‘Hangin’ around with chinky now,’ is Shawn Houser’s opening greeting. It amazes me that he doesn’t hear how dumb he sounds. I steel myself; I feel my hands rolling into fists. Shawn Houser’s been spoiling for a fight for days now. All week Ms Colby’s been watching me like I’m a goldfish in a food processor – but now no one is here who knows us, no one to stop what has to be done.
I charge. Mei screams.
‘C’mon.’ Shawn laughs, for a while. But even with Prescott helping, Shawn doesn’t do well this time. Maybe I’m more spooked about the ad than I know, but whatever it is, I don’t let up on Shawn even when blood starts squirting out of his nose.
‘Joel! Stop!’ It’s not Mei. Zoe Trenwith is there on the lawn. Where’d she spring from? She has me by the collar. Vice-like grip – would never have thought she could do that. Doesn’t take long for my surprise to turn to something nasty again.
‘Get off! You’re not my boss!’ I even aim a kick at her shins but she hangs on.
She shouts at Shawn and Prescott. ‘Get going!’ Then she gives me a shake. Strange thing is she doesn’t get into me for trying to kick her, just calms down and asks, ‘What was that all about?’ If she’d got mad like Ms Colby I wouldn’t care but, as it is, my heart sinks. I hope it doesn’t show. This always happens. Something always goes wrong. Especially if I meet someone new. It’s not long before they look at me differently. Now she won’t like me either. What do I care, anyway? I shake off her hold and meet her gaze stony-faced with the curl to my lip that drives Ms Colby wild. I’ll be ready if Zoe tells me off. It doesn’t hurt as much if I attack first.
‘Dunno.’ Loud, the right touch of hardness. It’s true too, by the way. I never can explain what happens when I see Shawn Houser with that smart look on his face, especially when he picks on Mei. I just can’t think straight. It’s like being on a galloping colt that hasn’t been broken in; if I don’t do something I’ll fall off. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. And who’s going to believe that?
Surprisingly, Zoe doesn’t say anything else, just mutters that she may as well do this sooner or later. And what do you know? She comes home with me. Can’t think why a bit of blood makes women think they have to take you home. Mei comes halfway and stands at the end of her street, watching us, but I’m too annoyed to wave.
When Gran first sees us standing there at the back door it’s like her face doesn’t know whether to look angry or smile. Nor does she say much, just gets out the Dettol, the biggest bottle from the food mart – as though she’d known she’d need it. The usual telling-off doesn’t come either. It’s weird – Gran keeps looking at Zoe and back at what she’s making sting on my legs and face. Zoe, of course, would be on Gran’s list of strangers and dangerous objects, yet Gran doesn’t ask her to leave. I wonder what upsets Gran the most – me being in a fight or bringing home a stranger.
It’s when I’m coming back from the bathroom that I hear Gran saying, ‘Why didn’t you say you were coming?’ Honestly, I just feel my steam building up again. How can she be so unreasonable? We were only down at the pool. Zoe doesn’t have a mobile and to go to a phone box to ring would have taken longer than coming straight home. Sometimes Gran expects too much of people. Zoe doesn’t seem to object either. Which is surprising – I hadn’t thought Zoe was the sort to need protection – like Mei. I burst into the kitchen on Zoe’s behalf. Gran says I’d storm in where even an angel would fear to go.
‘Zoe’s my friend!’ That’ll let Gran know to be civil. But why does Gran’s mouth gape like she’s never heard the word ‘friend’ before and Zoe’s face look like it’s been squashed in by a fist? They change their faces quick though and Zoe stays for tea. It’s the first time of many – telling Gran all about some boring psychology course she’s doing now, how her life’s all back together, she’s off the stuff and her dad would be proud to see her. It’s good she’s there actually – it’s the first time Gran’s concentration isn’t totally on me; it’s the night I manage to check my voicemail. The night I make the Connection.
5
I asked to meet the man at the jetty. At dusk. It hadn’t occurred to me to wait in case more men answered the ad or to make sure this was the best one. Wait? Nah, not me. I can’t wait to get on with it. This is something I have to do on my own too, not with Gran breathing down my neck. No sense in getting Gran hyper over a stranger coming to visit; she cracks her lid enough over tourists in the town. I stand by the jetty steps watching the cars pull up. He’d be in a car for sure, coming from Adelaide.
