by Felice Arena
‘Are you okay?’ asked Specky. What had he said to spark this emotional response?
‘Yeah, yeah,’ sniffed Grandpa Ken. ‘Just this medication I’m on. Makes me bloody cry at the drop of a hat. Sorry, Simon. I’m proud of you, kid. You know that? And I hope you play the game of your life on Saturday. But, if you don’t mind, I’m going to have a bit of a kip. Feeling a little tired. I’ll see you later, okay?’
Specky nodded and left his grandpa to rest. While walking back to the lifts, he bumped into his dad in the corridor.
‘You leaving already?’ asked Mr Magee. ‘How is he?’
‘He wanted to have a nap,’ said Specky. ‘He seemed a bit upset when I mentioned the All-Australian side. Hey, Dad? You know how Grandpa was good at sport when he was younger? How good was he?’
Mr Magee’s face hardened. Specky had obviously hit a raw nerve.
‘Why? Did he say something? About me?’
‘No! No! Why are you getting so defensive?’ Specky blurted. ‘It’s crazy, Dad. I know he gets on your case a bit, but I don’t understand why you two can’t just get along.’
Mr Magee sighed heavily and gestured for Specky to sit down beside him on some nearby chairs. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I am defensive. When it comes to your grandfather and me, I suppose that’s the only way I know how to be. And I’m sorry if that’s made things uncomfortable for you and Alice over the last few weeks. I’ll try and explain, but I don’t really know where to start.’
Specky looked at his father as if to say, well, go on.
‘Look, there’s no doubt that at one stage of my father’s life, sport was his world. He lived for it, dare I say, the same way you live for footy. And, yes, to answer your question … yes, he was very good at it. All of it – football, tennis, but especially cricket. He was even selected for the Australian team.’
‘He what? Are you serious?’ said Specky, leaning forward. ‘That’s unreal! Why haven’t you or Mum ever told me that?’
‘Well, I don’t really talk about my father at all, do I? I haven’t really had much to do with him for the past ten years, remember?’
‘Wow!’ said Specky, still processing what his dad had told him. ‘No wonder he was all emotional when I mentioned the All-Australian team. He played for Australia!’
‘Well, no, he didn’t play exactly,’ said Mr Magee. ‘His girlfriend, your grandma, fell pregnant around the same time he was selected. He had to work to support her and his child, so he gave up his position on the team –’
‘Gave it up? No way!’
Mr Magee nodded sadly, and something dawned on Specky. ‘That first child was you, right?’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Magee.
Specky paused, his mind hurriedly ticking over. ‘But lots of sports stars have families.’
‘Not in those days,’ said Specky’s dad. ‘Sports people didn’t get paid the way they do today. He had to do the decent thing – marry his girlfriend, earn a living and support his family. It’s been the biggest regret of his life. And I suppose that’s why we don’t get on.’
Again, Specky took a moment to process all that his father was telling him. ‘You mean, he blames you?’ he asked.
‘Well, not directly, but I think he’s always resented me. You know what I’m like at sport.’
‘Yeah, you suck big-time, Dad,’ stirred Specky, with a grin.
‘Yeah, well, I know. And I’m glad you can see the humour in it because for my father it was deadly serious. My brother and I may not have inherited his sporting genes, but that wasn’t going to stop him from desperately trying to mould us into mini-versions of him. He was persistent, that’s for sure. There just came a point where I didn’t want to deal with all of that – I didn’t want to feel like a disappointment anymore. I wanted to create my own life.’
Mr Magee slumped back against the wall and crossed his arms. Specky felt for him. And for Grandpa Ken, too.
‘You know what?’ Specky said, determined to change things between them. ‘I don’t think Grandpa resents you. I think he loves you. Just think about it – he knew he didn’t have long, but still he came here. He didn’t tell you he was sick. He didn’t want anything from you. He just wanted to spend his dying days with you. Maybe this was his way of saying, let’s stop having a go at each other and get on with it? Maybe when you get a look at death head-on, the past isn’t important anymore …’
Specky’s father sat up and gave him a look. ‘You’re really impressing me right now, you know that?’
Specky smiled.
