Summer

by Michelle Zoetemeyer

  As soon as Uncle Dennis saw the stilts, he jumped up and ran over. “C’mon,” he whined, “give us a burl.”

  I handed him my stilts and watched him try to balance without spilling his beer. He got about three steps down the path and tripped, dropping his beer, landing hard on his bum. “Bloody hell, that’s hard.” He rubbed his backside and picked himself up off the ground.

  “Serves ya right.” Aunty Joanne berated him. “That’s what ya get for being such a nong.”

  “Oh no, not the beer,” he complained, reaching down to rescue the can he dropped.

  “Have a go at that!” Uncle Mick pointed to Uncle Dennis’ bum crack, which was on display above the top of his Stubbies. “You could park a bike in there.”

  Everyone laughed at Uncle Mick’s joke. It’s always fun to see an adult make a fool of themself and we could always count on Uncle Dennis for that. He never let us down.

  “I don’t know how you can drink that piss anyway,” Uncle Mick said, referring to Uncle Dennis’ KB. “That’s not a man’s drink” – he held up a can of Tooheys – “this is a man’s drink.” Then, to the obvious annoyance of Aunty Audrey, he started to sing the song from the Tooheys ad.

  “I feel like a Tooheys, I feel like a Tooheys, I feel like a Tooheys or two.”

  “Mick! Will you stop singing that stupid song?” Aunty Audrey snapped at him.

  “And mind your language; there are kids around,” added Dad.

  “Oops, sorry kids.” He gave me a wink.

  I giggled at him, which earned me a dirty look from Aunty Audrey. I took the clacker-clacks off and handed them to Janice, who’d been pestering me for a turn ever since I got them. My hand was already red from where the balls kept hitting me. If I didn’t get good at it soon, I would end up with bruises all over my hand.

  Remembering the yummy party food I headed into the garage to get something to eat. The table was packed with plates of food and half covered with one of Mum’s throwovers. There was fairy bread and party pies, frankfurts with tomato sauce, and biscuits with faces. Aunty Jo’s gingerbread men were almost finished and so were the pigs in blankets.

  Jeanette was picking at the food like she wasn’t game to eat more than a nibble at a time. Damo, on the other hand, was stuffing his face with chocolate crackles. He shovelled them in so fast he smeared his face with chocolate. With his stocky build and dark hair and skin, the chocolate face paint made him look like a Maori.

  I lifted up the rest of the throwover and helped myself to the second last of the pigs in blankets. With the other hand, I got five Cheezels, one for each finger. I shooed a fly out that was trapped under the netting and covered the food again.

  Tom came up and stood next to me. “Thanks for letting me share your party, Jenny.”

  It was nice to see Tom so happy. Not that he’s normally unhappy, he’s not, it’s just that we’d both been a bit sad lately, so it was nice to know that I helped make him happy again. “I have a secret to tell you later,” I whispered.

  “Tell me now,” he said impatiently.

  I eyed Jeanette and Damo standing across from us. “Nope; it’ll have to wait til no one else is around.”

  Tom was not about to let me enjoy the power that came with having a secret as good as mine, so he shrugged and walked off.

  I turned around to see what all the racket behind me. Uncle Dennis was up to his old tricks again. Only, this time, he was pretending to run some of the kids over with my new bike. Chrissy jumped out of the way just as Uncle Dennis swerved to miss her. He wasn’t intending to actually get her, but she didn’t know he was going to swerve at the last second, and she jumped in front of him.

  “Dennis, stop that,” Aunty Joanne yelled, “act your age for crying out loud.”

  “Yeah, Uncle Dennis, get off, you’ll break it. I only got it today.”

  Dad took the bike off Uncle Dennis and wheeled it over to where I stood. “Here ya go Blondie; why don’t you put it in the shed for now?”

  I took his advice and wheeled it into the shed where it was out of Uncle Dennis’ way.

  “Who wants a game of cricket?” Uncle Mick yelled.

  Nobody answered him.

  He tried again, louder this time. “Who wants a game of cricket?”

  “Nah, it’s too hot,” said Tom, “maybe later.”

