Gabriel's Bay

by Robertson, Catherine

  ‘Great,’ said her mum, though she didn’t sound like she meant it. ‘Can you piss off now? Don’t worry about leaving me alone. I’ve given up trying to escape.’

  Footsteps towards the door. Suddenly, Madison didn’t want them to know she was there. She turned and ran, back to the kitchen. Where she found a surprised-looking Sidney.

  ‘Hey!’ said Sidney. ‘I popped back because you left your book in the car. And I know how much—’

  She bent down to peer in Madison’s face.

  ‘You OK?’

  Before Madison could say anything, her dad walked in. Yanked open the fridge and grabbed a beer without noticing either of them. When he did, he almost dropped the bottle.

  ‘Christ.’

  His face was all red and cross-looking, and his hair stuck up on top. Her dad’s hair used to be blond, but now it was mostly grey, though he still got the hairdresser to put highlights in it. ‘The famous Rick Jensen frosted tips,’ her mum had said once.

  ‘Hi,’ said Sidney. ‘Sorry to startle you. I’m returning Maddie’s book.’

  And just like that her dad stopped looking all annoyed. He straightened up, set the beer down on the counter, and stuck out a hand.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, with a bright smile. ‘I’m Rick Jensen. And you must be—?’

  ‘Sidney Gillespie. Mother of Madison’s friends, Aidan and Rory. We have met before.’

  Sidney’s own smile was polite but thin, like the one she’d put on when a religious person had come to her house with two children, selling magazines.

  ‘Of course!’ said Madison’s dad. ‘Apologies. It’s been a long day.’

  And then all three of them leapt, as they heard a big smash in another part of the house. Oksana wasn’t around, so Madison’s mum must have accidentally dropped something.

  ‘Mm,’ said Madison’s dad. ‘Perhaps I should go and check on that?’

  Another big smash. Her dad winced, but kept smiling.

  ‘That, too.’

  ‘How about I have Madison tonight?’ said Sidney.

  ‘Madison?’

  Her dad blinked, like she’d been invisible before and had only just appeared. His smile widened, and his eyes went all crinkly, so she knew he was glad to see her.

  ‘Hey, sweetheart,’ he said.

  Madison ran over and hugged him around the waist. Her dad patted her shoulder, but his head kept turning towards the other part of the house, where her mum was, as if expecting something else to go smash any minute.

  ‘I could have Maddie sleep over at my place,’ said Sidney. ‘While things here are …’

  Her dad’s phone beeped and he snatched it out of his pocket with one hand, while his other kind of scooped Madison off his middle.

  ‘One moment,’ he said, and walked off into the living room, where he could talk in private.

  Madison heard Sidney suck in a long breath and blow it quietly out.

  ‘OK, Maddie,’ she said. ‘Go and fetch a change of clothes, and your toothbrush.’

  Madison hesitated. Her dad was home for the first time in ages, and both her parents had sounded really upset and worried before, like they needed a hug.

  She could hear her dad talking, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. He didn’t like to be interrupted when he was on the phone.

  ‘Go on,’ Sidney’s voice was kind. ‘We’ll call your mum and dad before you go to bed.’

  Madison went to her bedroom and gathered up a set of clothes, making sure to put in two pairs of underpants, just in case, and a jersey because you never knew what the weather would do. She got her toothbrush and some toothpaste, and placed everything carefully in the small brown bag with the pattern that sort of looked like stars and flowers along with the letters LV that her mum said stood for Louis someone. Her dad had bought the bag in New York, but her mum said it was a knock-off, so she gave it to Madison.

  As she walked out her bedroom door, Madison remembered that she’d been excited when she first came home, about tomorrow after school being their first football training session. The excitement had all gone now — it was like a big fist was pushing her feelings down, and taking up space inside her, making it hard to breathe. She got a pair of shorts, anyway, and a spare t-shirt and her old sneakers, so she wouldn’t dirty her special new ones that her mum had ordered all the way from France.

  Then she realised that if her dad was home, then maybe he could watch her train? A tiny new bubble of excitement managed to escape past the big fist, and Madison ran back to the kitchen to tell her dad, ask if he could come.

  But the only person waiting was Sidney, who took her bag and said, briskly, ‘Come on. We’ll go back and make pikelets. With your favourite jam — blackberry.’

