Maggie quickly jumped into rescue him, “You remember Jane, don’t you, babe?”
“Um, of course I do. Hello Miss Lester…um, I mean Jane.”
Everyone laughed at Peter's faux pas.
“Jane’s one of your dad’s students,” Maggie explained to Michelle and Paul. “Sorry babe, what were you saying as you came in?”
Peter struggled to remember what he was about to say. Everyone looked at him expectantly, making it even harder to concentrate. “Oh, yeah,” he said, recovering nicely, “I was just about to say that we had time for a quick cup of tea before everyone else arrived, but now I’m thinking I’ll have a beer instead. You want one Paul?”
Paul looked at Michelle, who shrugged noncommittally, before accepting graciously.
“Steve, what about you, you want one too?” Unlike Paul, he did not bother to seek approval from his newly acquired girlfriend. “Sure, why not?”
Peter left the others in the dining room and excused himself to get the beers. Maggie offered to give him a hand.
They had no sooner got out of earshot when Peter asked her, “What’s she doing here?”
Maggie looked surprised. “Who? Jane? She’s here with Stephen.”
“With our Stephen?”
Maggie laughed. “Of course, you dill, what other Stephen do you know?”
“I mean, what’s she doing with him?”
Maggie reached up and felt his forehead. “You feeling okay?”
“Yeah, why?” Peter swatted her hand away.
“Surely I wasn’t the only one that saw the way our son drooled all over that young lady last night.”
Peter nodded. “Oh I saw him alright. I was almost embarrassed for him.”
Maggie looked at Peter questioningly. “Do you have a problem with Stephen seeing Jane?”
“You mean as in girlfriend and boyfriend?”
“Well, that’s generally what it means.”
Peter felt the colour draining from his face and hoped like hell it didn’t show.
“You okay,” Maggie asked. “You don’t have a problem with Stephen inviting Jane over, do you?”
Peter considered his response carefully. “No, it’s just that…” he stopped and tried again, “she a bit old for him isn’t she?”
“What is she, two years older than him, tops?” Maggie asked.
Peter shook his head. “No, she’s at least three years older than him. Besides, she’s one of my students.”
Maggie laughed. “I don’t believe it. I would have thought you’d be thrilled to see your son going out with such an attractive and intelligent young lady. Who, I might add, used to be one of your students.”
Peter realised that any further protest from him was bound to raise suspicion, so he gave in gracefully. “Yeah, I suppose. I just wasn’t expecting to see her here that’s all.”
Maggie handed Peter three beers from the Esky. “Here you go, sounds like you could do with one of these.”
Peter smiled at Maggie. “Yeah, thanks.”
“Oh, by the way,” Maggie said, just as Peter was about to leave the room, “you do realise Jane was the reason your son wanted to stay over at the Warner’s last night don’t you?”
“Huh? What do you mean, Jane left earlier on in the night.”
“Yeah, but she and Charlene did come back later on.”
The penny dropped and Peter slowly nodded his head. Maggie continued. “Who do you think brought him home this morning?”
Peter groaned by way of response.
Maggie laughed. “Face it babe, our little boy is growing up and developing a taste for the big girls now.”
Without saying another word, Peter left the kitchen. He could still hear Maggie laughing as the door swung shut behind him.
Chapter 30
Friday, 21 December 1979
“We gather here today to remember Darren O’Connor, son of Susan and Gerald, brother of David, Justin, Patrick, Jason and Anthony, great grandson, grandson, nephew and friend.
“Darren is remembered fondly for his enthusiasm for life and his sense of adventure...”
I sat at the back of the church next to Tom and Mrs Simmons, listening to the service and trying not to cry. I was still angry with Mum even though she finally let me come to the service. At first she said I was too young, but Tracy stuck up for me and she changed her mind. It helped that Mrs Simmons said I could come with her and Tom, which meant that Mum didn’t have to bring me. Anyway, it’s not a real funeral, it’s just a memorial service. The funeral won’t be til after Christmas and it’s going to be a private one, so I couldn’t go even if I wanted to. Shortie’s family didn’t want to wait that long to have the memorial service. They wanted it over and done with in time for Christmas.
