Dirt Bomb

by Beale, Fleur

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Dad’s found us a paddock!’

  I nearly dropped the phone. Nearly fell through the floor. Gasped a couple of times till I found some breath. ‘For real? Honest to god and you’re not kidding?’ I’d kill him if he was.

  Buzz laughed. ‘Honest. It’s not far from town. The owner is going to develop it, starting in February. He says we’ll help keep the grass down.’

  I almost didn’t want to ask, but I had to know. ‘Is he going to charge us rent?’

  He laughed again. ‘Nope. Says it’s only for a month. Not worth it.’

  ‘Bloody brilliant.’ I had a grin from left ear to right ear. ‘I guess we can’t start right now?’ I wasn’t serious, but if he’d said yes I’d have been at his in a flash.

  ‘Tomorrow morning,’ Buzz said. ‘Dad says he can take us at eight or eleven.’

  Eight o’clock. That was frighteningly early. Robbie and I would have to leave town at just after seven. ‘Eight,’ I said. ‘Can’t wait till eleven.’

  ‘That’s what Robbie said too,’ Buzz said. ‘See you in the morning at sparrow’s fart.’

  Yes! I was so pleased I wandered out into the middle of geriatric sing-along hour, but it wasn’t all bad — there was one sausage left on the barbie.

  In the morning, Gramps forgot to do the fake heart attack but I thought Mum might have one for real. ‘Got a paddock then?’ Gramps asked after a hard look at my face.

  ‘All sorted. Frank found us one,’ I said.

  ‘That was quick.’ He thought for a moment, then he laughed. ‘Bet you Frank had it arranged way before last night.’

  The spoonful of weet-bix only made it halfway to my mouth. But I had a horrible suspicion he was right, the old bugger.

  I put the possibility to Robbie as we left town, then realised I shouldn’t have when he went back to his old habits and rode out into the traffic lane. ‘Robbie!’

  ‘Sorry.’ He stopped riding. ‘I bet that’s right, though. Trust Frank to let us sweat it out.’

  We got back on the road and Robbie kept his mind on the job. ‘You going to say anything?’ he asked when we got to the Trings’ driveway.

  I shook my head. ‘Nah. We’ve got the paddock. Who cares?’

  Buzz had the trailer hitched up and the basher waiting ready for somebody to drive it on. ‘Want to do it?’ he asked, looking from Robbie to me.

  ‘Paper scissors rock?’ Robbie asked.

  Let me win! Frank wasn’t around, but even if he turned up to watch I didn’t care. I just wanted to get behind the wheel.

  Robbie won.

  He let out a war cry and slid in through the window. He got the motor going with a roar that rattled the windows and sent the dog crazy. Put it in gear. Stalled it.

  ‘Don’t wreck the gear box before we’ve even got started,’ I said.

  Robbie shook his head like it had cobwebs he wanted rid of. He tried again, got the front wheels on the ramps. Stalled.

  ‘Give it more power,’ Buzz said. ‘You’re driving like a granny.’

  So the next time he over-revved it and stalled again.

  It took him four more goes before he had the car on the trailer. I could have done it in one, I’d put money on it.

  Frank came out of the shed, carrying a coil of rope in one hand and a petrol can in the other. ‘After you’ve gone through this, you’re going to have to buy your own.’

  Great. We only had about fifty left. That wouldn’t see us through the holidays. Oh well, no use worrying about it till I had to. We helped tie the car down, chucked the bikes on the back of the ute, Robbie and I climbed on after them and we were off.

  THE PADDOCK WAS close to town but back from the main road, which was good because we didn’t want our party crashed by boy-racer wannabes. It was about the size of a couple of football fields, not steep but not dead flat either. Fences on two sides with hedges round the others, and a tree in one corner. And, best of all, not a house in sight.

  I got to drive the car off the trailer. Crunched the gears getting it into reverse, but apart from that no problem. As soon as the car was on the level, I slipped the gear stick into first and I was away, ignoring the yells behind me. Second gear, third, top. Put my foot down, felt the wheels spin, eased off. Hell! Fence dead ahead. Yanked hard on the steering wheel, the car wobbled and a screeching noise rose above the roar of the exhaust. Bloody hell! I was drifting along the wires. I pulled on the steering wheel again, got free of the fence and decided it was about time to get back to the others.

