by Scot Gardner
I poked my tongue at her.
‘What do you want for your birthday?’ she asked.
Mum put her hand over her mouth. ‘Seventeen. Jesus.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You’ll need some wheels,’ Mario said, and my eyes lit up.
Mario pushed his hand at me. ‘Not a car. You can get yourself a car when you’ve got your licence. A bike. Get you to work and back.’
‘Ride a pushie to Chrissy Bay?’
‘Seven thirty start,’ Mario said. ‘Too early for your mum and I’ll be offshore for two weeks. Maybe you could organise a lift. Until you do, do you want a new bike? Would you ride it?’
‘Of course,’ I said. I’d only been walking everywhere since Gel rode my old shitbox off the end of the jetty. I’d missed the buzzing buckle in the front wheel. I hadn’t missed putting the friggin chain back on or the grinding sound the big end bearings made when I pedalled.
‘You’ve got to look after it,’ Mario whined.
‘Of course.’
‘Like your last bike?’ Sharon said, and scoffed.
‘That was Gel. It wasn’t me. He stacked it.’
Mum slapped my shin. ‘Never your fault, hey, Gary?’
‘Yes. Well, it’s not.’
Mum glared.
Trixie came tick-tacking along the hall. Sharon picked her up and dumped her on the end of my bed. The dog went spacko. Mum patted her and she rubbed her face on my doona and snuffled. She eventually curled up like she was set for the night.
‘Tomorrow morning,’ Mario said. ‘First thing. We’ll go bike shopping.’
I poked my bottom lip out but inside I was smiling like a retard. ‘The shops won’t open until nine.’
‘Yep, and we’ll be there when they do.’
‘What do you want for your birthday from me?’ Sharon asked again.
‘I don’t know. You think of something.’
‘Get him a girlfriend, Shaz,’ Mum suggested.
‘Yeah, a blow-up one,’ Mario said.
‘No,’ Mum said. ‘A real flesh and bone one. With your resources, Shaz, that shouldn’t be too much of a challenge. Then maybe he’d be motivated to clean up his bloody room.’
‘Yeah, likely,’ I said.
‘Ness would go out with him tomorrow, grotty room or not.’
I groaned. Sharon’s mate Vanessa had had the hots for me since primary school. It was torture when I stayed down in grade six. Vanessa and the twins (who also managed to stay down at the end of grade six) were the only people in the world who were glad that I stayed down. Vanessa could bother me for another year and Aggie and Gel couldn’t hang shit on me for attracting a preppy — Vanessa was in grade one the second time I was in grade six.
‘She’s coming on Saturday,’ Sharon said.
‘Where?’
‘To my sleepover.’
‘I’m out of here.’
Mario and Mum laughed. Mum shook my knee and left. Mario slapped her on the bum as she went past and then followed her into the kitchen.
‘What do you really want?’ Sharon asked again.
‘I really don’t know.’
She rolled her eyes and left. Trixie sighed and licked her lips. I put my headphones on and lay back on my pillow. Soon I could smell dinner. My guess was hamburgers. The smell changed suddenly and I realised with a groan that the scent of hamburgers had been overpowered by chumpy dog fart. I shoved at Trixie and my finger pressed against the warm wetness of her bumhole.
For the first time in quite a few years, I washed my hands before dinner. Without being asked.
Four
Sharon was bouncing on my bed sometime before dawn. ‘Happy birthday, Gaz. You awake yet? Come on, wake up. I want to give you your present before I go to school.’
I groaned and rolled over, covering my head with my pillow. My sister’s hands were straight under the doona and tickling my feet.
‘Fuck off!’ I shouted into the bed.
‘Birthday, birthday,’ she chanted.
I flipped and sat up, trying — unsuccessfully — not to smile.
Sharon dropped a purple package on my doona. ‘Birthday. Come on, open it. I’ve got to go.’
It was a beanie. A black beanie with a shiny green mull leaf stitched on the front.
‘Cool,’ I croaked.
‘I knew you’d like it. I found it in Chrissy Bay about a month ago. I’ve been busting to give it to you.’
I pulled it on and patted it down. ‘So that was all bullshit asking me what I wanted last night?’
She nodded. ‘Looks great. Do you like it?’
‘Yeah. Excellent. Fanks.’
