Henry Hoey Hobson

by Christine Bongers

  I pulled on my old Mr Happy T-shirt. It was tissue-thin and ragged and dated back to the days when I used to make Mum buy me tent-sized T-shirts to hide my blubber. I’d grown twenty centimetres taller since then, but it still hung on me. Most of my T-shirts were the same; I’d worn them out before I’d grown into them.

  Like Mr Marquez and his teeth.

  The sound of the Getz pulling in under the house bounced me off the bed. Mum was home. I walked into a pair of thongs and headed for the lounge room.

  The excited clack of her heels on the internal stairs greeted me like a private code. A bit more tension rolled off my shoulders; she’d had a good day.

  ‘Hi, honey-bun. How was your day?’ I dipped my forehead so she could plant the compulsory kiss somewhere appropriate. I didn’t do lips, so I had to make sure that she could reach an acceptable alternative.

  ‘It was OK.’ And for once I wasn’t lying. ‘Where are we eating?’

  The theme song for the Lone Ranger, Mum’s signature tune, rang out from her mobile. She raised a single red-tipped nail, mouthed Sorryand answered the call.

  ‘Hello, Lydia Hoey Hobson speaking.’

  The real-estate conversation that followed dragged on long enough for her to change into a pair of silver spiked heels and a white peasant-style dress. She emerged from the bedroom still talking, threading silver hoops through her ears. She crooked a finger at me and grabbed a bottle of red wine from the rack on the hallstand. She was still singing the praises of the dump overlooking the river as I followed her out the front door.

  ‘If we’re walking, it better be close,’ I warned. ‘I’ve got chafing.’

  She winked at me, not drawing breath in her razzle-dazzle sell job. She had perfected the art of talking and listening at the same time, so I kept right on talking, figuring she’d get the gist of it.

  ‘I saw a couple of good places just up the road. An all-you-can-eat pasta deal for ten dollars a head. Or I could go a foot-long meatball sub if you just want something quick.’

  I wasn’t fussy, but I was fanging for something. Swimming would do that to you.

  She hung up on some sort of promise, and did a twirl in front of the house next door. ‘So, how do I look?’

  ‘Like an angel that has lost its wings.’

  It was Caleb, swathed in what looked like a knee-length black cape, standing guard at the front gate to his house. My skin prickled, despite the warmth of the evening. He’d been waiting for us.

  ‘Lydia, Henry–’ He swung the gate open with a rusty creak. His cape parted, revealing a blood-red silk lining that rippled out as he extended one arm towards the path. ‘Welcome to our new home.’

  Paper lanterns lined the cobbled path. The open front door was flanked by great standing candelabras, dripping wax in crazy stalactites from outstretched bronzed arms. More candles flickered through the open leadlight windows, casting shadows that capered beyond the casements and into the garden below.

  I automatically drew back; no way was I setting foot in that yard. Not when it looked like it had been decorated for some sort of weird ritual. But Mum seemed oblivious to the creepiness of the place. ‘Oh, Caleb, it’s beautiful!’

  She handed him the wine and turned her smile up to full volume, its dazzle reflected in Caleb’s face. ‘Come on, Henry.’

  Before I could stop her, she had stepped across the threshold and was picking her way along the eerily lit path leading up to the front door.

  Caleb turned back to where I stood, rooted to the spot, on the other side of the gate. He said nothing, merely extended his caped arm like a blood-soaked wing, motioning for me to come in.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The click-clack of mum’s heels stopped at the foot of the stairs.

  ‘Omygod, Henry–’ She turned and waved excitedly at me. ‘Come on, honey-bun, you have to see this!’

  She wasn’t giving me much choice; I could hardly let my mother disappear into some weirdo house on her own. I punched the side of my leg, twice, for luck, ducked my head so I wouldn’t have to meet Caleb’s eyes and went in after her.

  By the time I reached her, she had one silver stiletto on the stairs. I grabbed her arm and yanked her back down. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ I hissed in her ear. ‘You said we were going out.’

  She shook off my arm, and phoofed her hair into a silver halo around her head. Caleb was right. She did look like an angel – a mildly irritated one, right at this moment.

  ‘We are. We’re going to our new neighbours’ moving-in drinks.’ She lowered her voice. ‘What on earth’s gotten into you? They’ve offered to feed us, not eat us. Try to act a little bit more grateful.’

