“As a corkscrew,” she said, but subsided at my look.

“When Terry first came here, he was with Mark,” I told Paul. “Then Mark moved out and Lucy moved in.”

“And Sarah and Natasha are...?”

“You’ll see,” Lisa said and I thought it was best to let him find out for himself because buggered if I knew what Sarah and Natasha were doing other than eye-fucking each other a lot. Sometimes this place was like the world’s most confusing knocking shop.

“Hi guys,” Natasha sang out as she walked through the house out to the deck. She and Sarah were still in their care home uniforms, so Natasha hadn’t yet put all her finery on. Probably just as well—Paul had had enough shocks. The raven black hair and her height were dramatic enough.

“Oh, who’s this?” Natasha said, pulling up short as she spotted our newcomer.

Paul stood up. “Um, I'm Paul. Nice to meet you...?”

She stuck out her hand and Paul’s eyes widened as he took in the width of it, the fact she was taller than him and then the other subtle signs of Natasha’s original identity as ‘Nathaniel’. She was a beautiful, striking person but her looks were more androgynous than outright female. “Natasha. And this is Sarah.”

Next to Natasha, red-haired Sarah looked almost dainty. “Nice to meet you, Paul.”

Paul shook Natasha’s outstretched hand, but kept staring. Natasha raised an eyebrow at him, and then turned to me, hands on hips. “Cam brought him over,” I explained. “New inmate for downstairs.”

“Right. Honey, you can close your mouth now. The Adam’s apple isn’t painted on and neither are my tits.”

Paul stepped back. “I'm sorry....”

“Natasha, darling,” I said soothingly, “Paul’s from Charleville. They don’t even like poofters out there, let alone chicks with dicks.”

“Or chicks who like dicks and clits either,” Sarah added. “Tasha, you know what they say about taking the cunts out of the country.”

“Yeah. Okay, I'm having a shower, and you,” she said, pointing at Paul, “can buy me a beer for staring.”

“Yes. I mean, sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Natasha, bugger off, will you?” I said mildly. “And don’t take forever. Terry and Lucy are bringing cake.”

“Shit, the quiche!” Lisa bolted back inside the house, to Sarah’s amusement.

“A shit quiche, yum yum. See you later, boys,” Natasha said, swinging her hips as she swept out, Sarah hot on her tail, figuratively and literally.

“I didn’t mean....” Paul looked as if he was about to cry.

“No, I know. Want to ask questions before she comes back?”

“What is she?”

“Transgender. Transsexual. Not a transvestite. She’s a woman in all but genetics and a few bits of plumbing, and the plumbing will be rearranged in a year or two, she hopes.”

To his credit, Paul didn’t even attempt to cover his crotch, which I’ve seen all too many men do when confronted with their first transgender female. “I didn’t mean to be rude. She’s just...really pretty. But um...different.”

“Yes, she is, but she wants to be different without anyone noticing, if you get me. It gets worse, I'm warning you. So rule number one. Don’t stare, and never, ever, think of her as anything but female. She’ll rip your balls off if you refer to her as ‘he’, now you know.”

“I didn’t know.”

“That’s right, and she should have made an allowance for that. She’s still learning how to behave. So you be a perfect young gentleman, and eventually we hope she’ll be a perfect young lady.”

“Is Sarah...?”

“XX through and through. She’s bi, though she mostly prefers women.”

“I never met any bisexual people before.”

“Yes, you have,” I said wryly. “You just didn’t realise it. We’re the hidden queers.”

“You’re lucky,” he muttered.

“It’s all relative. Want another beer?”

“I'm okay.” He sat down again. “Is it going to be like this every day here?”

“No. This is the worst of it. Terry and Lucy are almost normal by our standards. Speaking of which...oh there’s Terry’s bike.” Please, I prayed to the deity I no longer believed in, let Terry be in a decent mood. He was a nice bloke but he could throw a strop that would make Gordon Ramsey blanch when things had gone badly at work. Today was the one day I really couldn’t let that happen.

Fortunately he and Lucy were all smiles as they came in, bearing a fabulous Russian cheesecake that I had no idea how they brought home on Terry’s Ducati. Paul didn’t get more than a grin, a handshake, and a ‘nice to meet you, mate’ before the two of them went to shower.

I held my breath as everyone convened on the deck, but the combination of beer, good weather and apparently good days for all concerned, made my lunatics behave. We decided to eat on the deck with it being so hot, and the ‘shit quiche’ as Natasha insisted on calling it, was excellent. Lisa was a decent cook but she tried to get out of it as often as possible, saying it was too stereotyping to have the women in the house do all the cooking. The fact that I was close to useless in the kitchen, and Terry did it for a living so asking him to cook when he came home was a bit much, was of no interest to her. Fair enough too.

