Summer

by Michelle Zoetemeyer

  The disapproving look on a neighbour’s face poking out from behind the curtain as Maggie walked up the footpath to the house did nothing to diminish her urge to dance. No doubt they were grateful for her return and the salvation from the ravages of Janis Joplin it represented. In no mood to humour them, however, she raised her arms and swung her hips from side to side, waving at them as she did so. She laughed out loud as the curtains were yanked shut in a very un-neighbourly way. “Bah Humbug,” she called to them, safe in the knowledge that they were two doors away and the music drowned out any noise she made.

  Chapter 39

  Friday, 13 December 1968

  Peter said goodbye to the blokes and left them standing around the crowded bar. They’d been there since two o’clock and the smoke-filled room was starting to close in around him. All that aside, he had told Maggie that he would try to get home early. He had a few things he needed to do before going to the cottage and since he wasn’t sure exactly what day his new car was turning up, he wanted to get as much done as he could. The weekend was out of the question. He had already agreed to help Roger with his extensions. He couldn’t believe he had managed to get sucked into it. Admittedly, it had been months ago that he’d agreed to help. Had he known Roger would pick this weekend to take him up on his offer, he might have kept his mouth shut. Then, to top it off, Maggie had her work’s Christmas function on Saturday night, which meant the whole weekend was a write-off.

  Peter turned the corner into their street. The absence of Morrie told him that Maggie wasn’t home yet. He hadn’t really expected her to be. She had mentioned something about going shopping after work, so realistically, she probably wouldn’t be home for ages. He was relieved to see Jane’s car gone. Stephen told him that morning that he had planned to spend the day helping Mark fix his car, which meant that Peter had the house to himself. What a rare treat indeed! With a few beers already under his belt, it was no wonder that he resolved to put his favourite Janice Joplin album on the moment he got inside – and loud too, just how he liked it.

  With that in mind, he got out of the car and with a spring in his step, strode into the empty house. He dropped his briefcase by the front door, hung his keys on the hook, and had his shirt and tie off by the time he got to the lounge room. With one hand he used his shirt to fan his sweaty body, with the other he managed to shake the record from its sleeve and place it on the record player. Then, singing along at the top of his voice, secure in the knowledge that the music would drown out any noise he was capable of making, he continued undressing.

  Having stripped down to his boxers by the time he reached the bedroom, he decided against a pair of shorts, but snatched a singlet from the drawer and slung it across his shoulder. He followed the trail of dirty clothes back into the lounge room, making an agreement with himself to pick them up by the time Maggie returned home.

  He plonked down onto the lounge and rested his feet on the coffee table. Hmm, something’s not right, he thought, and immediately got back up. Still singing loudly, he walked into the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the fridge, walked back into the lounge room, flopped back onto the lounge, and put his feet back onto the coffee table. “Aah, that’s better.” He tugged on the ring pull until he got the satisfying click, followed by the hiss of released gas; he lit a cigarette and rested his head back against the lounge. With the last day of work behind him, the long summer holidays before him, a cold beer in his hand and his favourite album on the stereo, Peter considered himself a lucky man indeed – and all that despite it being Friday the thirteenth.

  ***

  Apart from the blaring music that ached her ears as she entered the house, the first thing that caught Maggie’s attention was Peter’s clothes strewn all over the floor. It was not like Peter to leave a mess. Granted, it was the sort of thing she would do, but not Peter. “Hi babe, where are you?” she called, immediately realising she was wasting her breath. She could hardly hear her own voice; there was no way he would have heard it. She was about to go through to the kitchen to look for him when she saw his head sticking above the back of the lounge bobbing in time with the music. She walked up behind him and gently covered his eyes with her hands. “Hi there gorgeous,” she whispered in his ear, planting a big kiss on his head, “guess who?”

