At the Lake

by Jill Harris

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘What’s it like?’

  ‘Boring. I wish we lived here.’

  Another silence.

  ‘How come you move round such a lot?’ asked Simon.

  ‘My father changes jobs all the time. Sometimes we move three times in a year.’

  ‘It must be awful changing schools like that — you’d have to keep making new friends.’

  ‘Yeah, well I don’t bother with friends. I don’t have any spare time outside school — I have to look after Tommy and help Mum.’

  Rosie had been looking at the ground. She raised her head and asked Simon, ‘Do you have a lot of friends?’

  ‘Not really,’ Simon answered. ‘There’s a boy in our street — I hang out with him mostly. I suppose there are a few others I text, but they’re not really friends. Couldn’t you keep in touch with friends you’ve moved away from by texting or on Facebook?’

  Rosie looked down again. ‘Don’t have a cellphone or a computer. There’s no money to spare for something like that.’

  ‘I earned enough last summer to buy mine,’ said Simon. ‘I helped with the shearing at the Andrews’ otherwise I wouldn’t have one either. We’re not that flush ourselves. Actually, my father’s in Australia trying to earn big dollars.’ He stopped. Why was he telling Rosie? He certainly hadn’t told anyone else.

  ‘How long’s he been away?’

  ‘Nearly a year.’

  ‘You must miss him.’

  ‘Nah,’ said Simon, jutting his chin out.

  Rosie watched him for a moment.

  ‘You’d be a good friend to have,’ she said. ‘You don’t mind sharing stuff.’

  Simon blushed.

  ‘About the other day,’ she began tentatively, ‘when my father swamped your boat—’

  Simon held his breath.

  ‘I’m sorry about that. He seemed to be really angry with you for some reason.’ She paused. ‘But then he’s pretty well always angry about something.’

  Simon’s knees felt weak. He discovered he didn’t want a conversation about Squint; he wanted to get away. ‘I have to go,’ he said, but Rosie took a step closer.

  ‘Look,’ she said, ‘there’s something wrong with my father. You should keep out of his way.’

  As if I don’t know that already, thought Simon.

  ‘Yeah, well — I’ve gotta go.’

  As he walked home, he kept returning to what he’d seen and heard: to Rosie comforting Tommy — the rocking and the humming, the closeness, the silence when she didn’t answer him because she couldn’t, and then ‘His head’s funny’. He saw the blue-red welts again, and heard Rosie’s fierce voice: ‘That’s private stuff! And you shut up about what you heard!’

  He felt a kind of pain. He couldn’t imagine being like that with Jeremy. He wanted to go back and ask Rosie, ‘How can I get on better with my brother? Why can’t I stop being mean to him?’

  10

  ‘Jem!’ he shouted. The dinghy was gone

  ‘I’m going into town today,’ Barney announced at breakfast a couple of days later. ‘I’ve got to talk to a man, so it’s better if you stay here. I’ll pick up a couple of DVDs. Is there anything else you want?’

  Simon felt alarmed. What if Squint Lewis saw Barney driving off alone and came here looking for him?

  As though reading his thoughts, Barney continued: ‘Marge wants you to have lunch with them, so you certainly won’t starve. You can go over there as soon as you like, she says.’

  ‘I can write to Mum,’ Jem piped up. ‘I promised.’

  ‘Oh, what a good boy,’ sneered Simon.

  ‘You could very well do the same,’ Barney said sharply. ‘Mind you keep out of each other’s way; I don’t want any trouble. Simon, you’re in charge here. Maybe you’d both better go to the Masons’ as soon as I leave.’

  Yes! thought Simon. No! thought Jem.

  Simon watched the car disappearing down the drive. He locked the back door.

  ‘What are you doing that for?’ asked Jem.

  ‘Mind your own business,’ grunted Simon.

  ‘What did Barney mean the other night when he said “You’re not telling me everything”? What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing,’ snapped Simon. ‘You shouldn’t have been listening. Go and write your precious letter. Go on!’

  ‘I’m not writing a letter,’ said Jem, ‘I’m going out in the dinghy.’

  ‘It’s raining.’