  Outside, Aidan and Rory were kicking a ball at the drystone wall that a man had taken a whole two months to build out of yellowish rocks that looked like old cheese. Each time the ball hit, there was a little cloud of yellow dust and bits of rock crumbled onto the ground.

  Sidney didn’t tell Aidan and Rory off like she normally would. She didn’t say anything at all, and Madison saw the boys look at each other with round eyes. They got straight in the car and didn’t even make a fuss about who had to sit in the middle.

  Madison felt bad that she hadn’t said goodbye to her mum and dad. But Sidney had promised she could phone them tonight, before she went to bed, so she’d look forward to that. Her mum and dad — she could say goodnight to both of them and tell them about football training.

  The big fist felt lighter, and Madison closed her eyes and imagined how pleased her mum and dad would be when she told them all about Kerry and football and the fun she was going to have tomorrow.

  ‘Kerry’s a girl’s name.’

  Madison knew Tanya Booth was being mean because she didn’t like Kerry telling her she couldn’t train in gumboots.

  ‘Yeah,’ said her older sister, Shari. ‘Are you gay?’

  Madison felt suddenly worried that they might ruin the first football training. But, to her relief, Kerry didn’t seem bothered at all.

  ‘Thank you both,’ he said, ‘for that perfect introduction to our training session’s rules. Listen up, team, and learn by heart because I will give no second chances …’

  He held up his hand, pointed a finger at the sky.

  ‘Rule One: you’re a team and a team has eleven players of equal standing, so don’t hog the ball and don’t be a prima donna. Rule Two—’

  ‘What’s a prima donna?’ said Shari.

  ‘Someone who throws tantrums when they can’t get their way,’ said Kerry. ‘Or who sulks, or blames others when they make a mistake.’

  ‘Like Madonna did ’cos her son didn’t want to live with her?’ said Shari.

  ‘A fine example, Shari. Thank you.’

  Kerry put up his second finger. ‘Rule Two—’

  ‘Is prima donna named after Madonna?’

  ‘Just a happy coincidence. Two—’

  ‘Have you seen Madonna in concert?’

  ‘Shari,’ said Kerry. ‘This is football training not Pop Idol. Be quiet now, and we can discuss the oeuvre of the Material Girl over our chocolate fish. Two—’

  ‘Is oovra like another word for—?’

  ‘Two: show respect at all times — to each other, the opposing team, the referee, the spectators, and any and all random passers-by. That means: no name-calling, no swearing, no arguing and, as per Rule One, no sulking or tantrums.’

  ‘Ow!’

  Rory clutched his arm, pointed at Lincoln Turvey.

  ‘He stuck me with his compass!’

  ‘Lincoln.’ Kerry held out a hand.

  Lincoln shook his head and kept on shaking it until he must have been dizzy. He did that a lot in class. Madison had heard one of the mothers say he had a disorder, but she wasn’t sure what that meant.

  ‘Rule Two also means no hurting, Lincoln,’ said Kerry. ‘No hitting, biting or kicking, or assault with any kind of weapon, including those
of maths instruction. If you can’t manage it, I’ll have to send you home. If you can manage it, I’ll let you blow my whistle after the session. Loud as you like.’

  Madison could tell that Rory really wanted Lincoln to go home. But Lincoln nodded, passed the compass to Kerry, and then spun in circles on the spot.

  ‘Rule Three,’ said Kerry. ‘No cheating. I’ll be lenient while we’re learning how to play, but after that — straight to the sidelines. Right.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘Are we all clear on the rules? Are we all willing to play by them?’

  He stared around at the group, making sure everyone looked him in the eye. All the kids nodded. Lincoln kept on nodding after everyone else had stopped.

  ‘OK. Champion. Let’s get to it. Who’s played before? Apart from Rory and Aidan?’

  Madison put up her hand. So did Dylan Weir. And Reuben Coates.

  ‘You have not,’ Tanya Booth to him. ‘You’re such a liar.’

  Reuben tried to punch her on the arm and missed. For a bigger girl, Tanya moved pretty quickly. She skipped away, laughing at him, and he chased her, head down and bellowing like a small charging bull.

  Kerry stepped in front, caught Reuben by the shoulders and held him gently until he stopped trying to run.

  ‘Whoa there, partner,’ said Kerry. ‘Tanya, stop smirking or you’re going home.’

  ‘He isn’t nine, either,’ said Shari. ‘He’s only eight. The notice said you had to be nine.’

  Reuben began to bellow and wriggle again.

