The Amazing Spencer Gray

by Deb Fitzpatrick

  FREMANTLE PRESS

  25 Quarry Street, Fremantle 6160

  (PO Box 158, North Fremantle 6159)

  Western Australia

  www.fremantlepress.com.au

  Copyright © Deb Fitzpatrick, 2013.

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.

  Cover design by Ally Crimp.

  Printed by Everbest Printing Company, China.

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-publication data

  Fitzpatrick, Deb

  The amazing Spencer Gray

  Edition: 1st ed.

  ISBN: 978 1 922089 32 8 (pbk.)

  A823

  Fremantle Press is supported by the State Government

  through the Department of Culture and the Arts.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Acknowledgements

  Deb Fitzpatrick

  for Jerry and Pippa

  Spencer Gray reckoned the first few minutes were always the hardest. His legs hurt, his lungs hurt, his breath was thin and hot. Bones jarred as feet met the ground. He could so easily stop.

  Then, after he’d gone a couple of hundred metres, Spencer would begin to find his rhythm, with his feet hitting the ground like the beat of a couple of drums. His breathing smoothed, and the air didn’t rasp so drily over the back of his throat. His breaths would match with his feet—in, in, out. In, in, out. They began to fit one another: breath and feet. In, in, out. In, in, out.

  Stay at the front, Spencer.

  And his feet would push off the earth, rather than uncomfortably slapping down on it. He would feel his feet actively using the ground to make the next stride strong and long.

  In, in, out.

  In, in, out.

  In, in, out.

  In, in, out.

  If Spencer was going to get a stitch, he’d begin to feel it around then, pulling in his side. Like a zip being yanked up and down, over and over, up and down, up and down. That was when he’d push his thumb right into the pain, deep into it, try to almost press it away. At the same time, he’d close his mouth and suck air in through his nose, and push it out the same way. It was much harder to get enough air that way, but it was the only way to kill a stitch. Spencer would want to open his gob and greedily suck in all the oxygen he needed, but he knew that if he did, the stitch would get him in the end.

  It will pass, Spencer. Push through it, push through.

  Give me a break, he’d want to shout; let me stop now!

  But there was no stopping, Spencer knew that. You couldn’t stop. You kept at it, and afterwards, after all the pain had gone and your body glowed with the effort of it, you realised what you’d done; how far you’d gone; how hard it had been, and how worth it.

  1

  ‘Leon, where’s your board?’ Spencer called out across the skate park.

  ‘Don’t mention the war!’ Leon growled, looking dark.

  ‘His mum’s confiscated it,’ Charlie said, his sandy curls bobbing in the breeze.

  ‘Oh no, that’s not okay,’ Spencer said. ‘Parents shouldn’t be allowed to confiscate stuff once you’re over ten, I reckon.’

  Leon sloped towards them, over the concrete humps and dips, and when he was close enough he muttered, ‘Yeah, and all because of a library book.’

  ‘A library book?’ said Spencer. ‘What about it?’

  ‘I can’t find it. It’s overdue. Very overdue.’

  ‘That’s still a bit harsh, to confiscate your deck. It’s not like you tried to lose it.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ Leon grumbled.

  ‘And they’re never actually lost,’ Spencer said, ‘they’re always somewhere—under the bed, or mixed in with your other books, or in your sister’s room or whatever.’

  ‘I’ve looked everywhere,’ Leon said.

  There was silence between the three boys.

  ‘And I don’t have a sister, Spence.’

  ‘Right. Sorry.’ Spencer looked down at his board. He’d bought it, second-hand, a couple of weeks ago and he was still making friends with it. ‘You can have a ride of my board today, Leon,’ he said. ‘I can still barely stand up on it, anyway.’

  It was like Leon had been born with a skateboard attached to his feet. Anyone trying to learn with him carving up next to them got a bruised ego as well as a bruised everything else. His body seemed to move like water.

  Leon punched him on the arm. ‘Onya Spence. You just gotta keep practising you know. I broke my wrist when I first started.’

  ‘How reassuring.’

  Leon cracked a smile. His olive complexion lit up cheekily. ‘Pads help.’

  ‘Pads for a spaz,’ Spencer mumbled.

  ‘So when do you get your deck back, Leon?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘When I find the book, or pay the fine.’

  There was a double groan.

  ‘What’s the damage?’ asked Spencer.

  ‘Forty bucks,’ Leon croaked.

  ‘Forty bucks! What is it, the Harry Potter boxed set or something?!’

  ‘I dunno—Mum did tell me but I can’t remember. Anyway, I don’t have forty bucks and I can’t find the book, so I’m stuffed.’

  Charlie said, ‘You could put a sign up on the school noticeboard.’

  ‘That’s not a bad idea,’ said Spencer.

  ‘That’s a totally em barrassing idea!’ said Leon. ‘I don’t want to talk about it anymore,’ he said, disappearing down the ramp, his words streaming back after him. ‘How can a book ruin your life?’

  Spencer and Charlie looked at each other. Poor Leon. Stuff like this was always happening to him.