  I wanted to tell her not to be so sure, when Manny appeared in the doorway. Whatever words I’d planned to say shrivelled and died at the sight of him. His stocky body was stuffed into a T-shirt that had been painted to look like a skeleton wearing a tuxedo.

  ‘Welcome to our humble abode, dear lady. You must be Lydia.’ He bowed from the waist, a huge meaty paw twirling a flourish in the air. ‘I am Manfred – Manny to my friends – and serving you will be my duty and pleasure this evening.’

  He straightened with a wince and covered it with a quick wink in my direction. ‘Henry, we meet again.’

  ‘You’ve met?’ Mum’s head swivelled from Manny to me and back again. ‘I didn’t know that.’ She skewered me with a pointed look. ‘You only mentioned that you’d met Caleb this morning.’

  Manny pointed a finger, and shook it accusingly, under my nose. ‘Keeping secrets from your mama?’ He dropped his voice to a gravelly rumble. ‘Boy after my own heart.’

  He turned a smiley face back to my mum. ‘Henry kindly offered to help us move our furniture in this morning. Gave us a bit of a hand before school. ‘He’s a good kid–’ He whacked me so hard on the back I nearly tripped over. ‘–You must be very proud of him, Lydia.’

  Mum smiled uncertainly, not sure what to make of Manny’s exuberance in the face of my obvious discomfort.

  Caleb stepped forward from the shadows. ‘Henry has set a shining example in good neighbourly relations, which we will now humbly attempt to reciprocate. Shall we go in?’

  He offered his arm in an old-fashioned gesture, which I could see was scoring points, big time, with my mum. Manny disappeared inside and they followed him in. I trailed behind, wondering how to defend my clueless mother from whatever it was that lay in wait on the other side of the doorway.

  I stopped dead in the entrance to the main part of the house.

  Mum was right. It was fantastic. As in unbelievable. An eccentric vision; a fantasy that engulfed us the minute we stepped over the threshold.

  How could they have done all this in just one day?

  Caleb smiled at my open-mouthed wonder. ‘Behind every door in this house is an explosion of boxes, Henry. But they are tomorrow’s task. Tonight we celebrate.’

  The cavernous lounge – dining room was filled with the glow of dozens of lit candles. Their scent hung in the air. They lined every surface, ranging in ascending and descending order along sideboards, clustering on tabletops, and floating in shallow crystal trays. An enormous ornate candelabra dominated the round, eight-seater dining table, dripping tears of wax onto the white linen tablecloth.

  Mum turned and whispered excitedly in my ear. ‘Honey-bun, this is magic. They’re even playing our song.’ She moved off on Caleb’s arm towards the source of the music. Radiant, like a kid on Christmas morning.

  I stumbled along behind her, unable to share her pleasure in the evening. Caleb and his friends were creeping me out. How had they known to play the only classical piano tune I’d ever heard of and could identify by name?

  It was ‘Für Elise ’,the tune played by Harrison’s daughter in the old Man from Snowy Rivermovie that I’d loved as a kid .Mum found it in a throw-out bin at Big W and we used to watch it together when I was little. I had been going through a phase where I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be a cowboy
or a horse and the movie had satisfied both urges. It became a minor obsession for a while and I had even learned to play bits of it on Mum’s portable keyboard. Even now, I could still pick out the opening bars to Für Eliseon her battered old Casio.

  Caleb led us through to the source of the music: an aged upright piano, hidden in behind a panelled wood screen.

  A woman was seated at the carved wooden piano stool, her blue-black hair hanging, thick and straight, to her hips. A shiny black sleeveless top was nipped in so tightly at the waist that I was surprised she could even breathe. Her bare arms showed off skin so pale it looked alien. On either side of her, two slim tapers burned in elegantly wrought candle holders hinged onto the front panels of the piano.

  She swung round at our approach and I recognised her immediately. She was the one who had been cavorting outside my window with Caleb and Manny the previous night. Already it seemed a lifetime ago. Her inky black lips stretched in a smile as she reached out both hands in an elaborate welcome.

  ‘You must be Lydia and Henry. Call me Vee, everyone does.’