Mum barged in, dressing-gown flapping. ‘Is he awake? Happy birthday, Gary.’
Mum gave me a pair of dirty-black jeans and a Metallica t-shirt with a flaming skull on the front.
‘It glows in the dark,’ she said.
‘Really?’
‘Uh huh. Just the eyes.’
‘Wicked.’
Then Mario was at the door. ‘Come on. Get your arse into gear, birthday boy. Breaky’s on the table.’
Mum kissed me as she was leaving. So did Shaz. I didn’t fight, though I did wipe my cheek on my sleeve.
We drove to Christmas Bay and pulled up in front of Duncan’s Bike World at nine oh three. Mario was serious about getting me a bike. You don’t roll a bike out of Duncan’s with anything smaller than a five hundred dollar hole in your pocket.
I parked my bum on the slickest-looking Mongoose. Full chrome, stunt pegs, the works. Eight hundred and ninety dollars. I whistled through my teeth.
‘You’ll want something with gears, won’t you?’
I thought about that long stretch of road through the farmland near the Kellep River Bridge. The land is so flat there that when it floods you’d be excused for thinking it was a lake. Riding my old BMX along that stretch seemed to take days. I jumped off the Mongoose and sat on a Giant. Mountain bike, twenty-one speed, front and rear shocks.
‘Can I help youse at all?’ Duncan asked.
‘Yeah,’ Mario said. ‘Just having a look for a bike for Gaz.’
‘Looks like he’s found one! You want to take it for a spin?’ Duncan said, and cleared a path so I could ride out the front door. Mario stood on the footpath and I crunched through the gears. I rode down the hill then monoed back to where Mario was standing. All the way. No wobbles. The Giant balanced like it had another set of wheels at the back.
‘Keep the wheel on the ground,’ Mario growled. ‘Don’t stuff the thing before we get it out of the shop.’
I stood on the pedals and bounced on the shocks.
‘You guys live over at Mullet Head, don’t you? I think I’ve seen you around,’ Duncan said.
Mario nodded.
‘All sealed bearings. Important when you live near the beach. Just sensible design these days. Centre pull brakes on the front and disc on the rear. Comes with a —’
‘How much?’ Mario interrupted.
‘List price is nine ninety-five but we can do it for . . . say . . . nine fifty.’
I scoffed.
Mario looked at me. ‘What do you reckon? Do you like it?’
‘Yes . . . but . . . ’
He shrugged. ‘Will you look after the thing?’
‘Of course.’
‘Twelve months warranty, parts and labour . . . for normal wear and tear,’ Duncan said.
‘Nine hundred,’ Mario said.
It was Duncan’s turn to scoff. ‘No. Nine fifty is as low as I can go on that one. Because you’re locals and that I can throw in a tool kit and an endurance drink bottle.’
‘Okay, Gaz, let’s go.’
‘I’ve got a couple of top range Malvern Stars you could have a look at.’
‘My boy wants that one. Can you do it for nine hundred? Cash?’
‘I’ll have to have a look . . . at my price list.’
Duncan disappeared and Mario smiled.
‘You’re
a shocker,’ I said.
He poked his lip out. ‘I don’t mind how much I pay when I’m buying quality, as long as I feel like I’m getting a real bargain.’
I shook my head and popped the wheel off the ground again. Such a smooth ride.
Duncan was on the footpath, hands in the pockets of his jeans. ‘Okay,’ he mumbled. ‘Nine hundred.’
‘We’ll take it,’ Mario said, and winked.
With the new bike hanging out the boot of the VK, we drove passed the RTA where I’d done the test for my learner’s permit exactly one year before. Ninety-four per cent. Piece of piss. It was the only test I’d ever done where I gave a shit about the result. The learner’s permit manual was the only book I’d ever wanted to read from cover to cover and I’d read it about six times.
I spent the best part of the day with Muz. I kind of felt obliged. I made him a bowl of two-minute noodles for lunch.
‘What’s going on here?’ he said. ‘I’m supposed to be fussing over you. It’s your bloody birthday.’
He reckoned he’d never had two-minute noodles for lunch. I told him he hadn’t lived and I felt like a master chef. He reckoned they were all right but he didn’t finish the bowl. Trixie ate the scraps and got them stuck in her beard. Looked like she had worms.
