Jarvis 24

by David Metzenthen

  But it still doesn’t balance the equation.

  In the afternoon my mum drops me at Trav’s house, because she’s going to a fundraiser with his mum for another mother whose cosmetic surgery went wrong. Evidently this lady can’t lean over, or put on a seatbelt, as her boobs are too big, or so Trav says. But my mum, obviously, has got more than Mrs Kennilworth’s chest on her mind.

  ‘Now, Marc.’ She says my name as if she wants to make sure she’s got the right person. ‘Marc.’

  ‘What?’ I pray she is not going to talk about Electra, or I will throw myself out of this car, and into the traffic – well, I won’t, as I’m sitting on the wrong side, but I will definitely get the hell out of here as soon as possible. ‘Quick. I gotta get going. I’m late.’

  ‘Look, I know you’re having a hard week, but your dad and I have been talking.’ My mum manages to get the steering lock on at the third attempt. ‘And since you seemed to do such a good job at the car yard, we’ve decided that we’ll put five thousand dollars away for you to buy, when you’re old enough, a car. Meaning you’ll have to add as much as you can, to get something with some reasonable safety features.’

  I stop, with one foot out of the door, and one hand on the seat. Well, now, that’s not the worst deal I’ve ever heard of, and coming somewhat out of nowhere, I must say.

  ‘All right,’ I say, picturing a Commodore ute with me driving it. ‘Cool. Great. I’ll see you later then.’

  And I complete my exit.

  Speaking of utes, when Trav and I walk down to the shops late on Saturday afternoon to buy cinnamon doughnuts, we see a dirty white Falcon ute with Caterpillar mudflaps and Queensland plates parked in GateWay Auto. We stop.

  ‘Mikey’s brother’s got a ute,’ I say cautiously. ‘And that one’s got Queensland plates on it. So what d’you reckon? D’you think we should go up or not?’

  Trav selects a doughnut from the bag we’ve just gone halves in.

  ‘No way. Are you mental? We’re outta here. Anyway, it’s probably just some rural tradin’ it in.’

  I guess so, although if it is Mikey’s brother, I doubt he could’ve tracked Mikey down without some help from somewhere from someone. In other words, it has to have been an inside job, although from where inside, or from whom inside, is the obvious question.

  ‘You didn’t make a phone call to Queensland, by any chance?’ I ask, guessing I already know the answer. ‘Did you, Trav? I mean, I doubt you did. But I know you do get The Big Issue at your place.’

  ‘Me?’ Trav gives the last doughnut to Dot, making it a five/ three split their way. ‘Of course not. Lesbians have telephones, too, you know, Jarvis. And letterboxes.’ He gives me the paper bag to deal with. ‘Anyway, I think my work here is done. Let’s go round to Hailey’s. The monster plasma has arrived. So are you catchin’ up with Electra tonight or what?’

  I’m in shock. More shock. Total shock. First the Marc Jarvis Future Car Fund and now this.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ I say. ‘Sunday. We’re going into town. Apparently Coach Tom Geraghty’s not that stoked that she’s leaving.’ To say the least. ‘So she’s staying out of his way as much as possible.’

  ‘Understandable.’ Trav helps Dot push the button for the lights. ‘She’s got drug free gold medal written all over. He’d be smashed losing a runner like her.’

  That makes two of us.

  ‘You sent Immy the magazine?’ I need to confirm this, just for my own records. ‘How do you know where she lives?’

  Trav sets off with Dot across the road.

  ‘I asked her, Jarvy. Sometimes, things are that simple.’

  I guess, sometimes, they are.

  ‘You’re a legend,’ I say, having to walk fast to keep up. ‘I never thought of doing it like that. Man, perhaps I should have. Besides, Mikey made it pretty clear that me and Belinda should stay out of it. Or that’s the message I got.’

  Trav and I cross the road, Dot prancing sideways, holding the lead in her teeth, growling.

  ‘Yeah. Well.’ Trav pats the growling Dot, which is another thing I wouldn’t do. ‘Attack from another angle. That’s my good deed for the year. You got any money? I could do with a Coke.’

  47

  Electra and I wander through the city, holding hands, hardly looking at anything although there are lots of things to look at, like the river, buildings that seem to be made purely of black glass, and mysterious alleyways full of white vans and dumpsters. But eventually the walking has to stop and the talking has to begin.

