it; had always treated him like one of her crystal ornaments, safely locked away in glass cabinets in the family room. If she could find a cabinet big enough she’d lock Marty up too, he was sure of it.
As soon as his mother moved towards the bathroom to fetch antiseptic and bandages, Marty escaped through the lounge room.
‘Mum’s not going to let you out on weekends anymore,’ Marty’s sister said.
Marty stopped and gave Michelle a cold stare.
‘Why don’t you mind your own frigging business?’ Michelle craned her neck to see the TV, which
Marty had deliberately blocked. ‘I’m just telling you what she said. And she said you shouldn’t be roaming the streets in your condition, said you don’t understand how many bad things can happen, and that Dad’ll have to go with you if –’
‘Shut up!’ Marty yelled in her face.
‘That will do,’ his mother said, walking into the room with the first aid kit wedged under her arm.
A band tightened around Marty’s chest. His fingers closed around his wheel rims so tightly they ached.
‘What’s Michelle on about?’
‘What have I told you about raising your voice, Martin? We’ll discuss it later, when your father gets home.’
Marty hated that tone. It always made him feel like an idiot. His mother removed antiseptic, cotton balls and bandaids from the kit and put them on the couch.
‘So, it’s true. You’re going to lock me in the house like some prisoner?’
Tight-lipped, his mother tipped antiseptic onto a clump of cotton wool and dabbed at his knee. Marty rolled away from her.
‘You know how I feel about you leaving the house without supervision, Martin. The last time we had this discussion you promised me you’d be careful and here you are covered in cuts and grazes.’ She lifted her chin, eyes spitting blue fire. ‘What if you’d broken a bone? Or, God forbid, something worse?’
Marty noted the nerve jumping under his mother’s left eye, a sure sign she was annoyed. He didn’t care.
‘I got a skinned knee, Mother. Big deal! And so what if I had broken something? I would’ve been fine. Rick and Aaron were with me.’
‘And that’s another thing,’ she went on, one hand clutching the wad of cotton wool, the other raised, index finger poking holes in the air, ‘that Langton boy is too rough for my liking. Why don’t you play with that nice Peter Murphy? He’s a chess champion. I’m sure you would learn a lot from him.’
Marty gaped at her. ‘Babies play. And there’s no way I’d do anything with Peter Murphy. He’s a try- hard retard!’
‘Martin!’
‘Well, he is.’
His mother clenched the cotton wool in her fist and straightened up. ‘That’s it. I refuse to talk to you when you’re like this.’ She turned and began packing everything, except the cotton wool, back into the first aid kit.
‘Fine with me ’cause it’s all rubbish anyway.’ Marty propelled his chair through the doorway and went to his room.
At least Marty’s dad was on his side. When he got home the three of them talked it out. He said he’d buy Marty a mobile phone so he’d be able to call
– and be called – if anything should go wrong when he was away from home. After all it was impossible for one of Marty’s parents to be with him twenty- four/seven. His mother eventually saw the logic in this and reluctantly agreed. Even though it was a small win, Marty knew she’d be watching his every move, just waiting for him to stuff up.
The next morning Rick rang. ‘Hey Marty. Wanna see a dead dog?’
Marty rubbed sleep from his eyes and yawned. He’d slept badly, thanks to dreams of being chased by empty ice-cream vans. ‘Wha’?’
‘I found a dead dog in a drain. It’s got maggots.’
‘You’re seriously sick, you know that?’
‘Your loss, mate.’
Marty glanced towards the kitchen where his mother was bashing around in the pot cupboard, sending out a clear signal that she was still in a mood.
‘Hey,’ he said, lowering his voice, ‘want to hang out, maybe track down Aaron and do something?’
‘Yeah, okay. Meet you at your place in ten.’
‘No. I’ll meet you at the BP servo. And better make it twenty.’
‘Martin, you promised you would stay at home until your father gets you a phone,’ Marty’s mother yelled as he rolled down the driveway and out the front gate. He raised a hand in a half wave and kept going. Let her send his father after him if she wanted. It wouldn’t be the first time.
It was only nine o’clock and already it was hot enough to fry rubber. By the time Marty reached the service station his T-shirt was dark with sweat and a dull ache had started behind his eyes.
