Right. I think we’ve seen where that conversation was definitely not going.
‘Yeah, she is. At Olympic Park.’ I’m already nervous about what might happen, but I wouldn’t miss it for a million bucks. ‘Evidently some really quick chick from Brisbane’s coming down. But Electra doesn’t like talking about it, so we don’t.’ I shrug. ‘It’s hard to explain.’
Trav gives Dot the pizza crusts, and throws the box into the fire, which may or may not count as recycling.
‘Marc’s taking her home to meet his folks tomorrow, Mikey.’ Trav wipes his hands on his jeans. ‘It’s the beginning of the end.’
Mikey gives my shoulder a gentle shake. ‘Or is it, Marc, just the end of the beginning?’
I watch the pizza box go up in flames, realising how good a guy Mikey really is; that he’s always on the look-out to try and keep people happy, even when I know he’s not always that happy himself.
‘Just as long as it’s not the end of the end,’ I say, something I probably should’ve kept in my head. ‘Everything’ll be fine.’
As we head home on the train, I look out over the dark suburbs. From here you can’t see the end of the city. From a tower in our park you can; you can see mountains and even paddocks, which is good because I like farms, and I like the idea that the city doesn’t go on forever. But Melbourne is big, and home must seem a long way off for Mikey and Electra, even if, as Trav said, it is only a phone call away.
When I think of Amelia-Anne, which I do every day, I also think of her parents and her brother and sister. They must think about her all the time. How could they not? If she’s still a big part of my life – hey, I’m 24, aren’t I? And I can picture her right down to the way the sun shone in her hair, and the kooky way she folded down her socks – I wonder how they can possibly fill the space she left in any way that allows them to get through the day, because sometimes thinking about her stops me dead in my tracks.
I guess they just do the best they can. That’s the truth of it; because the pain of losing people can simply go on forever, always changing, like a river, rising and falling, altering as the months go by, but never disappearing. Or that’s what I’m finding, and I’m only new to the thing.
‘Yeah, Mikey ought to ring.’ I watch Dot attempt to dig a hole in the train floor. ‘Shouldn’t he? I mean, one call. Make everyone a lot happier. What’s he got to lose?’
Trav leans back, feet up on the seat opposite, and stretches.
‘That’s what I reckon.’ He looks out into the dark. ‘I mean, really, takin’ off like that. Even I would leave a note. Perhaps you should ask him again, Jarvy? He might just need another hint.’
I remember the fall-out last time.
‘Ah, no. I don’t think so.’ It was like a slowly erupting volcano, and those things take a long time to cool down. ‘Hey, why don’t you ask him? You know him now. He’s also a friend of yours.’
Trav shakes his head, the darkness behind him pin-pricked by a thousand lights.
‘Not my style, bro. Let people make their own decisions.’ Trav pats Dot. ‘Still, there’s more than one way to skin a cat, eh, Dotty? You smart girl.’
Dot’s eyes give nothing away. She’s Trav’s dog, all right.
38
When Electra and I come out of the cinema it’s dark and cold, which makes me feel a little odd, because when we went in it was broad daylight and almost warm. Still, it seems to bring us together, and on the way home we sit holding hands on a tram that glides through the night like a warm little ship.
‘This is going to be great.’ Electra snuggles up, laughing a bit too much for my liking. ‘Meeting your family.’ She smiles, less like an elite freak than ever, as normally they’re too busy thinking about monster trophies, doing underpants ads, and stomping normal kids into the dust. ‘You’re going to have to be on your best behaviour.’
‘Me?’ I say. ‘It’s you who’s got to be good.’ I’m nervous. Bringing a girl home to meet your parents must be the most excruciating thing ever – well, no, what was worse was when I was with a girl who was not supposed to be meeting my parents, but they came home anyway. ‘At least you won’t have to sign the Visitors’ Book,’ I add. ‘Or sit on a pouffe.’
Electra laughs merrily as we stand up for my stop.
‘No, but we’re going to sit on the couch, and hold hands. That’ll be nice, won’t it?’
‘I’d poke my eyes out first,’ I say.