  ‘Maybe we could help him pay the fine,’ said Spencer, watching Leon get some air.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘If we could scrape some money together, maybe Mrs Wilkes would chip in the rest?’

  Charlie nodded, and his curls nodded in sync. ‘Spence, no wonder you’re Petrich’s favourite: you’re a problem-solver!’

  ‘I am not his favourite.’

  ‘Are. Hey, Leon. Come here, mate, we’ve got a plan.’

  ‘Is it any good?’ Leon yelled, curving high in the quarter-pipe before letting the board slide away on its
own. ‘This had better be good.’

  2

  ‘Shouldn’t we just look for the book before we hand over our cash?’ Spencer said anxiously.

  Leon groaned like a cow giving birth. ‘Not again. I’ve looked! What don’t you understand about that?’

  Charlie said, ‘C’mon, Spence’s right. One last look. We’ll all go to yours after this and do a forensic search. Then, if we don’t find it, we’ll pool our money and try and get the rest from your mum.’

  ‘Let’s get going, okay?’ Spencer said. ‘Leon, spin a few moves and then let’s just go.’

  Leon let them in with a key.

  ‘When will your mum be back?’ Spencer asked.

  ‘About 6.’

  Leon’s dad didn’t live with them and he didn’t have any brothers or sisters, but to Spencer, it always felt weird walking into a completely empty house after school. Sometimes Pippa drove Spencer crazy but it was kind of nice that she and Mum were always there when he got home. Sometimes he was greeted with a banana smoothie, or Mum would make them Vegemite sandwiches or a plate of crackers and cheese.

  Leon rummaged around in a drawer and pulled out a box of Barbecue Shapes. He tore open the foil and passed the box around.

  ‘Right,’ said Charlie, the red crumbs already dotting his face, ‘I’ll start in Leon’s room. Spence, you check the living area. Leon, you...’ He looked at Leon, hand deep in the box. ‘You just sit down and snack up, champ.’

  It took about fifteen minutes. Charlie yelled down the corridor, ‘What do I get if I find it?’

  ‘What?! What do you get?’ Leon yelled back. ‘You get to keep your money, Charlie, that’s what.’

  ‘So,’ Charlie called, ‘your offer is?’

  Leon talked sullenly through a mouthful of broken Barbecue Shapes. ‘Two bucks’ worth of sour straps.’

  A nanosecond later, Charlie emerged, triumphant. ‘It’s the Guinness World Records 2012, in case you’re interested.’

  ‘Oh yeah, that’s right,’ Leon said vaguely.

  Charlie held out his other hand, over which draped a huge dust ball. ‘I found this with it. Under the bed.’

  ‘Mum’ll be stoked,’ said Leon. ‘That I found it, I mean. The book, I mean.’

  Charlie raised his blond eyebrows.

  ‘That you found it, I mean. Thanks Charlie. You’re a legend.’

  Spencer staggered into the room. ‘I can’t find it. It’s impossible when you don’t even know what book you’re looking for.’

  ‘It’s okay, Spence, Charlie just found it,’ Leon said, cramming in the last of the Shapes.

  ‘Under his bed,’ Charlie said.

  ‘Oh, good work,’ said Spencer.

  Charlie shrugged. ‘I just looked for any book with a library number on the spine.’ He held up the heavy book with its silvery cover shimmering like a fish. ‘Figured there wouldn’t be too many of ’em on Leon’s shelves.’

  ‘That’s awesome,’ said Spencer, ‘You just saved us money.’

  ‘And having to put a poxy sign on the school noticeboard,’ Leon said.

  ‘And now you get your deck back.’

  The three of them nodded in satisfaction.

  ‘Don’t forget my sour straps, now, will you, Leo.’

  Leon’s grin was laced with irritation. ‘Maybe. But I’ll kill you if you call me that again.’

  3

  Sitting at the edge of the oval at lunchtime, Spencer chewed his ham and cheese sandwich while Leon slapped his thigh in excitement.

  ‘Spence, you utter, utter_____’ Leon shook his head, unable to finish.

  ‘I know,’ Spencer nodded, head down, trying not to smile at them too gleefully. ‘Cool, hey.’

  ‘You’ve got the wickedest dad,’ Charlie said.

  ‘Apart from the fact that he has to look at people’s bums the rest of the time,’ Leon said.

  Spencer laughed, ‘Leon! He doesn’t do that often. It’s just one of the things doctors have to do. There’s lots of other stuff. Like people with colds, kids with rashes. Allergic reactions. Broken bones.’

  ‘Yep. And looking at people’s bums.’

  ‘Leon!’ Spencer said, ‘You gotta cut back on the potty talk. He looks down people’s throats, too, you know, and in their ears. You don’t have to focus on their...’

  ‘Nether regions?’ Charlie offered.

  ‘Exactly.’

  Leon held up his hand. ‘Well thanks a million for the medical lecture, lads. So, Spence, when will you go out?’

  ‘Dunno exactly. Afternoon, I think. Depends when the winds are good, when the thermals are reliable, Dad says.’