  ‘Whoa-oh, listen up,’ said Kerry. ‘Being eight is no problem. You’re fast, aren’t you? You’ll get around the bigger kids easy, I’ll bet.’

  Reuben wouldn’t look at Kerry, but he stayed still, and you could tell he was listening.

  ‘Oh, man,’ said Aidan. ‘Are we ever going to play? It’s been like ten minutes.’

  ‘You cool?’ Kerry asked Reuben.

  He nodded, so Kerry let him go.

  ‘OK, said Kerry. ‘Ball skills. It’s all about control — making that ball go exactly where you want it to.’

  ‘Back of the net!’ Rory punched his fist in the air.

  ‘Indeed, Rory. But before that, you need to move it along the ground, fast and efficiently, and you need to pass it accurately, so …’

  Kerry showed them a few moves, and then divided them into two groups. Madison went into the ‘played before’ group with Rory, Aidan, Reuben and Dylan. The other group had Tanya and Shari, Lincoln and Peter Gilbert, whose mum worked in the library in Hampton. Peter had super-thick glasses and was very good at maths, and spoke like he was English even though Madison knew he’d been born and brought up in Gabriel’s Bay.

  Madison’s group did an exercise called Gladiator, where they had to try to stop Aidan kicking their balls away from them and out of the playing area. Aidan was the best player by miles, so it was easy for him to get the ball off everyone. Everyone except Reuben, who was really fast, like Kerry had said.

  Madison saw Aidan getting frustrated. When he got frustrated, sometimes he lashed out. She looked away to see if Kerry was watching, but he was busy with the others, who were playing a game where their balls were dogs they had to take for a walk. ‘Your dog wants to sniff a tree!’ said Kerry, and they had to dribble the ball over to a cone. Everyone was giggling and it did look like fun, but Madison wished Kerry would turn his head her way, because she really needed him to make sure Aidan didn’t get too cross and start—

  Smack! Right in the face, hard enough to knock her over onto the concrete.

  Madison sat up, holding her face and gulping for air, trying not to cry. It stung!

  Kerry slid onto his knees next to her. ‘Let me see.’

  She moved her hand from her cheek, which was all hot and still stinging.

  ‘Ouch,’ said Kerry. ‘Sit tight and I’ll get the ice pack.’

  ‘It was Reuben!’ shouted Aidan. ‘He did it!’

  ‘Oo-oo.’ The Booth sisters sang together. ‘Reu-ben’s gonna get it.’

  ‘Quiet!’ Madison had never seen Kerry angry before. ‘Reuben is not—’

  But Reuben was already sprinting across the courtyard.

  ‘Reuben!’ Kerry yelled after him.

  Too late. He’d disappeared behind the prefabs.

  ‘All well?’

  Sidney walked up, jingling her car keys. Saw Madison on the ground.

  ‘Maddie!’

  Sidney crouched down, but had to move back when Kerry came with the ice pack.

  ‘Hold that on your cheek,’ he told Madison. ‘Long as you can stand it.’

  All the other kids were standing around now, mouths open — ‘catching flies’ as her mum would say. Madison felt embarrassed, and worried that she might get whoever kicked the ball into trouble. She was sure it must have been an accident.

  ‘How on earth did this happen?’ said Sidney.

  ‘Reuben Coates kicked a ball right in Madison’s face!’ Aidan spoke in a gasping rush.

  ‘Yeah, but you made him,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Did not, you—!’

  ‘Enough!’ said Kerry. ‘Dylan, what do you mean?’

  ‘Mum, he—’ Aidan sounded even more gaspy.

  ‘Your turn next,’ said Sidney, firmly. ‘Dylan?’

  Dylan had a pale, round, freckly face that reminded Madison of brown sugar sprinkled on a bowl of milky porridge. But he was nice — shared his stuff, liked things to be fair.

  ‘Aidan couldn’t get the ball off Reuben,’ said Dylan. ‘So he took Madison’s ball while she wasn’t looking and kicked it at him real hard, and Reuben kicked it back real hard but it went all wonky and hit Madison right in the face.’

  ‘OK,’ said Kerry. ‘I think I’m clear. Aidan, is that what happened?’

  Aidan hung his head, scuffed his toe on the ground, mumbled.

  ‘Speak up, Aidan,’ said Sidney. ‘We all need to hear.’

  ‘Yes-that’s-what-happened,’ said Aidan, not much louder.

