by Scot Gardner
I stopped on the drive. Jules stood beside me, arms crossed.
‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I’ve got this.’
‘You’ve got this?’
‘Yeah, I think I can handle things here.’
‘I know what it means, you just sounded all gangsta for a minute there, like you had balls or something.’
I shouldered him and he swaggered up the driveway.
My father extended his hand. I shook it.
‘Will, I . . .’ he began. ‘I really am sorry about what happened. With Claire especially, but I know I botched my job as a father long before that.’
I nodded, hesitantly. Who was this strange man?
‘Sofie said she spoke with you this morning.’
I nodded again.
He plunged his hands into the pockets of his suit pants and sighed. ‘I know you probably won’t be able to hear it, but I’m committed to change.’
I strangled a laugh.
‘Do over,’ he said. ‘Have another crack at life. The big comeback.’
I knew he wasn’t talking about his sporting career, or his commentary work.
‘Have you asked her to marry you?’
He flashed his teeth in a humourless smile. ‘Not yet.’
‘You should.’
He blinked and his brow creased. ‘You reckon?’
‘I reckon.’
‘Would you come? To the wedding?’
‘I doubt it. That’d be irreconcilably weird.’
He jutted his chin. ‘Fair call.’
‘Doesn’t mean I don’t approve. I think she loves you and she’ll marry you for sure.’
He flashed a proper smile at that. ‘Thanks.’
An uncomfortable silence settled around us.
‘Yeah, well,’ I said. ‘Good luck with all that.’
‘Thanks,’ he said again, and took a phone from his pocket. ‘I don’t know whose this is but it’s not Claire’s.’
‘Duane’s,’ I said, and slipped it into my own pocket. ‘Sorry about the mix-up.’
He opened his arms and we exchanged an industrial hug. Two assembly-line robots going at it.
‘Let’s try that again,’ I said. ‘Do over.’
He regarded me suspiciously.
I opened my arms. ‘Bend your knees a bit. Not so tight. You don’t have to punch me. That’s better.’
LIST
A BEARDED MAN in a hi-vis turban that matched his Milton’s shirt sat in the brew room when Jules and I arrived the following morning a full two minutes before eight o’clock. The man smiled and stood.
‘William, Julian,’ Joanie said, ‘this is Mr Mundra from the regional office.’
We shook hands.
‘Call me Govind,’ he said.
‘Good to meet you, Govind,’ Julian said. He held the man’s gaze and shook his hand like a pro.
Tef and Jelat sat bolt upright. Doug and Ricky were disturbingly quiet.
We made small talk until Joanie marshalled the boys out the door. She asked me and Jelat to stay behind.
‘Start up the north, Jules,’ Joanie said. ‘Will will be along shortly.’
‘Will will, will he?’
She shoved his shoulder playfully, in a way she’d never done before.
Govind escorted Jelat into the centre.
Joanie looked troubled.
‘Everything okay?’
‘I just wanted to explain myself,’ she said.
‘Oh?’
‘Govind’s going to offer Jelat my job.’
‘Jelat?’
She nodded. ‘My recommendation. Julian will be his deputy.’
‘I see,’ I said, but I didn’t.
‘Youse are all good workers and I know I can rely on you in particular.’
‘Thanks. I think.’
‘But you can’t stay here. I won’t let you.’
My heart sank. Maybe she’d seen footage of me smacking some sense into Julian? Maybe she’d . . .
‘You need to get serious about something else. You need to go back to school. Go to college or uni or something like Tefari and Jelat. Need to keep your options open. You’re wasted here. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good job and all them boys are making something of themselves while they’re working. I’m saying you need to pull your finger out. Get on with your life. Soon as you can.’
The balls I’d been growing felt kicked. I’d hardly taken a breath as the new, loud, proud and unbroken version of myself and she was showing me the door. Every time I felt like I was getting comfortable . . .
‘Can you send Jules in when you find him? He’ll be getting the same lecture.’
That was it? You’re good, but you could be better than this.
