The Legend of Kevin the Plumber by Scot Gardner

the rooter down and she’s all flowing again now. Job’s finished.’
    â€˜Fantastic. Do you have an invoice for me?’
    â€˜No. I . . . they’ll send you one.’
    â€˜Good. All done then?’
    I nodded.
    â€˜Thanks. I hope we don’t have to see you again for a while.’
    He held the door open for me. I thanked him, prayed that he didn’t look at the mess on the carpet, and left.
    Kevin’s face was still white. He hadn’t been magically healed. I stuffed the gear in the back of the van and climbed into the passenger’s seat.
    â€˜Are you okay to drive?’
    He gritted his teeth as he pressed the clutch. He started the van and backed out of the car park like Grandad.
    It was an accident, I told myself. I didn’t mean to drop the grate. It wasn’t my bloody fault. He didn’t have to get all shitty with me.
    Kevin drove to the depot, panting through his beard whenever he had to change gears. He parked the van beside the shed and, using the chain mesh fence as a crutch, dragged himself to the front gate.
    I stood beside the van. All I could do was watch.
    â€˜Tell Phil I’ll call him later,’ he said, and limped across to the crappy Toyota ute with the green plastic boat strapped to its racks. The engine started, the wheels coughed on the gravel and he was gone.
    It wasn’t even lunchtime.
    Fuck it, I thought. I gave it a go.
    I started walking to the gate.
    The office door banged open. ‘Oi, David!’ Phil said. ‘Where are you off to? Where’s Kev?’
    I shrugged. ‘Up the hospital, I think.’
    â€˜Hospital? What happened?’
    â€˜He dropped a metal grate on his ankle. He said he’d phone later.’
    â€˜He what?’
    â€˜Big metal grate. It was an accident.’
    â€˜Jeeeeezus,’ Phil said, as he jogged across the car park to the black SS. The wheels span on the gravel then shrieked as they hit the tar. He kicked the V8 in the guts and redlined it to the corner. Nice note, I thought. A flash of brake-lights in the mid-morning sun then he was gone, too.
    I smiled. I shook my head and walked to the highway. I thought about thumbing a ride back to Mullet Head but the day had opened up nicely and my boots scrunched on the side of the road, one after the other. I could walk home, I thought. All the way. Fifteen k’s or so. Easy. I wished I had a smoke. My thighs were tight, probably still recovering from the ride with Ash. I’m such an unfit bastard, I thought. The walk would do me good. I jogged for a while:about thirty steps in all. I was puffing when a car approaching me from behind started winding down through the gears. A van. A dusty blue-green van with kids in the back crawled past me and pulled onto the side of the highway. A woman with curly black hair called from the window.
    â€˜You want a lift? Gary, isn’t it? We’re only going to Mullet.’
    I jogged another five paces and she dragged a newspaper off the passenger’s seat.
    She apologised about the mess and one of the kids in the back burped like a bar rat.
    â€˜I’ve just seen your mum. Had to make an appointment to get my hair done next Wednesday. It is Gary, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Your mum was just saying that you’d got a job. Plumbing, isn’t it? Fantastic. You’d do all right out of that. My nephew, Gregory, he’s a plumber up in Sydney. He’s twenty-three and he owns his own business. Got three people working for him. Three or four? Anyway, he works hard. There’s plenty of money in it if you’re prepared to put in the hours . . .’
    The woman, whoever she was, just talked and talked all the way to Mullet Head. Talked about how we’ll always need plumbers and how important they are in the world.
    â€˜If we didn’t have plumbers . . . God, imagine that. If we didn’t have plumbers, we’d certainly be in the poo.