The Boys of Summer

by C. J. Duggan

  “That’s two shots to us!” yelled a tall, muscular boy. Sean Murphy. I knew him mainly by his all-star status as the ruck-man for the Onslow Tigers. He was now looking at me with piercing baby blue eyes, a colour I had never seen before.

  He flashed a smile that made my stomach flip, and as if sensing my predicament, he shouted out for me, “Grub’s up! Tobias, it’s your shot.”

  A lone figure leaning over the jukebox flipped through the song archives; he pushed his final selection before turning to grab the pool cue from Sean. I threatened to drop my plates when I noticed Tobias was Toby. The Toby! My Toby!

  Our eyes locked, his brows raised in surprise, and then I realised he wasn’t the only one looking at me. All of the Onslow Boys were looking at me like I was some kind of creature that had emerged from the lake. But when I caught their eyes roaming over me much like Chris’s had, it made me suddenly super aware and self-conscious of my bodysuit attire.

  I coughed and stammered, “Where do you want it?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I realised how suggestive it had sounded and mentally slapped myself.

  There was a pause and a line of bemused smirks as I watched the same thought flick through their minds, before Toby broke off and headed to the pool table.

  “Two shots, was it?” Toby asked.

  Sean scratched his jawline and nodded. Trying not to smile.

  “Just sit them down there, Tess,”

  I flinched at the unexpected voice of Chris, from behind me where he stood manning the bar, his arms crossed. He was all business, no nonsense. I latched onto the clarity and put the meals quickly on the bar.

  “Thanks, Tess.” Sean smiled at me as he slid a meal down the bar.

  I made my exit, stressed that I had at least two more meals to deliver to them without embarrassing myself. Again.

  I took the shortcut through the opposite door to head towards the kitchen; I passed Ellie who was still busy with her mammoth table. When she saw me coming from the bar, she winked and gave me the thumbs up, and I couldn’t help but smile and return the gesture.

  I carried the meals back the same way and avoided the front bar all together. When I reached the Onslow Boys, I didn’t need to ask whose meals I was holding. Toby and another boy, Stan, I think his name was, had pulled their bar stools next to Sean and a boy they’d nicknamed Ringer. I placed the meals carefully before Toby and Stan who both said, “Thanks.” My heart did a little flip.

  “Hey, Tess, is there any salt and pepper?” Sean asked.

  “Oh … uh, I’ll get some.” I made a silent prayer that I wasn’t blushing at such a simple question. I snuck back to the restaurant and grabbed a set. Quickstepping back into the poolroom, I passed them to Sean’s outstretched hand upon my return.

  He watched me intently. “What’s your last name, Tess?”

  Before I could answer, Toby spoke for me. “McGee,” he said. He glanced up from his meal, confident about his answer and motioning for Sean to pass the salt.

  He knew my name?

  “Ahh, McGee, eh? Your parents own the Rose Café in Perry? That McGee?” Sean pressed.

  “Ah, yeah, Jeff and Jenny McGee.”

  “Best pies in town,” Ringer added with a mouth full of chips.

  They all nodded.

  “Thanks! I’ll make sure I tell her the Onslow Boys approve.”

  Sean frowned as if what I just said confused him and Ringer, Toby and Stan looked equally confused as they eyed each other.

  Sean swallowed. “The Onslow Boys?”

  In that very moment I knew I had gone bright red; the Onslow Boys was Ellie’s nickname for them. Not a common one everyone used.

  “Oh, nothing,” I stammered. “It was just something that was written on the docket, so I could find you.”

  Oh help!

  Sean munched on a chip thoughtfully. “Let me see.”

  I cringed and reached for the crumpled order I had shoved in my apron from the plate. Sean took it from me.

  His smile broadened. “The Onslow Boys.”

  “Don’t forget the smiley face,” added Stan, who peered over Sean’s shoulder.

  I felt like such a child. Sean handed the docket back to me.

  “That’s pretty cool. Boys, it would appear we have a new status; we now represent the entire town.”

  “That’s a frightening thought,” Chris added, as he appeared in the bar. He had a habit of appearing out of nowhere.

  “Surely we could have been called the Onslow Men?” Ringer puffed his chest out.