The night doesn’t turn out quite as badly as I thought. For one thing, Gretchen is impressed by Electra being an elite freak. And it also didn’t hurt that Electra knew the name of a west Australian wild flower my mother had arranged with a bunch of barbed wire. I even caught my mum looking at her and then at me, perhaps wondering if someone had made a mistake; which is fair enough, as Electra has on a very cool dress, plaited pearl bracelets, and looks like a girl advertising a six-star Tahitian hotel from one of the French magazines our French teacher brings in to class in a desperate effort to keep us remotely interested.
‘I’d like to do what you’ve done, Electra,’ Gretchen says. The two of them are on our couch, as unlike the Bradburys, we do only have one. And only one lounge room to put it in. And only one house to live in. ‘Except with tennis.’ She waggles a hand. ‘To get away from these people. It’d be massive.’
‘I’ll pay for the taxi to the airport,’ I offer. ‘No problem.’
My dad laughs, a down-light shining on his semi-bald head; he’s drinking a glass of red wine from a bottle he opened in Electra’s honour.
‘Electra, we’re so glad you like Marc,’ he says. ‘I do warn you, though. He’s moody and not that bright. You might like to straighten him out, and give him a hand, if you can. And tell him to tidy up his room.’
This is the old man’s usual routine. Even my mother, who is being as nice as she can be, thinks it’s rubbish.
‘That’s just Tom’s sense of humour, Electra.’ My mum sips wine. ‘I actually think Marc’s quite gifted, to tell you the truth. It’s just that he won’t apply himself.’
‘Gifted?’ Gretchen spits her bubble gum out. ‘Jesus. Well, if he’s so gifted why does he hang around with someone as retarded as Travis?’
My mother will handle this. There are certain words, one being ‘retarded’, that flick her switch every time.
‘Do not use that word like that, Gretchen.’ She waves the remote as if it was a stun gun. ‘It is extremely insensitive. For all you know, you could quite easily’ve been born – oh, forget it. How old is your sister, Electra, did you say?’ Mum takes another sip of wine in an effort to erase Gretchen’s blooper from her mind.
‘I wish I had a sister and not a mentally challenged brother.’ Gretchen’s obviously not daunted. ‘It’s so embarrassing on the tram when I see him with his mentally challenged friend, Travis. Who is definitely NQR. The two of them really shouldn’t go to a mainstream school. It’s not fair because all my friends stir me because Marc’s got difficulties. And Travis is just peculiar. And not funny-peculiar, either. Just peculiar. I think he’s gay. Stupid, anyway.’
And on it goes, backwards and forwards, round and round, until Electra’s curfew kicks in, and mum offers to drive her home. Which she does, me sitting in the front seat, Electra in the back, after Gretchen so kindly pointed out the CISSSY number plates as we were about to leave.
Needless to say, I won’t outline the situation when Electra got out of the car, and I kissed her on the cheek. This moment, witnessed by my mother, will haunt me forever.
‘She’s such a nice girl,’ Mum says, as she performs a perfect five-point turn. ‘I do so hope she wins next Saturday night.’
‘How’d you know about that?’ I’m trying to find an acceptable CD in the dark, as I left a couple in here for emergencies, but it’s not proving easy. I think Celine Dion may have eaten them.
‘Oh, Dad saw a little article in the paper. There was a picture.’ My mother twinkles her fingers. ‘She’s famous, Marc! You’v
e got a lovely, famous, nice girlfriend!’
I say nothing.
For a thousand reasons.
39
I call into GateWay Auto after school on Monday to say hello, and to find out how Mr Gates is going. But what Belinda wants to find out is how I’m getting on with Electra.
‘She’s too shy to come and see us.’ Belinda opens a folder on her desk. ‘Now that Vin’s in hospital. But she always says hello if we see her. I think she still finds living in Melbourne a bit of a shock.’
‘Yeah, she does. It freaks her out.’ I nod. ‘She’s racing on Saturday night at Olympic Park. And she took some flowers around to Mr Gates’s house when she heard he was back in hospital.’
Belinda smiles. ‘Yes, well, we all love flowers, don’t we, Marc?’
‘We certainly do.’ I see that there’s a picture of a big bunch of them, drawn by Casey, on Belinda’s wall. They have faces. ‘So how’s Mr Gates going?’
Belinda settles into her chair and puts her pen down.
