by Scott Monk
‘No it’s not. You didn’t start the fight.’
‘I know, but I still feel bad that you’ve got to walk. I’d pay for your taxi fare home if I had the money.’
‘Don’t worry. It’s okay. Really.’
She backed away and Matt let her leave this time. She wanted to be alone. However, ten paces away, Kelly paused, sighed deeply then turned round. ‘Thanks,’ she said.
‘For what?’
‘For sticking up for me back there. No one’s ever done that before.’
Matt shrugged. ‘I was just doing the right thing. It’s not funny even joking about hitting a girl.’
She glanced at him, confused, but quickly covered it up. ‘Still, thanks.’
‘And same to you for trying to stop him hitting me.’
They stood there looking at each other dumbly until Matt grabbed his gear and started to leave. ‘You live around here?’ he asked, shifting his boots to his other shoulder and walking past her.
Hesitating until she realised she was the one being left behind this time, Kelly caught up with him. ‘Kind of. I live in Greenacre.’
‘Are you going home now?’
She nodded. ‘I’ve got a science exam tomorrow.’
Matt groaned. ‘I’m glad it’s you and not me. They’re the worst. If you need some help, I can ask you questions along the way.’
Kelly questioned his motives with her eyes. ‘Don’t you have a home to go to?’
‘Yeah, but my stepmother and two ugly stepsisters make me shave their legs and pop the zits on their backs.’
Kelly stopped and gawked.
‘Just joking,’ he added, not expecting her reaction. ‘Nah, I’m keen for a walk, that’s all.’ And getting to know you better. Quiet, brain.
‘I don’t know …’
‘C’mon. I know everything about Whinestein.’
‘Einstein?’
‘Yeah, him. E equals MC squared and all that. What do you say?’
Kelly thought about it for a moment then reluctantly agreed. ‘Okay.’ She seemed surprised that someone was talking to her let alone wanting to help her study.
They walked through the streets of Bankstown and headed east towards Greenacre. The traffic was growing heavier as the time clicked over to five o’clock. His mum would be sitting on a bus in the middle of it.
Matt wouldn’t be home any time soon though. He was enraptured with Kelly. Wow. She was even hotter up close. Her hair smelt of coconut oil and he just loved the way she tucked stray strands behind her ears. He wondered how it would feel to bury his face in its softness. If only his heart would stop going psycho, he might be able to talk to her.
‘By the way, I’m Matthew Cassidy,’ he said, offering a handshake.
‘I know. You’re the footballer everyone is talking about.’
He blushed and smiled awkwardly as they shook hands.
‘And I’m Kelly Sinclair.’
‘I know. You’re the girl everyone’s talking about.’
Kelly’s face reddened as Matt realised he’d goofed. Idiot!
‘Not that they talk about you in a bad way,’ he added hastily. ‘They all think that you’re a nice person, is what I’m trying to say. And funny. Yeah, funny. Or so people tell me. Not that I’ve met you myself. Well, not until now. But now that I’ve met you I think you’re a nice person too … Am I making any sense?’
‘No,’ Kelly answered coyly.
‘I should shut up, shouldn’t I?’
She nodded, slightly amused at his bumblings.
Moron! Fool! Geek! Shut up, would you.
‘How’s your back?’ Kelly asked, quickly changing the subject.
Spasms of pain rekindled beneath his skin at the memory of the attack. ‘Still a bit sore, but I’ll manage.’
‘I’m sorry Aaron did that to you. He didn’t mean it.’
Matt’s eyes narrowed. ‘How?’
‘He’s stressed at the moment. It’s finals time again. The talent scouts are looking for new players. Losing today didn’t help.’
‘He’s kidding himself, isn’t he? He’s the best player in the district. Clubs should be lining up to talk to him.’
‘But people are saying the same thing about you.’
‘So he’s jealous?’
‘Kind of. He’s not used to the competition.’
‘That’s no reason to go around threatening people.’
‘There’s more to it than that. He promised his dad he would win.’
Matt shrugged. ‘So he lost. My mum’s seen me lose plenty of times after I told her I’d win. What’s the big deal?’