  None of the other kids responded, so he gave up and went back to talking to Clare.

  I don’t think Aunty Audrey liked Uncle Mick talking to Clare. She kept giving him filthy looks. He either had a death wish or he was just plain dumb, because he never took any notice of her.

  If I had to bet money on it, I’d say he was just plain dumb.

  After glaring at him one more time and still not getting a response, Aunty Audrey got up and flounced inside to help Mum. Boy, was he in for it now. I picked my clacker-clacks up off the ground were Janice had left them and dusted off the dirt. I walked inside to put them away. When I got inside, Brian, the little creep, was sitting at the table using my new twist up crayons to colour-in my new book. “Brian!” I screamed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  He dropped the crayon and ran.

  “Mum, did you see what the little turd was doing? He was colouring in with my new crayons. Look at this mess,” I held up the colouring-in book, “he can’t even stay inside the lines.”

  “Why don’t you go and put your stuff away, Jenny? That way, he can’t get at it.”

  I couldn’t believe she was letting him get away with it. Now I’d have to find a way to pay him back later.

  “And please watch your mouth, you sound like a lout.”

  I gathered up my stuff and huffed into my bedroom. I dropped it on the bed and closed the door behind me. I went to get Tom’s stuff so I could put it away also. “If I catch that little slime bucket in my room, he’ll cop it,” I said to Mum.

  I took Tom’s things into my room and put them on the floor next to my bed. I closed the door and went to join the others. I managed to catch the tail end of Mum and Aunty Audrey’s conversation before they realised I was back in the room.

  “Just because she’s been to university, she thinks she’s better than everyone else,” I heard Aunty Audrey say.

  “Oh, she’s not so bad. The kids certainly like her,” Mum said, sticking up for whoever she was.

  Aunty Audrey’s next comment confirmed my suspicions. “I wished she’d do something with her hair. Did you see the way she just lets it blow in Mick’s face?”

  “Mick’s a big boy, Audrey. If he doesn’t like it, he’ll move.”

  Mum looked relieved to see me standing behind them. “Hi there, birthday girl,” she said, not too discreetly. “Are you having a good day?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, I’m pleased; you deserve it.”

  What a nice thing to say. I walked over and gave her a hug. “Thanks for letting me have a party.”

  “That’s perfectly alright. I told you you’d feel better by the time your party started, didn’t I?”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was Clare that’d made me feel better, not the party. “Yep, you sure did.” I said instead.

  ***

  I stood on the back veranda and called to the others. “Who wants to play pin the tail on the donkey?”

  All the kids came scurrying up the back steps at once. As soon as we were all in the lounge room, Tracy made us sit on the floor next to the front door, which was closed. The deformed donkey was stuck to the back of the door.

  “Right,” said Tracy, putting on her best school teacher’s voice, “I’m going to pull a tail out of the bag, one at a time. Each tail has a different name on it. When I call out your name, get your tail and a piece of sticky tape from my assistant here. Walk up to the door and wait for my assistant to blindfold you. Once you’re blindfolded, she’ll spin you around three times, after which time, you can stick your tail on the donkey’s bum.”

  K
ate, playing the part of the assistant, turned her hand over like someone showing a prize on a game show and pointed elegantly at the cross on the paper.

  “Check her out,” Ed said, “anyone would think she was on Family Feud or something.”

  Everyone laughed, even Kate.

  “Whoever gets the tail closest to the bum wins,” Tracy advised.

  “What do we win?” Mack called out.

  “Tell ‘em Kate,” instructed Tracy.

  Kate held up a box of Old Maid playing cards and a magnifying glass. I heard someone say they were going to use the magnifying glass to fry ants with, but I couldn’t tell who it was. No doubt it was Damo. That’s the sort of thing he’s always doing.

  “Righto, let’s see who goes first.” Tracy pulled out a tail and read the name.

  “Mack Downie.”

  Mack jumped up and got a piece of sticky tape from Kate. She blindfolded him and spun him around. Everyone laughed as he stuck his tail on the door; completely missing the paper.

  “Raelene Holmes. Where’s Raelene?”