Lots of people turned up for the service. The church was packed so full that people were standing at the back of the church and all the way down the stairs because there weren’t enough seats. It was stinking hot and stuffy inside, making my legs sweat and stick to the uncomfortable wooden benches. The ceiling fans whirled away above our heads, but it didn’t feel like they were making things any cooler. I saw a lot of people I knew, but there were also loads I’d never seen before. Shortie must have a lot of relatives. It looked like half the school turned up as well. I could even see Dreary Drury and Miss Keller. Mum said there probably wouldn’t be too many people here because of the short notice, but she was wrong.
Mrs Preston and Trevor walked past and said hello, but didn’t stop to chat. I suppose it’s not right to chat at a memorial service. We talked to Mitchell Morgan and Jason Morley out the front, but everyone was standing around talking then, so that was okay.
It was so depressing. Everyone wore dark dingy clothes and no one smiled. I tried not to cry, but it was so hard with everyone else crying. Even Tom looked like he was about to burst into tears. I hoped like mad that he didn’t. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop myself if he did.
The Father or the Minister, or whatever he’s called, stood at the front of the church talking about Shortie and all the things he liked to do. He even told us that his friends called him Shortie, not Darren. I nearly cried when he said that. He talked about how Shortie was saving for a new bike and how he enjoyed playing with his friends. He even told us how Shortie was born twelve weeks early and that he nearly didn’t make it.
I moved closer to Tom. “Did you know that?”
“Nuh.” Tom shook his head.
Mrs Simmons gave me a dirty look and shushed us. “Pay attention Tommy.”
Ignoring Mrs Simmons, I thought back to what the Minister had said. How come we didn’t know that about Shortie? I thought Tom and me were his best friends.
I was just beginning to wonder what else we didn’t know about him when I remembered that Shortie didn’t know about me nearly being born in a police car either. I know Mum couldn’t resist telling everyone and anyone about it, but I was pretty sure she never told Shortie. I could never understand what the big deal was anyway. It’s not like I was born in the police car or anything.
My arrival did make the news though, but I reckon that was only because of the crash. Dad said there was a big accident out the front of the hospital where I was born. He said a truck came around the corner on the wrong side of the road and ran smack into a brand new Monaro. Trust Dad to remember what sort of car it was. He reckons it was a waste of a new car as well as peoples’ lives. Mum and Dad and me – only I wasn’t born yet – were stuck in traffic for ages and couldn’t move. Mum was in labour and didn’t think she would make it to the hospital in time, so Dad got out of the car and walked up to the front of the traffic jam. He told one of the policemen that Mum was about to have a baby in the car and the policeman came back to the car and helped Dad move it off the road and walk Mum back to where the police car was parked. Then he drove them the short distance to the hospital in the police car. I was born in the emergency room as soon as they got inside. If I’d been a boy, I would’ve been
called Laurie after the helpful policeman.
Just as well I was a girl, I reckon Laurie is the stupidest name I’ve ever heard.
The Minister’s loud voice snapped me out of my daydream. I thought it was strange that I should be thinking about being born at the same time that the Minister spoke about Shortie dying. It was probably even disrespectful or something. I didn’t want to be rude to Shortie so I tried to focus my attention on the service. It was pretty hard work though.
Before too long the talk changed from being about Shortie to being about God and Jesus. What did they have to do with Shortie exactly? I thought the service was a load of crap. Nothing the Minister said made any sense. His voice boomed out loudly as he read from the Bible and I could hear him over the noise of the fans all the way up the back. He got all worked up about everything he said. Sometimes it looked like he was talking to us without actually seeing anyone, almost like he was blind.