Paul hunched over his plate like he expected to be hit, but Lisa, to my surprise, was the one to draw him out, rather than Lucy, who normally had a soft spot for wounded things. Tonight Lucy seemed rather tired and only wanted to talk to Sarah, much to Natasha’s annoyance. Our Tasha didn’t like not being centre of attention, and it made her nastier than she would normally be, with a couple of pointed references to ‘the cunt-ry boy’. I gave her a look for that, because she was sailing a bit too close to the no abuse rule for me.

As I hoped she might but didn’t really expect her to, Lisa acted as a buffer. When Paul learned she’d grown up in Dalby, that gave them something in common to talk about, and when she put on one of her CDs as Terry served up his cheesecake, his eyes lit up. “That’s Missy Higgins. We came down from school to see her show.”

“On the Riverstage? Shit, I went to that. Oh my God, she’s so hot!”

Terry grinned at me as Paul and Lisa talked excitedly about drippy modern pop music. He liked heavy metal and I preferred Handel. I’d long ago given up any idea of my house mates sharing my taste in music but I still hoped one of them might show a smidgeon of culture.

I waited until the magic of good food, a bottle of wine and a little time to relax, had had a chance to work on people, and then I called for attention. “Okay, guys. One big item to discuss. Paul—anyone have a problem with him staying? Natasha?”

She gave the kid a long hard look which made him flush, then she turned to me. “He’s okay. Just tell him not to stare.”

“You were staring at him a second ago. Paul, what did you say about Natasha before?”

“About her being really pretty?”

“That’s the one.” She blinked and gave him an entirely more friendly smile. “Darling, people look at you for more reasons than you think. You’re just stunning. Weird but stunning. Even if you change mobile phone reception with all that face metal.” She blew me a kiss through her pierced lips.

“Anyone else have a problem? I want Paul to be with us long-term, if he wants to be, so it’s important you think he’s a good fit.”

“He’s fine by me,” Terry said. “Nice to have another bloke around, and he’s scenic,” he added, arching an eyebrow in a leer. Paul’s eyes went all wide and I wondered if that was the first time another man had ever complimented him in that way.

“Sarah?”

“He can stay. He’s cute.” Natasha wrinkled her nose at that but she’d already cast her vote.

“That’s my Sarah, always to the point. Lucy?”

She shrugged and cuddled up to Terry. “Yeah, no worries with me.”

“And Lisa?”

“He likes Missy. I forgive him for being a man.” Paul frowned at her. “That was supposed to be my big concession, Paulie.”

“Do you have to call me that?”

Oh boy. She grinned. “Now? Absolutely.”

“Lisa, would you like me to tell him your real name?”

“Evan, don’t you dare!”

“Then lay off on the teasing. Okay, Paul. If you want to stay, welcome to the asylum.” I lifted my glass of water. “To Paul. Gawd bless this queer and all who sail in him.”

Lisa went off into peals of giggling at the horrified look on our newest lunatic’s face.

After Paul stumbled off to bed after what was probably one of the longest days of his short life, I did a last check up on emails, and logged into Skype to see if Cam was on line.

Evantheman: Paul survived his first meal with the tribe.

Cammcnulty: Did they leave any bones?

Evantheman: Spat him out mostly whole. Tasha had a chew on him but I made her drop him.

Cammcnulty: Poor Paul. He’s a lovely kid though. I'm glad you took him on. Wasn’t sure you would after Hot Rod.

Evantheman: Rod wasn’t too bad if you could make him shut up once in a while. Paul makes me feel old though. I can’t remember being that young and clueless.

Cammcnulty: Mate, we all were once. You okay? You were looking a bit shagged out earlier on.

Evantheman: I should be so lucky. I'm fine. Hard to sleep when it’s hot sometimes.

Cammcnulty: Air con, I'm telling ya.

Evantheman: Never. Save the disabled gay whales from nuclear weapons of mass destruction.

Cammcnulty: I warned the kid you were a throwback to the sixties.

Evantheman: Born in the summer of love, of course I am. Had a busy night?

Cammcnulty: Not too bad. One kid threatening to overdose but he just needed to talk things through. A couple of crank calls, usual stuff. I'm knocking off in fifteen minutes. You’re heading to bed?

