by Andrew Daddo
Mum dropped me home while she ran Ronnie off to another dance class. Dad must have been home and gone because his bag was in the front hall and his new golf clubs were by the back door. The only person I had to contend with was Hayley, but she was in her room with the door closed so no issues there.
Mum’d be half an hour, at most.
Dad had a beer fridge in the garage. He was pretty anal about it, making sure that everything lined up and that the same brands were in the same rows.
The beer fridge was about half full. I was hoping it’d be chockers, or that Dad would have a couple of slabs warming somewhere else in the garage so I could take a six pack and replace it with some warm beers, but no luck. In the end I took two Tooheys, two VB’s and two Coopers, hoping he wouldn’t notice they were gone. I put them into a shopping bag and then into my backpack. The plan was pretty simple: I’d stash the beers between our place and Gracie’s and pick them up on the way. I’d work out a way to stop Mum driving me; that’d be basic.
After about five minutes pedalling I’d found a spot in a trailer boat that never went anywhere. It was a bit sad, leaves and mank were pressed against the high side of the tyres, showing that it hadn’t been moved since at least the last big storm. There was a high-water mark in the tarp near the bow, but no water, so the tarp hung like a spent cape, sagging and forgotten. After making sure no one was around, I slid the shopping bag of beers into the slot near the engine and took off. With a bit of luck they’d still be a bit cold by the time I picked them up in a couple of hours.
I went for a ride, checking out a few spots, thinking maybe I’d see someone, maybe I wouldn’t. A game of cricket had the dog-walkers pressed into one end of the park. Occasionally a dog would stray past the coloured cones marking the boundary and run onto the playing field. A symphony of whistles and hisses and calls would spark up immediately in protest.
I hoped Madison might have been there.
The cricket was slow and uninspiring.
I was surprised Dad had pulled the pin on cricket, especially given he seemed to like it. He’d offered me the option of surfing with him on Saturdays instead because ‘nobody has all day Saturday to spend watching amateurs do anything’. So I’d quit cricket. We went for a surf the next Saturday morning, planning to leave home as the sun crept over the horizon. He’d been annoyed because I wasn’t ready when he was and my leg rope was missing from my board. It was on Ryan’s bike; we’d been using it to tow each other round on a skateboard.
The waves had been crap, anyway. So instead of surfing, Dad and I had a quick swim. Then he got on the phone and said he’d make a nine o’clock tee off if it was still on.
‘Good stuff,’ he’d said to me. ‘Swim with you, golf with the boys! Possibly the perfect Saturday.’
We did that for a while, but it petered out and soon Saturday was just golf because his tee-off time was earlier.
Once I got to high school I’d started diving, which he hated. It’s weird how Dad’s forgotten that he was the one who stopped me playing cricket.
Ryan wasn’t home when I went passed his place, and the kids at Jump Rock were mainly older. I walked down to have a look, and could smell ciggies and dope. There was a bunch of guys and a couple of girls sitting on the safety barrier that the council had put up to stop people from jumping. All they’d managed to do was make it more dangerous to get access to the launching pad. And by erecting the full-on fence, they’d added an extra two metres to the height with a bonus that you could stand on the top of the fence and jump from there. In reality, it was now far more treacherous than it had ever been. And because they’d set the safety fence back a bit from the edge, you had to push off quite hard to clear Deadman’s, the ledge that jutted out into the deeper water, just a few feet below the surface.
A skinny bloke in boardshorts and tats stood up and balanced on the fence. He flicked a butt into the water below and hacked out a laugh before launching high and wide. It was a good jump, he’d miss Deadman’s easily enough. There were stories about people who’d hit it, but no one we knew had actually been there when it happened.
Another guy jumped from the normal spot, which was still about eight metres up. He did a flip but had over-rotated by the time he hit the water. If it hurt, he wasn’t showing it.