‘Sure,’ I said, and made myself scarce.
‘So, if Jelat is sick,’ Julian said later, ‘then I’ll be the big boss?’
‘Yep.’
He punched the air. ‘Power!’
He laughed an evil-genius cackle and rubbed his hands together. ‘Better watch your back, sunshine.’
‘What did Joanie want you for earlier?’ I asked.
‘She reckons I need to get my school certificate. I dunno. I’m happy here. I’m good at this.’
‘You are. A natural. It’s your dream job.’
He laughed. ‘Yep, since I was a kid.’
‘Me too.’
We both laughed then.
Joanie had been right – I couldn’t do this forever. Neither could Jules. Nor Tef or Jelat. Living in West Tennant and doing this job wasn’t a prison sentence. They were all working towards other things. None of us were in this for the term of his natural life like Doug or Ricky or maybe even Joanie. For some people, pushing trolleys is a rung on a ladder, for others it’s the top floor. Regardless, it takes guts to be a trolley boy. The job looks simple enough, but the people doing it aren’t.
I had a future again, as hazy as it seemed. St Alphaeus wasn’t really an option anymore, but there were a hundred good schools out there. I could smell the possibilities like KFC and that shit always makes me hungry.
I needed to write myself a shopping list for my life. I bought a phone to write it on. Well, I bought myself a phone, Jules typed in his number and then I started my list.
Finger-puller-outer
Balls of steel
Non-toxic love
I stalled. It was harder than it seemed. I distracted myself by typing in the two numbers I knew by heart – Sofie’s and my father’s – but I only texted one.
New number. At last. Love you. Will.
I got a reply straight away. Bravo Boof. Love you too
*
‘Here,’ Julian said, and gave me my watch. I cleaned the glass with the pad of my thumb. It really was a thing of beauty.
‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘but you can keep it.’
He shrugged one shoulder. ‘Looks stupid on me.’
I gave Duane his phone that evening and he covered his mouth.
‘My dear sweet precious baby,’ he said, and peppered the screen with kisses. ‘Home again, at last.’
‘Go easy, it’s only a phone.’
‘Might be for you, Will, but for me it’s my conduit to the universe.’
‘Okaaay. Very poetic. That makes the sacrifice you made giving the thing to my father even more heroic.’
He gave my head a high-speed hug. ‘Thank you.’
‘My pleasure. Thank you.’
Later, when I’d been volunteered to barbecue the chicken skewers for dinner – in the rain – he stood beside me with an umbrella, shivering and trying not to breathe the smoke.
I got a text message after dinner.
Hugging practice?
My phone didn’t recognise the number, but I felt a little heart flutter. I knew who it was.
Ready when you are
Acknowledgements
BIG THANKS TO the good people at Kurnai College Churchill for a generation of inspiration – especially the crew I met delivering Hands On Le
arning. Thanks to Ben Sharman and Locky Milne for their honesty and wicked humour. I owe the High Lords of Trolley Services – Jason Woodbridge, Dave Throup and the team at United Trolley Collections – a huge debt of gratitude for allowing me behind the scenes in the kingdom they benevolently rule. And thanks to the effervescent AJ (Amanda) Betts for sharing her weird and evocative collection of shopping lists. Everybody needs a hobby.
About the Author
SCOT WASN’T BORN reading and writing; in fact he left school in Year Eleven to undertake an apprenticeship in gardening with the local council. He has worked as a waiter, masseur, delivery-truck driver, home dad, counsellor and musician.
Scot’s first fiction for young readers, One Dead Seagull, was published after he attended a writing camp and writing conferences with John Marsden. His many books since include White Ute Dreaming, Burning Eddy and most recently Happy as Larry, winner of the WA Premier’s Book Award for young adult fiction, and The Dead I Know, winner of the CBCA Book of the Year Award for Older Readers.
Scot lives with his wife in the bush in eastern Victoria. He spends half the year writing and half the year on the road talking to mostly young people about his books and the craft of writing.