Rick stood in the shade near the petrol pumps, sucking on a can of Coke. He drained the last mouthful as Marty skidded to a stop in front of him and tossed the can into a nearby bin. ‘Hey, see that? Went right in.’
Marty dragged his arm across his dripping face.
‘Could’ve saved me some.’
A metallic blue Commodore boasting every piece of illegal hardware ever invented roared into the servo and screeched to a stop beside the boys. Rap music blared from the car’s interior, drowning out whatever Rick said next. Marty pointed towards the driveway and started moving. Rick, who couldn’t seem to drag his eyes away from the car, blindly followed.
‘What did you say?’ Marty said, his ears still thumping.
‘I said, Aaron’s olds own a shop, so you can get a drink there.’ Rick threw a parting glance at the Commodore then headed up the footpath.
Marty grabbed his arm. ‘Hey, hear that?’
‘Yeah, how could I miss it. It’s Eminem.’
‘No, not that music. Listen.’ Marty turned and scanned the road. A second later a pink and white ice-cream van cruised around the corner, its piercing chimes bleeding into the rap music.
‘Geez, it’s him,’ Rick said. ‘You reckon he’ll have a go at us about yesterday?’
Marty tightened his grip on Rick’s arm. ‘Dunno, but he’s coming this way and I want to get a good look at the guy.’
‘What good’s that gonna do?’
‘I want to see exactly who we’re dealing with.’ Marty’s scalp prickled. He blinked the sweat out of his eyes and stared at the approaching van. Its windscreen was silvered with sunlight, preventing him from seeing inside; if he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn the glass was covered in some sort of reflective material. He bit his lip, fingernails digging into Rick’s skin.
‘Didn’t you see enough of him yesterday?’ Rick said, shaking his hand off.
‘He was wearing a hat and sunglasses, you said. Besides, maybe he hid from us ’cause we know him.’
Marty squinted, but all he could see was the ice- cream van’s split windscreen shimmering like twin mirrors as it crawled along the road towards them. As they watched, a meaty fist was thrust out of the driver’s side window with the middle finger sticking up.
Rick’s eyes bulged. ‘Friggin’ freak!’ The van accelerated past.
Marty spun around. ‘Did you see his face?’
‘Yeah. Fat guy. Got one of them goatee beards.’
‘Know who he is?’ Rick shook his head.
The van picked up speed and rounded the next corner.
‘I’ll teach him to give me the friggin’ finger.’ Rick took off after the van.
Marty spun his wheels. ‘Leave it, Rick. What can you do, eh?’
Rick stopped at the corner and punched the air.
‘Geez, that guy really gets under my skin. Know what I mean?’
Marty nodded. ‘Yeah, I know.’
‘Reckon Aaron will want to see us after yesterday?’ Marty said as they crossed the road. There was no sign of the van, but its chimes were still audible.
‘Why not? Isn’t our fault the guy’s mental.’
‘Yeah, but if I hadn’t slam-jumped him –’
‘Well he shou
ldn’t’ve ignored me! Everyone ignores me and I’m friggin’ sick of it.’ A red stain flowed up Rick’s neck, setting his cheeks on fire. He picked up his pace, arms swinging.
For a second it seemed like Rick might throw a punch at him. Rick had a bug up his butt about something, and it sure wasn’t just the ice-cream man.
‘You want to tell me what your problem is?’ Marty said.
Rick forced air out between his teeth. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘“It’s nothing” with you, usually means it’s something.’ Marty grinned.
‘Geez, shut up, will ya.’
Kathy’s Korner Store wasn’t on a corner, but roughly halfway along Fifth Avenue. It was one of those old-fashioned buildings made from fibro sheeting with stairs running up one side to the residence above. An unknown, but obviously colourblind renovator had attempted to fix up the place by painting it banana yellow with hot-pink trim and bright green sign-writing.
The condemned Starlight Theatre stood across the road, surrounded by temporary wire fencing. Marty looked at the boarded-up building and remembered the night his parents had come to see him in the Christmas play when he’d been nine. Marty had played one of the Wise Men and it had taken over a week to convince his teacher that he could manage to walk on stage without his walker. More than anything he’d wanted to look like all the other kids, not like some cripple. And he did, too, at least up until he’d fallen over another Wise Man’s crook and been pitched into the audience.
