Tom snorts at the very idea. ‘Sometimes you’ve gotta be cruel to be kind,’ he says as he gets up and brings over the kettle to refill the pot.
This is met with a deep groan from Luke. ‘You think you can give me lectures!’ Then he laughs and slaps one hand on Tom’s shoulder. ‘Happy birthday, Tommo! God, the day you were born seems about five years ago to me. That trip to the hospital was the scariest ride I’ve ever done. Your mother was doing her best, but she was terrified! Everything,’ he sighs, ‘I remember everything about it.’
‘Thanks, Dad!’ Tom laughs.
‘What for?’
‘Getting there on time.’
‘They’re home, Mum!’
‘Both of them? Oh goody! Hey there, Birthday Boy!’
‘Congratulations, dickhead!’
‘Come here you skinny streak! Let me hug you!’
It’s just on noon when Mum and Ned burst in unexpectedly, full of greetings and presents and smart-arsed comments. Luke and Tom are still sitting around reading the papers in the middle of the same untidy kitchen that Nanette had left them with four hours before. Tom is pleased of course, but his father is really pleased. Luke’s whole expression loosens as he jumps up and busies himself welcoming them.
‘So you had nothing planned for today?’ Anna asks tentatively, looking around at the mess. There are dishes all over the sink and newspapers everywhere. The pantry has been virtually emptied and there are half-empty packets and jars all over the floor. ‘We thought we’d make it a surprise.’
‘Not a thing.’ Luke grins happily as he takes her coat and asks about the trip and whether he should turn up the heating. It’s weird: even the lines in his face seem to have disappeared.
Hang on a minute, Tom opens his mouth to protest. For one thing he was going to set up the darkroom so that if Alice did want him to do the prints for her he’d be ready, and that could take the rest of the day. But Ned is on his case before he has a chance to say any of it.
‘Nothing happening, eh?’ He shoves Tom in the back.
‘Watch your mouth, bubs.’ Tom twists his arm up his back. He’s still stronger but not by much.
‘So you’re the total loser now, huh?’ Ned gasps through laughter. ‘It’s Saturday and your birthday and you’ve got nothing on! I guess your true nature had to come out sometime!’
‘Shut your mouth little Mr Sunshine.’ Tom pushes the arm up a bit further to make his little brother howl.
Anna laughs at them, rubs her cold hands and tells Luke that yes, a cup of tea would be just what the doctor ordered. Tom watches his father laugh at their old joke – she being the doctor and all that ha ha – and become ten years younger in the process. All within the space of five minutes.
Ned prowls the room, from the new television, to the window, then to the fridge for a plate of leftover meat and potatoes. The kid looks happy. His skin has cleared up even more and he’s starting to lose a lot of his gawkiness. Funny how you notice stuff like that when you haven’t seen someone for a while.
‘Ned!’ Anna grabs the plate from him and puts it back in the fridge. ‘You had a burger on the way and we’ll have a proper lunch soon!’
Ned scowls. He is wearing baggy daks that hang from his bum, a jumper that is too small and a hat that is way too big. He is already sizing Tom up for a fresh bout. But first things first, he pushes Tom up against the wall to check out who is the tallest. Much to his disappointment it is still Tom, but not by much.
‘Who threw the bomb?’ Ned asks disinterestedly, as he surveys all the pantry junk all over the floor.
Mum’s only comment is to raise her eyebrows and look at Tom as she steps around it.
‘Wasn’t us,’ Dad says ruefully, winking at Tom.
‘No, it wasn’t us.’
After all the birthday hugs, the personal comments on how thin Tom is (from his mum) and how much he stank (from Ned), Anna goes back out to the car and comes in with two big baskets. Luke and Tom watch guiltily as she unpacks them on the bench. Apart from tea, half a bottle of milk and a loaf of plastic bread there is no food in the house. Tom had been trying to write a shopping list when his mother and brother arrived, so this is like manna from heaven: a beef casserole, fresh rolls and packets of ham and cheese. From the other basket appear fruit and biscuits and a big homemade cake.
‘Anna this is very good of you,’ Luke says formally, trying to look contrite. ‘I’m afraid we’re a bit light-on here. I can go down the street now and—’
‘I’ve got everything,’ Anna laughs, ‘just put that bottle in the fridge!’ Suddenly Tom is starving. He reaches out for a roll but his mother shoves him away.
