by Tim Winton
‘Geez,’ said Phillip, ‘you guys get everything except New Idea.’
‘Well, I coulda done with the recipes.’
‘The Sarge says education is fifty per cent fashion.’
‘Yeah, well, when you get to high school it’ll probably be fifty per cent flashin’. Let’s get out of here. Next week’ll come soon enough.’
At the school gate Vicki Streeton stood with her hands in the pockets of her shorts. Her books were piled on the wall beside her. Lockie’s heart didn’t exactly sink. Actually his pulse revved just a bit. Don’t muck it up, he told himself. Redeem yourself.
‘G’day, Vicki,’ said Phillip. ‘Nice . . . shorts.’
Lockie winced. His brother was becoming a primary school perv.
‘That hair,’ she said. ‘It still looks like a bushfire, Phillip.’
‘Brothers,’ mumbled Lockie. ‘Don’t have ’em.’
Vicki stared at her feet for a moment.
‘Lockie and I were just checking out the talent,’ said Phillip.
‘Phillip’s just taken delivery of his hormones, apparently,’ said Lockie rolling his eyes.
Vicki smiled. Oh, it cut right through him, that smile.
‘Anyway.’
‘Yeah.’
Blob woke up in the stroller and began to wriggle and whine.
‘Well, seeya,’ said Vicki.
‘Right.’ Nice work, Leonard, he thought. That was a million bucks worth of smooth talk. Not!
Lockie and Phillip walked on a few paces but then Lockie stopped. I must be mad, he thought, but here goes. ‘We’ll be home this arvo. If you’ve got nothin’ on.’
She turned back to them, frizzy hair swinging across her cheeks like in some shampoo commercial. ‘Yeah?’
Lockie shrugged. ‘Yeah.’
They headed on down the hill. Phillip beamed like a lighthouse.
‘What’re you grinning about?’
‘Aw, nothin’,’ said Phillip. ‘Nothin’ at all.’
Lockie tried on his mum’s pink rubber gloves and found they were a perfect fit. Destiny, he thought. I was meant for the scrubbing life.
‘You’re nervous,’ said Phillip.
‘Bulldust.’
But he was. Lockie scurried around the house, cleaning and tidying and wringing and pegging to keep from thinking about Vicki. Would she come? Did he really want her to? Should he be totally awful to her? Was he that big a butthead?
At four o’clock he picked up the phone and dialled half of Vicki’s number before slamming it back onto the wall. Then he heard the knock on the door.
‘Yessss!’ said Phillip, bursing from his room.
‘Phillip, please disappear.’
Phillip hesitated. He licked his scabby lips and scratched his awful hair. ‘Okay. But I want a full report.’
Before Vicki could even get a foot in the door Lockie started blathering away like a complete idiot. Phillip scuttled off in shame and Vicki just stood there admiring the fly poop on the screen door.
‘Look, about the other day, Vicki, I’m just I really it’s just I really I was a total mess and I didn’t well I couldn’t but I should’ve when I . . . anyway it’s no real excuse it’s just that I’m . . . sorry. Really.’
Vicki let go a half smile. ‘Can I come in now? Or is there more?’
‘There’s more but I’m kinda stuck—’
‘I’ll come in then, will I?’
Lockie blushed and tried to retract his head into his ribcage. ‘Yeah. If you like.’
She stepped inside and looked around nervously. ‘So Phillip’s hair thing worked?’
‘A few things, I s’pose. Sorry about the mess.’
‘I didn’t mean to freak you out the other day.’
Lockie grimaced. ‘Well. I s’pose I was surprised. I mean, I kept wondering how you knew about us, about what was happening with Mum.’ He stepped back and nearly stumbled over a pile of fresh laundry. ‘I mean, you showing up with food like our fairy godmother and everything. It kind of cooked my circuits. I mean, of all people. You know.’
‘Yeah, me of all people. Nasty surprise, huh?’ Vicki looked at the huge basket of clothes. You could have strung a hot air balloon to it, it was so big. ‘Are you going to iron this?’
‘Sarge irons at night. I keep burning stuff.’
‘I’ll show you.’
‘No, it’s okay.’
‘Come on, we’ll save him a job. He looks terrible.’
