Maxine Partridge was a sculptor, and my mother’s best friend. She worked a lot with ‘found objects’, often ones that Venn had found washed up on Mackerel Beach. We used to spend a lot of time at the Partridges’ beach house over there till about six months ago.
‘Why are you asking?’ Venn said.
‘One of my classmates has roped me into yarn-bombing the school.’
‘That’s exciting.’
‘I think it sucks. It reminds me of the lame macramé owl I made for Mother’s Day.’
‘I loved Professor Hoot.’
‘Yeah, anyway, I don’t know how to knit.’
‘I can but I’m crap. Nana Locke would love to teach you.’
Even though she’d recently adopted Tippi, I figured Nana was probably eager for some human company. After Pop died, my parents had urged her to come and live with us, at least for a while, but she’d refused to leave the Seabreeze unit she and Pop had shared. Teaching me to knit probably wouldn’t provide her with a new purpose in life, but it might help make her feel important to somebody again.
In lieu of having friends of my own to hang out with, I was invited to ‘Chick Flick Night’ with Mum, Maxine, Venn and Jessie – the girl who’d slept in my bed. I already knew she was blonde from the evidence she’d left behind, but when she walked through the front door I was stunned by the luminescence of her eyes, bluer than Plax® mouthwash. She was super fit and tanned – the Northern Beaches ideal of female beauty. I couldn’t wipe the goofy grin off my face, so Venn did it for me.
‘Lincoln, this is my friend Jessie,’ she said. ‘She’s not a boy and she doesn’t suffer from alopecia. Jessie, meet my little brother Lincoln. He has a unique hobby of collecting hair.’
Jessie laughed. ‘Thanks for letting me sleep in your bed.’
‘Anytime.’ It was meant to sound hospitable but came out lech.
The night was balmy so we sat out on the deck. The women drank chilled rosé and I drank tap water, listening to Mum’s more embellished, juicier account of the launch incident wherein Lucy Seymour, society blogger, had got bollocked on champagne and was refused service for groping a waiter. Mum gave Maxine the Neroni handbag and said, ‘You can thank Lucy Lushington for that one.’
A gentle onshore breeze stirred, tickling the yachts’ rigging and carrying the heady scent of Valmay Harris’s monstera deliciosa up to our gathering. A ribbon of burning copper light broke through the western clouds, turning strands of Jessie’s hair into glowing filaments. For a brief moment, life was perfect. Then Roger Harris shattered the serenity by revving his outboard motor in Dougal’s washtub. Dougal went totally apeshit, barking and trying to catch the spray in his mouth. I visualised him getting too close and having his snout butchered by the spinning blades, and had to shake my head to get the resulting carnage out of my mind.
We moved inside to eat. After dinner I was keen on extending my time in Jessie’s presence, so I let the girls think they’d persuaded me into watching The Devil Wears Prada. Mum clucked with recognition at various scenes, saying things like, ‘Hello – that is so Morgan!’, but failed to identify Miranda Priestly’s megalomaniacal tendencies in herself.
Halfway through the movie, I left to refill my glass. A minute later, Jessie followed.
‘I’m not really into the girly stuff,’ she said.
‘Neither.’ I poured her a glass. ‘Venn told me you surf. What’s your favourite break?’
‘Definitely P-Pass at Pohnpei in Micronesia, north of New Guinea.’ She told me about her recent trip – the perfect barrels wrapping around the reef, her expedition to the island’s ancient ruins and snorkelling at Ant Atoll.
‘That’s my ultimate dream.’
Jessie crinkled her perfectly freckled nose. ‘You should come next time.’
I couldn’t believe my ears. ‘That would be hectic!’
‘Nate’s already planning our next trip.’
‘Sorry?’
‘My boyfriend Nate is planning our next trip to the islands.’
‘Oh, cool.’ But absolutely not, because of course you have a boyfriend and you’re three years older than me and what was I even thinking? And I have this strange growth that you’d probably be repelled by, which recently expanded by three millimetres and is currently tingling to remind me that it’s still there.
‘Yeah, we actually met searching for coconut crabs, then we got talking and discovered we live only one kilometre apart and know lots of the same people.’