Evantheman: Yeah. Got to sort out Paul’s stuff tomorrow. I said you’d be up for a fake reference if a supermarket wanted to be lied to.

Cammcnulty: No worries about that. And mate, if you need money or a hand, you give me a ring. I can drop over before Tuesday.

Evantheman: Thanks but I think I'm okay. Lisa’s around this weekend and she said she’d help Paul find furniture if he needed it.

Cammcnulty: Lisa?

Evantheman: They bonded over Missy Bloody Higgins. I'm surrounded by musical cretins.

Cammcnulty: LOL. And on that note, I better love ya and leave ya.

Evantheman: See ya.

I logged off and shut down, then turned the computer off at the wall. In a house with four refrigerators and God knows how many mobile phone chargers it was probably a futile gesture, but I had a firm belief in doing my bit even if no one else did. Alison had been just the same. Every time I put tea bags into the compost, I could hear her talking about the fact it was such a shame so many people in Brisbane just threw their organic waste into the bin. When I had the five thousand litre tank installed, I kept thinking how pleased she’d have been by it. I kept thinking how I’d planned to raise Jonathon to reduce, reuse and recycle and then they’d both been cremated in the most unecologically friendly manner possible because I’d been too bloody sick and out of it after the accident to even organise their funerals. Alison had always wanted to be buried under a tree. Tea bags and power switches and low energy bulbs and rainwater tanks were the only way to expiate my guilt.

I pressed the heels of my hands against my tired eyeballs. God, I’d been thinking about her and Jonathon so much today. Something about Paul brought it all back. Those big innocent eyes, probably. It’d make it hard to treat him just like everyone else, I supposed, but I’d have to.

I cleaned up and went to my room, eased the prosthesis off and set it beside the chair. Now I was really disabled. If the fire alarm went off in the night, I’d have to hope like hell I could find my crutches in the dark or I’d have to hop or bum walk out of a burning house. Cheerful thoughts, Evan. Nights were the pits.

I turned off the light and covered my face with my arm. The insomnia had grown worse the last few months, on and off. The heat didn’t help. My only technique to deal with it was to lie there and try and bore myself to sleep. I learned a while back never to code up until bed time or I’d be seeing IF/ELSE loops in my head for hours. Music sometimes helped but not when I was feeling down. If Paul wasn’t so close, I’d bring the guitar out but the kid was already traumatised enough by his new home without hearing me play classical guitar badly.

Instead I listened to the sounds of my house and its wonderful, wounded occupants settling down to sleep. Outside the cicadas set up a shrill white noise that masked Sally the mutt’s occasional tentative bark, hoping for a playmate. I wondered if this night, Paul would feel safe enough to sleep.

I’d had happiness and lost it, but at least my parents had never withdrawn their love, and I’d never had to hide my wife, or marry in a ceremony no law in this country recognised. No one had ever beaten me senseless for being a poof, or sacked me, or told me God hated me, at least not to my face. No wonder Paul envied me, despite it all. But he could have a happy life too, and with any luck, he’d keep his happiness. A life lived without fear. That’s what I could try to give them.

I didn’t need an alarm clock, at least not during the week. Every morning, right on seven, Lisa’s rattling muffler would start up and two seconds later, Sally would bark her head off. I didn’t need to get up then, though, and sometimes I’d drift back to sleep for an hour or so—one of the benefits of self-employment and working from home—but this morning I wanted to make sure Paul had survived the night and that his shyness wouldn’t stop him having breakfast or going upstairs.

But I wasn’t fast enough. By the time I’d showered and dressed, and heard Sarah and Natasha drive off, the lawnmower was going in the backyard, which would thrill Terry and Lucy no end. But if it was going to wake them up, it probably already had, so there was no point in hurting Paul’s feelings by making him stop. Instead, I boiled the kettle, made toast and covered it with Vegemite, then took a tray with the toast and two mugs of tea out the back. I sat on the bench and waited for him to notice, then waved. He turn the mower off and walked over, wiping his face.

“Hi. Did I wake you up?” he asked.

“Not me, but Terry might bitch. He’s got late shift tonight. Anyway, sit down and eat. You don’t have to do this before breakfast.”

“I thought I should start. And it’s cooler now.”

“Fair enough.”

He undid his shirt, revealing pale skin with a little treasure trail of hairs down a nicely defined chest, and I carefully put my dirty old man reaction back in its box. The boy was young enough to be my bloody son, after all. He was a real eyeful though, even if he had no idea about it.

He slurped his tea and ate almost all the toast, which reminded me about doing some grocery shopping with him later. “Nice garden,” he said eventually.