‘He’s hanging in there. But I don’t know for how much longer. It’s like just about the saddest thing you’ve ever seen.’
I’m sure it’s a lot like the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. But that’s something I have only ever spoken to Amelia’s parents about, and Trav, briefly; and something that I don’t think I will ever speak about to anyone ever again.
‘Mikey seems to be going okay,’ I say, changing the subject. ‘You know, with things, in general, I mean. The gallery and, er, whatever.’
Belinda smiles. Then she arranges some papers, including a few car brochures, as if she’s deciding what exactly she should say, and how to say it.
‘Yeah, he’s getting along pretty well, I think. And you deserve some of the credit.’ She speaks carefully. ‘It means a lot to him that you and your friend Travis accept him and have helped him out. And to me. Quite a few people freak out if they discover someone’s gay. Even someone as nice as Mikey. They don’t know how to handle it.’
‘He’s a good guy,’ I say. ‘I can’t believe his family don’t like him.’
Belinda shakes her head. Suddenly her eyes are bright, sparkling, as if she might be about to cry.
‘I’m sure they like him, Marc.’ She leans forward. ‘I’m sure they love him. It’s just that people, for whatever reason, let things get in the way of what is actually true, and important. They did put his picture in the paper. But, you know, maybe words were said that can’t be unsaid. It’s not as straight-forward, I bet, as it looks to us.’
I’d agree with that.
‘It’s hard to know what’s the right thing to do,’ I say, although I know if AA was here, or Ronni Water Python, they’d have been on the phone to Mikey’s family in a heartbeat. But they’re not here, and don’t I know it.
Belinda sees me off, standing at the bottom of the steps of the GateWay office.
‘Good to see you, Marc. Come again. I’ll tell Mikey you dropped in.’ She takes a step back up. ‘I’d better go. I’m trying to get some clues on how we might set up a new car franchise here. I’m talking to people all over the place. Vinnie thought it might work. I might actually try to do it.’
‘Really?’ I say, although I’m not exactly sure what a franchise is, except that it may or may not have something to do with Jim’s Dog Wash. ‘Would you, like, have to build a showroom?’
‘Oh, yeah.’ Belinda draws a box in the air, her nails like pointy pink jewels. ‘All that and more. But I’d need the right kind of help.’
I get the feeling that if Belinda thinks something can be done, it can. I notice she also wears a type of business shirt, but pink. And somehow, in just a week, she seems older.
‘I think you could do it,’ I say. ‘Anyway, I’d better go.’ And I do, turning to head down the driveway, seeing Mikey trudging towards me as if he was climbing a mountain.
We meet halfway, beside a Commodore station wagon.
‘Hey, Marc.’ Mikey stops. His eyes are underlined with dark rings. ‘How are you going? Everything all right?’
‘Yeah, fine,’ I say. ‘How about you?’
‘Not quite a hundred per cent.’ Mikey grins, just. ‘I’ve been to the hospital. Poor old Vinnie’s hitting the wall. I thought I’d better come back and tell Belinda. Anyway, you keep dropping in, mate.’ He finds another smile, as if he’s using it to hold back a tide of tiredness. ‘We need to see your face. Catch you, mate.’
I say goodbye, and go home, with plenty to think about.
40
We play footy at a school near the bay that takes Trav’s old man two hours to find, but at least when we get there we flog them. Trav and I run wild, doing whatever we like, playing up and down the ground like AFL superstars until Tindale drags us in the third quarter for ignoring our opponents. So we sit on a bench in the sun, drink water, eat snakes, and spend our time watching some girls playing soccer on the next oval.
I like these girls. I like the way their hair shivers and shakes when they run, and I like the way they laugh when things go right or wrong. In fact, I just like them.
‘Hailey plays soccer.’ Trav spits water onto the ground between his red boots. ‘She’s considerably less than great.’
I laugh. ‘You told her yet?’
‘She knows.’ Trav and I watch as the other guys kick their first goal. ‘God, put us back on. This coaching is disgraceful.’
I’ll say one thing for Coach Tindale – he’s got good hearing.
‘Travis,’ Mr Tindale says, looming over us, ‘I was going to put you both on five minutes ago, but you were too busy watching the girls.’