“…People were bringing little children to Him in order that He might touch them, and the disciples spoke sternly to them. But when Jesus saw this, He was indignant and said to them, ‘Let the little children come to me, do not stop them, for it is to such as these that the Kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the Kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.’ And He took them up in his arms, laid His hands on them, and blessed them…”
I risked another dirty look from Mrs Simmons and leaned over to whisper in Tom’s ear. “What’s he talking about?”
“Dunno. It’s just stuff they say at funerals.”
If you ask me, I thought the whole thing was a waste of time. Some people must have understood though, because every now and then the Minister would say something that would make everyone say amen or cry even harder and louder than before.
I sat on the hard bench blinking back my tears. Mum was right about one thing. Coming to the service didn’t make me feel better, it made me feel worse. I was still sad that Shortie was dead and I was still angry with my parents, especially Mum for making me have the party tomorrow, but I was feeling much more than that. It was hard to explain, but I reckon it had something to do with all the talk about faith and trust in God. I couldn’t work out what all that stuff had to do with dying. Like the other day when Tom asked his mum if Shortie was in Heaven yet, she said he was. She said that he’d be sitting next to Jesus eating rice from gold plates and drinking wine from gold cups.
I reckon he’s too young to drink wine. Besides, I don’t believe her anyway. I reckon she’s just telling lies like everyone else. Who’d want to do that anyway? It sounds like a real drag to me. If that’s all you do in Heaven, surely people would want to go somewhere else instead.
The whole service thing was a rip off. It was such a disappointment after fighting so hard to get Mum to let me come. I only wanted to come so that I could find out for sure what happened after you died, but so far, nothing the Minister’s said has made any sense. He just keeps going on about stuff like the love of God, the peace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the comfort of the Holy Spirit blessing everyone who loved Darren.
What the hell does that mean, anyway?
I wonder if I’m allowed to think the word hell in church.
“…The words of the 23 psalm speak of a God who cares for each of us like a shepherd cares for his sheep. It speaks of a God who, like a shepherd, goes out of his way to save an innocent and helpless one from danger…”
What was he talking about? God never saved Shortie from anything, he let him get bashed up and die. I’d like to know what kind of shepherd lets that happen that to their sheep. I could feel myself getting angry with the Minister for saying all those things.
At least when I was angry I didn’t feel like crying anymore.
The Minister continued, alternating between his trance-like talking and reading passages from the Bible. “…Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me…”
Mrs Simmons sat beside me nodding her head in agreement with the Minister. At least she appeared to know what he was talking about.
“…and John tells us that Jesus said unto his disciples, “So you have pain now, but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you”...”
Who’s John? And how could Jesus say that no one would take our joy from us? They already have. If I were Shortie’s mum and dad I’d be really pissed off by now. I looked around to see if anyone was getting up to leave. Nobody moved.
Some people sat there sniffing into their hankies while others nodded enthusiastically at the Minister, never missing an opportunity to say amen. I could hear someone sobbing loudly up the front, but I couldn’t see past the rows in front of me to see who it was. Others just sat there staring into space. They looked like they weren’t really listening to what the Minister was saying. Kind of like when Dreary Drury reads to us in class. I can never concentrate on what he’s saying because I’m too busy thinking about other things. Maybe everyone was too busy thinking about Shortie or what they were going to do for Christmas. It had to be better than listening to the Minister go on and on about God.
I wonder what Mrs O’Connor will do with Shortie’s slot car set and model Torana now.
The Minister lowered his voice and asked everyone to join him in the Lord’s Prayer. We had to get off the bench and kneel on the hard floor for the hundredth time. I was sure I’d have bruises on my knees by the time the service was finished.
Just like the other ninety-nine times, everyone put their heads down, so I did the same. At least that way no one could see that I didn’t know the words to the prayer. When the prayer finished, we were allowed to sit back on the bench. The Minister waited for everyone to be seated before starting again. It felt like we’d been at the service forever. I could see from Mrs Simmons’ watch that we’d been there for just under an hour.
“…May the peace of God, which passes all understanding, drive away your despair, may the blessing of God Almighty, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, be with you always. Amen.”
Finally, it was over.