‘Alright,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Why not.’
It was uncomfortable having your ex there doing your family’s ironing—all those saggy undies with faint skidmarks still ghosting through—but the hot, dreamy smell of the iron calmed him after a while and he began to feel a little more talkative.
‘How’re your oldies?’ he asked.
‘Oh, the same. Miserable with each other.’
‘That’s a bummer. Sorry to hear it.’
‘Oh, it’s just the usual. You know how they are. A couple of Nylon Pirates.’
Lockie smiled. They were shockers, alright. Loud and nasty.
‘You’re lucky, you know. I was always jealous about your parents. When I used to come here in the old days, when we were . . . I used to just watch you all wishing it was my family. And you hardly ever invited me round, like you were embarrassed by them. Your mum and dad are pretty cool people.’
Lockie laughed. ‘No one’s ever called the Sarge a cool dude before.’
‘Well, they only made one of him. Think of that—a poetry-reading cop. Your mum loves him to bits. And he loves her. They’re both lucky. You’re all lucky.’
‘Well I’m not feeling real lucky just now.’
‘Your mum’ll get better. She’s got something to come home to. Face it or I’ll hate you, you’ve got a great family.’
‘You didn’t answer my question before,’ Lockie said, setting shirts on hangers. ‘About how you knew Mum was sick and things were like they are.’
‘I know,’ said Vicki.
‘So?’
‘I reckon I know you real well, Lockie. Better than almost anyone.’
‘Is that your answer?’
She blew steam and hair off her face and stood the iron up. ‘Can you say the same about me? Do you know me? Really well?’
Lockie hung the shirts off the door and looked out at the verandah where Phillip was rolling and wrestling with Blob.
‘I thought I did, once. But you’re full of surprises. You’re a bit cagey, I think. You keep secrets. Maybe I wasn’t curious enough. Is that the wrong answer?’
‘I saw your mum in the hospital the day she was admitted.’
Lockie dropped a wire coathanger. It bounced across the room with a boing.
‘You know Monster, don’t you?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Lockie, he’s my big brother.’
‘I—’
‘Yeah, I know. You didn’t even know I had a brother. Monster’s pretty versatile in our family. He’s the black sheep and the skeleton in the closet.’
Lockie trod on the coathanger trying to pick it up. He tried bending it back into shape but it looked like a drowned seagull.
‘Wow. It’s kind of hard to believe.’
‘I’ve seen you on the ward, you know. Lunchtimes and stuff.’
‘You mean you hid while I was there?’
Vicki took up the iron again and slashed away. ‘Well, I thought you looked unhappy enough without you having to deal with me.’
‘So you see my mum every day?’
‘Not every day.’
‘And you’ve watched it all happen.’
‘Well, I’m not snooping or anything. I was going in to see Monster and she was down the corridor. I’ve always looked up to her, you see. I go in and talk to her. Geez, I tell her things I’ve never told anybody in my life. She’s been a kind of shrink for me. Think of it—I’m visiting a patient for advice. She’s the sanest person I know.’
Lockie suck
ed his teeth and chewed his lips, trying to take it in. ‘That’s . . . that’s why she knew so much about you. She said you’d had a bad time. I didn’t know.’
She shrugged. ‘And the food, bringing the food was just . . . I was just trying to help. There’s nothing else in it. I’m not sucking up to you or trying to pressure you or embarrass you, Lockie. It was supposed to stay a secret. Now it’s made things worse.’
‘No. Wow. But it is kind of radical. It’s all just a bit unexpected.’ He rubbed his head. ‘I guess you answered my question, then.’
‘And you answered mine.’
Lockie looked at her. ‘I don’t know you that well, do I?’
‘Mate, you haven’t got the faintest. Trouble is, I’m not so sure about me either.’
Lockie laughed. It was probably the wrong thing to do in the circumstances, but he just couldn’t help himself. This whole business was hilarious. He laughed till he got hiccups and made a complete knob of himself.
hat night Lockie was in a daze. Food simmered on the stove, the house smelled fresh and clean and Phillip and Blob splashed happily in the bathroom. His hands hurt with the cracks the dermatitis made in his skin but Lockie felt different somehow, as though something new had happened to him. He saw the Sarge’s headlights bobbing and probing down the long driveway and when the paddywagon pulled into the yard he went out to meet him.