  ‘I don’t care, there’s no wind.’ Jem pulled on his parka and helped himself to a few biscuits. ‘Leave the door unlocked if you go out.’

  ‘You’ve got to stay in the inlet,’ Simon commanded. ‘I’m going to the Masons’.’

  Jem pulled up his hood and went outside, heading for the jetty.

  ‘Put your life-jacket on,’ Simon called after Jem, and locked the door. He knew Jem was going to the house-yard — the biscuits were for the dog. He knew he should warn him not to go, especially as the cove was well beyond the inlet and Barney didn’t let Jem row that far on his own, but part of him wanted Jem to get into trouble. It would serve him right — he was too cocky.

  ‘Simon, you’re in charge here,’ he heard Barney’s voice. ‘I don’t want any trouble.’

  He heard his mother’s voice, too. ‘How could you have let this happen, Simon?’

  Then Rose spoke in his head: ‘You’re good with kids. You should try it with your brother.’ Her protectiveness towards Tommy nagged at him uncomfortably.

  But his father was silent. Simon felt a hot rush of anger — why wasn’t his dad around?

  He grabbed his parka, unlocked the door, and ran down the path.

  ‘Jem!’ he shouted.

  The dinghy was gone. Through the rain he could hear the muffled squeak of the oars.

  Jem rowed steadily through the rain. Beyond the point, the lake was flat calm, the rain dancing on its surface. The handles of the oars were wet, and his hands chafed against them uncomfortably. The cove he was looking for was three bays beyond the inlet and it took him a good forty-five minutes to get there. It was tucked in behind a large island of reeds on one side and the encroaching bush on the other. He nosed the dinghy in among some willows, looking for a place to tie it up. He was reluctant to leave it in the open — just in case.

  The scaups were busy paddling and preening and diving. Two ebony-black swans floated past imperiously, their folded-back wings looking like crumpled paper. Jem shipped the oars and pulled the dinghy further in under the overhanging branches. Its yellow-brown varnish blended with the surroundings. He tied the boat up and poked the bottom of the lake with an oar — it was shallow and squidgy. After laying the oars along the bottom of the boat and stowing his life-jacket under the bow seat, he stepped out. Brown sediment oozed around his sneakers and clouded the water. He pulled himself through the net of willow branches to the bank and climbed up.

  Already the dinghy was invisible, so he broke a springy branch to mark the place, and again at the point where he emerged from the willows, before cutting behind them to the beginning of the track. He looked around: he had left no footprints. He felt nervous — not about the dog, but Squint Lewis was different. On the jetty at the store, and later on the lake, he had been really scary. Maybe that’s what had put the wind up Simon, too. He wished Simon had come with him so the dog could sniff him as well.

  He walked up the track, staying on the side to avoid the mud. There were at least two sets of footprints along the middle, so other people had been here since the rain began last night. Several times he stopped and listened, but all he heard was the pattering of rain on leaves. Up ahead was a break in the bush. The track levelled and turned to run alongside a high fence. On the other side he saw a row of houses in the distance, sitting up on blocks of wood.

  The track continued for a few metres before ending at a padlocked gate. The Lewises’ car was parked near it. Jem froze. If anyone was around, they would see him. Past the gate the bush pressed up ag
ainst the fence. Branches lopped off by the fencers lay in swathes along it. Jem ducked along the bush line, scanning his surroundings intently, but no-one seemed to be around. The metal fence posts became more widely spaced, and the wire mesh less taut. In between two posts he found a part where the mesh buckled slightly outwards at ground level. Jem could see it would be possible to squeeze under if the ground were dug away. He dragged one of the half-dead branches over and snapped off a small side-branch to dig a hole. Then he wedged the big branch into the hole. Crouching down, he gave a high, soft whistle and waited.

  Jem was wet and hungry and his hands hurt. He was tempted to eat the biscuits in his pocket himself, but as he felt around for them a movement between two of the houses caught his eye. The next moment the biggest German shepherd he had ever seen bounded up to the fence, snarling.

  He looked at the wrinkled muzzle and white fangs, the fur bristling along the dog’s back and the ears standing at attention.