A few people got up and then quickly sat back down again when they realised it wasn’t properly over yet. A lady got up at the front of the church and started to sing. She sang Amazing Grace in such a beautiful voice that everyone started to cry again. This time, I couldn’t hold back my tears so I just let them flow. Tom reached across and took my hand. I looked sideways at him, but he was staring straight ahead, struggling with his own tears. We held hands until the song finished and everyone stood up again to leave.
Mrs Simmons wiped her tears away with a hanky. “What a lovely service,” she said.
If you ask me, I reckon it was a stupid.
Chapter 31
Friday, 21 December 1979
Mum was sitting in her usual spot in the dining room having a cup of tea with Mrs O’Reilly when I got home. “How was it, love?” she asked me.
“Good,” I lied. There was no way I was going to admit to Mum that I thought the service was dumb. She would’ve just said, I told you so.
I didn’t feel like talking to Mum, and I especially didn’t feel like talking to Mrs O’Reilly, so I went to my room and closed the door. I had no idea what to do next. Tom had to go out with his mum and it was almost too late to go and visit anyone else. I lay on my bed for a few minutes thinking about the service and the things the Minister had said. I was just as confused now as I was during the service, so I gave up trying to make sense of it all. I changed out of my good clothes and put on a pair of shorts and a top. I picked up my book and went out to grab a piece of fruit to take with me to the cubby. I could see my birthday cake in the kitchen and decided against going in there to get the fruit. I didn’t want to have to tell Mum what a good job she’d done with my cake. From what I could see, she’d done a top job too, but I was still too angry with her to say anything nice, so I pretended I hadn’t seen the cake and walked outside without saying a word.
&nb
sp; I climbed through the gap in the fence and walked to the cubby house. The cubby had been up for almost a week and still no one had trashed it. We agreed that if this one got pulled down, we’d take Shortie’s advice and build one in a secret place. For now though, the cubby was nice and quiet and I didn’t have to listen to Mum and Mrs O’Reilly talk about sick people.
I kicked off my thongs and put my feet up on the car seat. I leaned back against the side of the cubby and opened my book. I found it hard to concentrate with the memories of the service going around in my head, so I put the book down. I wondered what Shortie’s soul was doing now. Would he really be in Heaven or had he been too naughty to get in? Mr Richards said that sinners went to Hell, not Heaven. I wondered if Shortie had been bad enough to be considered a sinner or if he’d managed to scrape into Heaven. I knew of a couple of bad things he’d done, so I reckon God must know about more.
The thought of Shortie being a sinner got me thinking about my own level of sin. I wondered if all the bad things I’d done, like swimming outside the baths, calling Brian snot face and dog’s breath, and stealing a box of chalk from one of the demountables at school, counted as sins. I still worried about getting busted for the chalk and that happened last Christmas holidays. Speaking of sins, we’re not allowed to play in the school grounds when it’s not a school day, so I suppose that counts as one too.
I made a mental tally of all the sins I could think of and came up with an uncomfortably high number. Before I could work out what sort of number would stop me from getting into Heaven, I had a brainwave of an idea. Since no one was able to tell me what happened when you died, I would go to the library and borrow some books about it. There must be stacks of them there.
Thinking about my trip to the library, I remembered my birthday party tomorrow and decided it would have to wait til next week. There was no way Mum would let me go all the way into Toronto before my party started. She already told me that I have to stay home and help her set up.
I still can’t believe Mum is making me have a party. I think it’s wrong to have a party when one of your closest friends has just died. I still haven’t forgiven my parents for lying to me about Shortie either, so I don’t think it’s right to let them do something nice for me. If I do, I’ll have to be nice back and pretend that I’m grateful and all that stuff and I’m not ready for that yet. I’m not just angry with Mum either, I’m angry with Dad too, not as much, but still angry. It’s hard to be angry with Dad, because he usually just goes along with what Mum says. But this time, he promised me he wasn’t hiding anything and he was, so it’s only fair I’m mad at him also.
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