A man in a tracksuit emerges from the latest Holden station wagon. He looks like a sure bet. I stand up straighter as the man takes out fishing tackle and a bucket from the back. Better and better. Father type – greying hair, the fishing gear ready. He comes onto the jetty, he’s almost up to me – and then he passes. The man doesn’t glance around, not once, just makes for the deeper water at the end. I stare after him, hardly aware of the rev of a motorbike engine as the ignition is switched off. The jetty’s full of people dropping in lines or sitting and staring, all in their own quiet world, not needing anything else.
‘You Joel?’ I jump and swing round. The voice is deep, laidback sort of, but – jumping dolphins! Cop a look at the leathers: black jacket, jeans, boots, even a black plait with strands of grey, and earrings almost as numerous as Zoe’s except they’re silver! There’s a shadow of a grin on the man’s face and a shadow of something else. When has he last shaved? ‘I’m Dev. Dev Eagle.’ He extends a hand. I don’t take it.
‘You’re too young,’ I blurt out instead, hating the way it’s me that sounds too young. ‘Are you really a dad?’
Does the shadow darken slightly? Certainly the man hesitates. I stare past his chest to the bike behind him. It’s one of those with a lean to it – a Harley. Like the ones that come to give rides during Gala Days.
‘Why didn’t you say? That you were a biker?’
Dev doesn’t answer. And I think about this a bit more. Maybe it means he can fight. He doesn’t look like a dad, but imagine Shawn Houser’s face if this Dev turns up to get me at school. I unscrew my face a bit and Dev moves his weight to his other boot before he speaks.
‘Maybe we could get to know each other – give it a week or two? See what happens?’ He doesn’t sound as threatening as he looks.
‘Can you fish?’
‘I’ve had a go.’ This probably means he’s good at it.
‘Drive a boat?’
‘Shouldn’t be too hard.’ He’s done that too then.
I decide not to insult him by asking if he can fight. I mean, the bike, the leathers, the plait – it says it all, doesn’t it? Why hadn’t I thought to ask all these things over the phone? ‘You still don’t look old enough to be a dad.’ Somehow the grey trickling through the black plait doesn’t signify. Even with white hair I don’t think someone with a bike and leathers would be old enough for fatherhood. But Dev seems amused at last.
‘Never you fear, mate. I’m plenty old enough. What d’ya reckon then? Is it on?’
It feels like I’ve made up my mind this very instant and impulsively I hold out my hand. I haven’t gone through all that hard work putting an ad in the paper for nothing. Although, as I glance up at Dev as we head for the bike, there’s double reason now to keep this a secret from Gran. She’d never like a biker, and motorbikes are definitely on Gran’s list of dangerous and forbidden.
6
Dev’s suggesting living in the caravan park. If he’s disappointed at not being invited home he doesn’t show it. Besides, he seems like the type who wouldn’t want to impose or make a fuss. In the end I think of the boat. The boatshed is down by the old jetty – not a long walk from the house. It’s always locked but I know where Gran keeps the key. Grandad had closed in a small room at the back of the shed in the days when he’d come down from their property for a fishing weekend here.
‘It
’s just a trailer sailer,’ I warn as the galvanised doors creak open. Dev walks in, past the tractor and admires the boat for a moment. Sea Wolf, Grandad had called it and the name curls along the hull in flowing blue letters.
‘So this is why you wanted someone who could handle a boat.’
‘It’s mine.’ I hate the way I sound like a little kid but I need some equal footing. I mean, is this man in my employ exactly or do we have an agreement? And am I the boss since it’s my idea? I still haven’t worked it all out. ‘Well, sort of. It was Grandad’s.’ Dev’s still looking the Sea Wolf over so I’m caught unawares by his next question.
‘What about your parents?’
I turn away to stare out at the shifting grey-green expanse through the shed doors. I hardly know him so he can’t expect me to talk about stuff – even if I have asked him to be a pretend dad. ‘I don’t have any,’ is all I end up saying and Dev drops the subject too.