“Most of it was here before. Lisa put in a couple of shrubs from her nursery that she bought cheap but I don’t want her to work on it when she does it for her regular job. If you want to play around, go ahead. Lisa’ll tell you what you need to know.”

He looked at me. “You keep talking as if I'm going to be here forever. You don’t think I can ever go home, do you?”

“I think it may take a while before your father is ready for it. Plenty of young people in your situation reconcile with their parents.”

“And plenty don’t. If I’d just kept my mouth shut....”

“Why did he even ask you? It’s not something a father would ask out of the blue.”

His jaw worked as he stared over the yard. “Just some of the stuff I did at school and things. Maybe someone said something, made a joke. Do you know where the nearest church is?”

The abrupt change of subject made me blink. “Er, not offhand, since I'm an atheist.”

“Oh. I never met one of them before.”

“You definitely will have, even at school. But we can look it up on the web. There are churches around but I don’t pay much attention to them. Do you want to go to Mass?”

“Um, confession. Only I don’t know if I can receive absolution.”

“Don’t ask me. Cam’s the one who knows about God. I'm a heathen.”

“Don’t heathens believe in some kind of god?”

“I guess they do but I don’t do theology before eight o’clock or a second cuppa. Did you sleep all right?”

He shrugged. “Sort of. It was a bit like my first night at boarding school. Everything’s strange and I don’t understand more than about ten percent of it. I feel like an idiot.”

“You’re not and you’ll be fine. Now, don’t wear yourself out on the backyard because you’ve got to spend some quality time with the computer this morning and then we’ll do some shopping for you this afternoon. Come in when you’re ready but don’t interrupt me if I'm on the phone. That’s my livelihood in there.”

“What do you do? Cam didn’t tell me much about you except that you were a great guy and, um....”

“A hippy?”

“Yeah.”

“To him anyone with a compost bin is a hippy. Anyway, I make websites and look after them. That’s how I met Cam, actually. I did the site for his charity just before the accident. I started off as a C programmer, doing websites for friends as a hobby and after the accident I went into this line of work full-time.”

“Oh.” He frowned.

“Go on, ask.”

“I was just wondering what happened and how long ago it was, but you don’t need to tell me.”

“The accident was five years ago. I was driving my wife and five-week-old son up to Pomona where my parents live, when a drunk driver came barrelling out over an intersection and hit us side on. I couldn’t cope with the stress of my programming job after that so I resigned and when I’d sorted myself out, I retrained on open source web applications. The driver got ten years in prison because he was already on parole for killing someone else while drunk, and I won enough money in compensation from the Nominal Defendant to buy this place and set up in business.”

Over the years, I found if I didn’t spit it all out in one go, I ended up a mess as I tried to explain it.

He stared at me open mouthed. Then he bit his lip. “I'm really sorry, Evan.”

“Happens to a lot of people. Nearly two thousand people died in Australia last year in car accidents. Has to be someone’s family who’s affected.”

“Does it still hurt?”

“The leg? Sometimes. Alison and the baby?” I tossed the end of my tea out on the grass. “I think you know the answer to that.”

“I didn’t mean to moan at you. About Dad. It’s not like....”

“It is, actually. Losing your family hurts like buggery however it happens. If I thought you were whining, I’d have told you to knock it off. Cam wouldn’t have brought you around here in the first place. Paul, people like you. No one’s judging you. Lisa went through this, so did Natasha. What happened to me helps me know how you feel right now.” I pushed myself to my feet. Foot. It’s just an expression anyway. “But I really need a second cuppa. I’ll find out about churches for you but if you ask me, you don’t need absolution. Being gay isn’t a sin. Even the pope said that.”

“It is if you have sex, though.”

“Then wait until you do, but I still don’t think it’s a sin.” I shook my head at the general pointlessness of moral arguments about religion. “I need tea. God can wait for the mowing to be done.”

I went back inside before I upset him or myself any more. This was turning out to be a great day. Not.

I emailed Cam and then had my own breakfast and that precious second cup of tea. By the time I finished and downloaded my new emails, Cam had come up with the name of a GLBT Catholic support group and a telephone number. My mate never disappointed me. I shot off a thank you, and then tried to concentrate on my alleged business that brought in just enough money that claiming my outgoings, deductions and depreciation brought my income down to zero for taxation purposes. Still, it was better than sitting around staring at my stump.