  Buzz and Robbie raced up to me, shouting, ‘Wicked! Did you hear the screech? Great timing, Jake! Thought you were going to total the fence for sure.’

  Frank wasn’t smiling. ‘Just so you know,’ he said. ‘Any damage to the fencing has to be made good.’ He looked at me. ‘You break it, you pay for it.’ He got back in the ute and took himself off.

  ‘Probably lucky you didn’t go through it then,’ Buzz said.

  Yeah. I’d be up the creek without a carburettor if I’d put a hole in it. I hoisted myself out of the car to let the others have a go.

  We concentrated on driving round the paddock to begin with. Buzz started doing wheel spins, but he already knew the finer points of driving. Robbie and me were pretty green. The only driving I ever got to do was taking Mum’s car out of the garage or shifting Gramps’s when he wanted it out of the drive. That meant I’d never used a gear higher than first before, though I was pretty handy with reverse.

  I knew I’d be better than Robbie, though. Dreamy old Robbie who couldn’t ride in a straight line — until a week ago. I was right. Talk about cow-handed. The poor old car bunny-hopped, it stalled, the engine hit high revs, then he’d graunch the gears and stall it.

  ‘We’re going to need another gear box at this rate,’ Buzz said.

  ‘The clutch probably isn’t doing too well either,’ I said.

  ‘We could give him a hand,’ Buzz said. ‘Give him a hint or two.’

  But when Robbie juddered to a stop beside us and climbed out, his face was a rock of determination. ‘I’ll work it out. I’ll beat the bastard.’

  We kept our mouths shut. No pain, no gain — although we could do without the car suffering too much pain.

  We chucked that car around the paddock till the sun warned Buzz it might be coming up to cow time. Robbie had to take himself off to his fun job too. I thought about staying, about having the car all to myself. But, one, I was starving and, two, I didn’t think it’d be a good idea to use up more than my share of gas.

  ‘What time tomorrow?’ Robbie asked.

  Buzz said, ‘Why the hell can’t you two get yourselves a mobile?’

  I shrugged. ‘Don’t need one.’ And I can’t pay for one either.

  Robbie said, ‘Why? You guys are here. I can just talk to you.’ He lost phones quicker than he could swap TV channels.

  We decided to meet up at the bottom of the road to the paddock at nine in the morning.

  Chapter Nine

  DRIVING LESSONS FROM GOOGLE

  ROBBIE RODE BACK to town without me having to yell at him once. Impressive. He’d be gutted about what a useless driver he was, but somehow he kept his mind on the job of riding in a straight line.

  ‘See ya tomorrow,’ he said, heading off down his street.

  I wasn’t that happy with my driving either. Too many graunches when I changed gear. Too much stalling when I tried a fast take-off. I definitely needed some tips. Maybe if Gramps was in a good mood he might take me out for a lesson.

  He wasn’t home. No Gramps, no food cooking, nothing in the pantry. I had to make do with a pile of toast. He still wasn’t home when the toast was gone, so I jumped on the computer. When in doubt, Google for answers.

  From the posts I read, it looked like I wasn’t synchronising the accelerator with the clutch when I tried to change out of first. One site said to watch the rev counter. Our old girl didn’t have a rev counter. But what was clear from a couple of hours
searching was that I should get the basics sorted before I tried the fancy moves. I watched a few You Tube clips of cars doing 360s, burn-outs and drifting. I was going to need to be a hell of a lot better at driving before I could do any of that.

  Gramps came home. He was wearing his bowling whites, and I reckon if the cops sat outside that club when the ancients were tottering home, they’d catch about half of them for driving over the limit. Gramps was pretty happy, pretty relaxed. Time to ask a favour.

  ‘Gramps, will you take me out for a drive? Teach me, I mean?’

  Unfortunately, he hadn’t had enough whisky to addle the brain. ‘No licence, no driving,’ he said. ‘Get the groceries out of the car for me, will you Jake?’

  I went because sometimes there was edible food in those bags. I even unpacked them without being asked. A tin of baked beans! Score!

  ‘Put the rest away,’ said Gramps.