The moment passes, I help him in with his bag and helmet. He doesn’t have much gear and what he’s got is all black – bag, helmet, clothes, same as his hair (most of it), even the goatee on his face. Although the goatee has a few more silver streaks than his plait. Dev strips off his jacket before wheeling the bike in. And just in the space of those seconds I know it’s the start of something. Dev’s a strange one, as Gran would say if she could see him, but the hope’s there that we’ll share something she’d never understand, a mateship that’s male, something I’ve always yearned for and not realised it until this very moment.
It’s not until I’m back home, in my room, that I start wondering about a few things – like his name. What sort of name is Dev Eagle? I didn’t think about it when I was with him – he tends to take over a fair bit of the space in your head – but what could Dev be short for anyway? Devon? Devril? Devil? And Eagle? Is it real? And when he took his coat off, I remember now – those tatts! The two eagles on his biceps – one striking for the kill, the other one devouring its prey.
Could you just imagine Gran’s reaction! She’s no religious freak but she sure has a healthy belief in God and a fear of the devil. So what happens now? What do I think I’m going to do with a secret dad, one I can’t show off and introduce – one who’s a biker with the name of the devil?
7
Having a secret dad does one thing right away. Takes my mind off things at school. The problem stuff doesn’t seem half as bad. It’s much easier to ignore Shawn Houser’s smart remarks when I’m planning what to do with Dev later. I don’t score any better with Ms Colby though.
‘Joel Billings! Try and focus on what’s going on in the present, if you don’t mind.’ She always talks in such long sentences. By the time she gets to the end of it I’ve forgotten the beginning which is a problem since her favourite torment is to ask me to repeat what she’s said. I never can, of course, and she gets this battle gleam in her eyes like she’s pleased I’ve failed. ‘Weren’t listening, were we?’ She can almost sound sugar-sweet at that point but I know it’s just the bait in the berley cage. If I stay quiet, wondering what response she wants, she’ll get me for disobedience. Mostly I can’t help myself and erupt at the injustice of it all, since either way I can’t win. Then I’m sent to the focus room for causing a disruption in class.
On the day before break-up I’m afraid I lose it enough to call her a stupid cow, with an extra word or two stuffed in between. What’s the use of waiting quietly for her to slaughter me? Seeing her eyes nearly burst out onto the expanse of her heaving chest is worth the detention. Even Shawn Houser’s eyes pop. Yep. The rest of the afternoon in the focus room with no distractions is def-in-ite-ly worth it.
This time I tell Dev about it. Dev doesn’t stick up for the teachers like Gran is inclined to do. He doesn’t say much at all, but for once I feel as if someone has listened without putting their two cents’ worth in. Maybe Dev even cares for he waits until I’ve said everything; that is, until I suddenly think of something else.
‘I must show you all my fishing holes. Tomorrow it’ll be holidays and we can spend all the time together.’ Dev grins through the shadow on his face, and I can tell he wants our arrangement to work too.
‘You want to come and wet a line?’ I think it’s safe enough taking Dev down the jetty at dusk. Most people are at home having tea unless they’re tourists or fishermen. Besides, if Dev is seen, people will just think I’m passing the time of day with him, like I did with Zoe that time. It’s obvious that Dev hasn’t fished off a jetty in a while though. I have to remind him which baits do best for which fish and how to rig the line for jetty fishing. At least it’s not as bad as fishing with Zoe. She knows fat zero.
‘I used a lure when I went fishing.’ Dev’s concentrating on getting the gents on his hook. I’ve already cast my line. I wonder how Dev can do that – be fixing his rig yet still talk about serious things. I can only concentrate on what’s happening here and now. Even that’s difficult; if something else comes into my head, I’m off with it like it’s a horse bolting, dragging me with it. But fishing keeps the horses at bay longer than anything else.
‘Aren’t you going to sharpen your hook?’ Look at that rig of Dev’s. How’s he going to catch anything with that? ‘They’re never sharp enough out of the box. It makes a big difference.’
Dev chuckles. It’s a nice sound, down in his throat and you know you’re included. ‘What you don’t know about fishing, mate.’
‘Grandad told me heaps. He was a real old salt.’