To my relief, the morning brought no more difficult conversations, and once I set him up a user account on the Mac laptop, and gave him some ideas of where to look for jobs, he worked on his own without bothering me at all, except to ask a couple of questions about transport in the area. Now he knew he had a place to stay for more than a month, that would make finding a job easier and there was plenty of work around, even if it was shit stuff. When I emerged from my office at lunch time, I found he’d cleared out his room and stacked all the rubbish out ready for collection.

“It needs painting,” I said, surveying the Besser block walls and the bare concrete floor. “Let’s make a list of what we need, have lunch and go out.”

“You don’t need to spend money on me.”

“I'm not. This is my house, so I'm spending it on me. If we buy furniture, then it can stay in the room. I just never got around to it.”

We trawled around the local opshops and second-hand stores, picking over other people’s junk and hoping for treasure. I really ought to buy a new bed for the sleepout, since the mattress was clapped out and the base was a piece of shit, but we could do that another time. We found a tidy desk at Lifeline in decent condition, a chair that worked pretty well and a rug that was clean and not too hideous, and when I spotted a large set of drawers, I decided the shabby thing in the room could be turfed out in favour of this one. Paul suggested putting a rail for clothes, and a mirror on the wall—I let him make his own decisions so he could feel some sense of ownership. I didn’t want him to feel like a guest, and so long as none of the changes made the room uninhabitable, I was happy with whatever he wanted to do.

As I was paying for the furniture and arranging for it all to be held until Tuesday when Cam could pick it up in the ute, I saw Paul looking at a cheap wooden easel, his expression as miserable as I’d yet seen.

He trailed after to me out to the car, and when he’d settled into the passenger seat, I asked, “You like art?” He nodded, his eyes still lost and sad. “That’s what your dad picked up on, wasn’t it. What did he find, a nude picture of a guy?”

“No...just a couple of portraits I did for my folio. I did Art as an OP subject. Other guys—not naked or anything. He just...I guess he saw something he didn’t like.”

“And it’s your folio being left behind that really bothers you?”

“All my art, all my pencils and chalks and pads. My camera too. Mum loved my pictures, and Dad did too. I don’t know why he decided....” He turned to me. “It was like he just snapped.”

“Was he ever like that before?”

“He...um, has a temper and he’s really strict. I loved being away at school to get away from him. I know that sounds awful....”

“Not surprising, though, is it? You never thought to follow through with your art studies?”

“Yeah. Dad wouldn’t hear of it. Said if I wanted to do that, I’d have to pay for it myself. So I picked engineering. I can see his point. He doesn’t have a lot of money.”

“No. Well, now you’ll be able to apply as an independent student if you work this year, so maybe you can think about it, maybe apply to the Queensland College of Art.”

“I can’t. I need my folio. Dad’s probably burned it all by now.”

“Maybe not. How much was that easel?”

“Um, five dollars but—”

“Right. Go back in there and buy it. And then I know a shop where we can get some materials cheap.”

“I can’t. My art’s the reason I'm in this mess.”

“No, it isn’t. Paul, you can either punish yourself and deny your true nature, or you can accept it and use it to make something of your life. Don’t let your dad take everything away from you.”

He flung himself out of the car then, slamming the door, and my heart sank as he stalked away across the car park. I couldn’t chase him and I wouldn’t yell after him but I hoped he’d see sense.

But in a minute or so, he came walking back and I watched in the rear-view mirror as he headed into the opshop. He returned bearing the easel, which he stuffed into the backseat without looking at me. He still wouldn’t look at me as he got back into the passenger seat.

“Okay, art place,” I said, as if his tantrum had never been.

We headed to Garden City shopping centre, never my favourite place on the planet, and especially not with a sulky teenager, even if I knew his anger wasn’t really directed at me. When we found the art shop, I handed him two fifty dollar notes. “Advance or gift, whatever you like. Go mad. I’ve got to go to the bank. Meet you back here.”

He took the money without a word and walked into the shop, his shoulders slumped. I shook my head and went off to attend to my own business.

I took my time and when I returned, he was standing outside the shop, still rather forlorn, clutching a large plastic bag. Damn. I thought once he actually had the materials in his hands, he might cheer up, but no go.

He remained rather quiet as we picked up the rest of the shopping, answering questions in monosyllables, but seemed less angry than sad and distracted. This wasn’t at all what I wanted, and I wondered if I’d buggered it all up.

I suggested the deck might a good place to set up the easel, if he wanted, and he agreed without much enthusiasm. I sighed as he went upstairs and decided to check my emails.