  ‘Oh, what a beauty you are! You don’t have to be afraid of me, fella. How about a biscuit?’ He pushed one under the fence. The dog sniffed it. Jem continued his quiet monologue: ‘Pretty scary job guarding all of this, and I bet you don’t get fed all that much — you look on the skinny side to me. Ever get any pats or a kind word? Doubt it.’

  The dog stopped snarling, but didn’t relax his guard. He hadn’t eaten the biscuit, either. Cautiously, Jem rose from a crouch and onto his knees. The dog growled. Jem went on talking as he slowly stood up. ‘There, that’s all right, isn’t it?’ He put his hands against the fence. ‘Want to have a sniff? Come on — I won’t hurt you.’

  The dog approached the fence and stretched out his nose. His tail and ears had lost their tension. He sniffed Jem.

  It took Jem another minute or two to persuade the dog to accept a biscuit. By then the dog’s tail was swinging from side to side. Jem slowly eased the branch out of the hole and sat with his feet in it. He repeated this several times, finally leaving the branch wedged in the hole. He scraped the loose dirt back around it.

  ‘I’ll be back,’ he said and put his fingers through the mesh and scratched the dog under the chin. The dog whined as Jem pushed his way back through the lopped branches to the gate, following him along the fence line until he set off down the track. The rain had stopped.

  11

  The sort of bag you carried cricket gear in

  Jem had nearly reached the dinghy when he heard the drone of an outboard motor approaching. A ripple of wavelets rustled the reeds and spent themselves amongst the willow roots. He ducked under an overhang of the bank and pushed his yellow parka to the back. Peering through the curtain of hanging willow fronds, he saw an aluminium dinghy puttering towards the beach. In it were two people: one of them Squint Lewis, but Jem couldn’t make out who the other one was — their head and face were obscured by the hood of a duffle coat. The motor cut out and Squint raised the shaft of the outboard. He jumped into the water and pushed the boat onto the beach.

  The second person stepped out and helped to pull the dinghy further up the bank; they secured it with the anchor. Squint lifted two bags out of the bow and handed one to the other person — the sort of bag you carried cricket gear in. They worked in unfriendly silence, keeping their distance from one another.

  Jem took a deep breath. He could so easily have bumped into them — five minutes later coming down the track and he wouldn’t be crouched here safely now. He stayed put for some time after they had disappeared up the track, until he thought it safe to pull out his parka and wade out to the dinghy.

  The row back was hard-going, although Jem felt better as every pull of the oars carried him further away from the cove. He was relieved to finally get back to the house.

  Inside, he climbed out of his wet clothes and piled them in the tub. How would he explain them to Barney? It was nearly midday and he had to get over to the Masons’ for lunch. He was pulling on some dry clothes when he heard the back door open.

  ‘Jem?’ Simon had come back. ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘You know where I’ve been,’ replied Jem.

  ‘What happened?’

  Jem looked at Simon in surprise — his brother seemed worried.

  He climbed onto his bed. He was cold and tired and wished it was bedtime. He didn’t want to go to the Masons’ for lunch.

  ‘Do you want some cocoa?’ asked Simon awkwardly.

  ‘Yeah. Thanks.’ Jem was surprised by Simon’s manner.

  They drank their cocoa in silence.

  ‘I would have come,’ said Simon. ‘I ran after you, but you’d gone.’

  Jem told him what had happened. ‘I nearly got caught,’ he said. ‘I felt pretty scared.’

  ‘What about the dog?’

  ‘Oh, the dog’s OK, but I’ll need another visit to really get him on side.’

  ‘No! Don’t go back — it’s too dangerous.’

  ‘I’ve told you about this morning,’ said Jem. ‘Now you should tell me about what happened to you. I know something did.’

  Simon stood up and crossed to the window. The sky was grey and so was the lake. It would rain again soon. It can’t have been much fun rowing all that way. It was quite an achievement. He felt a grudging respect for Jem. He wasn’t a little kid any more. Could he trust him to keep quiet if he told him about his encounters with Squint Lewis?

  ‘If I do tell you, can I be sure you’ll keep quiet about it?’ he asked Jem. ‘You can’t tell anyone, especially not Barney. If you do, I’ll probably get quite badly hurt.’

  ‘I won’t tell anyone,’ said Jem solemnly, his eyes wide.