It was still; hot enough to want to jump in. Cicadas were so loud it was hard to hear them, and then if you concentrated they were all you could hear. Another guy with fresh tatts jumped from the lower level to taunts of ‘faggot’ and ‘poofter’. Like the last bloke, he flipped, but landed head first, diving straight down into the clear blue water. I loved the way the bubbles kept rising long after he’d broken the surface, and the way they acted like a telltale of where he’d gone in and the route he’d taken while submerged. When he came up, it was metres away from his entry spot, and he erupted from the depths, as if pushed skyward by something under the water. ‘I’m okay,’ he yelled with a salute. ‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen!’
‘You jumping, dickhead?’ It was from behind me, and as soon as I heard it I knew it was Hamish Banning. I hated the effect the sound of his voice had on me – the way my ring would tighten and I’d instantly need to crap. I turned quickly. ‘Bit jumpy there, Dylan, mate. So, you going?’
‘Nah,’ I said. ‘Not today.’
‘Scared?’
‘No. It’s like ten metres. I do that all the time at diving. It’s no big deal.’
‘Yeah, right,’ said Hamish. He nudged Lurch and nodded at me. ‘Forgot he was in the diving team. Jump then. Why don’t you show us one of your big fancy dives if you’re so good?’
The last time I’d been here at the same time as Hamish, he’d pushed me in from the lower level, murdering my mobile. I could jump, and while I’m in the water he’d probably take my T-shirt and my bike and anything else I’d left behind and throw them in after me. He could just take my stuff and piss off with it. He could bomb me once I was in the water, or throw rocks at me. Or Hamish Banning could do nothing at all. We had sort of been friends when we were younger, just not good friends. We’d drifted apart when I realised we had a very different idea of what was fun and funny.
‘I got to go,’ I said.
‘Where? Where’s a loser like you got to go?’
‘Nowhere,’ I said, crabbing past him so if he tried something, I had a chance of avoiding it. ‘Just got to go.’
I got back to my bike without anything happening and left. ‘See you, arsehole,’ I said under my breath.
He was a dangerous prick.
Both Mum and Dad were back by the time I got home, and something was on. Hayley was watching TV. When I fell into the couch beside her, she looked at me sideways and said, ‘Do you know what’s going on with Mum and Dad?’
‘Nah, why?’
‘Their bedroom door is shut and they were yelling and now they’re not yelling.’
‘They’re probably shagging,’ I said, making a horrified face.
‘Ewwww, that’s gross,’ said Hayley. ‘Besides, Mum’s in the bathroom. Dad’s in the bedroom.’
‘Maybe they’re done shagging. They probably just had a fight. Don’t worry about it. They do it all the time. What else is on?’
‘I was here first,’ said Hayley.
‘I got to get ready, anyway,’ I said. ‘Part-ay!’
‘Want some cover-up for your zits?’
‘Up yours.’
‘I’m just trying to help . . .’
I was beyond excited.
When I cleared the steam from the mirror the first sunburn of summer beamed back at me. Bright red around the shoulders and all down the back, but not quite so scorched under the chin.
The hot water from the shower had felt good and cleansing. I would have stayed longer if Dad hadn’t belted on the door and told me to get out.
I splashed water on the mirror as the steam fought back, and observed. I’d plateaued. This could be how I’d look forever.
A few rogue pubes were w
orking their way north towards my bellybutton, and I had two long, straight black hairs on the right side of my left nipple, but that was the extent to which my pubescence had advanced in the last little while.
My nipples stuck out like giant mosquito bites. It was like I had the beginnings of little girl tits.
I came out of the bathroom to hear the front door slam.
Mum’d laid clothes out on my bed as if it was a person. There was a shirt I hadn’t seen before, like a flanny, only much, much lighter. It looked old, but with new tags on it. I checked the brand: Deus. Was Mum kidding? And the dacks were exactly the kind I’d wanted in the first place: a sandy, stony colour, somewhere between jeans and pants. They were Deus, too. There was over two hundred dollars worth of kit on my bed, and the blue shirt and old man dacks were nowhere to be seen.
How good was Mum? How’d she known?