‘Go have a shower, Birthday Boy,’ she orders, ‘then we’ll have a proper lunch.’
So Tom leaves them to it and heads for the bathroom. He takes a few more Panadol for his cold, closes his eyes under the hot water and thinks of Alice and Jonty the night before. The way she smiled as she said goodbye. The way Jonty put his fist on Tom’s shoulder. I’m all right, Tommo. A strange rush of heat rises in Tom when he thinks of that trembling fist. What is happening in Jonty’s life right now? The poor bastard looks as though he’s being eaten away from the inside.
Tom comes back into the kitchen to find the table laid with all his mother’s stuff and his parents well into their first glass of champagne. ‘I thought it was my birthday!’
‘We couldn’t wait forever,’ his mother teases.
‘So, how are you two going to fix all that if you’re drunk?’ Tom points at the pantry junk on the floor. ‘I thought you’d have it done by now!’
His mum frowns at the mess as she reaches over to fill his glass.
‘Did one of you have a bright idea in the middle of the night or something?’
‘That’s it,’ Tom and Luke grin at each other and clink glasses, ‘right on the money, Anna!’
‘As usual.’
‘It seemed like a good idea at the time, did it?’ she asks dryly. She knows, Tom realises, but she’s not going to comment. For whatever reason his mum always makes a point of being nice about Nanette.
‘Yeah, that’s about it,’ Dad sighs.
‘Then it all just got a bit too hard,’ Tom laughs.
‘Well cheers, Tommo.’ His mum gets up to give him another hug. ‘Love you, darling. Happy birthday!’
‘Thanks, Mum. Hey, why didn’t Nellie come?’
‘There’s a young man on the scene,’ Anna whispers, leaning over to put a hand across Ned’s mouth, ‘and no comments from the peanut gallery, thank you!’
‘A complete and utter wanker,’ Ned growls, pulling away, then starts mimicking the guy: My name is Julian Francis Austin-Barton and I’m going to be an airline pilot and . . . I know everything!
‘Ned he’s not that bad!’ Anna is laughing.
‘He’s an arsehole!’ Ned looks at Tom and shakes his head. ‘You’d really hate him, Tom!’
‘He’s okay, Ned!’ Mum insists. ‘He’s just a little . . .’
‘What?’ Tom smiles at her. She always stops mid-sentence when she doesn’t want to say something derogatory.
‘Well . . . a little pompous.’
‘So why would I hate him?’ Tom laughs at his brother’s furious face and reaches for the bottle. The first glass of champers has gone down very well on his empty stomach and sore throat.
‘There is not one thing to like about him!’
‘Fair enough,’ he takes a forkful of meat and almost swoons. God he hasn’t tasted anything this good in ages! He looks at his father. ‘This is good, eh?’
‘Very good.’
‘So why can’t you make things like this?’
‘You’re the one who should be doing it!’ Luke says mildly. ‘The young can learn anything.’
Anna smiles. ‘Thought you might need something substantial.’
‘You thought right.’
‘I approve without having met this Julian whatever-his-name-is,’ Luke says, ‘because I like the
idea of a pilot for a son-in-law.’
And so it goes on. The banter is warm and easy between them all. The cold of the early spring day stays outside. Inside it’s warm with laughter. Nellie is the only missing element.
They’re messing around trying to find candles for the cake when the doorbell rings. Anna throws the three mingy candles she’s managed to find on the table in exasperation.
‘For God’s sake, Luke, you must have a candle or two in this house! Off you go Ned. Get the door!’
Ned slinks off up the hallway and Tom is left sitting at the table on his own, watching his mother and father flirting with each other on the other side of the bench. Jeez, what is this! His dad is opening one cupboard after another making out there are mountains of candles somewhere just out of reach, and his mum is laughing and flipping him with a tea towel yelling, ‘Find them for me . . . you hopeless man!’ Luke turns around, snatches the tea towel from her and starts flipping her with it, then they’re both giggling like maniacs and shoving each other around. Seriously! Tom shakes his head. They’re both over fifty! The four of them have just had a leisurely two-hour meal and he can’t remember what happened to get things quite this jolly.