‘Big day?’ asked the Sarge, opening his door.
‘A large one, Sarge.’
‘Kids alright?’
‘In the bath.’
‘Cool,’ said the Sarge, doing his Bart Simpson impersonation. ‘Now give us a hand for a sec, willya? I’ve got someone in the back.’
‘A . . . a prisoner? Here?’
‘Yeah. He’s not dangerous, just a bit confused.’
‘Is he gonna be—’
‘Yeah, he’s full of surprises, this fella, so just keep your wits about you, orright?’
‘S-sure.’
‘He just needs somewhere to stay. I thought he might help us keep this grass down a bit.’
‘A prisoner? Sarge, this is completely—’ There was a rattle and a thud inside the van and Lockie felt a sudden urge to pee.
‘Sarge—’
The Sarge unlatched the door and grabbed the handle. ‘Now, get ready, Lockie.’
‘Umm.’
The doors flew open and a terrible greasy stink rushed out. From the darkness a big grey shape reeled and surged towards Lockie as he tremblingly held his hands out. And then a dirty great merino sheep poked its head out and looked around.
‘You gotta be—’
Lockie went backwards as the ram leapt out and shirtfronted him into the mud before clattering off into the grassy darkness of the yard.
‘See?’ said the Sarge. ‘He likes it already.’
‘A sheep?’
‘You didn’t believe me, did you? I arrested him weeks ago and no one claimed him. Started to annoy the other blokes in the lock up, so I thought—you know—we’ve got the room. Need the grass cut. The kids’ll love him.’
The Sarge pulled Lockie up out of the clinging goo.
‘A ram?’
‘Fifty kilos of ruttin’ mutton.’
‘Lovely.’
‘I’ve named him Cyril.’
‘Sarge, you amaze me.’
‘Son, I startle even myself.’
ext day was Friday. While Phillip and Blob followed Cyril around the yard, tempting him with toast and marmalade, Lockie thought about tackling the black mould that had grown all over the bathroom since Mrs Leonard had gone to hospital. He had his wicked pink gloves on when Vicki dropped by.
‘Ah, those rubber gloves really do it for me,’ she said. ‘Need help?’
‘Actually, yes.’
‘Yuk. Why did I offer? Look at this stuff. Fungus farm.’
They worked all morning, scrubbing and airing the place, amusing the kids, watching poor Cyril trying to mate with Phillip’s BMX. Must have been the sheepskin seatcover.
In the afternoon they walked downtown to buy Phillip some new shorts for school. Janis Abernathy and Petal McCrum saw them in Woolworths and a bunch of grommets from the Surfriders Club checked them out in Target. It was all over town like swamp gas. Lockie and Vicki were playing Happy Families. There’s nothing like a bit of goss to bring a town together.
That Friday Vicki and Lockie didn’t talk about much. There wasn’t time really and Lockie was glad. It was good to just do things and not talk for a while. He really didn’t know what it meant, him and Vick like this. He didn’t want to spoil it with talk. Besides, he needed the help so badly, why cause an argument. Vicki gave him some serious cooking tips and his culinary repertoire doubled in one hour. He showed her how to deal with Blob; she didn’t have the faintest about babies. In the end he was too tired to talk anyway.
The Sarge knocked off early. He rescued Phillip’s bike from the amorous Cyril and drove Vicki home.
‘She’s a great kid, that Vicki,’ the Sarge said when he got back.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘It’s like havin’ a big sister,’ said Phillip. ‘Besides, she’s got a great butt.’
Thanks for sharing that with us, Phillip,’ said the Sarge. ‘Lockie, why don’t you take the weekend off? Look at this house. A legendary performance. I smell a change in our luck.’
That’s Dettol, Sarge.’
‘Quite bracing it is, too.’
‘How come the fit of rosiness, Sarge?’
Sergeant Leonard pulled off his cuffs and holster and swung them around his head. ‘I visited your mother today.’
‘Uh-huh?’
‘She told me she loves me.’
‘Of course she loves you.’
‘Still, it’s nice to be told. I was beginning to think she just wanted me for my money.’