  So Simon told him. He was surprised how good it felt to share it with someone else, even his little brother.

  Jem listened intently. A killer dog? He didn’t believe that. ‘He was having you on,’ he told his brother. But he believed the other stuff, and he realized he had had a lucky escape.

  ‘But why is he like that? What’s wrong with us looking at the yard? It would be fun to explore. It can’t be that dangerous.’

  ‘There has to be something else going on,’ said Simon. ‘Otherwise why would he put all that effort into scaring me off?’

  The phone rang. It was Mrs Mason telling them to get a move on because lunch was ready.

  ‘Rosie — Rose — and Tommy are there, too,’ Simon told Jem. ‘We can’t talk to them about any of this. We can’t talk to anyone, especially not Barney. You do see that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jem quietly. ‘That Squint Lewis is so mean, I’m sure he would do something horrible.’

  They set off down the drive and along the road to the Masons’.

  ‘Come on in,’ said Mrs Mason cheerfully. ‘What took you so long?’

  Rosie and Tommy were already sitting at the table. They gave small, tight smiles but said nothing. It was as though they were meeting for the first time. Simon thought, I don’t think they trust anyone. They hardly ever smile.

  ‘Boiled eggs coming up. Have a muffin in the meantime,’ said Mrs Mason, jollying everyone along.

  ‘What year will you be in after the holidays, Rose?’ Simon asked, politely trying to reconnect with her.

  ‘Same year as you.’

  How does she know? thought Simon.

  ‘I was telling Rosie and Tommy about how you’ve been coming here since before you went to school,’ Mrs Mason replied. ‘It’s your second home!’

  ‘You can cast a fishing rod,’ said Tommy to Simon. ‘Mr Butler told me.’

  ‘I’m not very good yet,’ replied Simon. ‘My arms need to be a bit longer and it takes lots of practice. Mr Sanders says it’s proper fishing, not like fishing from a boat.’

  ‘But that’s quickest if you want to eat them,’ Rosie said abruptly. ‘Even quicker if you just use a net — or your hands.’

  ‘You’re not allowed to tickle trout,’ protested Simon.

  Rosie was silent.

  ‘Why did you call Rosie “Rose”?’ Tommy asked Simon.


  ‘Because I told him I preferred Rose,’ said Rosie quickly. ‘That’s what I want to be called from now on.’

  ‘I like being called Tommy,’ said Tommy, ‘because my real name’s Thomas.’ He pulled a face.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Jem. ‘Mine’s Jeremy — sissy name!’

  ‘Suits you,’ said Simon unkindly. But he thought of Jem going to the house-yard and making friends with the dog and wished he hadn’t said it. Rose frowning at him didn’t help, either. He thrust his hands truculently into his pockets.

  Mrs Mason brought the eggs.

  ‘Oh! News time!’ she exclaimed and switched on the radio, but she caught only the end of the weather forecast: ‘… moving in from the southwest tonight will bring falling temperatures and rain over the next twenty-four hours.’

  What’s the ma-a-atter with ma-a-ay?

  Ah can’t stop doin’ it

  no matter what you say,

  even when you walk away.

  Oh-oh, Ah’m hurtin’ bad

  oh-oh, Ah wanna

  turn back the clock

  oh-oh, Ah wanna

  cross the bridge

  to someplace else …

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Mrs Mason, turning off the radio. ‘I’m surprised they’re playing that Rocco Quinn song in the circumstances, even if it is top of the charts.’

  Adults are always talking about ‘circumstances’ and exchanging glances, and using that special knowing voice, thought Simon with irritation. What circumstances? he wanted to demand. Either include us or have your conversation when we’re not around! Anyway, it was fine with him if she turned off the ridiculous song. The only decent thing about it was the way the music — a saxophone? — kind of squeaked and slipped off the top note as though the player had made a mistake, like someone who was learning to play. And he liked the way the piano skipped and skittered around.

  ‘Everyone seems to have gone to town today,’ Mrs Mason said into the silence. ‘Barney and Hec went off first thing, and your mum and dad are there for the day, too, aren’t they, Rosie— er, Rose? Your mum said they had to take the car in for servicing.’