‘Look, I can’t promise anything, okay?’ Mr Magee added. ‘But you’re absolutely right. Our stupid feuding isn’t important anymore. Thanks to you!’ Mr Magee hugged Specky, and made his way to see Grandpa Ken.
Specky watched him go and then walked towards the lifts, feeling pleased with himself. But before he got there, he heard his father shout for a nurse.
Within seconds, nurses and doctors were rushing to Grandpa Ken’s room. Specky ran back, only to be pushed aside as the medical staff hurriedly wheeled equipment into Grandpa Ken’s room.
‘Dad! What’s going on?’ Specky called to him.
‘Just call your mother!’ he shouted back, before closing the door on him.
19. throat tonic
Specky forced himself out the door on Monday morning and slowly shuffled his way to school.
His dad had come home from the hospital on Saturday night, devastated, and told them that Grandpa Ken had slipped into a coma. Their Sunday had been spent between the hospital and home – moping about aimlessly and praying he would come out of it.
‘Hey, Speck, get a load of this.’ Robbo waved him over as he entered the classroom. His mates were all gathered around Gobba. Mr Rutherford hadn’t arrived for first period yet. ‘Go on, Gob, say something,’ Robbo ordered.
Gobba struggled to talk. Nothing came out but a hoarse whisper. He pointed to his throat.
‘He’s lost his voice,’ said Danny.
At first Specky thought his friends were joking. And he was definitely in no mood that morning for jokes. ‘Yeah, right. Well, at least his arm’s healed up,’ he said, turning to look for a place to sit.
‘Are you okay?’ asked TG, as she dropped her books on a table next to him. ‘How’s your grandpa?’
‘Not good,’ said Specky. ‘Really bad, actually.’ But before he could say more he was dragged back into his friends’ conversation.
‘Speck. We’re serious!’ said Danny.
‘Mate, is this true?’ Specky asked. He knew that the Cork in the Ocean commentary contest meant as much to Gobba as the National Final did to him.
Gobba nodded, looking miserable.
‘But the game is at the end of this week. Will you be better by then?’
Gobba nodded, then he quickly scribbled something on a piece of paper and shoved it in front of Specky. It read, I have laryngitis! The doctor said it’s from overuse and I just have to rest my voice. I have to try not to talk for five whole days!
Woah, thought Specky. That’s a big ask. That’s torture for someone like Gobba. At least it would be better in time for the contest.
While Specky had been talking to Gobba, Robbo and Johnny had been whispering and laughing together.
‘Maybe Mrs Castellino can cook up a remedy,’ suggested Robbo. ‘Didn’t she brew up something using, like, a ton of garlic when you were sick once, Danny? Or was that your aunty? Some old Sicilian brew, right?’
Danny didn’t respond. Specky and the others saw him gazing across the room at the Gladiator. She was laughing and chatting with friends in the far corner of the classroom, oblivious to him staring at her.
‘Oi! Stallion!’ said Robbo, lightly punching him in the shoulder. ‘I just asked you something.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t worry about it, Saint Valentine,’ Robbo said.
‘If we had the eyes of a red tree frog, I could help ya,’ remarked Johnny.
‘Red tree fro
g eyes?’ repeated Robbo. ‘You’re kidding?’
‘Nah, it’s my family’s old Aboriginal remedy for sore throats,’ Johnny explained. ‘If he ate those beauties, he’d have his voice back in a couple of hours.’
Johnny winked at Specky. Robbo was having trouble keeping a grin off his face.
Gobba frantically mimed something to Johnny, his hands waving all over the place. It didn’t take much to work out that he wanted to find out where you could find a red tree frog in Melbourne.
‘Dunno,’ shrugged Johnny. ‘But I’ve heard blended spinach and beetroot juice do the same thing.’
Gobba was falling for it big-time.
‘Yeah, I heard that, too!’ said Robbo. ‘My dad’s mate is a race caller and whenever he starts to lose his voice he has a big glass of that. It’s gross, but it works.’
Gobba winced at the thought of it.
He’s not really going to drink that, is he? Specky thought. He must know they’re having him on.