‘Phillip, our father’s a basket case.’
‘Yep. And I’m armed and on the loose. Hmm, lamb chops! Let’s not tell Cyril; he might think less of us.’
ockie dreamt he was a baby in the bathtub. He floated in warm water like a pink cloud. He wiggled his toes and kicked his legs and felt the warm glug of bathwater in his ears. Then he felt the comforting thrill of someone soaping him and scrubbing him down with a golden sponge. Someone spoke soothingly to him in a familiar, friendly voice. He lay back, just a helpless and happy baby, enjoying the rub and scrub. Until he recognised who it was peering down at him with her sleeves rolled up and her braces glinting. There he was buck naked and toothless, being washed by Vicki Streeton. Aaaaarrrrrrrghhhhhh!
‘Lockie! Lockie?’
Lockie sat up, dry and dressed, in his PJs. ‘Whaa? Wharrisit?’
The Sarge ricked the curtains back. ‘Phone for you, Sleeping Beauty. It’s Vicki.’
‘Ah.’ Yikes!
‘What’s the matter, Lockie? It’s Saturday.’
‘Right.’
‘Get out of the house today, orright? Go surfing.’
‘No swell, Sarge.’
‘Well, do something. You need a break.’
Lockie stumbled to the phone. ‘Lo?’
‘G’day, lazybum.’
‘Hi, Vick.’
‘Wanna go fishin’?’
‘Um, I didn’t know you were into fishing.’
‘Meaning you’re not into it.’
‘Well.’
‘Come on,’ she coaxed. ‘You’ll have fun.’
‘I haven’t got any gear. Tackle. Whatever.’
‘I’ve got stacks.’
He was trapped. Fishing. Yuk.
The Sarge swept by and grabbed the phone. ‘He’ll be there in ten minutes. He can’t wait.’
When the sun finally came out it warmed the smooth grey rock where Lockie and Vicki sat and it turned the sea into tinsel. There were birds in the bush behind them; they crashed around in the trees like delinquents. Lockie looked at Vicki out of the corner of his eye. She wore denim shorts and sneakers and an old tee-shirt that should have been a mechan
ic’s rag by now. Sun lit her hair and skin so that she looked like hot metal. Her eyes were on the sea as she concentrated fiercely. Man, she really meant business. She obviously intended to take home some fish.
‘Whew,’ he murmured in the end, ‘I forgot what the sun looked like.’
‘I s’pose you’d rather be surfing.’
‘No waves.’
Vicki went all tense, became totally still for a moment, then jerked back on her rod. ‘Ah, gotcha.’
Lockie watched as she stood with the rod bucking and whipping. She skipped to and fro across the rock, following the force of the line until there was a flash in the water and the fish came out curving and sparkling like a silver slipper. She laid it on the rock beside him.
‘Skippy,’ she said, panting a little. ‘It’s a kind of trevally.’
‘Uh-huh?’
She took the hook out and slipped the fish into a wet flour bag. Lockie held his own rod as though it was a flagpole. Vicki baited up again, wiped her slimy hands on her shirt and made a long, graceful cast.
‘You’re pretty good at all this, aren’t you?’ he murmured.
‘Yeah. Actually I am. When I was really little I used to come down here with Monster. His real name’s Colin, by the way. I did more things with him than I did with my oldies. He’s fifteen years older than me.’
‘He looks older than that.’
‘Well, he hasn’t exactly looked after himself,’ said Vicki, reeling in some slack line. ‘I dunno what happened. He just went off and did stupid things. Dumb biker things. You know, like Duh! Time in gaol. Lots of messy stupid things. And then he gradually went off his rocker. Drugs and stuff. Mum and Dad were sick of him even before he lost it. They don’t visit him anymore. He comes and goes between loony bins and hospitals. Now and then he comes out and goes to a hostel, but it doesn’t last long. He busts up stuff or clobbers someone. He hasn’t been in town for a year or more. Turned up a month ago from Perth, completely out of his tree. He’ll never get any better.’
‘Geez.’
‘You’re lucky, Lockie. Your mum’ll get over this. She just needs some time. She’s not damaged forever like him. By the way, what are you staring at?’
‘Nothing,’ he lied.