  Instead of turning around to face her like she expected him to do, he ran his hands slowly up her arms, giving her gooseflesh in the process. He reached up, interlocked his fingers behind her head, and tenderly pulled her towards his face for another, slower and more passionate kiss. Then, with Maggie squealing like a schoolgirl playing catch and kiss, he slid his big, fiercely strong hands under her armpits and dragged her over the back of the lounge and onto his lap. Laughing, he mouthed something at her, which she didn’t hear. She shrugged noncommittally and rearranged herself into a comfortable position. Facing him, she leaned in for another kiss. His tongue flickered in her mouth bringing the taste of beer and cigarettes with it. Maggie didn’t mind. She liked the way he tasted, and kissed him harder. He wrapped his naked arms around her and pulled her in close. She could smell his sweat and feel it against the bare skin of her arms. Instead of repelling her like it would have had it been anyone but Peter, the smell of beer, cigarettes and sweat – mingled with his usual indefinable scent – turned her on immensely.

  Her limbs began to loosen and the familiar fluttering below increased as his kisses became more intense. She could feel his growing hardness through the thin fabric of her skirt and squirmed against him, forcing it between her buttock cheeks. The smile on his face told her that he liked what she was doing. “Mmm,” she wriggled in his lap, “you like that” It was more of a statement than a question. She knew damned well that he liked it. By now he was fully hard and pushing himself against her with barely discernible movements.

  Without warning, she jumped up and smoothed her skirt down. The look of alarm on his face amused her and she laughed at him. He grabbed her arm before she could fully escape, but relaxed his hold when he saw that she was turning the music down and not leaving him high and dry like he’d first thought. “That’s better,” she leaned over him with her bottom sticking up behind her and kissed him, “now I can hear myself think.”

  “And, what may I ask, are you thinking about?” he grinned.

  She slid towards him and slowly lowered herself back onto his lap. She straddled his long legs and slid her hands in behind his neck. Arching into him and positioning her body for maximum contact with the bulge in his boxer shorts, she leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Why don’t I show you?”

  “Mmm, that sounds like a mighty fine idea,” he reached around and grabbed her bottom with both hands pushing her harder into his groin, “why don’t you do that.”

  Accepting his challenge, she raised herself up from his lap leaving sufficient space to get his boxer shorts down. She didn’t think she’d be able to get them past his knees, nor did she attempt to. Meanwhile, Peter slid his hands under her blouse and massaged her breasts through her bra. “Hang on a sec,” she offered, and hopped up again. This time she quickly slid her underpants down under her skirt and let them drop to the floor. Peter’s disappointment at not seeing her nakedness beneath the thin fabric was forgotten the moment she straddled him again. She lifted her skirt out of the way so that there was nothing but bare skin between them.

  Peter moaned with pleasure at the touch of Maggie’s hand guiding him inside her. He kissed her full on the mouth, pulling her harder on to his lap, causing her to sigh appreciatively in return. He yanked her blouse up so that he could see her small, firm breasts. Her bra had been pulled down, forcing them out in what looked to be an uncomfortable manner, so he reached around behind her and unfastened the clasp. He immediately felt her breasts get heavier in his hands. “Oh yeah, that’s nice,” Maggie said approvingly.

  In response to her encouragement, Peter leaned forward and took one of her hard nipples into his mouth. He knew how much it drove her mad to have them gently
teased between his teeth; almost as much as he loved doing it. Maggie threw her head back in bliss and ground into his lap harder. Her motions caused Peter to cry out involuntarily and quicken his movements. Her nipple in his mouth stifled the noise a little, but their lovemaking could still be heard above the beat of the music. Neither of them cared; they were both as horny as hell and in no mood to take the long way home.

  Maggie gave one last cry and sank into Peter exhausted. Her face was flushed and her blouse was soaked. Similarly, Peter’s torso glistened with tiny droplets of sweat and his skin burned. He gently rolled her off his lap and onto the lounge beside him. “Boy; that was nice!” he turned and gave her a kiss. “I love you, babe,” he added more solemnly.

  Maggie lifted her blouse away from her body and blew down the front of it to cool her damp skin. At his remarks she stopped what she was doing and kissed him back. “Mmm,” she kissed him again, “I love you too.”

  At the sound of the front door, they looked at each other guiltily. Maggie giggled. She felt as though she were twenty years younger and about to be sprung by her parents making out with her boyfriend on their lounge. Only this time the roles were reversed. Stephen’s voice warned that they were about to be caught with their pants down – literally. Peter quickly yanked his shorts up while Maggie slid her underpants under the lounge and out of sight.