‘Okay, Gob, at recess we’re gonna ask the canteen ladies if they can help us out,’ Robbo said. ‘I reckon they’ll blend some spinach and beetroot for ya and then –’
‘ALL RIGHT! ENOUGH OF THE CHITCHAT! TIME FOR WORK!’ bellowed Mr Rutherford, walking into the room. ‘Just because this is your last week of term, doesn’t mean you can slack off. Open your notebooks and scroll down to page forty-four of last week’s file. I want you to take a good look at these problems because these are the kinds of questions you’ll be working on during the holidays.’
Everyone groaned.
When recess finally rolled around, Specky’s friends couldn’t get to the back door of the canteen quickly enough. Specky, on the other hand, rushed to get in line at the front. He hadn’t been in the mood to eat much at home and now he was starving.
‘Grab me some chips, will ya?’ said TG, jumping in line beside him. ‘So, tell me, what’s going on with your grandpa? Are you okay?’
Specky told her the sad news. He hadn’t said it out loud before and hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell his mates. It felt good telling TG though. He found himself staring again into her green eyes. Could they be more than just friends? he wondered.
‘Seriously? A coma? I’m sorry, Speck,’ she said. ‘Now I really understand the gloomy face you’ve had on all morning. Is there anything I can do?’
‘Nah, but thanks. It’s funny, you know, from the hospital you can almost see the MCG. I reckon Grandpa Ken would like that.’
‘Yeah, and I bet he’s liked being in Melbourne around Grand Final time. I was in the city on the weekend and you should have seen all the AFL decorations around. I love this time of the year. It’s the best. Too bad the Tigers aren’t in the Grand Final … but their day will come.’
‘As long as you don’t mind being in your eighties when it does,’ teased Specky.
‘Hey!’ Tiger Girl grinned, and punched him in the arm. ‘Oh, guess what – I’m still gonna see you play at the MCG. I thought there was no way Robbo would want me to come along after we broke up, but I gotta hand it to your mate, he’s a good guy. I was so upset when I thought I’d miss your big game. He knew how much I was looking forward to it.’
It’s now or never, thought Specky. I’ve got to say something. I’ve got to ask. ‘Um, TG?’ he said. ‘Would you ever, um … would you ever consider …’
‘What?’ she asked.
‘Nothing, it doesn’t matter.’
‘No, come on. What did you want to ask me? Would I ever consider what?’
‘YO, SPECK! Come and check this out!’
Specky turned to see his friends gathering around Gobba as he prepared to drink down the disgusting homemade tonic of beetroot and spinach.
‘Come on! Have a look at this,’ yelled Robbo.
‘Um …’ Specky turned back to Tiger Girl.
‘You boys are mental,’ she said. ‘Go! But will you ask me what you were going to ask me later?’
Specky nodded, before leaving his spot in the line and joining his friends.
‘This is it, Gob,’ said Danny, winding him up. ‘Scull it in one gulp!’
Specky caught Gobba nervously glancing his way as he raised the cup to his lips. Robbo gave him the thumbs-up.
Gobba swigged the ‘tonic’ in one go. He wiped the juice off his mouth with the back of his hand and burped. At first he looked okay, but within seconds his face turned an off-white colour and he was doubled over vomiting the sour concoction back up. A putrid red gush of liquid hit the quadrangle, splattering for almost a metre in all directions. Some nearby Year Seven girls squealed, and Specky’s friends started laughing, including Gobba, who had juice dribbling out his nose.
‘What is going on here?’ growled Mr Rutherford, appearing out of nowhere. ‘You boys, clean this up at once! Higgins, if you’re sick, go and see the school nurse. Magee, come here, please.’ Mr Rutherford stormed off.
Why’s he singling me out now? thought Specky. ‘I didn’t do anything,’ he called.
‘Now, Magee!’
20. another blessing
‘Simon, can you duck out and get some milk, please?’ asked Mrs Magee, popping her head into Specky’s bedroom. ‘We don’t have much to offer Mr Rutherford when he gets here, so get some Tim Tams or something as well. Are you sure you don’t know why he’s coming to see us? Are you sure it isn’t about you being in more trouble? It’s very bad timing in light of what’s happened with Grandpa Ken, but I’m sure he understands that.’