  ‘Will you be up the front, in the main cockpit?’

  Leon rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, what do you think, Charlie? That Spence’ll be flying the thing while his dad sits back sipping pina coladas?’

  ‘Well, I dunno, Leo, I haven’t been in a glider before, have I?’

  ‘Guys, guys,’ Spencer interjected. ‘Settle! You haven’t forgotten who found your library book already have you, Leon? You have to be really nice to us for the rest of the week, mate.’

  ‘Well ... you didn’t actually find it, Spence.’

  ‘I know. But ... I was there.’

  ‘That’s a very weak link, Spence.’

  ‘I know that too. Now shut up and I’ll tell you about the gliding.’ Spencer took his time finishing the last corner of his sandwich, putting a dry bit of crust back in his lunch box and clicking it shut. ‘Dad’ll be flying the glider—of course. It’s a side-by-sider, so we’ll both be in the front. Enjoying the view. It’s just a joy ride.’

  ‘Awwwww,’ groaned Leon, falling back on the grass. ‘I can’t bear it, you total_____’ He pushed his hands into his hair, unable to finish his insult.

  Spencer was stoked, big-time, when his dad had come into his room the night before to talk to him about going out for a flight.

  ‘I think you’re old enough,’ he’d said. ‘And I’ve talked to Mum about it. She’s on board with it—so to speak.’

  Spencer’s eyes were wide, and he felt his lungs fill with a physical pride. He’d been waiting for a gazillion years to fly with Dad.

  He knew Leon and Charlie’d be envious. There was no point asking them to come to the airport for take-off; gliding, unlike skateboarding, just wasn’t a precision sport. A change in the forecast could change the whole day’s flight plan, even whether you flew at all.

  The Drifter was a non-motorised fixed-wing glider. It was like a hang-glider but with a fuselage, Dad said. Or, like a small plane with no engine. To get up in the Drifter they needed Dad’s mate Reg or another pilot in a light aircraft to launch it, to get it going, to tow it on a steel cable up as high as the thermals and then he’d release it to the whorls of hot and cooling air.

  The Drifter was Dad’s pride and joy. Flying was, as Spencer’s mum sometimes said, with a smile plastered slightly oddly on her face, Dad’s Other Woman. Seven-year-old Pippa would look across at Dad when Mum said that, and wait for the inevitable retort. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ he’d say, stealing over to give Mum a squeeze. ‘There could never be anyone else, my darling,’ he’d say in a theatrical voice. ‘Ever.’

  ‘Errr, Dad, pleeeeeease,’ Pippa would say, covering her eyes. ‘Stop!’

  Now, before bed, Spencer ate his way through a bowl of Weet-Bix and yoghurt. Somehow it was a lot yummier at night before bed than it was at breakfast time.

  As he looked at Dad reading one of his medical journals on the couch, he wondered what he had been like at twelve. Had he eaten Weet-Bix before bed? Had he created his own Lego designs? Spencer realised, all of a sudden, that he had no idea what sort of a kid his dad had been. He hadn’t even really thought about it before. What he did know was this: Dad was the town doctor, Doctor Rory Gray. The rest of the time he
was the glider pilot, and their dad. And, okay: sometimes bum-examiner.

  Spencer took a long time to get to sleep that night. He imagined sitting in the Drifter’s cockpit, the paddocks green and yellow squares below them. He imagined flying over Great Southern Primary School—over his very classroom.

  Dad called it ‘soaring’, said that’s what glider pilots called their special sort of flight. Dad was a life member of the Skippers Cove Soaring Society. Reg was the secretary.

  Eventually, sleep crept over Spencer, as softly as the goosedown doona settled on his tired body. The doona had been a special present from Mum for his tenth birthday. But that night, Spencer’s dreams were with his Dad, and they were from the views of birds.

  4

  Pippa stretched out on the couch in front of ABC3. ‘Kids’ news!’ she yelled in excitement.

  Spencer rolled his eyes.

  ‘You are five years older than her, Spence,’ said his mum.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You loved those sorts of shows at the same age, you know.’

  ‘I know, Mum.’

  Spencer watched as she moved around the kitchen, doing all the stuff she did in the mornings, all the jobs. ‘No lunch boxes today,’ he said to her, smiling.

  ‘Hallelujah,’ she said, spearing cutlery into the dishwasher basket like darts at a dartboard. ‘Did Dad talk to you about going up in the Drifter?’

  He nodded and locked eyes with her.

  ‘So you feel all right about that? Not worried, or anything?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘’Cos you know Dad wouldn’t mind at all if you said you wanted to wait a bit longer.’

  ‘I don’t want to wait even a day longer, Mum. I really want to go up.’

  She dropped the brekkie bowls into the rack. ‘I thought you’d say as much,’ she smiled, reaching over to touch his face. ‘He’s really looking forward to taking you out with him, champ.’

  Spencer could barely finish his toast for smiling.

  ‘Anyone coming into town with me this morning?’ Dad called out.

  ‘Not me,’ Pippa said, dragging her doona over to the couch. ‘I’m having a day at home.’