  ‘I guess we’ll just have to see what happens in the future,’ Electra says doubtfully, as we sit in an open café by the river. ‘Won’t we? You know, things might work out. If they’re supposed to. I mean, I don’t know. I haven’t had much experience with stuff like this.’ She gives me a tiny, faded smile. ‘Serious boyfriend things. Big life things. As you know.’

  Me? Geez, I know nothing. Except that Electra saying she knows as little about how to handle our situation as I do, makes me feel a little happier. Or, it makes me feel less sad. It makes me feel something, anyway. Not worse. Well, maybe worse. No, yes – yes, it does make me feel worse, but anyway.

  ‘I guess I could come up and visit you.’ I look at the people walking past, coming and going all the time, and I know that this visit to Canberra probably won’t ever happen, because it might be even sadder than what we’re going through now. I mean, it’d involve us leaving each other again at some point. ‘I could ring you, of course,’ I add. ‘And there’s email, text and fax. Plus letters by sea and air. And I’ll read the paper. Which you’ll be in. And see you on TV. Perhaps a documentary on Fox.’

  ‘If I didn’t run,’ Electra says, chin on her hand, looking at a passing tubby white boat with a black funnel, ‘it’d all be different, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘It would be,’ I say. ‘Because if you didn’t run, you’d still be in Broome, and I’d have never met you. So I’m glad you do. I mean, let’s face it, you’re gifted.’ I’m trying to keep this conversation pretty straight as it’s in everyone’s best interests not to get too emotional in public. ‘So. Well. You do run. Fast. It’s pretty simple really.’ Not. I look at the river. It’s brown. Not a lot of inspiration there.

  Electra covers my hand with hers. I feel like I’m anchored to the table. I look at Flinders Street Station across the river, where trains and people come and go. It’s huge and yellow, the colour of a cheap ice-cream cake; and although it looks like stone, supposedly some of the front is made from tin, which is another fact I don’t really need to know, although there’s a vague chance Ms Inglis might be interested.

  ‘Don’t look over there, Marc. Look at me.’ Electra taps a code into my hand. ‘Don’t go missing on me now. Or I’ll put you in the freakin’ Big Issue.’

  ‘The problem with that is,’ I say, feeling cruel to the core, ‘it’s not me who’s going missing, is it? It’s you.’ I score a hit, but it’s like scoring points off a kid – and when she puts her elbows on the table, her hands to her face, I feel like a dog. No offence, Dot.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, but I don’t touch her. Instead I look at the city, so big and serious, and wonder how one girl, who I’ve only known for a few months, can exert more force on me than anyone else, just about, in or out of the whole wide world. I take hold of her hand. ‘C’mon, let’s get out of here.’

  We walk towards the footbridge, and as we cross it I realise that from the very first time I saw Electra run towards me, I pretty much figured that she was simply way too fast to not run away from me in the end.

  In a way, it’s a pity that I wasn’t wrong.

  In another way, I’m glad I was right.

  And if that doesn’t get me votes for Best and Fairest, I give up.

  When we say goodbye outside Coach Tom Geraghty’s house in the mournful, cooling air of late Sunday afternoon, it’s not too bad as we both know that this is just a practice run for the real thing. And so it goes quite smoothly.

  ‘I’ll s
ee you, Marc.’ Electra stands on the footpath outside Coach Tom’s house, as if she knows she no longer belongs there. ‘Say hello to everyone.’

  ‘Yeah, I will.’

  And I go, with a kiss, leaving her with a kiss.

  Taking it one day at a time.

  48

  There’s no footy training on Thursday as there’s no game on Saturday, being a long weekend. So I wander up the driveway of GateWay Auto to check what’s going on, and see, just as I’m arriving, that Belinda’s leaving, keys, gloves and bag in hand.

  ‘Hey, Marc.’ She smiles, bright-eyed as a blackbird. ‘Your timing’s good. I’m just on my way round to Mikey’s place. His brother Brad’s here. Really, he is. All the way from Queensland.’ She gives me a look I’d classify as enigmatic. ‘So d’you want to come? I’ll drop you home afterwards if you do. But you’d better ring your mum first.’

  I knew it was that ute! So, ten points to me, and ten hundred to Trav, although if anyone asks me about who delivered what magazine to who, and which person made what phone call to whoever, whatever, I’ll tell them nothing.