The high jinks stop abruptly when Ned walks in followed by Jonty. Anna and Luke stop mid-laugh. Tom is surprised, too, but also strangely moved. Moved because it has been three years at least since Jonty set foot in the house, and before that he used to just about live there.
‘G’day, Jonno,’ he says, getting up from the table awkwardly.
‘Hi, Tom,’ he comes into the middle of the room, dressed as he’d been the night before. He stands there a moment, looking around, biting his lip, hands dug deep in his pockets, as though unsure what to do with himself, eyes flitting from one to the other of them, taking everything in.
‘So last night wasn’t enough for you then?’ Tom jokes.
‘You said come around,’ Jonty smiles hesitantly.
‘It’s great to see you,’ Tom says, suddenly not sure if he means it. The old jeans, thongs and shirt, and the hair falling over his forehead are exactly the same as the night before, but in the daylight Jonty looks older, more battered, somehow; way harder than when he was last here, that’s for sure.
It’s Anna who breaks the ice. She jumps into welcome mode, hurries over to where Jonty is standing and pulls him into a warm hug.
‘Jonty van der Weihl!’ she laughs. ‘Long time no see. How are you?’
‘Okay. Thanks, Anna. Okay.’ A tinge of pink floods briefly across his cheeks. He’s embarrassed by her display of affection but pleased too. ‘I thought you didn’t live here any more?’
‘I don’t,’ she smiles and ruffles his hair briefly. ‘Just here for the day.’ She pauses and then says gently, ‘I was so sorry to hear of the latest business with your . . . father.’
‘Yeah, well.’ Jonty looks at his feet.
‘It must be terrible for your mum and for you,’ she continues kindly. Jonty says nothing. No one else speaks. But Tom is proud. His mother always knows the right thing to say.
Luke pulls out a chair. ‘Sit down and have some cake with us. It’s Tom’s birthday.’
‘Ah!’ Jonty looks at Tom properly for the first time and frowns. ‘So it is. September the fifteenth.’ Then he grins, and Tom can see the old Jonty sitting there under the surface of this new tougher version.
‘My present is out in the car,’ Jonty quips, his green eyes suddenly bright with humour.
‘Right.’ Tom nods. ‘Too heavy to bring in is it?’
‘Cost so much, I’m scared it will break.’
At first the heavy stuff that happened three years before is there in the room with them. Jonty remains standing as though he might have to make a quick getaway. He rests both hands on the back of the chair, looking around uneasily while the rest of the family try to make him feel welcome. It takes Tom a while to twig that Jonty is waiting for him to say it’s okay to sit down with the family. A dart of sorrow flies in from left field, settling in Tom’s chest like a stone. Sorrow for Jonty, for how things have changed and for this strange great gaping hole in all their lives.
‘Come on, Jonty,’ he says, ‘sit down. Have some cake, please’. So Jonty does and he sings Happy Birthday with the rest of them, too.
‘Have a glass of champagne, Jonno?’ Anna wants to know.
‘No thanks.’ He shakes his head.
‘Tea?’
‘That would be good.’
He accepts the plate of cake from Anna and examines it carefully before he takes a bite.
Her eyes are noting that one foot jigs about constantly, that his right hand trembles and that his eyes can’t stay still on any one thing or person for more than a moment.
‘Meet with your approval?’
‘It’s good.’ He gives a shy smile and blushes again.
‘Jonty cooks for a living now, Anna,’ Luke tells her.
‘I know that,’ she says huffily. ‘What I want to know is if my cake is up to Thistles standard!’
Jonty’s expression becomes instantly boyish again ‘Way better! You always made the best cakes.’
‘Well, I’m glad someone remembers!’
Tom watches the way his mother gets this kind of stuff right. No wonder his father misses her so much. After all the cake and tea, Ned slopes off to the couch to read car magazines, and Anna and Luke start doing the dishes together in the nearby kitchen, leaving Tom and Jonty at the table. Anna occasionally directs a comment or question to Jonty as she tidies up and puts away dishes.
Tom’s back is to the window, and the light coming in gives him a clearer view of Jonty. It’s not only the new scar on his chin and the twitch around his mouth, there is also a new watchfulness in his eyes.