‘Six degrees and all that? I’d better get stuck into my homework.’
‘Aren’t you going to watch Beaches with us?’
‘You know it’s not a surf film, right?’
I went up to my room. Instead of reading My One Redeeming Affliction, because my own affliction was doing my head in, I continued with Dorian Gray. And though his unfailing beauty and eternal youth opened a world of untold thrills for him, I realised I didn’t need Jessie to take me surfing at Pohnpei. I didn’t even need Tom and Coops. Because one day I would escape from everything and go there on my own.
On Sunday morning I asked Mum if I could get a new surfboard, citing the difficulty of transporting my oldie from the city just for weekends. She immediately nixed the request and told me I should be more focused on homework than the beach.
‘First you drove away my friends,’ I said. ‘And now you’re treating me like a prisoner in my own home.’
‘Nonsense. I’m simply setting a few boundaries. Remember the time you jumped off the Warriewood Blowhole with Tom and Cooper, and the boy who followed you had to be airlifted out because he had spinal damage?’
‘Is that what all of this is about? That guy was a stupid tourist who’d never jumped before.’
‘I’m afraid that if you keep going along with the reckless choices they’re making, you’ll be the next one to end up in serious trouble. Your friends up here treat every day like it’s a beach holiday. They were exerting too much influence on you.’
‘So you sent me to Kings Cross, with its bars and strip clubs and brothels and junkies and dealers. Though Frank the concierge reckons the supervised injecting rooms have made it a much safer place now.’
‘Stop it, please,’ Mum said.
‘The other week yet another guy was punched in the head by a random, and he’s still in hospital. I really love living there.’
‘I’m sorry that you feel stuck between a rock and a hard place.’
‘The hard thing about this place is that I’ve got no friends here and I’m not allowed to surf. It’s barely worth making the two-hour journey to come over anymore.’
I saw a twitch in Mum’s face. ‘I think you’re being a bit melodramatic.’
‘I’m saying exactly what I think.’
‘Then I suggest you have a think about whether you want to keep coming over or not.’
‘There’s no need for that. I’ve already decided not to.’
‘The arrangement that your father and I have established isn’t negotiable.’
‘You should’ve considered that before offering me a choice.’
‘Lincoln, I don’t think you have any real understanding how difficult these past few months have been for me.’ She tucked some hair behind her ear, revealing white roots.
‘Or you me.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To pack my stuff. I’m going back to the city.’
I went to my room and began stuffing clothes into my backpack. Mum stood in the doorway, looking almost desperate. Even in that moment I knew that I was taking all my frustration out on her because I couldn’t confront Dad. But now that I’d decided to act like a dick I was committed to the performance.
‘Leave those here,’ she said. ‘I’ll wash them for you.’
‘Thanks, but I’ve been managing on my own.’
I said goodbye and headed for the bus stop, expecting Mum to jump in the Volvo and drive alongside me until I surrendered – but she didn’t.
Riding home on the L90, I realised the Locke family had reached our lowest trough. We’d never been so divided. I tried to think of my happiest family memory and the clear winner was the first time we’d all walked from Mackerel to West Head. Venn, who was ten, spotted a magnificent red gum with twisting boughs reaching up to the sky. She told us it was the ‘Mother Tree’ and had us all take off our shoes, hold hands around her and recite an ad-libbed oath to respect and protect Mother Nature. Further on, at the Aboriginal rock carvings, she was mesmerised by the human and animal figures, and insisted we read all of the information panels before proceeding.
Remembering the knack Venn used to have for bringing the family together, I decided it was time to clear the air with Dad.
By the time I arrived back at T H E E Y R I E, I’d formulated my opening sentence: I think we need to have a conversation about Maëlle. But I walked into the kitchen and found Steve packing an esky with beers. ‘How’s it hanging, champ?’ He winked.
‘Where’s Dad?’
‘Showing Sophie and Mandy the view. We’re taking Foxy Lady out. Why don’t you come with?’
‘Nah, but thanks.’
‘Perfect afternoon for it. We’ll find a beach, drop anchor, catch some rays.’
‘I’ve got a reading assignment. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.’
