the concrete block, starting back to the road. Kate’s blind was still half opened and he swore to Christ he was being watched. What the hell, not my business, he told himself and started up Bottom Hill, walking fast. Cresting the top, he looked down upon Hampden. A thick fog was creeping over the darkening sea. It crept over the wharf and through the backyards and, lifting a grey tentacle, wrapped itself around a yellow light flaring through a window in Bonnie Gillard’s sister’s house. The light twinkled and then blackened like a dying star.
He cut away from Bottom Hill onto a twisted dirt road flanked by brush. It was getting dark now. The one streetlight had been rock-smashed years ago by mischief makers and he kept himself tethered to the road by the faint glow of the barroom lights creeping through the brush. A low rumble of voices floated towards him as he neared. Loud whispers. Giggles. The ones not yet old enough to get inside the bar. They plied him for smokes, booze, or whatever and he shucked one of them a dollar bill. Inside the smoky cavern of the bar a crowd was growing, shoving tables together and arguing good-naturedly with razzing neighbours. A bunch of old-timers hunched around their regular table nearest the door, playing spades through the thick haze of their home-rolled smokes. On the bandstand at the back of the bar, a scrawny kid with an electric guitar was testing his mike while the other band member—his uncle—balanced a bass on his knee and fiddled with the dials on an amp. An old sod hyped with drink was waltzing himself around the dance floor to Waylon Jennings pining “Why Baby Why” from the jukebox. Nearest the dance floor was a table of Verges, Bonnie’s clan. Big hair, big dark eyes. Pick out a Verge anywhere. He was about to approach them when the eldest sister, Marlene, came through the door from the women’s can, scrunching her hair behind her ears and laughing at the old sod waltzing his way towards her.
“Hey!” Kyle slid along the bar towards her, pulling Bonnie’s keys from his pocket.
“Hay’s for horses, Sweetie.” She took the old timer’s hand and swirled away with him across the dance floor and Kyle let the keys slide back in his pocket.
“Here you go, bud.” The bartender slid a whisky and ginger his way. He drank it back and held out his glass for a refill. His buddy Hooker, hair razored to his skull, had spotted him from the back of the bar and was coming towards him. Looked like he was going to church in his white collar and black jacket. He slowed to a saunter as he passed the table where his girlfriend, Rose—saucy bangs and saucy tight sweater—was sitting, absorbed in a chat with her friends. Coming up to the bar, he slapped Kyle’s back and gave him a heartening grin.
“What’s she at, buddy! Your mother all right? Heard she was sick.” He called to the bartender for a Black Horse and slapped Kyle’s back again. “What’s up, buddy—see fucking Roses back there?”
“Roses?”
“Eh, yeah, she likes me calling her Roses.”
“Ye getting married or something? What’s with the duds?”
“She ditched me agin.”
“Right. New clothes gonna get her back.”
“Man, I must be dumber than a fucking trout. Always letting her reel me in and dump me back out.”
“Find yourself a different pond, bud. Listen, can we go outside for a minute?”
“Have a drink, first. Hey buddy,” he yelled to the bartender. “Cancel that Black Horse, pour us a couple whiskies. How’s Syl? Heard Trapp was sneaking about agin.”
“Yeah, what’s that about? Where’s he living these days?”
“In Corner Brook, somewhere.”
“What’s he always fucking around here for? Nobody here belong to him no more.”
“Yes, b’y. And not like he ever lived here, hey, b’y. Hung around with Ben one summer. Don’t think he ever stayed much with them uncles of his.”
“Best thing ever happened, that sawmill burning down. Crazy fuckers, the Trapps.”
Hooker nodded. “Weird. Weird the way Trapp keeps sneaking back. Not like Ben’s still here—whatever the fuck Ben seen in him.”
“Ben. He’s got a soft spot for all the underdogs.”
“What about your sister?”
“Sylvie’s no fan of Trapp. Only tolerated him because he’s Ben’s friend.”
“When they getting back?”
“Don’t know. Few weeks.”
“I allows they’ll be married soon. Married.” He sniffed. “That’ll take the fun outta ro-mance.” He tossed Rose a snide look and turned to the flat-faced bartender. “Where’s the drinks, old man—oops, sorry, bud. Here, pour one for your honey.” He threw a few bills on the bar and handed Kyle a drink, taking the other for himself. “Cheers. What’s up? What’s on your mind? Listen.” He gulped his drink and, leaning in, patted his jacket pocket. “Got a few spliffs here. Afghani, man. Black as spades. We’ll go for a smoke in a bit. Got a few uppers, home. Get them later, if you want, all right, buddy? Your mother’s going to be fine, guaranteed.”
“I’m all right, b’y.” Kyle toasted Hooker, the whisky burning good in his belly.
“And Syl, how’s he doing? Always gets stirred up when Trapp’s about.”
“He had a few.”
“Figures. Got a shot of shine for him out in the car. Nice shine. Fucking premium. Snuck it from the old man’s larder.”
“Thanks, bud. Old man will like that.”
“Here’s to Syl. And to your mother. Got some nice dried red clover back at Grandmother’s. Good stuff—makes good tea for what ails you. Bring some up to your mother, if you like.”
“Jaysus, like the old country doctor,” said Kyle, clapping Hooker’s shoulder. He pushed aside thoughts of Bonnie’s car and threw back his whisky and ordered another for him and Hooker. One thing about the outports. You never suffered alone. Everybody was your brother or aunt or cousin or neighbour and they knew your dead like they knew their own.
“Look at her back there, look at her,” said Hooker, sneaking a glance at Rose. “She been stonewalling me all night and which ain’t working because I’m stonewalling her. She’ll have leg cramps from sitting in that chair before I gives her a look this evening. I always smells like pot, she says. That’s her thing, right? She hates that I smokes pot.”
“Buy her some flowers, b’y.”
“Hey. Love don’t care if it’s flowers or pot. Love is blind.”
“So’s hate.”
“You saying she hates me?”
“I’m saying it sucks to be blind.”
“It’s here, bud,” said Hooker, patting his heart. “You loves through here, not your head. Too cerebral, my friend. Hey, who’s that there—how’s she going, b’ys?”
Skeemo and Sup were coming through the door. “W’sup? W’sup?” asked Sup. “Hey, Kyle, man, w’sup?”
“How’s