  He sat watching me to make sure I did it before I fed my face.

  ‘You know, Jake — you don’t have to be the same as your dad.’

  And what the hell was that supposed to mean? I didn’t even look much like the useless bugger. I started eating, my back to Gramps.

  He didn’t get the message. ‘Your dad’s a fun person. Charming.’ Yeah, like father, like son. ‘But he’s got no sort of life. You don’t have to be the same.’

  I got what this was about. I turned around to look him right in the eye. ‘I do not want to get a job. Understand?’

  ‘Never?’ Gramps asked.

  I went back to my beans.

  ‘Your turn to cook,’ he said.

  ‘Only if it’s snarlers,’ I said.

  ‘It’s schnitzel. Easy. I’ll tell you what to do.’

  Thanks a million. I wanted help with driving and he was giving me bloody cooking lessons.

  ‘You’ll be glad one day,’ he said.

  Yeah, yeah.

  In the morning, Robbie and I rode out of town and got to the bottom of paddock road just as Buzz was coming towards it. Who needed a mobile?

  Buzz won paper scissors rock and got first go at the car. He roared off up the paddock, heading straight for the fence.

  ‘What the … Idiot!’

  Then right at the last second, the car slammed sideways and stopped. Buzz started the motor and roared back, aiming for the two of us. We scattered. He did the same sideways move, coming to a stop exactly between us. Not funny.

  ‘You trying to kill us?’ I yelled.

  Buzz swung out of the car. ‘Nah. I knew I’d stop. Been practising at home.’

  We looked at him. How was he to know if the Commodore would behave the same as the ute or whatever the hell he’d been practising in?

  ‘It’s a handbrake turn,’ he said. ‘Dad showed me.’

  And let him practise too. Some people had all the luck.

  ‘I’ll show you. If you like,’ he said.

  ‘Okay,’ said Robbie.

  ‘Might as well,’ I said.

  He showed us, but either he was a rotten teacher or the two of us were dumb.

  ‘Speed’s about right,’ Buzz said, watching Robbie take the car safely up the middle of the paddock at around 30 k. ‘He’s started the turn …’

  ‘… and he’s stuffed it up!’ I said. The car shook, the engine revved and stalled. ‘I’d say that’s a forty-five-degree turn.’ I would do better. Sure of it.

  Robbie drove back, grinning but shaking his head. ‘Harder than it looks, bro,’ he said as he swung himself out of the window.

  I didn’t say anything. I was too busy trying to keep Buzz’s instructions in my head. I clipped the seatbelt in and started the motor. A nice smooth take-off. I took the speed up to 35 k still in first, engine whining, took my foot off the gas, turned the wheel with my right hand, grabbed the handbrake with my left, pulled it on. Forgot to press in the brake’s release button. Stalled it. I didn’t even make a 45-degree turn.

  Robbie and Buzz were rolling around killing themselves laughing when I got back.

  Buzz’s turn. Perfect.

  I looked at Robbie. He looked back at me. Determined. Both of us. We’d get it or die.

  Robbie roared up the paddock, started the turn, then spun out. My turn to crack my ribs laughing.

  I had another go. This time I was so busy concentrating on remembering to hold down the release button that I went into the corner too slowly and didn’t have enough grunt to get around the full 180.

  Robbie climbed out after his fifth attempt. He kicked the dirt. ‘Man, I’m useless.’

  He was right about that. If he’d been heading for the fence, there’d be five bloody great gaps in it by now. But I wasn’t any better.

  We kept at it all day. I figured it all came down to bloody synchronisation again.

  At the end of the day we parked the car under the tree in the corner where the two hedges met. When I got on my bike, it felt small, light and underpowered. Buzz headed up the road to his house, Robbie and I rode back to town.

  Before we parted company, he said, ‘We’re as useless as tits on a bull.’

  ‘I reckon we’re trying to run before we can walk, sort of thing,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah? We should get the basics sorted before we try the fancy manoeuvres?’

  ‘Judging by today,’ I said, ‘I’d have to say yes.’

  ‘Bugger.’ He stared off into space or somewhere inside his own head, which was about the same as space. ‘I want to be as good as Buzz.’ He thought for a second. ‘Or better.’