‘Yeah, but he said he only wants to talk to you briefly. I haven’t done anything, Mum – promise. He just said he wanted to talk to you about something personal.’
‘Well, here,’ added Specky’s mother, handing him some money. ‘And put a jumper on. It’s cold outside.’
Specky walked in the chilly night air to the local milkbar. It was only a couple of streets away from his house. On his way back, he became aware of car headlights behind him on the dark quiet street and it seemed as if they were keeping pace with him. He quickened his stride a little and, sure enough, the car increased its speed as well.
Yep, it’s definitely following me, thought Specky, his heart now thumping. Maybe it’s that mysterious bald man from the airport and from State training? he thought. Or that creepy talent manager, Brad Dobson. But why would he be following me like this? Maybe he’s not a manager at all, but some crazed stalker … Yeah, some crazed stalker who probably has a huge knife, or worse … a chainsaw? Specky’s mind was racing and before he knew it he was jogging, then running – which was surprisingly difficult to do carrying a carton of milk and a pack of Tim Tams. When he reached the front door of his house, Specky turned to see the mysterious car actually pulling up into his driveway.
‘What the?’ Specky gasped, trying to catch his breath. ‘What’s he going to do? Kill me on my doorstep?’
Just as Specky was about to open the front door and bolt inside, Mr Rutherford hopped out of the car.
‘I thought that was you,’ he said, smiling and striding across the lawn. ‘Wasn’t sure if I was in the right street. Good to see you getting a run in – keeping fit before the big game.’
Specky laughed with relief as he led Mr Rutherford into the house and introduced him to his parents.
‘Thanks again for your time,’ Mr Rutherford began, ‘especially considering what you’re going through with your father. I hope he gets well soon.’
‘Thank you,’ said Mr Magee. ‘So, um, what can we do for you, John? Why the urgency to see us in person?’
‘Well, I’m actually here to apologise to Simon. And I felt it should be done in your presence. I regret that there’s been a terrible mix-up with the Maths test Simon took. The test I thought was his, I discovered later, was not,’ he explained.
‘Yes!’ Specky said. ‘I told you!’
‘Simon, please,’ said Mrs Magee. ‘What do you mean it wasn’t his test?’
Mr Rutherford took a deep breath. Specky could hardly contain himself.
‘Well, when Simon said it wasn’t his handwriting on the test, I brushed it off as a desperate excuse. But the other day my wife found Simon’s real test in my son’s bedroom. Apparently, my son, Kyle, had exchanged it with a test he had filled in himself, with most of the questions answered incorrectly.’
‘That dirty rotten little –’
‘Simon!’ snapped Specky’s mother.
‘No, it’s okay, Mrs Magee. Simon has every right to be angry,’ said Mr Rutherford. ‘What Kyle did is unforgivable.’
‘Why would your son do this?’ asked Specky’s dad.
‘That’s not an easy question to answer. I think, on some level, Kyle feels threatened by Simon. At his last school, Kyle was a big fish in a small pond in terms of his footy skills and status. He loved his mates and they loved him. I’ve come to see he deeply resented having to leave. So even though he took his frustrations out on Simon, I think his actions were really aimed at me. It’s not easy for children of teachers to attend the same school – there’s always a certain added pressure for them to do well. I know Kyle has felt that pressure and we’ve moved twice in four years because of my career. But having said that, we’ve always struggled to get along. We’ve never really … um … what’s the word I’m looking for?’
‘Clicked?’ said Specky.
‘Yes, clicked, exactly.’ Mr Rutherford nodded. ‘I know it may sound strange for a father and son not to click, but –’
‘Not that strange,’ said Mr Magee, shooting a forlorn look at Mrs Magee.
‘Yes, well, that’s the way it is with Kyle and me at the moment,’ continued Mr Rutherford. ‘I’m sorry that our problems have affected you, too. Simon, I hope you can understand how upset I am that you missed the game. You worked hard to pass that second test and you should have been rewarded for that.’
‘Um, Dad?’ Alice popped her head around the door. ‘That’s the hospital on the phone. They want to talk to you. It sounds urgent.’
‘Excuse me, John,’ said Specky’s dad, standing up. ‘I’ve got to take this.’ Mr Magee hurriedly left the room.