  ‘Yeah, I’d like to come,’ I say, knowing that I’m in no hurry to do last week’s homework, or walk home. ‘I’ll call my mum in a sec. Geez, I bet Mikey’s pleased. I mean, I hope he is.’

  Belinda rattles her keys like dice. She smiles like a card shark.

  ‘He’s fine. In fact, he’s about a hundred per cent happier than I’ve seen him for weeks. But I didn’t question him too closely about how his brother ended up here. I though I’d just leave that right alone. Except to swear that I had nothing to do with it, which is true.’ Belinda looks at me. ‘And you?’

  ‘Nothing to do with me,’ I say. ‘I promise.’ And I get in Belinda’s little car that smells of chewing gum, kids’ stuff and perfume, and out we tootle onto Glenferrie Road.

  ‘Now. Tell me …’ Belinda concentrates on a right hand turn. ‘How’s Electra?’

  Did I just hear the Central Locking snap on, or was it my imagination?

  ‘She’s all right,’ I say. ‘In a manner of speaking.’ That is a cliché I got from Ms Inglis. I don’t even know what it means, but it gives me time to consider what manner of speaking I might come up with in six kilometres or less, to explain one of the very worst weeks of my life. ‘She’s leaving. She’s going to live in Canberra.’

  ‘Oh, Marc.’ Belinda shakes her head, looking ahead at the Melbourne skyline, as if the whole city has let her down. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘She’s going to the Australian Institute of Sport.’ I look at buildings by the road that are old and fancy and rundown, with upstairs rooms full of dusty stories, some probably even sadder than mine. ‘She has to go. I get that. But I don’t like it.’ That seemed like a reasonable manner of speaking. ‘It sucks. Big time.’ I could move onto a very un-reasonable way of speaking, but I don’t. ‘So. That’s the story.’

  We drive in silence until Belinda finally breaks the sound barrier as we pass an antique shop that has a stuffed bear in the front window, with one paw up as if it’s playing table tennis.

  ‘It’s been a shocker of a week.’ She moves her head as if she’s disgusted with the weather. ‘An absolute shocker. That’s all I can say, and all I will say.’

  ‘No, you can say it again,’ I say. ‘I do every five minutes.’

  We laugh; at least we manage that – but not much, and not for long, at least in mathematical terms, as far as the big equation is concerned.

  I survive this conversation only to find myself on a Life Learning Curve that Ms Inglis could get a year’s worth of subject matter from.

  ‘I’ll tell you, Marc,’ Belinda says, ‘when Casey’s dad died, I never thought I’d ever feel even half happy again. His name was Steve. He died in a truck accident. But you get through these things. Basically because there’s no option.’ Belinda drives on, as if to prove it. ‘Now, I know that won’t make you feel any better at the moment, but that’s the truth. And then somehow you find yourself further on down the track. And you can see the world again. And know how lucky you are to be in it.’

  I miss about the last eighty percent of that. I’m so stuck on the bit about this guy, Steve, dying, that about four out of my five senses have shut down.

  ‘I didn’t know your – ’ I say. ‘I just thought he had – boy, I’m sorry.’ I think of Amelia-Anne and send her a prayer, a little one, short and to the point.

  ‘It’s what happens sometimes.’ Belinda drives confidently up the curly road that runs beside the railway line near Mikey’s. ‘So, anyway, I do understand. And you will feel better. But it’ll take a while.’ She stops outside Mikey’s house, behind the big, white, tough-looking bush ute. ‘Good things happen as well as bad.’ She smiles. ‘More often than you’d think.’

  They do, I know. And they add up.

  But do they add up enough?

  That’s the question.

  Mikey opens the door with a flourish. Straightaway, I see that stacks of work has been done, and he looks fully re-energised, as if he’s had a total make-over himself.

  ‘Come in! Good to see you, guys.’ Mikey turns, hands up as if he’s about to kick-start an orchestra. ‘Progress! As you can see.’

  I can. All walls and windows have been painted white, and the floor has been polished to a deep honey colour. The fireplace has been sandblasted back to bare bricks, the mantelpiece has been replaced with a huge new slab of red timber, there are mini spotlights in the ceiling, and two new/old couches, and two shiny wooden tables stand against the walls. The place is immaculate. Even I can picture paintings on the wall, and I am no artist.