‘Sorry I couldn’t hang around last night.’ Jonty’s voice is tight and low.
‘So, what is going on with your mum?’ Tom tries to sound easy.
‘I dunno.’ Jonty shrugs.
Tom offers him another slice of cake but Jonty shakes his head. He remembers that Jonty never was that interested in food. It’s strange to think of him working as a cook.
‘I think of her a lot, you know,’ Jonty says.
‘Your mum?’
‘No no,’ Jonty laughs darkly. ‘Her, you know. She’s never that far from my thoughts. What about you?’
Tom stops eating as Lillian’s face drops into view. Smiling and lovely, sitting at her kitchen table, sipping from her little glass. And then . . . those pictures! Lying dead in the grass outside her house. After that comes Alice as she was last night in the pub. The two faces merge together in Tom’s head and he suddenly feels like he can’t cope with any of it any more.
‘Yeah.’ He gets up, turns his back on Jonty and looks out the window.
‘Not right she’s dead, is it?’ Jonty says softly behind him.
‘No.’ Tom is still looking out the window. He feels itchy suddenly. It’s like he’s got tiny insects running around under his T-shirt, up the back of his neck and into his hair. He starts rubbing his neck trying to stay calm. Shit! He turns around suddenly.
‘But it’s over now, Jonno,’ he says urgently. ‘You’ve got to believe that.’
Jonty shrugs and looks away.
‘So what else did your father say?’ Tom says desperately. ‘You said he’s found God?’
‘Yeah,’ Jonty smiles sadly, ‘he’s crazy, I guess.’
‘What kind of crazy though?’ Tom cuts in sharply. ‘I mean, there is crazy and crazy and then . . . there is fucking mad-dog-howling-at-the-moon crazy.’
This makes Jonty’s mouth split open into a wide grin. ‘Is that a fact?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I guess you’d know, Mullaney!’
‘Actually mate, I seem to remember you’re the expert in that department!’
They both start laughing then and somehow everything eases up a bit between them. Ned asks them both outside for a kick of the footy before the rain comes.
&nbs
p; The backyard is big enough for them to spread out. Tom positions himself up the house end, and Ned and Jonty go down near the fence. It’s getting on for four by this stage, and rain is well and truly in the air. Clouds are building overhead and the breeze is nippy.
There is a lot of shouting and laughing and bad kicking at first, as they get into the swing of it. It is easier for Tom watching Jonty with this distance between them. Not so intense. Ned seems to have taken a real shine to him, and Tom smiles as he hears them pour shit on each other’s marking and crap kicking as they jostle for the ball. It turns out they both barrack for Carlton, so their conversation is smattered with stuff about the upcoming grand final. Tom is surprised to hear Jonty so on top of it all. He knows the players and makes intelligent comments about the coach and the training. Over the last couple of years Tom has let all that stuff drop.
‘You reckon Kellot will play?’ Ned asks.
‘Yeah.’
‘But his knee is stuffed!’
‘He played last week.’
‘He wasn’t any good, but they’ll play him. He cost them so much.’ Tom’s little brother says matter-of-factly.
‘How did this kid get so cynical?’ Jonty asks pointing the finger at Ned as he sends down another kick. Tom misses another easy mark. Shit! And the other two are openly scathing.
‘Grease on ya fingers, Mullaney!’ Jonty shouts.
‘Still pissed from lunch,’ from his little brother.
‘Just warming up,’ Tom shouts back.
When Tom sends down another bad kick, Ned loses patience. ‘You’re hopeless!’ he roars furiously. ‘Concentrate!’
Anna pokes her head through the back door. ‘Ned!’ she growls loudly. ‘Tone it down.’
‘Sorry!’
‘So how is working at the restaurant, Jonno?’ Tom yells down the yard.
‘I’ve . . . cut loose for a bit.’
‘Oh, right. Good people though?’
‘The owner is a moron who knows everything about everything.’ Jonty calls back. ‘I’m in love with the Vietnamese waitress who won’t even say hello and my best mate is an ageing fag who suffers from memory black outs about Vietnam. So they’re all terrific.’
Tom nods and smiles.
Somebody's Crying Page 27