  “No, I think boys is appropriate for the likes of you lot,” Chris said.

  They all broke out with laughter. Stan threw a chip at Chris and the verbal onslaught continued. Chris gave me a ‘back to work’ look that made me scurry to action. I locked eyes briefly with Toby who seemed to be the only one not overly amused by the personal jokes being flung around.

  I ducked into the alcove between the poolroom and dining room hall, stealing a moment to catch my breath. I had managed to see Toby twice in one week and he knew my name, not just my first name but my whole name.

  He actually knew my name.

  So? I thought to myself. It was a small town, everyone knew everyone’s name, it was no big deal.

  I couldn’t help but press myself closer to the partition; I strained to overhear their voices that were mixed with laughter.

  “So what do you think?” posed Ringer.

  “What do I think?” said Sean.

  “Yeah.”

  “I think she makes me want to drink Guinness,” Sean said. That had them all laughing.

  Guinness? I looked down in horror to see that exact word blatantly advertised across my chest.

  “Easy, Tiger,” Chris said.

  “Whose shot is it?” added Toby, and the fray was broken with more trash talk about one another’s pool skills. Mortified, I ran back to the kitchen with my head swimming in all that was the Onslow Boys and Toby Morrison, who knew my name.

  By eleven o’clock, it was just Ellie and I left in the kitchen, washing all of Rosanna’s pots and equipment.

  “Chefs don’t do dishes,” Rosanna had said as she smugly made her way out of the kitchen.

  We glared after her, the same thought no doubt crossing both our minds.

  Chef? Pa-lease!

  Rosanna had pretty much trashed the kitchen. Remnants of greasy food spattered on the work bench, spoons, pots, dishes, sodden tea towels and an overflowing rubbish bin. I could only imagine that this was a reflection of what inside her mind was like. Chaos. We were on the homeward stretch, wiping down the benches, both clearly exhausted by a long, hard night. When Chris walked in with a new set of dirty dishes he dumped in the sink, I dragged myself over to refill it with water.

  “Leave it, Tess,” Chris said, “you’ve done enough, come and have your knock-off drink.”

  We dragged ourselves into the main bar, pulling up the spare seats next to Rosanna who was devouring a smoke, and Melba who sipped on a vodka and tonic. Chris plonked two ice cold Cokes on the small table before us which we gratefully skulled in unison.

  “Thirsty work, girls?” bellowed Sean, who appeared out of the poolroom making his way towards the gents.

  I nearly choked on a bit of ice at the unexpected comment, which Melba and Rosanna thought was hilarious. They slapped their palms on the table with fits of cackling laughter.

  “Don’t worry love, Seany-boy has that effect on all the girls.” Rosanna knocked my chair with her foot as she wriggled her pencil thin eyebrows in a ‘hubba-hubba’ motion.

  “And he’s really nice, too,” added Ellie, dreamily.

  “Ha! It’s the nice ones you have to worry about,” Melba said.

  Our conversation was getting more and more bizarre in a really dysfunctional way; it was like a bonding session of sorts. And as Sean reappeared and walked back towards the poolroom, we all tipped our heads sideways, watching, in appreciation of such fineness.

  Chris worked on dra
wing the blinds, switching off the main lights and deadbolting all the doors.

  “Time for everyone to head home by the looks of it,” I sighed.

  “Oh, honey,” Rosanna said, “they’re just booting up, the night doesn’t kick off till now.” She butted out her cigarette.

  “How so?” asked Ellie.

  “They’re doing a lock-in.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s the lurks and perks of being mates with the nephew of the publican.” Rosanna stood, hooking her handbag over her bony shoulder.

  “Dropping me off, Melbs?”

  Melba swallowed the last of her gin, slapping her hand on the table.

  “Let’s go. See you girls tomorrow at eleven. Don’t be late.”

  Chris unbolted the back door and let them out. My shoulders drooped, my body unclenched. I saw Ellie do it, too. For the first time that whole night, Ellie and I collectively relaxed.

  She leaned towards me. “So what do you think of Sean?”

  What I wanted to say (but didn’t dare – not here) was, ‘what do you think of Toby?’