  ‘Go through to the kitchen.’ Mikey looks towards a doorway that I see has also had the treatment. ‘Brad’s out the back storing some work that’s just arrived.’

  A blue heeler, steel-coloured, built like a barrel, comes out of the kitchen, claws clacking, tongue hanging. With two black rings around his eyes he looks like he’s wearing sunglasses.

  ‘This is Chopper.’ Mikey looks at the dog who grins right back. ‘Dog from hell. If you’re a wild pig.’

  I give Chopper a pat. He seems happy to be away from hell.

  ‘The place looks fantastic, Mikey.’ Belinda steps warily around Chopper, who doesn’t seem the least bit offended. ‘You’ve done so much.’ She puts a hand on Mikey’s shoulder.

  ‘Brad’s been unbelievable.’ Mikey scans the place. ‘He hasn’t stopped. Queenslander, eh? You know, mad.’ He smiles, not quite as widely as Chopper. ‘Anyway. Come and meet the guy. He’s a bit shy, but if we get him a beer, he shouldn’t bolt. At least until he’s finished it. The beer, that is.’

  Belinda lets Chopper examine her handbag. It seems doubtful that he’s ever seen one before. He just keeps on grinning as if she’s just told the best joke ever, showing matching mountain ranges of white teeth.

  ‘You coming, Chopper?’ Belinda walks around him. ‘Lead on, Mikey. I could do with a drink myself.’

  Yes, it’s amazing how exhausting a fifteen-minute drive can be.

  At the kitchen table, surrounded by wooden cupboards with small silver handles, sits a big guy in a cut-off shirt. He has tattooed arms, a ponytail, and looks like Mikey, only older, wider, heavier, and tougher, with a vibe like a truck driver straight off the highway. In front of him sit a dozen cans of Fourex.

  ‘I’m Brad.’ He stands up, reaching across to shake Belinda’s hand, and then mine. ‘Siddown. Good to meet chers.’

  We sit on old white wooden chairs. Through an open door I can see paintings leaning against a wall like strangely placed windows into other worlds. There’s a series of pictures of lakes without much water, the clouds hovering like UFOs.

  ‘That’s the first lot of work I’ve got in,’ Mikey says. ‘A girl from the country. She’s brilliant. But I’m working on Brad here to give me some drawings, or even one drawing, to be the first piece that goes up on the wall.’ Mikey looks at Brad. ‘Since he’s been working like a man possessed
.’

  ‘All I did was bring yer bloody dog down, mate.’ Brad takes a long drink. ‘And wash yer bloody paintbrushes. Who wants a beer? Help yerselves.’ He pushes a six-pack towards us.

  Belinda takes a beer but I decide against it. Just like I decide that I will never ask Brad anything about The Big Issue.

  ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Brad.’ Belinda opens a yellow can. ‘Welcome to Melbourne.’

  ‘Yeah, thanks.’ He looks like a bloke who could single-handedly put a circus tent up in an afternoon in a hurricane. ‘Yeah, it’s all right. But, as I was saying to young Mikey, I’ll be back over the border some time the day after tomorrer. Amen.’ He grins. ‘Not that I don’t like you folks. It’s just that sugar cane won’t wait for any bastard. Nor will the old man. Who sends his regards, by the way.’ Brad lifts his beer, and drinks.

  ‘See?’ says Mikey to Belinda and I. ‘We do get on. At a distance.’

  For a while no one says anything, Chopper panting like an air compressor, still smiling, showing us all how to get through an awkward silence.

  ‘One day, Bradley,’ says Mikey. ‘I’ll work you out.’

  ‘You won’t.’ Brad grips his beer with fingers like cables. ‘But that’s not your problem.’ He grins. ‘And in fact, mate, it’s no problem at all. But what you could do is come home one day. For however long. Or short. It’s your call.’

  ‘Now you tell me.’ Mikey looks like he might laugh, but doesn’t quite make it. ‘And one day I will. I promise.’

  Well, I think The Big Issue certainly deserves a big round of applause. And the next time I see one for sale, I’ll buy it. I can’t say that I’ll read it, but I’ll buy it.

  49

  I’m trying to be in denial, but it’s not working. I am trying to convince myself that Electra isn’t leaving, that we might see each other again after tonight, that Canberra’s only a hop, step and a jump away; but I’m kidding myself, because where she’s headed, normal people can’t go.