Rick nudged Marty. ‘Whatta ya staring at that dump for? C’mon.’ He strode towards the shop door.
Aaron was serving a woman with a whingeing baby slung over her arm. He looked up in obvious surprise as Marty and Rick pushed their way through the plastic streamers hanging in the doorway.
‘I could really go a double chocolate malted milkshake with extra everything right about now,’ Rick boomed. He swaggered over to one of the plastic table settings positioned near the drinks fridge, pulled out a chair and flopped into it. ‘Whatta ya say, Aaron?’
Aaron handed the woman her change and a plastic bag containing a tin of baby formula. The woman put the baby, who was now screaming its head off, into a stroller and hooked the bag over the handle.
‘I said, I could really go a –’
‘Cut it out,’ Marty hissed, punching Rick on the arm.
Aaron watched the woman wrestle the stroller out the door and glanced towards the back of the shop. ‘Yeah, all right, but I can only give you the one
– unless you’re going to pay. And please keep your voice down.’
Rick leaned back in the chair, hands behind his head, and grinned. ‘Don’t know about Marty, but
I’m flat broke.’
‘One will be fine, mate. Don’t want you getting into trouble,’ Marty said, giving Rick a hard look.
Aaron sighed and picked up two stainless steel cups. ‘No, it’s okay; I’ll give you one each. Mum won’t know.’
Marty grinned at Aaron. ‘How’s stuff going with your step-brother?’
‘Great, so long as I stay out of his way.’ Aaron’s eyes flicked towards the ceiling. ‘He’s on the net chatting to one of his mates. Should be there for hours.’
Aaron finished making the milkshakes and carried them to the table. ‘I’ve been thinking, you know, about yesterday,’ he said, licking his lips several times.
‘Look, it’s okay. I got a bit freaked out myself,’ Marty said. He picked up his milkshake and gulped it down until a cold spike hit him between the eyes.
‘Argh, brain-freeze.’
Aaron licked his lips again and glanced towards the street. ‘You know, I even had nightmares about that stupid van, dreamed it was following me everywhere.’
Rick laughed and slapped the table. ‘Sounds like you’ve been watching too many of them cheesy horror flicks, mate.’
Aaron straightened up and tightened his jaw. ‘I’m telling you there was something seriously not normal about it.’ He turned and went back to the counter.
Glaring at Rick, Marty said, ‘Aaron’s right. Besides, I had a few weird dreams myself.’
Before Rick could say anything, the air was split by a jingling blast of ‘Pop! Goes the Weasel’.
Marty’s heart slammed into his ribs. He swivelled his chair towards the shop’s plate glass window.
The ice-cream van cruised by. Marty spun all the way around and headed for the doorway. As he shot onto the footpath and skidded to a stop, he saw the ice-cream man turn his head and look right at him. Rick was right, the man did have a beard – and he was grinning.
‘Stop following us, you whacked up turd-slinger!’ Marty yelled. He looked around, his fingers itching for something to throw at the retreating van, but apart from a couple of empty drink cans and a chip packet lying on the path, there was nothing.
‘Hey, take it easy, kid.’
Marty’s head snapped around. A bald man with more wrinkles than an elephant’s backside was standing behind him, swaying back and forth like a sapling in a high wind. Aaron and Rick were framed behind him in the doorway.
‘The mongrel did that deliberately, didn’t turn the music on till he was right out the front,’ Marty said to them.
‘This here a mate of yours, Aaron?’ The old man’s eyes examined Marty like he was brain damaged.
‘Yeah. That’s Marty and this here’s Rick.’
‘So what’s going on? Your mate upset he didn’t get an ice-cream?’ He chuckled. His sharp, black eyes didn’t leave Marty for an instant.
‘It’s nothing. Come inside and finish your milkshake, Marty.’ Aaron ducked back through the plastic streamers.
The old man followed them inside and after examining Marty one last time, made his way through to the stairs at the back of the shop.
‘Your grandfather?’ Marty said.