Dev takes the sharpening stone I’m handing over and I show him how to tell if the hook’s sharp enough. ‘Scrape it across your thumbnail. If it catches, it’s okay.’
‘It must have been hard when your grandad died.’ It’s a statement, flat and uninviting and I know it’s like that on purpose, to be taken up if I want to or not. I choose to ignore it.
‘I catch Gran heaps of fish. I could be a big game fisherman, even now.’ I watch Dev’s face. It doesn’t flicker, nor does his eye cock up like most people’s do when I say things that are difficult to believe. I just can’t help it sometimes. There are moments when I think I can do anything. It’s not all just to impress. But when people don’t think much of you, you have to say something to let them know you deserve space on the planet. It’s not until later that I remember I’m just Joel Billings, the uncontrollable idiot, and what a useless jerk I am.
Dev stands and there’s the zing of his line going out, the plop as the sinker hits the water. Dev can remember how to cast at least. He glances down at me as if I only just spoke.
‘Then we should have a go one day, eh?’ He means offshore fishing, and I drop my line in, happy to be taken seriously for once.
The tommies are on the bite tonight – we catch two dozen between us and a gar.
8
The first week gallops by – a week of heaven. Dev’s still a secret. I haven’t told Mei even and I’ve kept away from Zoe. She looks like she’d catch on to stuff real quick. Mei’s the only one I feel bad about.
‘Why don’t you bring her?’ Dev’s managed to draw out the reason for my bad mood.
‘You don’t mind?’
‘It’s your idea I’m a secret, remember.’
On Wednesday Mei comes fishing. But unfortunately it’s ‘never-put-a-foot-wrong’ Mei who gets me into trouble. Her face when she first sees Dev is like one of those weird open-mouthed paintings on Gran’s calendar. You’d think I have a dragon cooped up in the shed; but Mei’s a good mate. If she has any questions she swallows them quick-smart.
We’re still at the boatshed, getting tackle together, counting hooks for the tackle box; Mei’s standing in the open doorway, staring out to sea, when it happens.
‘Hey! Pigface. What’cha doin’ there?’
My face suddenly freezes into carved rock. Shawn Houser and Prescott. Taking the mickey out of Mei again. I drop the box of hooks and head out there but Dev’s a s
tep ahead.
‘Don’t even think about it.’ His hand’s tight on my wrist. It’s the worst thing to do.
Suddenly I can’t think. I swing round, my other arm flailing, rocketing for Dev’s face. ‘You can’t boss me around.’ It sounds like a cross between a hiss and a growl. It scares even me. Dev ducks, blocks my punch and turns me, writhing, to face him. When he thinks I can listen, he speaks.
‘What’s this all about?’
But it’s too soon. ‘Get off! You can’t hold me.’ My words come out like a cat spatting before a fight, wild and scared, and I wrench free as Dev loosens his hold. I bolt outside but it’s too late; Shawn Houser and Prescott are gone.
Mei turns back to Dev and makes a rare comment. ‘It’s not good to cross him.’
She’s surprising sometimes – doesn’t say much (not like me talking all the time, even in my head) but when she does . . . I don’t hear what Dev answers and I come back in with a face like a squall, just daring Dev to make a comment. I’m sure to have blown it now. But what comes isn’t what I expect.
‘Why fight, Joel?’
‘I have to.’ The words sound uncertain. Why doesn’t he just tell me off? I can handle being told off, harsh words. I know people don’t like me. I’m used to it; but not this quiet ‘why fight?’ like he actually cares how I feel about it. ‘They’re all after me. Or Mei.’
‘What gives you that idea?’ What gives you that idea? What’s he on about? Either you know people are after you or you don’t.
‘They are. Believe me.’ I try a little smirk. Maybe he’s joking.
‘If you think they are, they will be.’ Dev sits; he doesn’t smile. I can see there’s no joke. ‘Everything starts up here.’ And he points to his head. ‘Fighting has to start up here too. There’s more fighting done up here than with these’ – he shows me his fists – ‘and if you can win the battle up here you won’t have to use these.’ Weird. How can you fight without touching someone? Besides . . .
The Keeper Page 2