I made two mugs of tea and went looking for him. I found him in the backyard, sitting on the grass in the shade near the bench, poking at the ground with a stick. He accepted the tea but said nothing as I lowered myself onto the bench seat. “Paul, have I upset you?”

“No. I can’t take all that art stuff from you. It’s too much money.”

“Like I said, you can treat it as an advance. I can afford it. Is that the problem?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think I should waste my time on it, that’s all.”

“If it’s something you love, how is it a waste of time?”

“It’s....” He bit his lip and looked away.

“The reason your dad doesn’t want you?”

“The reason I'm gay. Or might be gay. I remember now that the first time I had these...you know...feelings, was in year eight, in my art class. If even Dad could see it in my pictures, then maybe if I just leave all that stuff alone, I won’t be tempted.”

Catholicism had a lot to answer for. “Answer me this—if art makes you gay, how come you have queers without an artistic bone in their body, like Lisa, or Cam? And artists who aren’t gay at all?”

“I don’t know. I'm only talking about me.”

“Makes no sense though. It’s not like the homosexuality fairy comes down and taps you with his wand because you can draw, and ignores the bloke next to you. Being gay is something you’re born with, and so is artistic talent, but they’re not the same gene. Giving up your art won’t make your dad take you back.”

“Are you sure? What if it does? If I could say, okay, I'm done with all that, maybe....”

“Is that a price you want to pay, Paul? Giving up your art, pretending you don’t find men attractive? What else would you do for that? Marry a woman you didn’t love? How far would it go? You wouldn’t lie to him but you’d deny half your soul?”

“I want to go home! I hate Brisbane, I hate not knowing anyone. I just want to go back and see my mum and Danny and my sisters....” He covered his face, sad choked little sounds emerging from behind his hands however much he tried to hide them.

I couldn’t exactly join him on the grass so I could only put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. “Come on,” I murmured. “It’ll be all right,” I lied. The chances were that his father would never accept him. But he might have more luck with the rest of his family. In time. Maybe.

I heard Lisa’s car, and a few moments later she called out hello. I hoped she’d go straight upstairs, but she didn’t. “Hi Evan, how’s— What’s wrong?”

Paul scrambled to his feet and ran off to the end of the yard, ignoring us both as he scrubbed at his face.

Lisa stared at him, and then at me. “Ah, Paul’s having a bad day,” I explained.

“Why?”

“His dad kicked him out because apparently art makes you a poof and Paul thinks if he stops doing his drawings, he won’t be gay any more.”

“For fuck’s sake,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll go talk to him.”

“No, Lisa....”

But she ignored me, stalking down the backyard. I sighed again. I didn’t want to watch the inevitable explosion so I went back into the house and fired up Skype. I needed Cam to tell me I hadn’t fucked this up irretrievably.

Sally the mutt barked enthusiastically as Cam drove into the front yard, and from the back, a small but just as lively yip joined in the chorus. “My girl’s happy to see me,” Cam murmured as he turned off the engine.

“Paul’s playing with her—oh, and so is Lisa. And Natasha. Bloody hell, it’s a jamboree.”

“Around Bewdy, it always is. Paul! Lisa! Natasha! Give us a hand, will ya?”

Lisa and Natasha wandered out to help, but Paul stayed in the back with Cam’s dog, lazy sod. “G’day, beautiful,” Cam said to Natasha, giving her a hug. “How’s the job?”

“Shitty, literally. Tell me you bought my Diet Coke, Evan? I'm dying.”

“You will be if you keep drinking that crap,” Lisa said, picking out a handful of bags from the back of the ute.

“Yeah, well, I reckon you’ll die of lung cancer before the aspartame gets me,” Natasha retorted.

“Ladies, ladies. Cam, can you sort it out upstairs? I’ll just check on the young fellow, take our food through.”

He handed me the bags which held our chook supper and the bottle of wine we’d picked up at the bottleshop, and then he and the girls began to unload the ute. I dumped the bags in my kitchen and went out to the backyard. Paul was playing chase with Bewdy, Cam’s two-year-old Australian silky terrier. Strictly speaking, Bewdy belonged to his daughters but they only saw her on the weekends. The rest of the time, he looked after her. Or his office did, when he was out and about.

“I was just coming,” Paul said.

“Never mind, they’ve sorted it out. Having fun?”

“She’s cute, aren’t you, girl?” He picked the terrier up and she excitedly licked his chin.

“Little bewdy, in fact.”

He worked it out and pulled a face. “Really?”

Cam’s humour had that effect on people. “Unfortunately, yes. Did you sort out the furniture?”