‘It’s different in their family. They hate losing. It’s what happens when your father’s the former Australian captain and three of your brothers are playing for Sydney clubs.’
Matt knew what she was talking about. Knuckles Blackwell had been one of Australia’s toughest captains. He’d been the anchor of rugby league for ten years when cracking open an opponent’s head was still part of fair play. He had four sons, three of whom had followed his boot marks into playing professional league. They were captains of their respective Sydney clubs or the best players in their teams. The pressure was on the youngest brother, Aaron, to do the same.
Matt changed the subject.
‘I saw you up in the grandstand today. So you’re into footy, huh?’
Kelly nodded. ‘I grew up on it. My dad played three seasons with the Bulldogs alongside Aaron’s dad. I used to watch their games all the time. Once I even ran onto the field after dad got injured badly in a tackle. I was screaming, “Dad! Dad!” after I saw him being hurt. The ref had to postpone the game until mum came and grabbed me. All the TV stations played it on the news that night,’ she said, blushing.
‘Get out of here!’
‘It’s true. I always seem to get into trouble though. One season, dad got me a job as a ball girl. I was about nine at the time. I didn’t last long. All the ball boys from other teams used to get jealous. They’d say that a girl shouldn’t be able to do their job. One afternoon a kid by the name of Tim threw sand in my face. I punched him back and he bawled his eyes out. It was the last time I was ever allowed to be a ball girl.’
Matt laughed. ‘What did your dad say?’
‘He still blames me to this day. Says that’s why he never got too many more games with the club,’ she joked.
‘I remember seeing your dad play. He was great. He always used to split the defence with his famous side-step. After a game, I’d go down to the local park and practise that exact move.’
‘I can tell. You used it today.’
‘You saw it?’
‘Of course. Who didn’t? You ran through the Lions defence as if it didn’t exist. No wonder everyone’s talking about you.’
‘What are they saying?’
‘That you’ll be playing first grade one day. Maybe even an international.’
Matt’s face reddened. The praise made him uncomfortable. He dreamed of doing exactly that but for now he was a bloke who liked playing footy.
‘Do you play any sport?’ he asked.
‘I swim.’
‘Are you any good at it?’ he asked, as images of her dressed in a bikini bobbed into his head.
‘I don’t know. I swim for relaxation more than anything. And to be alone.’
A motorbike zipped past them and they were forced to pause in the middle of the road.
Fifty metres later, they walked up the driveway of an orange brick house with terracotta tiles and a garden full of red bottlebrushes. A television lit up the shadowy living room. Matt was surprised. He was expecting a mansion or at least a double-storey house. Kelly did go to a private school.
Metres away, an arthritic German shepherd pushed herself up from a flowerbed and lumbered towards them. Kelly crouched down and hugged the old dog with unabashed fondness. The dog returned her affection with sloppy licks and a wagging tail. ‘Yeah, and I’m happy to see you too, Gibraltar. You’re always here
for me.’
Gibraltar glanced up at Matt with big black questioning eyes. Matt scruffed her on the scalp and said, ‘How are you, girl?’
‘You like dogs?’
‘Yeah. I’ve always wanted one but I’ve always lived in units. They have a no pets policy.’
‘It’s a pity. Gibraltar really likes you.’
After a few more pats on Gibraltar’s tummy, Kelly stood up.
‘Well, thanks for keeping me company. I kind of needed it. And thanks for the help with my science exam.’
Matt smiled. They hadn’t even discussed it. Probably for the best anyway. With his knowledge of science, he’d be telling her that bucky balls were what kids with bad teeth kicked around.
‘I’ll see you later then,’ Matt said, reluctant to leave.
‘Maybe at the Grand Slam concert,’ Kelly answered.
‘You’re going?’
‘Yes, everyone is. You?’
‘I hope so. My mates want me to.’
‘Good, maybe we’ll catch up. It’ll be great for me to know someone there. Apart from Aaron, that is.’
The mention of his name darkened the mood and Kelly withdrew into herself again. She grimaced and made an excuse to leave. ‘Nice meeting you.’
‘You too.’