  “He seems nice, friendly enough.” I shrugged. “I don’t really know him.”

  “Hmm, I would like to, though,” Ellie said. “I mean, seriously!” She had that glazed look in her eyes as she stared towards the poolroom.

  Chris collected ashtrays and rolled up bar mats, hovering over us in a not-too-subtle gesture for us to get a move on. We skulled the last of our drinks and gathered our handbags. We were both exhausted and obviously not invited to the lock-in anyway. In order to get out the front we had to make our way directly past the poolroom, where a very merry Stan was shuffling to K.C and the Sunshine Band’s ‘Get Down Tonight’.

  “Who put this on?” complained Ringer.

  “Random,” they all said at once. But the Boys sounded unconvinced, casting dubious glances at Stan who mysteriously knew all the words as he pointed to no one in particular.

  Ellie and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Don’t encourage him,” said Chris, who couldn’t contain his own smile.

  “He’s trying to psyche me out,” Toby said as he concentrated on potting the black ball. He did, with ease.

  He shook Sean’s hand, who had now spotted us waiting for Chris to un-deadbolt the front door.

  “So the ‘Perry Girls’ are off, then?”

  “Perry Girls?” repeated Ellie.

  He shrugged. “Seemed only fair to return the title.”

  She thought for a moment, and smiled. “‘Perry Girls’. I like it.”

  Sean walked over and shook Ellie’s hand, then mine.

  “For services rendered in the line of duty.” He smiled.

  Next thing we knew, we were ushered over to Ringer who shook our hands and was fighting not to fall asleep at the bar.

  “It couldn’t have been an easy job, having that knucklehead order you around.” He tilted his head towards Chris. “He’s drunk with power, ya know?” Ringer winked.

  “Watch it, Ringo, let’s not forget who the gatekeeper is here,” Chris said in mock seriousness.

  Ringer shook his head. “See what I mean?”

  And then there I was. Standing in front of Toby, who held his hand out to me. I placed my hand into his and memorised the pressure, the feel, the length of one-two-three shakes and then it was over all too soon. But he did look at my hand for a mere moment, his brow furrowed.

  Oh God, was he looking at my nails? My mangy, chipped, dishpan hands?

  Ellie didn’t get past Stan who was still shaking her hand in a way that threatened to dislocate her shoulder.

  “Come on, Chris, can we keep them?” whined Stan.

  Ellie laughed and looked at Chris with the same forlorn plea in her eyes.

  “I think the girls have better things to do than hang out with a bunch of derelicts like us.”

  The truth was, Ellie’s dad would be waiting down the road to take us to our childhood bedrooms for us to curl up in our jammies in bed. It had been a long day, and I had felt exhausted, but I was suddenly wide awake, standing next to Toby.

  Chris opened the front door, as if the matter was non-negotiable. This was obviously a boys-only gathering.

  “Eleven am start, ladies.”

  With that, we were ushered outside and the door closed behind us. Standing in muted darkness, only small slithers of light streamed beyond the cracks of the window blind, the echoes of muffled laughter sounding from inside.

  We started the trek down the hill towards the brake lights of Ellie’s dad’s car when Ellie asked, “So what do you think of Stan?”

  I laughed. How things could change in an instant with Ellie.

  I didn’t answer. Instead, in the relative privacy of the nighttime track, I said, “That’s funny, because I was just going to ask what you thought of Toby.”

  ***

  Ellie had threatened that she wanted to know all the details of this Toby crush the next day, as we couldn’t exactly get into the details with Ellie’s dad in the front seat. It was hysterical watching Ellie desperate to ask, but biting her lips together in front of her dad. Dads were a girl-talk-free zone.

  After I had showered the sweat, grease and smoke away, I removed the remnants of my poor, melted French polish. I thought back to Toby’s expression as he shook my hand. It was subtle, but obvious, that something had run through his mind.

  It bothered me. I’m pretty sure my hand wasn’t clammy or gross. The nails, it had to be my nails. I cringed, I didn’t want to even think about it.

  Before I slipped into a coma for the night, I dragged myself from my bed to my desk for my nightly ritual: to check my email.