‘What’s it about?’
‘Refusing to grow up.’ Now that my plan to speak to Dad had been thwarted, I detoured through the living room to avoid him, but one of the topnotch birds caught me as she came in from the balcony.
‘Ooh! You gave me a fright.’ She had pigtails, was wearing a singlet and cut-offs and smelt of coconut lotion.
‘What are you doing home already?’ Dad said from behind her.
‘I live here sometimes.’
He introduced the women then I excused myself to finish the book.
‘Dorian Gray,’ Steve said, and winked again.
Dad returned late that evening sunburnt and testy, demanding to know why I’d left Signal Bay earlier than usual. I told him about the argument with Mum and my decision to remain in the city on weekends. His response was all about respecting her wishes, making it clear he didn’t want me impinging on the new-found freedom he’d been enjoying, but I stood my ground. Despite having told me earlier that he had no interest in Mandy, you’d still think my father would have had a smidge of remorse after the Maëlle incident, and enough discretion to avoid socialising with women in their twenties. I could’ve used his merry jaunt on the high seas with the topnotch birds as a way into that conversation, but I was far too angry. I didn’t want to be the one telling him to start behaving himself. He was too old to be acting like freaking Dorian Gray.
On Monday morning, the situation with Pericles didn’t improve. At squad I was behind him in lane five and he was swimming dead slow, trying to force me to overtake. So I stayed behind him. At the end of the sixth lap, he stopped and stood up.
‘What’s going on?’ I said.
‘Stitch. Just go.’
‘No, you just go.’ We stood with our arms folded, backing up the next three swimmers.
Simmons spotted the stand-off and bellowed at us through his megaphone, >THOSE TWO WOMEN HAVING A MOTHER’S CLUB MEETING IN LANE FIVE, GET MOVING NOW!<
‘Go!’ Pericles shoved me. ‘You’re the big champion now.’
‘Whatever.’
Simmons was striding our way, so I ducked underwater and pushed off.
SOHCAHTOA. Shit Often Happens, Causing Arse Holes To Operate Automatically.
It’s all you need to know about trigonometry, gastroenterology and my life.
At the start of Maths I sat near Pericles, but he stood up and moved to the vacant spot next to David York. Whatever. Tibor was sitting next to Nads, which was unusual. Then Monaro sprang a surprise trig test on us. Five minutes later I caught Tibor surreptitiously sliding his paper across to show Nads his answers. How had Nads known there was going to be a test today when it was supposed to be a surprise?
At lunch I found Pericles sitting under a tree with his girlfriends. Phoenix Lee was applying a fake mermaid tattoo to Isa Mountwinter’s forearm.
‘Is licking absolutely necessary?’ Isa said.
‘If you want it to stick properly,’ Phoenix said, then looked up as I approached. ‘Hello, stalker. You here to get inked?’
‘I want to talk to Pericles.’
‘Go ahead, then.’
‘Preferably without you two tuning in.’
‘You can say whatever you need to in front of them,’ Pericles said.
‘Okay. The carnival – when I started squad, I couldn’t swim butterfly to save myself. You gave me goggles and some good advice, which I followed, and to everyone’s surprise I won.’
‘Bravo,’ he said, and the three of them clapped.
‘You’re totally pissed off at me and I can understand why, but—’
‘The world doesn’t revolve around you, mate. I’m pissed off at myself for losing my place in the relay team – nothing more.’
‘That’s the thing, Pericles. I don’t even want to be in the relay team. I don’t want to be in squad.’
‘And that’s supposed to make me feel better?’
‘Sorry for whatever it is that you think I’ve done wrong.’
‘I think you should go now.’
I hate things festering, but as I couldn’t force a resolution, I left.
After school, when I was unchaining my bike from the rack, Pericles came and stood next to me without talking. I couldn’t be arsed trying to initiate another conversation, so I started to wheel my bike away.
‘Hold up!’ he yelled. ‘Your back tyre’s flat.’
‘Shit.’
‘Odds-on it was Byron Paget. Year 8 turd who’s been busted with tacks before. Serial puncture artist.’