  Behind her, the chipped old ivory keys of the piano kept right on playing, moving through the arpeggios and backing harmonies of Für Elise’s main theme as though being played by the Invisible Man.

  ‘Look–’ I tugged at Mum’s sleeve. ‘No hands.’

  She moved round the piano stool for a better look, delight and wonder in her voice. ‘Now that’s something you don’t see every day–’

  The other woman stood, smoothing down black rustling skirts. ‘It has become something of a rarity, no? A curiosity, reserved, I like to think, for those who choose to remain curious about the extraordinary in this world.’

  Her black-rimmed eyes latched onto mine and I sensed she was laughing at me. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Henry.’

  Mum put an arm around my waist. ‘I know how you feel, honey-bun. The first time I saw a pianola was after my grandfather’s funeral. I screamed my head off, thinking his ghost had come back to play at the wake.’

  I shook her off, the heat rising in my face. ‘I’m not an idiot. I know what it is. It was just creepy, that’s all.’ I waved my arm at the candles on every surface. ‘I mean, look at this place–’

  ‘Henry–’ The tone in Mum’s voice and the tiny line that marred the smooth skin between her well-shaped eyebrows should have warned me to shut up right there and then. But I was past caring and couldn’t bottle up my suspicions any longer.

  ‘–It’s like some sort of haunted house, something out of a scary movie, where they’re going to sacrifice some poor unsuspecting – OW!’

  The glint in my mother’s eyes was as sharp as the silver stiletto in my instep. My bad for wearing thongs.

  She turned to Caleb and Vee, a stiff smile on her face. ‘You’ll have to forgive Henry. He has an active imagination–’ She glanced back at me, her look as pointed as her heel. ‘Overactive, at times.’

  ‘Well, he’ll fit right in round here then, won’t he, Caleb?’ Manny had snuck up behind us, making me jump. ‘Bubbles, anyone?’

  He swung a tray of fizzing silver goblets into our midst. ‘ ’Fraid it’s only punch for you, Henry.’ He winked at me again. ‘My own secret recipe; guaranteed to put hairs on your chest.’

  Each of them took one of the old-fashioned goblets and waited while I eyed the single lonely chalice left on the tray.

  My throat was dry, but some primitive instinct warned me not to drink from the strange cup.

  A stiletto heel pressed a light warning of a different kind into my instep; my mother was beginning to lose patience with me.

  I forced my hand to wrap itself around Manny’s secret concoction and lift it off the tray. I nursed it close to my chest, rocking on my heels.

  The next jab almost drew blood.

  ‘Thank you,’ I ground out from between clenched teeth, which seemed to satisfy my mother for the moment. She turned to the others.

  ‘Yes, thank you for inviting us.’ She raised her goblet to the trio of oddballs standing in an arc around their self-playing piano. ‘To a magical night and enchanted company.’

  Their cups met with a metallic clink that jangled my already frayed nerves. I held back, watching them drinking, chatting, smiling and drinking some more.

  I didn’t want to try Manny’s hairy-chested punch. I just wanted to keep an eye on my mother.

  She didn’t drink much as a rule. And for good reason. She had so little body mass, it only took a couple of small glasses to send her all giggly.

  No-one seemed to notice that I hadn’t joined in, until my mother’s eyes latched onto mine and narrowed. She nodded meaningfully at the drink in my hand. I widened my eyes, a silent plea.

  A tiny frown creased her brow and her lips mouthed a single word I knew only too well: Manners...

  The metal goblet was cold and heavy in my hand; a poisoned chalice, for all I knew. A small voice in my head screamed don’t do it!but the look in my mother’s eyes would not to be denied.

  I raised the cup to my flushed face, pressed its metallic lip against mine, and tilted.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The icy liquid fizzed and tingled against my lips. It smelt of fruit and mint, a hint of ginger and something altogether fiercer that invaded my nostrils and made my eyes water.

  I jerked the cup away from my face, sloshing its contents onto my hand.

  ‘Got a bit of bite to it, doesn’t it?’ Manny rescued the drink and clumsily mopped at my hand with a white cloth from the serving tray. His oddly assembled face split wide in a grin. ‘It’s my secret ingredient.’

  ‘Knowing you, it’s probably chilli,’ said Caleb dryly.

  Mum laughed, then stopped at the look on Manny’s face.