  To: tessmcgee

  Toby Morrison eh?? You little Minx! Talk about must have made a good impression?

  I want to know everything!!! I have a plan. Operation Toby?? (Don’t stress just an idea)

  ME first, which sounds better? Operation Sean? Or Operation Stan?

  Decisions! Decisions!

  Sender: ellieparker

  To: ellieparker

  Go to bed! Talk tomorrow. NO OPERATION TOBY! Do I make myself clear??

  GOOD NIGHT!!

  P.S Operation Stan!! I like his dance moves

  Sender: tessmcgee

  I was set for bed when I saw an email from Adam.

  To: tessmcgee

  Do you still love me???

  How did you go tonight? I spoke to Chris, he said you smashed it! I take it he is not referring to a plate and assume you did well? Go you!! I knew you would do good. That is why I hand picked you, you know?

  Seriously Tess, that’s really great. I better go, Nan’s telling me Matlock is on. Oh goody!

  Sender: Adam I can jump puddles Henderson.

  To: Adam I can jump puddles Henderson

  How can I stay mad at you? I don’t want to run the risk of your feelings being as delicate as your bones.

  And I will have you know I did totally smash it!

  In the kitchen!!!

  I think it’s just as well you hurt yourself, because I have found my calling in life. I am the Messiah of dish pigs!

  Don’t cry for me though. It kills me to admit this, but I didn’t totally hate it. But if you repeat that I will just deny it.

  Enjoy Matlock!!

  Sender: tessmcgee

  Chapter Seven

  The Sunday lunchtime shift was dead. It was like a graveyard shift at best.

  But why wouldn’t it be? Everyone was lake bound and enjoying themselves. My heart ached as I looked out through the windowpane of the poolroom, which was, incidentally, my job for the afternoon: to clean off drunken blow fish marks from Saturday night.

  “I don’t remember reading this in the brochure,” Ellie said glumly as she sprayed Windex and cleaned fingerprints off the jukebox. Her bracelets clinked with each vigorous rub.

  “Melba said we had to ‘earn our keep’,” I air-quoted.

  Chris was nowhere to be seen. He had his own
room upstairs; more ‘lurks and perks’ of managing the bar, on top of lock-ins, was, obviously, free board. That left Uncle Eric in charge of the day shift, something he was much more accustomed to. The place was breezy; slower and less high maintenance during daylight hours with just a handful of church-skipping tradies having a quiet cold one as opposed to the rowdy twenty-something crowd of a Saturday night.

  It would be our second day into the Irish Festival and I was prepped; I wore my infamous Guinness top with a black skirt so I didn’t look like a body double for that 1960s chick from the Avengers. We had a few lunchtime walk-ins, mostly tourists all damp and sun-kissed from swimming or lying out by the lake. Seeing them put Ellie and I in a whimsical mood, so we made plans to break away to Mclean’s Beach between shifts.

  But until then, forced to endure everyone else enjoying their holidays, the afternoon dragged on. I couldn’t stop myself from turning each time the front door opened, my heart skipping a beat in hope, but the Onslow Boys never appeared. I guessed that they had better things to do on a Sunday afternoon. I could only hope they’d venture out when the sun went down.

  At shift’s end, we bolted down the hill in a highly unlady-like fashion, bags bouncing on our shoulders, arms flailing, breaths laboured. Our minds focused solely on reaching McLean’s Beach at the hottest part of the day. It would be crowded and overrun, no doubt, but not so much by tourists. The beauty of Maclean’s Beach was that it was always crowded by locals rather than tourists, just the way we liked it. Although I would often complain about tourists, I did get it. How could I not? My parents constantly reminded me.

  “No tourists, no livelihood, Tess.”

  Mum and Dad’s cafe on the main strip of Perry – a direct line into Onslow – proved to be the perfect busy stopover. Mum was an excellent cook, taught from Gran and no doubt her Gran before her. She specialised in traditional family home-cooked recipes and Mum’s homemade pies were a big hit. It had made my heart clench when the Onslow Boys gave them the tick of approval as the ‘best pies in town’. I wondered if Mum would remember them coming in. I’d have to ask in a way that wouldn’t make her suspicious or have me sound like a stalker.