  “Here I am,” Raelene jumped up and took her tail from Tracy. Tracy continued to call out the names one at a time. It was hilarious watching everyone stumble about blindfolded.

  After a while, the donkey began to look even more deformed with all the tails stuck to it. So far, Damo was closest, but no one had managed to stick their tail on the cross yet.

  There were still six names to go. Chrissy went next. She stuck hers to the donkey’s nose.

  “OK, let’s see, who’s next?” Tracy pulled out another tail.

  “Shortie O’Connor,” she announced.

  Huh? How could that be? Everyone looked as though Captain Gregg had just walked through the front door.

  “Whoops.” Tracy realised her blunder. She recovered in no time, pulling another tail from the bag and quickly putting Shortie’s in her pocket. “Garry Pryde?”

  Gazza got up and let Kate blindfold him and spin him around. Everyone laughed when he stuck his tail to the donkey’s foot. I was still thinking about Shortie’s name being drawn out when Tracy called my name. I was sure I never wrote a tail out with his name on it…but I must have. I know I only cut out seventeen tails, so that meant we were going to be one short.

  I stood up and let Kate blindfold me.

  “Are you ready?”

  I nodded. She spun me around three times, leaving me to stumble around like the others before me. I felt for the door and pressed down hard on the sticky tape so my tail wouldn’t fall off. We were going to use drawing pins until Mum realised we were sticking the donkey to the lounge room door and made us use sticky tape instead.

  “Oh. So close, and yet so far,” said Trevor.

  My tail was the second closest to the cross.

  “Where are you Tom, it’s your turn,” Kate called.

  Tom stuck his tail right on top of mine.

  “Only two more names to go,” said Tracy. “Let’s see, we have Cheryl Haines.”

  That can’t be right. If there were two more names to go, then that meant everyone’s name got called out. I was sure we’d be one short. I silently took a head count of all the kids in the room. Janice and Mack had already left, but I could see their tails on the donkey so I knew they’d had a turn. I counted fifteen kids, which meant that all up there were seventeen kids who’d had a turn. That’s exactly how many tails I cut out. Yet, if you counted Shortie’s, that made eighteen.

  That’s weird. I must have written his name without realising it.

  “Last but not least,” Tracy announced, “Mick Austin.”

  After everybody had finished his or her turn, Kate declared Damo the winner.

  I watched Tracy as she took Shortie’s tail out of her pocket and tucked it under one of the other tails on the door. She didn’t realise I’d seen her. I pretended to go to the toilet and left the room. When I returned, the room was empty. Most of the kids were out watching Uncle Dennis and Uncle Mick play a comical game of badminton. The others had gone into the shed for more food and drink.

  I took the tail off the door and studied it closely. It looked like it was written with the same pen as the others, but it didn’t look like my handwriting. At least, I didn’t think it was my writing. When I turned it over, I could see a section of the Rice Bubbles box that I’d used for cardboard.

  How weird.

  I gave up trying to work it out and joined the others in the backyard.

  ***

  The party finished just after four. Uncle Dennis and Aunty Joanne hadn’t left yet, but everyone else had already gone home. Everyone except Tom, that is. He’d rung and asked his mum if he could stay a bit longer. He told her he was helping clean up, but he wasn’t really, we finished doing that ages ago.

  The adults sat under the washing line smoking and drinking. The sun was still hot at five thirty in the afternoon, but there wasn’t much danger of anyone getting burnt. Uncle Dennis was pretty drunk and Dad was playing his Linda Ronstadt album for the hundredth time. Kerri-Anne, Janice and Brian were inside playing Mastermind, and Robbie was listening to records in Kate and Tracy’s room. It was just Tom and me left outside with the grownups. We decided to go and do something else. Uncle Dennis was acting like a yobbo and we were sick of hearing him sing, “Put another Log on the Fire”. He must have sung it a dozen times by now and it was not that good the first time around.

  Uncle Dennis started to sing “God Save the Queen”. What a drongo. Didn’t he know that’s not our national anthem anymore?

  Tom and I got up to leave. “Chuck us another tinny while yer up will ya love,” slurred Uncle Dennis, holding up an empty can.