  Stephen was past the entrance to the lounge room in a flash. “Hey there, how’s the sunbaking going?”

  Maggie and Peter glanced at each other, stunned. Who was he talking to?

  Jane’s answer confirmed their suspicions. “Not bad, but it’s getting too hot, so I came in for a drink.”

  Maggie giggled again. Peter shot her a look of caution. He was hoping Stephen would stay at the end of the hall without noticing them, but Maggie’s laughter gave them away. “Hi Mum; Dad. How was your day?”

  “Not bad. Yours?” Peter responded in a tone that belied their previous activities.

  Maggie burst out laughing at the seriousness of his reply. Jane stood beside Stephen with a beach towel slung over her shoulder, surveying the room. She wore nothing but a skimpy bikini and a look of distaste on her face. Stephen spotted the clothes strewn along the hallway and gave Jane a sly look. “Did we interrupt something?” he asked his wayward parents.

  “No,” said Peter, too late. “Yes,” said Maggie, and giggled some more.

  Stephen laughed and took Jane’s hand. “C’mon,” he said leading her from the room, “I think we should leave these kids alone.”

  “No need,” protested Maggie. She jumped up from the lounge and smoothed down her skirt. Conscious that her bra was undone beneath her blouse, she kept her arms in front of her. “I just came to get my shopping list and I’m going straight back out.” She leaned over and kissed Peter. “I think I’ll change into something cooler first” – she gave him an intimate smile – “then I’m outa here.”

  “I won't be too long, babe,” she called back to him, making her exit.

  Peter mumbled a distracted farewell. His attention was already on Jane who had been watching him intently the whole time Maggie had been chatting away. Had she been less satisfied with how her afternoon was turning out and more attentive to the goings on around her, Maggie would have seen the venomous way Jane looked back over her shoulder at Peter. As it happened, she didn’t, which was just as well, thought Peter. A look like that was bound to raise questions.

  Chapter 40

  Saturday, 22 December 1979

  Most of the kids had arrived by the official start time of one o’clock. Dianne and Raelene were the only ones yet to turn up. Tom and I sat at the dining table, opening presents. I couldn’t remember the last time I got so many new things. No wonder most kids have birthday parties every year!

  Aunty Audrey, Uncle Mick, Bridget and Pat, gave me a Magna-Doodle and I got a game of Mastermind from Aunty Joanne, Uncle Dennis, and their kids. Cheryl Haines got Tom and me a Frisbee and a Slinky each. I used to have a Slinky but it got tangled up and I had to throw it away. We got other presents alike too. I got a game of Snakes and Ladders from Lisa Small and Tom got a game of Chinese checkers. Damo got us both a View-Master with a set of reels. Tom got The Amazing Spiderman and I got Casper the Friendly Ghost.

  Ed and Trevor put their money together and bought us a game of badminton to share. Tom said we should take it in turns to look after it, but I thought it should stay at Tom’s place where nerd boy Brian couldn’t get at it.

  Speaking of nerd boy, Brian flattened his nose against the screen on the back door. “Grandma and Pa are here,” he said in his baby voice.

  “Where’s the birthday girl?” Pa called from out the front.

  I went to the front door to greet them. Dianne was coming up the driveway behind them. I hadn’t seen her since the day she fell out of the tree. I wasn’t even sure she’d turn up. Grandma and Pa wished me a happy birthday and handed me my present. It was about the size of a shoebox and quite heavy. Dianne followed them in timidly, handing me a present also. Hers was soft and squishy and felt like clothes. She had a similar package for Tom also.

  We joined the others in the dining room where Tom was opening his present from Clare. He got an autograph book like the one I got and a game of Uno. The parcels from Dianne contained beach towels. Mine was yellow with a black fringe and Tom’s was blue with a black fringe.

  “Thanks,” I said to Dianne. “Now I don’t have to share a towel with smelly Brian.”

  “That’s okay,” she giggled, “Mum got them from work.”