At four o’clock, an old brown Ford pulled into the driveway and Mario put my thoughts into words.
‘Look out. Here comes the Prince of Darkness.’
Grandad. He grabbed the roof and the open doorframe and pulled himself out of the car, then steadied himself with the hand on the roof and locked the door.
‘As if anyone would want to steal that shitbox,’ Mario said, loud enough that Grandad would have heard him, if Grandad wasn’t as deaf as a bridge pylon. He needs to be able to see your mouth when you’re talking to him.
Grandad hobbled to the boot of the car and grabbed a parcel wrapped in balloon paper.
‘His memory is pretty good, I’ll give him that,’ Mario said, and went back to tinkering under the bonnet.
‘There he is!’ Grandad yelled. ‘The birthday boy.’
‘You remembered!’ I yelled back.
‘Bullshit. Your mother phoned. Said I had to go and get you a bike helmet. Here it is.’
He shoved the parcel at me.
‘Fanks.’ I pushed the paper off and laughed. I showed it to Muz.
‘It’s a bloody girl’s helmet, Warren,’ Mario shouted.
‘Is it? I didn’t notice.’
‘It’s got flowers all over it.’
‘The receipt’s inside it. Take it back if you don’t like it. Better still, don’t wear one at all. Smacking your head on the road might knock a bit of sense into you.’
‘Give him a break, Warren. Just for one day. Just for his birthday.’
‘Shut up you whingeing wog,’ Grandad growled and slapped the front quarter panel of the VK. ‘Why don’t you take this heap of shit to the tip and bring yourself back a decent car?’
Mario smiled and shook his head. ‘You’re in fine form today, you grumpy old scrote.’
‘Ay?’ Grandad said. ‘Where’s your new bike, dickhead?’
I put the helmet on the workbench and grabbed the Giant from the back verandah, jumped on and sped across the lawn. I slammed on the skids and Grandad’s hands came up to protect him.
‘Slow down!’ he growled. He looked the bike up and down and kicked the tyre. ‘Did you pay for this, wog? You’re a nutcase. It’ll be stuffed in two days.’
Ash appeared from around the side of the house.
Grandad’s face cracked. ‘G’day, Amy!’ he said, and Ash smiled.
‘G’day, Mr Lamb.’
He turned his back to me. ‘Still got your school uniform on, love?’
‘Yes, I just got home.’
‘Ay? Why do you girls wear pants all the time now?’
‘So dirty old pricks like you don’t mess in your pants,’ I said, loud enough for Ash to hear. She smiled and put her hand over her mouth.
‘What happened to school dresses, ay?’
‘What about all the school dresses in your wardrobe, you filthy bastard?’ I said to the back of his head.
Mario yapped a laugh and covered it with a cough.
Ash’s shoulders were shaking. She was biting the inside of her finger.
‘Ay?’ Grandad said, and stepped closer to Ash. ‘All the boys like dresses.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘All the boys at the RSL like your dresses, don’t they, Grandad?’
Mario wheezed. Ash started snorting.
‘You got a boyfriend, Amy?’
‘Grandad has, haven’t you, Grandad?’
Ash lost it. Squealed with laughter. That got Mario going.
‘What?’ Grandad said. He looked at me. ‘What?’
He still didn’t have a clue but in true Grandad style he decided that the joke couldn’t have been on him.
‘You have!’ he bellowed, and put his hand on Ash’s shoulder. ‘You have got a boyfriend. What’s his name, sweetheart?’
‘No, Mr Lamb. I haven’t. I promise,’ Ash said. She was trying to politely back away from him.
I got off my bike and grabbed the old fart in a headlock. I shouted in his ear. ‘Leave her alone. Can’t you see you’re freaking her out?’
I rubbed the five strands of hair on his head with my knuckles and kept rubbing until he swore and let Ash go.
He shoved me off, his face red, dribble shining on his chin.
‘You little bastard,’ he said, and lunged at me. ‘You’ve stuffed me hair.’
I sidestepped him and grabbed Ash by the sleeve. We bolted inside. Grandad patted his head and started hanging shit on Muz.
Ash was still laughing through her nose. ‘It’ll come back to bite you on the arse, Gaz. One day he’ll clean out his ears or get a hearing aid.’