“Yeah, Lisa gave me a hand. Looks great. Just need a set of curtains and some pictures on the wall and it’ll look like a real room.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear. Bewdy, here, chase!” I chucked the old tennis ball and she tore after it. “She likes you.”

“I miss our dogs. Do you think next door would let me walk Sally? She’s bored.”

“They would but what happens when you get a job? You called back about the interview?”

“Yeah. Next Monday, they said. I better buy a shirt and trousers. Black shoes too.”

“I’ll lend you the dosh, don’t worry.”

“Thanks.” He clapped his hands as Bewdy came running back, and took the ball from her, sending it off again and she went hurtling away on her tiny legs. “Cam won’t mind if I play with her some more?”

“It’s why he brings her over, for everyone to get a chance to. But she doesn’t go upstairs and she sleeps in the dog kennel. Don’t sneak her into your room because she pees everywhere when she’s excited.”

“I understand. You and Cam aren’t having tea with us?”

“Nope. Tuesdays are lunatic-free nights. Have been for four years more or less. It’s when I get a chance to pass on all the gossip about you buggers.”

Three days ago, saying something like that to the kid would have brought him close to tears. Now he just grinned. Paul’d had a good weekend, broken out his new pencils, and spent Saturday with Lisa being driven around nurseries and being shown some of the nicer parts of this sprawling city. They’d spend a hundred and fifty bucks on plants and garden supplies, and Paul had been hard at work all yesterday and most of today putting the new shrubs and trees in, to Lisa’s very precise instructions. She’d whispered to me that she might keep an eye out for a job where she worked, if Paul was interested, and I thought it would definitely suit him better than a job in a supermarket.

Bewdy barked and bowled into Cam’s legs as he opened the gate. “Calm down, girl,” he said, picking her up and letting her lick him. “She’s been behaving for you, Paul?”

“She’s been a good girl. I’ll dogsit for you anytime.”

“Might take you up on that, mate. Starting now.” Cam handed his squirming dog over to Paul. “Don’t let her talk you into feeding her from your plate, and don’t take her upstairs. Tasha will probably come down and mess around with her for a bit. Evan, there has to be a stubbie with my name on it somewhere.”

“In the fridge, where else would it be? I’ll come through in a minute.”

Cam waved and disappeared inside. Paul sent the ball off for Bewdy again. “Will you be all right this evening?” I asked him. Sarah was off visiting a friend and Terry and Lucy were working late as usual. Paul would only have Lisa and Natasha for company.

“Yeah. I might come down after tea and do some sketches. Got a letter to Danny to write too.”

“Fair enough. Just don’t get between Lisa and Natasha if they start arguing. It’s better to walk off.”

“I’ve got three sisters, Evan. I know about girlfights.”

“Okay.” Though if he ever saw those tangling for real, it would probably make his nose bleed.

Cam handed me a stubbie as I came into the flat. “Kid’s settling in.”

“Yeah, seems to be. He’s still as confused as buggery.”

“So to speak.” He threw himself down onto the armchair. “Is it only Tuesday?”

“Last time I looked. Bad weekend?”

“No, a good one. Leigh-anne’s birthday. Took her up to Australia Zoo. Greta was there. She managed to keep the claws in.”

“Oh good.” Cam’s divorce had been a bitter one. Some wives are sympathetic when they find out their husband’s gay, and some...are not. He hadn’t been sleeping around on her but that hadn’t made any difference. The only civility between the two of them was for the sake of their daughters, but Cam had loved Greta and blamed himself for how she acted now. I’d met her once—more than enough. “Girls coming to stay with you this weekend?”

“No, up with my parents again. We can take them to the coast for a swim. They don’t like my flat that much anyway. Should have bought a house back in the day but who can afford it now?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Anyway, no point bellyaching about it now. Is that one of Paul’s?”

He pointed to the sheet of paper propped up on the shelves near the TV. Paul had found a dead grevillea leaf in the yard, disappeared into his room for about an hour, and when he came out, he had this beautiful little still life in his hands and his eyes were shining with happiness. He could have drawn stick men and I’d have loved this picture.

“Yeah. The boy’s got real talent, but he doesn’t want to talk about studying it. For two cents I’d go to Charleville and knock some sense into that idiot father of his.”

“Lot of them around,” Cam said dryly.

“Paul wants to go home. That’s the only thing he wants, and the only thing no one can give him. From what he’s hinted, I wouldn’t put it past the father to land him in hospital if he goes back now.”

“That happens too. I’ll talk to him.”