  Mrs Cowan works at K-Mart. Dianne’s always wearing new clothes her mum gets her from work. I turned my attention to the present from Grandma and Pa. “Well?” Grandma said, hurrying me along. “You better open it so I can go and give your mum a hand.” I ripped the paper off, once again forgetting to be careful not to tear it. “Wow, a real jewellery box!” Now I could throw away my fairy one with the ballerina that no longer turned.

  “Pa made it,” Grandma said proudly.

  “It’s beautiful. Thanks Pa.”

  Pa beamed at my compliment. Pa’s eyesight’s pretty bad, but he could tell by my voice that I liked it. It’s funny how he can’t see properly, but he can still make things as good as the jewellery box. He’d done a top job of it too. It was made from varnished wood and had a velvet padded lid. The lid matched the inside, which was divided into sections and covered in velvet. There were even slots for earrings. Not that I own any. Mum won’t let me get my ears pierced until I turn fifteen. I didn’t have a lot of other jewellery either, but I couldn’t wait to put in it what I had.

  I took the jewellery box to my bedroom and out of harm’s way. I put it on my bedside table, which was also made by Pa. Before I left, I took the silver ladybird necklace that Nan and Pop gave me for my last birthday out of my fairy box and put it into my new one. I wasn’t ready to take off my new pentacle yet, but I’d make sure I put it away before having a bath tonight.

  By the time I got back into the dining room, Raelene had arrived. She was hard to miss with her mop of frizzy red hair sticking out wildly. We always rip her off about her hair. We tell her that her hair arrives five minutes before she does. It used to be really long, but she got nits and her mum cut it off. Now it only comes to her shoulders, but because it’s shorter, it sticks out like mad. Some of the kids at school even call her mop head. Only behind her back mind you. Raelene’s the tallest kid in the whole school and when she loses her temper, watch out. She’s even taller than Eric Miladew now and he’s so tall everyone thinks he’s a freak. Well, that’s not the only reason everyone thinks he’s a freak. I think it’s got more to do with the fact that he picks his nose and eats it. And he smells funny too. Plus, he’s in the special class for subbies. Whenever we sing “get off the ground while Mildew’s around” he runs around like a spastic and it takes the teachers ages to calm him down. It’s hilarious to watch.

  Tom was busy tearing open his present from Raelene
when I joined them. “Holy cow!” he held up a walkie-talkie and some batteries, “look at this.”

  “It even works and everything,” said Raelene.

  I wondered what use a walkie-talkie would be if it didn’t work, but I never said anything.

  The look of excitement slowly changed to one of confusion when Tom realised he only had one handset. “How do you talk in it if there’s no one to hear?”

  Raelene had trouble containing herself. “You’ll see,” she said, not wanting to give anything away, but doing exactly that.

  As I tore open my present, it dawned on Tom that Raelene got me a walkie-talkie also. “Ah, I get it; we can talk to each other.” He held up his handset to show that it matched mine.

  Brian barged through the back door almost bowling Trevor over. “Mum wants everyone outside! She said you all have to come and eat the food before the flies get it.”

  I organised my presents into a neat pile, so they wouldn’t get mixed up with Tom’s and quickly screwed up all the paper and shoved it in the bin before Clare could see it. I really wanted to sit and go through my new stuff more slowly, but I knew Mum would come and drag us outside if we didn’t get out there soon.

  ***

  I considered walking down the back steps on the stilts Gazza’s dad made, but the look I got from Mum made me think better of it. Besides, it would be too hard to balance with the clacker-clacks looped over the middle finger of my right hand. I couldn’t believe it when I opened my present from Tom; he’d got me a pair of clacker-clacks exactly like the ones I got him. Weird, huh? Except, mine were green and yellow, and his were red and blue. He also got me a lock up diary, which is unreal. I couldn’t wait to write all my secrets in it.

  I especially like the stilts I got. Tom got a set too. Mr Pryde made them from two bits of wood, overlapped in the middle and nailed together. He even nailed a square of wood above the bottom piece, next to where it overlaps, so we’d have somewhere to put our feet. The top bits of the stilts were wrapped in black tape; like the kind you put on the handles of cricket bats. Both sets were painted red, but Mr Pryde put our initials on the side so we could tell them apart.