  Since everyone else drank Tooheys, I naturally assumed the Esky with the stickers; KB's great in 78 and KB's fine in 79 was his and grabbed him a beer.

  “Thanks love; you’re a darl.”

  I turned to walk away.

  “Notso fast,” he slurred.

  I rolled my eyes at Tom and turned to see what he wanted this time. I didn’t think I could stand another one of his stupid songs. “I bet ya London to a brick I can throw this empty tinny and get it in that bin all the way over there.”

  Since I had no use for a brick and I knew that London was out of the question, I couldn’t have cared less whether he got it in or not.

  He missed. “What a shithouse shot. Who moved the bloody bin.” He laughed as if his joke were hilarious.

  “Dennis, do you mind?” Mum said firmly. “Please don’t swear in front of the kids.”

  “Oops, sorry Mel.”

  Dad waved us off, indicating that we should go and do whatever it was that we were going to do before Uncle Dennis bailed us up. Grateful to be off the hook, we slipped through the gap in the fence and into the quiet of the cubby house.

  “He’s pissed,” said Tom.

  “As a fart,” I replied.

  “Did you have a good time today?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “Did I ever!”

  I was pleased. I had a good time and I wanted to make sure Tom did also. I couldn’t wait to tell him everything Clare told me. Except, I found that once I thought about where to start, I’d already I’d forgotten most of it. “Look what Clare gave me?” I held up my pentacle so Tom could see it.

  “That’s pretty.”

  “It’s called a pentacle and it’s what Pagans wear. Not just Pagans either, but witches.”

  “There’s no such thing as witches.”

  “There is too, Clare told me. She said they’re not like witches that ride broomsticks those kind are only make-believe. Lots of people are witches; we just don’t know it, that’s all. Clare said a witch is someone who practices magic.”

  Tom looked unconvinced.

  “But only good magic,” I added. “Pagans believe in reincarnation.” I said, as if that cleared everything up. “Reincarnation is when your soul gets reborn into another body.”

  “How can it do that?”

  “Dunno, it j
ust does. Clare said that when you die, your soul goes to a place called Summerland until you’re ready to be reborn. She said Shortie will be reborn one day.”

  “Will we see him again?”

  “Dunno. I didn’t ask her that.” I still had many things I wanted to ask Clare. Maybe I should write them in my new diary. That way, no one would see them and I wouldn’t forget to ask her. “She said that Halloween is really called Sowain or Sawain, or something like that, and that it’s a time when Pagans talk with the dead. When it’s Sowain, our world and the spirit world are close.”

  He looked hopeful. “Does that mean we can talk with Shortie when it’s Halloween?”

  “I don’t think so. As far as I know only Americans have Halloween.”

  “What a rip off.” Tom sounded disappointed, so I thought I should at least offer to ask Clare for him next time a saw her. “Thanks, that’d be great,” he said at my suggestion. “Then we might be able to talk to Shortie.”

  The idea of talking to Shortie hadn’t actually occurred to me until Tom’s suggested it. But now that he had, I thought it was a great idea. I’d definitely have to ask Clare how to do it. I told Tom I would write it in my new diary so I wouldn’t forget to ask.

  “So,” – he slowly considered his next question – “does that mean we’ve been alive before now?”

  I hadn’t thought about that before now either. I suppose it was logical to assume we’d been around before if what Clare said was true. Heck, we could’ve been around lots of times before. “I suppose so.” I said, making a mental note to write that question down as well. “Why? Do you think we knew each other when we were someone else?”

  Tom thought about it for a minute before answering. “Yeah,” he giggled, “I was your master and you were my slave, so you better go and get me some Fanta.”

  “Smart arse,” I tickled him in the ribs. Tom is so ticklish. It doesn’t matter where I touch him, it tickles. He squealed at my touch. “Say uncle,” I demanded, straddling him on the car seat and typewriting his chest.

  “Get me some Fanta,” he said laughing.

  “Boy, are you asking for it.” I tickled him until he squirmed like a worm. “C’mon, you can say it. Say uncle.” I tickled him some more.