‘The dingus with a bowl cut?’ I said, and Pericles nodded. ‘We met in Student Welfare.’ I re-chained my bike while Pericles stood there not speaking. When I turned to face him he was massaging his temples, preparing to release some hefty burden.
‘I was devo about losing the race,’ he said. ‘But my reaction was more from a fear of how my father would react. Winning’s all that matters to him.’
‘My dad’s the same. All about the competition.’
‘He couldn’t be as bad as mine. Last year I scored ninety-nine in the maths final, equal top with Tibor. Dad wanted to know why I hadn’t extinguished myself.’
‘He meant “distinguished”.’
‘He hit me for correcting him.’
I didn’t know what to say. Pericles took a couple of deep breaths, pressing his temples again. He told me that when his father rang him before the race, he was actually calling from the pool, despite the fact that parents weren’t allowed to be there. Pericles saw him on the way to the marshalling area and it totally spooked him. Standing on the starting blocks, he had a full-on panic attack, and missed the start by a couple of seconds.
‘It was a miracle you came so close to winning,’ I said.
‘I’ve never swum so hard in my life.’
‘I saw you throwing up after.’
‘Yeah? Well, you left before the main act. My father came storming down and chewed my head off in front of Gelber while I was still hurling. Not my proudest moment.’ His train of thought was interrupted by two mynas bothering a sparrow. ‘Don’t know what drives him. Has to be more than the school-fee incentive.’
‘What’s that?’
‘If you represent Crestfield at regionals, they take a grand off your school fees. If you swim at state level, your parents pay nothing the next year.’
‘What happens if you make nationals? Do they dip your Speedos in gold and display them in the trophy cabinet?’
‘With you still in them.’ Pericles almost smiled, then his face darkened. ‘At least I won’t have to deal with the goon squad anymore. Nads, Mullows and Starkey hate me. Dad’s constant interference last year gave them and Si
mmons the streaming shits.’ He stared at me, unflinching, jaw tensing then sliding to chew on the words that couldn’t quite make their way out. He blinked hard then said, ‘Was deserting me to follow them a sign of your allegiance?’
‘I try not to take sides.’
‘Come back and talk to me when you say no to the brotherhood of bullshit.’ He walked away, and I felt weak as piss for not simply apologising.
On Wednesday, before training commenced, Simmons announced the team for the Crestfield Invitational with St Eugene’s and Clovelly College. Both Pericles and I had qualified for the individual butterfly, but I was named on the medley relay team. Nads, Mullows and Starkey walked over to congratulate me.
‘Welcome to the Brotherhood,’ Mullows said, patting my back with his big hand.
‘Not so fast,’ Nads said. ‘Initiation’s on Friday.’
‘What initiation?’
‘Yours,’ Starkey said. ‘Piece of piss really – no need to freak.’
>ATTENTION ALL SWIMMERS!< Deb Gelber’s megaphone cut through the banter. >SERIOUS TRAINING BEGINS TODAY.< She flipped the whiteboard to reveal the program. >IN ADDITION TO THE BREAKDOWN, EVERYBODY WHO MADE THE TEAM FOR THE INVITATIONAL WILL BE REWARDED WITH AN EXTRA FIVE HUNDRED.<
I followed Pericles to lane five. After he dived in, Nads grabbed my arm and jerked me around.
‘Leave that choking fag in the loser’s lane,’ he said. ‘You belong with us in seven.’
I turned my back on Pericles a second time.
After school, I rode the B-Line bus to Nana Locke’s flat in Dee Why for a knitting lesson. I knocked on the door and Tippi started yapping on the other side. Nana Locke let me in and the Jack Russell–Chihuahua went ballistic, running around me, barking and whimpering.
‘Don’t be afraid, little one,’ Nana said and put her hand on my shoulder. ‘This is Lincoln. He’s a nice, kind man.’
Tippi growled and nipped at my ankle.
‘That’s quite enough now,’ Nana said to her. ‘Go to your cushion!’ Tippi looked confused, so Nana pointed to the sofa and snapped her fingers. Tippi jumped onto the sofa, circled her designated cushion three times, then lay down. ‘I hope she didn’t hurt you, dear?’
The Origin of Me Page 13