Matt watched her walk inside her front door then nearly died of excitement. His hormones had gone nuclear. Man o man, what a stunner! Her eyes. Her hair. That smile. Her body. They were delicious. If only for one taste …
Fearing he’d be seen loitering, he hurried to the end of the street, recalling every word they’d said. The last bit stuck in his mind. He’d have another chance to see her—at the Grand Slam concert. Frantically, he opened his wallet, hoping that thirty-four dollars had suddenly materialised. But if pointyheads had trouble finding black holes, he knew exactly where to find one.
A crush of commuters squeezed from the silver train and stampeded Bankstown’s Old Town Centre Plaza. Their high heels, shoes, boots and runners scurried over the mall’s pink tiles cancered with black bubblegum. Flocks of overweight pigeons and fat sparrows gathered around a man eating a doner kebab waddled out of the way of the foot traffic. Off to one side, a mother of three young children paid for two loaves of bread at a Vietnamese bakery while a young woman in blue jeans and a traditional white Muslim head garment met up with her husband and son. Old Lebanese men and women shook hands as they said their goodbyes for the night. A fruit and vegetable seller sold his last bag of lemons before shutting up shop.
Legs aching, Matt shuffled behind the masses across the plaza. He’d never walked so far in his life. But he wasn’t complaining. He would have walked to Perth and back if Kelly had asked him to. That name. He could never tire of hearing that name. Or seeing her, either. She was so beautiful. And interesting. And mysterious. And … And …
It didn’t matter. She was just wonderful.
Thinking of her again, he had a panic attack. He hadn’t said anything dorkish, had he? Aw, yes! He had! That lame joke about having a stepmother and stepsisters. She must have thought he was the king of all geeks. If only he could handle small-talk with girls like he could a football, he’d be right.
The sun was sinking behind the rows of compacted two-storey buildings that made up Bankstown’s shopping district. Shadows darkened the doctor’s surgery, the cheap junk store, electrical goods retailer and computer game outlet as he turned into Marion Street. Above a fish and chip shop was the small two-bedroom unit where he lived.
The entrance was around the back in Depot Place, a small alleyway above the train lines and a car park. An auto-garage was several doors up, where mechanics hammered, bashed and drilled from dawn to dusk.
Drawing on the last of his energy, Matt pulled himself up the metal steps to his unit. Halfway up, the fish and chip shop’s flyscreen door slapped open and a short bald man in his sixties with a grey beard backed outside carrying a plastic crate of oyster shells. He flipped open an industrial bin and emptied the shells into its dark putrid guts before washing his hands under a tap.
‘Hello, Matthew! How are you?’ Mr Nassaris said in his rich Mediterranean accent.
‘Tired.’
‘You been playing football again, eh? Did you win?’
‘Yeah. Just. By two points.’
‘Good on you. Mustn’t be long before I see you on the TV now.’
‘I hope so.’
‘How’s your mother?’
‘She’s holding up.’
‘Any word from the council?’
‘No, they’re still deciding what to do.’
‘Typical politicians,’ Mr Nassaris spat. ‘The only thing they do fast is give themselves pay increases, eh?’
Matt nodded glumly.
‘Not to worry. Whatever happens, me and my wife will look after you both. We’ve got a lot of friends here. We’ll help your mother find a job.’
‘Thanks, Mr Nassaris.’
‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I’ll bring you both up some nice trevally and calamari, eh?’
Matt smiled gratefully as the old Cypriot waved and then returned to his customers. A giant exhaust fan sighed beneath the steps as Matt finished his climb.
‘Matthew? Is that you?’
‘Yeah, mum,’ he called back down the short hallway as he dumped his boots and bag.
A metal chair squealed backwards and heavy footsteps creaked across the kitchen floor. Filling the archway, his mum appeared, holding a textbook. ‘How’d you go?’ she asked excitedly.
‘We won. Sixteen–fourteen. I scored the winning try.’
‘Congratulations!’ His mum engulfed him with a smothering hug and kissed him on the forehead. Although she’d showered since she’d returned home from work, her hair and skin still smelt of tar, dust and petrol fumes. ‘I knew you could do it! You’re into the finals now, hey?’
‘Yeah,’ he answered. ‘We play Punchbowl Boys next week.’