‘Nah, that’s Bernie, my step-father’s old man. He’s up from Newcastle for a holiday. Goes home next week, thank God,’ Aaron added under his breath. He watched the old man until he’d gone from view.
‘You really think the ice-cream man knew we were here? I mean, how?’
Marty wiped a clammy hand over his face. ‘Geez, I totally lost it, didn’t I? Must be the heat or something. I bet Bernie thinks I’m a real nut-job.’
‘Doesn’t matter what he thinks. And it’s not the heat, it’s him, the ice-cream man,’ Aaron said seriously. ‘And did you see those flames on the side of the van? Is that weird, or what?’
‘Yeah, it’s real whacked,’ Rick said. ‘We saw him near the servo. The freak must’ve followed us.’ He upended his milkshake cup, slurping the last dregs, then wiped an arm across his foam-coated mouth.
‘But why would he do that?’ Aaron asked.
‘’Cause he’s a freak, that’s why,’ Rick replied.
‘And because we pranked him,’ Marty added. Aaron nodded. ‘So, what do you think we should
do now?’
Marty finished his milkshake. This whole ice- cream man thing was getting ridiculous. ‘We ignore him, that’s what. He’ll soon get sick of playing games and go pick on someone else.’
‘I say if he wants to play, then we play,’ Rick said.
‘Why should we just ignore the guy like a bunch of girls? He’s gonna think he’s won.’
‘We could go to the police,’ Aaron said.
‘And tell them what?’ Marty looked from Aaron to Rick. ‘I know how you feel, mate. I would’ve given anything for a brick a few minutes ago, but it’s his game, so we don’t play because that’s just what he wants.’
Rick slumped in his chair, arms folded.
Another blast of ‘Pop! Goes the Weasel’ rent the air. The boys looked towards the front of the shop. The ice-cream man drew level, pulling to a stop on the other side of the road.
‘So we ignore him?’ Aaron said, his voice rising to a squeak.
Rick’s mouth twisted. He started to get to his feet, but Marty clamped a hand on his arm and forced him to sit. ‘We can do that, can
’t we, Rick?’
Rick grunted and eased back into his seat.
Marty ran a finger through the condensation on his milkshake cup and tried to shut out the music.
He could see the van sitting by the side of the road out of the corner of his eye. What was the psycho playing at? Ignoring him was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? ‘Guess what?’ he said. ‘Dad’s getting me a phone.’
‘Uh huh,’ Rick said, rocking back and forth on his chair. Although his eyes appeared to be downcast, Marty knew he was watching the street.
‘Yep, my mother thinks I’m too helpless to be allowed out by myself, so the old man’s buying me a phone.’ Marty chewed his lip. ‘Hey, Aaron, who’ve you got for maths? Not No-balls Baldwin?’
Aaron’s head jerked up. ‘Huh? Ah, no, Mrs Jackman.’ He plucked a paper napkin from the holder and began tearing it into strips.
The chimes blared. Rick rocked faster.
‘Oh right, had her last year.’ Marty dragged his wet finger across the tabletop.
‘Don’t know why the freak’s doing this. Way I see it we’re even,’ Rick said through clenched teeth.
‘How about English? Who’ve you got for English, Aaron?’
Lickety-lick. ‘Same as Rick. But Goth Woman’s
away for the rest of the year, so now we’ve got that relief teacher, Mr Gunner.’
‘He shouldn’t’ve ignored me, but he did, so we paid him back. That makes us even.’
Marty glanced at Rick. He looked as though he would explode any second. ‘You got a PlayStation or something, Aaron? Maybe we can go upstairs and –’
Rick shot to his feet, knocking the chair into the drinks fridge. ‘That’s it!’ He charged towards the doorway then stopped and snatched up a carton of eggs from a wire rack near the counter.
‘No, Rick!’ Marty yelled. He took off after him with Aaron close behind.
Rick ran onto the footpath and started pegging eggs at the ice-cream van. Two primary school girls who had been walking towards the van took one look at him and bolted in the opposite direction.
‘Wanna mess with me, freak?’ Rick roared. ‘Well go right ahead!’ He moved onto the road and continued to pelt the van with eggs until they were all gone. Then he flung the carton away and stood there, chest heaving.
The Ice-cream Man Page 4