  Vee rolled her eyes. ‘There goes our hope for good neighbourly relations...’

  ‘Are you serious?’ Mum grabbed the cup from him and sniffed at it. ‘Did you put chilli in my son’s punch?’

  The combination of disbelief and accusation in my mother’s voice had Manny scrambling to justify himself.

  ‘Just the teeniest touch. It’s such a great foil to the sweetness of the fruit, the freshness of the mint.’ An anxious note entered his voice at the look on Mum’s face. ‘The ginger does give it a bit of added zing, I’ll grant you that. So maybe I was a bit heavy-handed with the chilli ... Here, let me taste it–’

  ‘No–’ Mum yanked the cup out of his reach. ‘If anyone is going to taste what you have given to my child, it’s going to be me.’

  Before I could stop her, she’d taken a big mouthful of Manny’s weird cocktail.

  His look of desperation would have been laughable but for the tension in the air. The entire room held its breath, waiting for her verdict.

  Mum lowered the cup, lips pursed. ‘Manny–’ I knew that tone; it was the one she used on me when I was about to cop a mouthful. She leaned forward, unsheathing a pointed red nail-tip. ‘I have one thing to say to you–’

  He cringed, forehead wrinkled, like a grizzled old Saint Bernard cowering before a teacup poodle. Caleb put his glass down, as though about to step between them. Even Vee looked alarmed, smoothing her skirt with short, jerky movements.

  Mum poked him hard in the dead centre of his chest. I winced; she could go off, my mum. This could turn ugly.

  ‘That punch is ridiculous.’

  Manny blinked. ‘As in–’

  ‘As in...’ She punched him hard on the arm with her miniature fist. ‘Absolutely delicious! Manny, you’re a genius.’

  The relief in his great booming laugh broke the spell. Everyone started talking at once. Mum, wanting the recipe. Caleb offering to get everyone a glass. Vee slow-clapping, an indulgent smile lighting up her pale face.

  So much for the poisoned chalice. I picked up the cup and took another sniff. Actually, apart from the chilli fumes, it didn’t smell too bad.

  I risked a quick sip. Not bad at all. Like a spicy ginger beer with lashings of fruit and a real st
ing in the tail. I rescued a tiny red chunk from the edge of my cup with a fingertip and tested it on my tongue.

  ‘He grows his own, you know,’ confided Vee, nursing her wine goblet close to her chest. ‘In window boxes, outside the kitchen window. He brought them over from the last house. His enthusiasm for his chilli-children is quite endearing, no?’

  I didn’t know what to say. I no longer knew quite what to make of the evening. This place and these people were outside my limited experience, unlike anything or anyone I had ever come across before.

  My cheeks started to burn, but this time from the inside. I must have got some chilli caught in my braces. I grabbed a water jug off a side table and a fresh glass, and tried to surreptitiously flush it out.

  Vee turned her attention back to the others. ‘We should be used to his little experiments by now, shouldn’t we, Caleb? Remember the Bitter-Chocolate-Chilli Paste?’

  He nodded and rubbed at his chest. ‘Nutella on steroids. How could I forget? Gave me heartburn for a week, I remember that.’

  ‘It was a three-thousand-year-old recipe,’ protested Manny. ‘We were rediscovering the culinary secrets of the Mayans and Aztecs–’

  ‘Aren’t those civilizations extinct?’ asked Mum, a teasing note in her voice. She glowed in the candlelight, clearly enjoying herself.

  ‘Yes, but that’s got nothing to do with their chocolate–’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ interrupted Vee. ‘The collapse of the Mayan civilisation is shrouded in mystery. They might really have endured to the present day, if they’d thought to sugar their bitter chocolate recipes.’

  ‘Or to add chilli to ice-cream,’ suggested Caleb. ‘Like Manny does.’

  I couldn’t help myself. ‘Seriously?’

  He nodded. ‘Ask him to make you some of his homemade Chilli-Chocolate Ice-cream – simultaneous brain-freeze and meltdown, an awesome combination.’

  ‘It’s the juxtaposition of the flavours.’ Manny was grinning like a happy Labrador, eager to share what was clearly a passion. ‘The unbeatable combination of fire and ice. Combined with the faint bitterness of a good chocolate–’