‘Like I could give a rat’s clacker. You know what he’s like.’
‘Here,’ she said, and dug into her pocket. She pulled out a little package. Purple tissue paper. ‘Happy birthday.’
‘Shit. Fanks, mate. You didn’t have to . . . Makes me feel like a real dick. I never get you anything. When’s your birthday again?’
Ash stuffed her fingers into her pockets and shrugged. ‘I haven’t got a birthday.’
‘Bull.’
It was a ring. A silver skull ring. The skull’s jaws were partly open, revealing a mouthful of pointy fangs.
‘Wicked.’
‘Do you like it?’
‘Yeah!’ I slipped it on the ring finger of my right hand and it wouldn’t go over the knuckle. I whipped it off and stuck it on my little finger. Made a fist. ‘Absolutely wicked. I love it. Fanks.’
‘No worries.’
And just for a split second, I did feel like a dick. Ash and me didn’t do birthday presents or that sort of thing. Not until then, anyway.
Ash shifted feet. ‘Come over for a billy later?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, and that bubble of awkwardness popped.
Ash had left when Mum brought the birthday cake home. Shop sponge with pink icing and little silver balls all over it.
‘Beautiful, Mum,’ I said.
‘Sorry about the icing, love. There wasn’t much of a choice.’
‘No, I mean it. It goes with the helmet Grandad gave me.’
She made me show her the helmet. She shook her head. ‘He’s bloody hopeless. Did he give you the receipt?’
I rattled the bit of paper.
Dad phoned as we were sitting down for a birthday tea of little hot dogs, party pies and sausage rolls.
Sharon had made fairy bread and she answered the phone. ‘It’s your father,’ she whispered.
I grabbed the portable phone and closed my bedroom door.
‘Dad!’
‘Gary, you legend! Seventeen! Happy birthday, mate.’
‘Fanks. How are you going?’
‘Oh yeah, not bad for an old bloke. Jeez, Sharon sounds old on the phone. It’s her
birthday this month, too, isn’t it? How old is she now. Ten? Must be nearly ten.’
‘Thirteen.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘No. She’s thirteen next Monday.’
‘Far out. How’s old Kazza holding up with two teenagers in the house?’
‘Mum’s fine. Great.’
‘Give her my love, won’t you, mate?’
‘Yep. No worries.’ As if, I thought.
‘Better get going, mate. Just called to wish you a happy birthday and that. Hope you have a good one, ay. You’ll be getting your licence next. Shit.’
‘Got my learner’s last year. Only three hundred and sixty-five sleeps. Not long now. I’ll drive up for a visit.’
‘That’d be great, Gary. We’ve got the spare room. Come and stay as long as you want.’
‘Fanks. I might come up before I get my licence.’
‘Yeah?’
‘I’ve got a job.’
‘Whaaat? What about school?’
‘Sick of school. I’m working as a plumber.’
‘An apprenticeship?’
‘Yes, sort of.’
‘That’s bloody great, mate. Fantastic. Just give us a call when you get your holidays so we can clean all the shit out of the spare room. Stay as long as you want. You’ll love it up here. Plenty of work. The weather is unreal.’
‘Better than this shithole.’
Dad laughed. I heard a faint crackle and hiss as he sucked on his cigarette. His lips popped and he held the mouthpiece as he coughed. ‘So we’ll see you when you get some holidays then, hey?’
‘Yep. I’ll give you a call.’
‘Great. Well, happy birthday again, mate. Hope it’s a goodie.’
‘Fanks, Dad. How’s work and that?’
‘Oh, okay. See you,’ he said, and hung up.
Mum stuck the best part of two packets of candles into the cake and nearly set the kitchen on fire. Muz, Sharon and Mum howled ‘Happy Birthday’. Hip hip bullshit. I emptied my drug-fucked lungs at the candles. One of the little bastards wouldn’t go out and I got a bit of a head spin.
‘Whoah,’ Sharon said. ‘Who’s the lucky girl, ay?’
‘Or guy,’ Mario said.
‘Vanessa is going to be so jealous.’
‘Piss off.’
Mum drove me to Target to exchange my helmet after dinner. We’d just got through the doors when a butch-sounding woman announced on the PA that the store was going to close in five minutes.