I put the gear on with a pair of Converse and practically fell for the bloke looking back at me from the mirror. I took it all back, all the hating I’d felt for the afternoon; I grabbed it and buried it and went looking for Mum to thank her before heading out. I had my backpack over my shoulder with a towel and a pair of boardies. I’d pick up the beers from the boat on the way, so there was nothing else to take.
Mum was sitting on the end of their bed looking at her feet with her head in her hands doing that hair thing with her fingers.
‘Tadaaaaaaaaaa,’ I went, with my hands out wide. ‘I love it, Mum. It looks –’ but her eyes stopped me. When she raised her head to see, she looked awful, as if she’d missed her mouth with her lipstick and painted her eyes instead. She was blotchy and swollen.
I’d never seen Mum look so broken.
‘Gorgeous,’ she managed, before dropping her head back into her hands and dissolving again.
‘Is it Dad?’ I asked. Mum just nodded.
I went for the front door, not quite knowing what I would do if Dad was on the other side of it. I had to stick up for Mum. I had to do something. His car was still there; he had it backed up to the garage with his radio on.
‘Hey, Dad!’ I started, full of purpose, ready to go.
‘Ah, the great man,’ said Dad. ‘What are you up to, sunshine? Heading out?’
‘Yeah, actually. What’s with Mum? What did you do?’
He stared at me for the longest time before saying, ‘What did I do to Mum? What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything to your mother. She’s off her head, right? The first story is not always the true story. She’ll see that eventually, so don’t go believing the first thing you hear. Right?’
He was so aggressive. Dad was up on his toes and in my face by the time he’d finished what he was saying.
‘It’s just that . . .’ I started. He looked like he was going to snot me.
‘What? It’s just that, what? Where’s my beers, by the way? There’s beers missing out of my fridge. Give us your backpack, I know that’s where they are.’
I protested. ‘There’s nothing in here. I haven’t got any beers. Just boardies and a T-shirt and a towel.’
I stuck my chest out, trying to get something between him and my bag.
‘I heard bottles clink. You think I’m an idiot?’
He got hold of the straps and pulled me towards him. He’d never been like this before. He’s been pissed and stupid and embarrassing, but this was different.
‘You’ve got drugs then, haven’t you? You’re going to your big party and you’ve got your big party drugs. Show us your bag!’ And he kind of wrestled it off me, treating me like some kind of unhelpful manikin he had to undress.
The more I protested, the stronger he seemed to get.
‘I swear to God, if you’ve got beers in here, you’re grounded. You’ve been warned, right.’
‘I haven’t got anything,’ I yelled, and instead of resisting, I took the bag off and threw it at him.
‘Careful, boyo! Never start what you can’t finish.’
He ripped open the zip and pulled my gear out.
‘Lucky,’ he said. ‘No beers. What’ve you got, dope? A few eccies? A bit of speed? I went to parties, I know what goes on.’ He went through all the pockets in the backpack and came up empty. The longer he took, the more he seemed to calm down. I put my hand out for my bag.
‘I’m telling you, there’s nothing in there.’
His expression seemed to soften slightly as he tried to smile at me. It was more a rueful, lopsided scar across the bottom of his face.
‘Sorry, Dylan. I haven’t given you much credit, have I?’ He put his hands out in front of him. ‘You’re a pretty smart kid. You know better than that, don’t ya?’
I couldn’t think of a single thing to say to him. It’s like he was schitzo, I couldn’t figure out where he was coming from.
‘You think you know better than your old man, too? Drugs are in your jocks, right? Oldest and best hiding spot. Who’s going to look there, eh? No one, that’s who. No one’s going into your undies, Dylan, that’s for sure. Cough ’em up.’
He was still smiling at me with his hand out, as if we were mates. Like I had the cricket ball and it was his turn to bowl.
‘Come on, hand it over. Whatever you’ve got, let’s have it.’
I got my towel, boardshorts and T-shirt and stuffed them back into the backpack. Dad was being an idiot. I didn’t have any drugs, I hadn’t done anything wrong, not really.
‘We could drop an eccie together. Yeeew!’