I nodded, but didn’t want to continue this line of conversation. Cam did it for a living, and in a lot of his spare time too. He came over here for a break and I needed time away from worrying about my lunatics. I steered him onto the cricket and when we’d finished the beer and opened the bottle of wine, I put on one of my new CDs to play while I laid out the chook and coleslaw on the plates.

“What the hell is that?” Cam asked as the soaring voices came over the speaker. “Church music? Some bloody atheist you are.”

“If Christians are going to make all the best musicians write sacred music, then I’ll listen to it and enjoy the art. Half my collection’s church music, you cretin.”

“And the other half is bongos and whistles and people blowing a tune out of a bird’s arsehole.”

“Nothing wrong with a well-tuned arsehole. Shut up and listen, you might learn something.”

So he did, and not impatiently. Cam was a complete fake. Pretended to be the great Aussie larrikin and macho man as camouflage but he’d done a Bachelors in Psychology, and completed his registration before he spent two years in Europe, working and travelling. He might not know a Stabat Mater from a Requiem but I knew for a fact he’d voluntarily gone to the Queensland Art Gallery on more than one occasion and it wasn’t just to ogle the visitors.

We ate in silence as Pergolesi’s music floated around us, and as a reward for not being an ocker, I offered him Miami Vice for the evening’s entertainment. Cam didn’t exactly leap at it.

“Have you seen it?” he asked.

“No. Isn’t it any good?”

“It’s a pile of crap, and I'm not making you sit through it just for me.”

“I don’t mind. It’s your evening off.”

“Mate, just being here with a glass of plonk and no phone is enough for me. Whack another one of your CDs on. I liked that last one.”

Pleased and surprised, I tried to find something in the same mood, though I wasn’t sure if Cam had responded more to the voices or the solemnity. I tried him on Mozart’s Requiem. “I know this one,” he said, almost startled.

“It’s been used in a lot of films. The Stabat Mater was in a movie too. You’d be surprised how much stuff you’d recognise.”

“Yeah?”

“I can prove it, if you like.”

So instead of killing our brains cells with Mr Farrell’s latest offering, I gave Cam a musical tour through the movies, pulling out all the easy, familiar pieces and a few unfamiliar ones, and when he found something he liked, I gave him a taste of something more.

I was just searching for Rachmaninoff when Cam looked up at the clock on the wall. “Bugger me, it’s midnight!”

Startled, I confirmed it for myself. Had we been at this for six hours? “Really? Hell, sorry, mate, I get a bit carried away when I talk about this.”

“Don’t apologise. I enjoyed it. I think I better hit the sack though. Uh...you reckon you could bung some of this stuff on a CD for me? Might be nice when I'm driving up north.”

“Sure. I’ll make you a collection. You’re not just saying this to keep me sweet?”

“Evan, I’ve known you for nearly five years. Have I ever done that to you?”

“No, you haven’t. I’ll let you go to bed. You take the bathroom first.”

“Always do,” he said cheerfully as he stood.

I cleared away all the CDs, wondering if I’d been insulting Cam all these years by assuming he’d rather watch a piece of high concept crap than do something quiet and thoughtful. Sure, some nights I was only in the mood for crap myself, but my tastes changed. Why had I not thought Cam’s would? Underestimating someone like that wasn’t nice at all. I’d make sure I put together the most beautiful collection of music I could, something for all moods, as an apology. And maybe I’d show him some of the films the music was used in.

He came back out and pulled the sofabed into position. By now, we had our routine down pat, he knew where everything was and he left toiletries and clothes almost like he lived here. He was the only visitor I’d ever had to stay. I’d never inflict this nuthouse on any of my relatives. If Mum and Dad came down they stayed in a motel. Cam was an honorary lunatic, though, so he got to stay. Wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it all before.

The bed was already made, and all had to do was throw the pillow onto it. “Right. See you in the morning.”

“Yeah. Look, Cam...you don’t think I take advantage of you, do you? Take you for granted?”

He looked at me in disbelief, then laughed as he shook his head. “You’ve got to be kidding. Mate, you’re the least exploitative person I’ve ever met. You think I’d leave kids as vulnerable as Paul with you if I thought you were a user?”

“Yeah, but...towards you.”

“You wouldn’t see me for dust. Been there, done that, had the broken heart. If anything, I feel like I ask you for too much.”

“You really don’t.”

“Then we’re good. You think too much. Must be all that smart music you listen to.”

I grinned. “Yeah, right. Okay, night night.”

I felt reassured. But I still wanted to keep an eye on my relationship with him. It was too precious to fuck up.