‘That’s okay, Mr T,’ Trav says. ‘We’re happy here. So, Jarvy, what’s happening tonight with the Electric kettle? Because I’ve got to call Hailey and tell her.’
‘We’ll meet her at Olympic Park.’ I watch as Coach Tindale sends out identical twins, Rowan and Jordie Johnson, to confuse the opposition – although they have different numbers, and one wears long sleeves, so it probably won’t work. ‘We’ll catch the train in at about six or something. And don’t bring Dot. Hey, you can’t ring now.’ Trav has his phone out.
‘Oh, shit, yeah. I forgot.’ He pokes his phone down his sock. ‘She won’t be home. I’ll try at three-quarter time.’
I watch Jordie and Rowan swap positions, as each generally likes to play where the other is.
‘Electra’s driving in with her coach.’ I watch our fullback chatting to some girl over the fence. ‘He hates passengers, and strangers, and talks tactics for hours. Which is strange, considering the race only lasts for twenty-three seconds.’
‘She’s just lucky it’s not a marathon.’ Trav squints across the ground to where a couple of old guys are pointing out various players. ‘See those guys over there? They’re AFL development guys. Or from some feeder club. You know, like the Oakleigh Chargers, or something.’
‘How d’you know?’ I feel my stomach tighten. I mean, I don’t think AFL scouts would really be interested in a player like me, but I suppose sometimes they make mistakes.
‘My dad just sent me a text. He was talking to them.’ Trav lowers his voice as he transfers his phone from his sock to his tracksuit pocket. ‘So when we get back on, we look for each other at every opportunity. And freakin’ run hard and freakin’ go hard. And don’t tell anyone else.’
That sounds like a plan.
So we run our guts out, even though the game was virtually over in the first quarter. Coach Tindale seems most impressed.
‘This is unbelievable!’ I hear him mutter as Trav and I blast past down the wing, ready for the handball, or to murder someone with a shepherd off the ball. ‘Those two are usually the laziest players out there.’
Trav and I kick goals, we dive into packs, we crunch our own guys to get the ball, we tackle like maniacs, we keep our socks pulled up, we run into the fence, we take one-handed screamers, and we chase-chase-chase.
‘Jesus,’ Trav says, heaving for breath, hands on knees, as th
e final siren fades away. ‘If that’s how hard AFL is, they can stick it. I’m stuffed.’
We rest for a few seconds in the middle, spitting, grinning and panting, looking at each other until we make our way over towards the rest of the boys and the huddle.
‘That was a magnificent team effort.’ Trav looks around the ground as if he owns it. ‘But we were un-paralleled!’
I only wish Ms Inglis was here to hear him say that.
Trav’s dad drives us home, through suburbs close to the beach.
‘Those two old blokes wrote a few things down,’ Mr Bradbury tells us as we rumble down some road I have never seen before. ‘They wouldn’t give too much away, though. But I think they were from the Bulldogs. They had Bulldog pens. What number are you, Marc?’
‘Twenty-four.’
Mr Bradbury nods as we sit at the lights.
‘Well, you were there, Marc. And Travis.’ Mr Bradbury laughs as we take off. ‘Both with question marks, by the way.’
‘Question marks?’ Trav turns and looks at three girls outside a surf shop. ‘Try freakin’ exclamation marks. Or whatever those things are called.’
‘You should ask Ms Inglis if you have an English question,’ I say. ‘I’m sure she’d see that as a positive.’
Trav turns his head to keep the girls in sight.
‘There’s only one thing I’m positive about, Jarvis. And you’re it.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, watching a girl with long, straight, streaky blonde hair who’s just come out of a doughnut shop. ‘That’s nice to hear.’ I hope she has a good life, that girl, using a little bit of the old reverse karma, M. Jarvis-style, meaning I hope I have a good life, too.
‘I could do with a doughnut,’ Trav says, noticing where I am looking. ‘Pull over, Dad.’
Man, it’s working already.
41
Trav, Hailey and I get off at Richmond station. Ahead of us is Olympic Park, and to its right, the MCG sits like a huge black flying saucer that’s just landed. I like this part of Melbourne. I like being in amongst famous things you see on TV.
Jarvis 24 Page 16