‘See you, Dad.’ I turned and left. I was tight, fully coiled, waiting for him to grab me from behind and get into me. He’d dack me, go through the pockets, pull my undies down, check my jocks. He’d do all of it, I knew he would. The hard part was waiting for it to happen. But he’d be wrong. That’d be the best bit. I didn’t have anything on me. I hadn’t even thought about drugs or where I’d stash them. It’s what he must have done when he was my age, and it’s probably why he was so suss on me all the time – he assumed I’d be doing the same stuff.
I’ll never be like him. Not ever.
I made it out of the garage and to the front door before turning around. Dad hadn’t moved. He’d dug his left hand deep into his pocket and had a beer in his right.
‘Just jokes, Dyl,’ he said. ‘Havin’ a laugh, mate. I’m not all bad, you remember that.’ He pointed the stubby at me. ‘And I want my beers back.’
Mum was still in their bedroom. She asked if I was okay which rocked me a bit because she was the one who wasn’t okay, and yet, she was asking about me.
‘You ready for your party?’
‘What happened?’
‘It’s still on, right? Are you going with Ryan?’
‘Mum, what happened?’
She winced and shook her head, pursing her lips and tightening them across her face in a crooked smile. Then she nodded. ‘It was his phone in the golf bag. His spare phone. It’s his girlfriend, not his friend’s. Your father’s having an affair. Or was, which he says wasn’t actually an affair but an emotional connection.’ She shook her head again. ‘It’s possible, I suppose.’
‘This is the phone in the golf bag, the “oh baby” one?’
‘Yeah.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I rang the number and, look, it doesn’t matter. Is, isn’t. Was, wasn’t. Whatever. You don’t need to know the details. We’ll sort it out. One way or another.’
‘What does that mean?’ And as I said it, my phone buzzed a new message.
Mum looked at it and then at me.
‘Girlfriend?’ She sounded hopeful. She was going to cry again.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ I said, desperate to look at the message.
‘Check, it might be important.’
There were a bunch of sad and smiley faced emoticons following. And as bad as the shit was at home, I think her text made me saddest.
‘Okay?’ said Mum.
‘Yeah, no worries,’ I said. ‘Madison’s not going, that’s all. No big deal.’
&nb
sp; ‘But you’ll still go. I’ll still drive you. You told Ryan we’d pick him up, didn’t you?’
‘I’ll be right. And me and Ryan want to walk, it’ll be fun. Blow up letterboxes on the way, like you said your brothers used to. It’s not far. Will you be okay? Maybe I shouldn’t go.’
Of course I was still going to go, I just wanted it to sound like maybe I shouldn’t go, so Mum could convince me I should.
‘You’re going. Just be sensible.’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘And careful, you know what I mean?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘If you’re going to have sex, use a condom, okay?’
‘Mum!’
‘I’m just saying. You’re a good-looking boy, your time is coming. Take your phone and call me if you need me. For anything.’ Her chin had a life of its own. The tears would be next.
‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘Do you like the clothes?’ she said. ‘They look good.’
‘Love ’em. Thanks. How’d you know?’
‘A little Ronnie told me. She said you were looking at clothes on your computer, so I looked at the history. You should wipe that history from time to time.’ She raised her eyebrows a couple of times and grinned.
‘See ya, Mum,’ I said hurriedly. ‘Love you.’
‘Love you, too. Go win a heart, Dylan.’
I kissed her and got out before the first tear was all the way down her cheek.
In the bathroom I straightened myself up, stuck a bit of gel in my hair and took a last look.
‘Okay,’ I said to myself. ‘I think you’re ready for a bit of “do you wanna”.’
I pulled out one of Mum’s random affirmation cards in the bathroom and felt a surge of hope. The idea is that you choose a card each morning and that’s the word you carry with you throughout the day. Relationships.
I pulled out one for Mum as well and slid it under her bedroom door. Resilience.
Ryan’s phone went straight to voicemail, so I left him a quick one calling him a loser and hung up. I texted as well, but he was back in radio-silence which was probably best, anyway. No one’s saying he’s a dickhead, it’s just that Gracie and the others might not be quite ready for him.