  ‘Yeah. Me too. There’s a lot to learn though. I checked out some websites. Some of them were useful but a lot were about the advanced stuff.’

  He looked interested, but he was still doing the space thing. ‘I’m gunna get my learner’s. Dad’ll give me lessons if I do, and then I can practise.’

  Well lucky old Robbie. ‘Your olds’ll pay for it?’ I asked. Damn, I should have kept my mouth shut.

  ‘I’ll pay for it. I’ve got the cash.’ He got on his bike. ‘See ya.’

  Yeah. See ya.

  Gramps was sitting on the deck when I cruised in the drive. ‘What’s biting you, young fella?’ he asked.

  I shrugged. ‘Nothing.’ Nothing that a big injection of cash couldn’t cure. But what the hell, I’d ask him for the licence money. He could only say no. ‘Gramps, would you pay for me to get my learner’s?’

  He said no, but of course he didn’t stop at a nice short no. He did the whole lecture about getting a job, standing on my own two feet, couldn’t I see that my mother was worried sick about money? I got the when-I-was-your-age riff. He finished up with, ‘I’ll teach you when you get the licence. Be happy to.’

  Thanks. For nothing. And I just might not want lessons from the old bugger anyway.

  I got me a feed, then hit the computer again. I’d show them. I’d show the lot of them. How did you learn to be such a skilful driver, Jake? Taught myself from the web.

  About six o’clock, when I figured he’d be home, I rang Dad. ‘Dad, I want to get my learner’s. Will you give me the cash?’

  I held my breath. I hadn’t asked him for anything since he’d given me the hundred.

  ‘Well now, son — good for you for getting your licence …’

  ‘I haven’t got it, Dad. That’s the point. You need money to get it, and I haven’t got any.’ Couldn’t put it much plainer than that. I wasn’t liking his tone. It wasn’t sounding like a tone with money behind it.

  ‘Well son,’ he said, ‘I really feel this is something you need to do for yourself.’ He went on — probably could have kept it up all night, but I didn’t have to listen. I put the phone down. Loser.

  I even asked Mum for the cash. Then I wished I hadn’t, because she got tears in her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, Jake, but I just can’t afford it. I have to get new tyres on the Mitsubishi and god knows how I’m going to pay for them.’

  I got out of there quick because Gramps jumped in with, ‘I’ve got enough money, Lizzie. You only have
to ask, you know that.’

  A father/daughter bonding scene I could do without.

  Back to the same old question: get a job or stay happy and unemployed? I consulted Speck. She went with happy and unemployed, but she would, she was a cat. People fed her when she got hungry. ‘What do you know about being a human?’ I asked.

  Chapter Ten

  FAST IS FUN

  I WENT TO have a session with my driving instructor, aka Mr Google. Read everything I could find about learning the art of driving, but there wasn’t much different from what I’d found last time. Then I had a breakthrough. An article about smooth driving — nearly didn’t look at it, thought it would be for geriatrics.

  What it said was: if you want to drive fast you need to drive smooth or you’ll end up in the ditch. And probably dead.

  I sat back and thought about how I was driving. I had this vision of racing at Manfeild or Pukekohe, leaving everyone else in my dust. But if the article was right I was going about it all the wrong way. Aggression isn’t the same as speed, it said. Was I driving aggressively? I shut my eyes, trying to see what the car would look like when I was behind the wheel.

  Aggressive? I kept the jury out on that one, but what I did see was how rough my driving was. Roaring along the straights, slamming into the corners any old how, graunching the gears to get out of them. Braking in the middle of the corner wasn’t the best way of getting round, according to the article, and I’d been doing that every time.

  But! That was how Gramps drove. And Mum. So, forget about lessons from them. Did Buzz drive like Gramps? What about Frank? I shook my head. Nah, they were both pretty smooth drivers. Frank might give me lessons. Like in my dreams. Frank wouldn’t give me anything until I got myself a job.

  I sat back and thought about working, about why I was so dead against it. But why the hell should I look for work? I was still at school, still filling my head with useless facts which wouldn’t help me get a job anyway. It just didn’t feel like me. I didn’t make waves, didn’t stick my head up where it’d get shot off. I was like a glider — I coasted through life. Like father like son, Gramps would say.