  ‘And yet you blamed it all on Reuben?’ said Kerry.

  ‘Yesssss …’ Aidan sighed it out.

  ‘Well, you owe that young man an apology,’ said Sidney.

  She stared out at the prefabs where Reuben was last seen. ‘Poor little duck.’

  And the fist that had been pressing down inside Madison seemed to expand like a big hard balloon, and her throat got tight and the gulping sobs she’d managed to keep at bay burst right out of her, and the tears that ran over the ice pack felt cold when they dripped onto her hand.

  Sidney gathered her up in a hug.

  ‘Dear, oh, dear,’ she murmured. ‘You’re such a brave girl, but sometimes it’s all too much, isn’t it?’

  Madison wasn’t sure what she meant, but she was glad to be comforted by Sidney, who was the only grown-up she knew who wouldn’t let her go until she’d stopped crying, and who didn’t mind tears and snot all over her top.

  ‘And that,’ Kerry said, ‘concludes our training for today. Dylan, Tanya — go and pick up the balls, Rory and Aidan, the cones. That will give me time to figure out how to get you all home.’

  Chapter 11

  Mac

  Mac read through the list of ‘11 Heart Symptoms You Can’t Ignore!’ and tried to ignore how many could apply to Jacko.

  Of course, they could all equally be nothing to do with heart disease. Snoring — that was common. Even she snored when she slept on her back. Breaking out into the sweats — Jacko worked in a hot kitchen, worked hard. And he wasn’t a small man — took a lot of energy to manoeuvre a six-foot-seven, hundred-plus-kilo frame. Coughing — well, he smoked and he liked it. Tiredness — again, he worked hard, worked long days.

  Mac smacked her finger on the mouse, despatched the site to oblivion. Pointless. If Jacko dropped dead tomorrow, his epitaph would still read ‘No regrets’. And there was much to be admired about that attitude. Because what was the alternative? Worry, anxiety, shrinking your life to the point where you’d never take a risk bec
ause you’d never do anything. You’d stay boxed up in the tiny space you’d created and live a diminished, fear- and excuse-filled life. Might as well move into a coffin. Save everyone time and effort.

  Yes, Jacko’s philosophy beat wimping-out hands down. His ‘less talk, more action’ approach was what had attracted Mac in the first place, back when he was seventeen and she barely fifteen. While other young men puffed hot air about their plans to conquer, Jacko was already halfway up the mountain. If he didn’t know how to do something, he’d find out — read a book, recruit an expert. If he got stuck, found it hard, he’d push through. The rare times he gave up were when he knew something wasn’t for him; he didn’t feel like he could truly commit.

  Those dead ends were few, because he had a sound awareness of what he didn’t want to do. He didn’t want to be employed, disliked the restrictions of set hours and narrow job descriptions. He didn’t want to sit at a desk, or exercise his brain but not his body. He didn’t care how much he earned. He did care that he was paid a fair price, and built a reputation for holding a hard line in negotiations. He’d worked as a deer culler, top-dressing pilot, hunting guide, deck-hand on a deep-sea trawler, fitter and turner for mussel barges, arborist, pest-control officer and, briefly, vehicle wrangler for a film shoot.

  Most of his jobs evolved naturally from the ones before. Which is why the Boat Shed had been such a surprise to onlookers. It seemed wrong for Jacko to tie himself to one location, indoors at that. It also disproved their long-held belief that he ripped meat raw from the bone and seasoned it with glass. There were some who’d still not recovered from their first sight of Jacko in an apron.

  But those close to him knew Jacko had always been interested in food. He had taught himself to cook in his teens, when he first started hunting. Mac chuckled whenever she read about the new trend of nose-to-tail cooking or young chefs who used phrases like ‘connecting with our food’ or ‘meat morality’. There was a certain level of respect for the animal in Jacko’s no-waste policy, sure, but in the main he used everything because everything tasted good — if you knew how to cook it. Customers of the Boat Shed accepted there was no set menu and that Jacko served whatever was most readily available, which might be lamb shoulder, crayfish and venison, but might also be brains, liver and glands. The interval before your meal arrived was often accompanied by the adrenaline surge sought by Russian-roulette players and Japanese businessmen staring down a plate of fugu. As it happened, most customers had the palate of an igneous rock formation, and went away happily unaware that they’d eaten bovine stomach lining and not a delicious crumbed schnitzel.