‘They’ll be hard to beat.’
‘But we’re just as good.’
His mother proudly patted him on the back then asked him if he wanted a drink of cold water. He did. One whole lake please, bartender.
‘Any news?’ he ventured.
She paused then opened the fridge and grabbed the plastic jug. ‘Not yet. They’re talking about retrenching up to fifteen workers now.’
‘Fifteen! But it was only seven last week!’
‘I know. But some bean-counter believes we’re costing the council too much money. I’d like to see him get out of his air-conditioned office and fix potholes all day.’
The water jug shook angrily in her hand and a wave splashed onto her fingers. Wiping them dry, she poured him a drink, which he drank greedily. Sitting on a kitchen stool, Matt watched her write eggs and sausages on the shopping list stuck to the fridge with a banana magnet. It served as a reminder for him too. He reached into his wallet and pulled out forty bucks he’d withdrawn from an auto-teller on the way home. ‘I’ve got some more money for you—’
‘Matthew, you know you don’t have to—’
‘Here. It’s from the past three weeks’ pamphlets. It’s not much but—’
‘No, you keep it. It’s yours. Buy yourself something for once.’
‘Take it. You need it more than I do. Pay off a bill or put it towards the groceries. You know we need it.’
‘We don’t need that much.’
‘Then you use it to buy yourself something. It’s been ages since you’ve spoiled yourself.’
He ended any further arguing by stuffing the notes into her jeans pocket. She smiled sadly then gently placed her hand under his left ear. ‘It’s not always going to be like this. I promise.’
Matt nodded.
‘Not that you’ve got anything to worry about. You’ll be earning millions when you get picked to play first grade.’
That cheered him up again. He was going to tell her about the talent scouts but chewed on the words. No point in getting her hopes up. He’d wait
until things were more concrete.
Matt started pulling off his socks and shoes. ‘I’m off to have a bath. I kind of smell.’
‘You don’t have to tell me that,’ his mum answered, returning to her textbooks. ‘Don’t take too long. We’re meeting your grandmother at eight.’
‘Good,’ he answered, making his way to the bathroom.
‘Oh, there’s some mail on your bed too. It looks like a birthday card.’
‘Who from?’
‘Don’t know. There’s no name on the back. One of your friends, I guess.’
Strange. None of his friends knew about his birthday. He liked it that way. Maybe it was from one of his old mates from Penrith, Fairfield or Campbelltown. But they usually called. Who then?
The mystery would have to wait. His body was searing with pain and cramps, and he desperately wanted to plunge into that bath.
Massaging water flooded over his body as he submerged into the tub. Heat, dirt, grass and soreness ebbed from his skin and joints as he slowly sank into the floating bliss with a sigh. Sleepy, he closed his eyes and started dreaming …
Dreaming …
Dreaming of kissing a girl with long dark hair …
‘Matthew? Are you awake?’
Startled, he sat bolt upright in a great rush of water. His eyes whirled around the room, confused. Where was he? This wasn’t his bedroom.
The memories resurfaced and he relaxed. He must have nodded off while taking a bath. How long had he been asleep? At least an hour. Maybe two. The bathroom was black with night. The water had been like a liquid lullaby.
‘Matthew?’
‘Yeah?’ he called back, wiping wet hands over his eyes.
‘It’s seven o’clock, mate. You better finish up. It’s getting late. The bus is due in thirty minutes.’
‘Okay. Sorry. I fell asleep. Just give me a sec.’
Dunking himself under the water one more time, he washed the rest of the day off him then stood up and turned on the lights.
After scrubbing his scalp dry, he stared at the mirror as he towelled himself off. He had eyes the colour of fudge, thick eyebrows, funny-looking ears, full lips, a flat footballer’s nose and short dark brown hair with several golden tints. He had a thick neck and hardening chest, which were dotted with a small constellation of moles that his mum used to trace with her rough fingers when he was younger. Around them dangled a crucifix on a silver chain that represented his Christian faith. He was no altar boy, but he tried living an honest life. His arms and legs were starting to take an athletic shape, even though he hated how his ribs poked out at twisted angles. And a caterpillar of hair squirmed up from his bellybutton.