The Crush

by Scott Monk

  A second incident was just as bad. A dozen copies of a smutty advertisement had been stuffed in his letterbox. It was calling on fat ladies to apply for jobs as strippers for bucks’ nights and twenty-first birthday parties. Someone had filled out his mum’s name and their unit’s address. Matt angrily tore them up, grateful his mother hadn’t come home early that day.

  The last prank was by far the most dangerous. After dusk someone had thrown a brick through his bedroom window. Glass had shattered everywhere and covered his sheets and pillow. Thank goodness he was watching the news in the living room at the time. It scared him and his mum so much that they’d called the cops. But the culprits managed to escape.

  The phone rang later that night as he was sitting in front of the tellie, folding pamphlets.

  ‘Have you changed your mind yet?’ an intimating voice demanded.

  ‘Blackwell?’ Matt growled.

  ‘I’d hate to see your team win again next week.’

  ‘Why are you doing this to me?’

  ‘We had a deal. You lose. We win. Simple.’

  ‘I keep telling you there is no deal.’

  ‘Then don’t sleep in your bed tonight.’

  Matt slammed the receiver down. Almost immediately, the phone rang again. ‘What now?’ he snapped.

  There was giggling at the other end of the line. It sounded like a couple of kids ringing from a pay phone.

  ‘Hey, are there going to be any chicks at this party of yours?’

  Slam! He tore the phone from the jack and threw it across the living room. It smacked against the wall and died with a sorrowful bing.

  ‘That’s it. I can’t stand it any more,’ he told Chris angrily, when his friend dropped by to see him. ‘What if Blackwell finds out about my father?’

  ‘Are you finally ready to get back at him then?’ the Sundance Kid asked.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Then start ringing Hazem, Rhino and the guys.’

  ‘Why? What have you got planned?’

  The prank was simple but ingenious. It involved a cousin of Blackwell’s who hated his guts but was friendly with Chris. A lot of photocopying. Some chipboard. Nails. Wooden stakes. Black clothing to help them hide in the dark. And some music to work to as they hammered and glued in Chris’s garage.

  Aaron Blackwell had just as many enemies as admirers. So it didn’t take long for them to find out about the prank.

  An anonymous group of guys planted wooden signposts all over the grounds of Princes Boys College overnight. On these posts were large photocopies of Blackwell himself … as a baby. Somebody—namely his cousin—had supplied them with a heap of photos of him when he was less than eighteen months old.

  There was baby Aaron eating mud pies. There was baby Aaron in a cowboy costume. There was baby Aaron kissing the dog. There was baby Aaron being bathed. But best of all, there was baby Aaron bawling his eyes out because one of his brothers had stolen his Barbie doll. Some girls might have thought the whole thing was cute but Princes was a boys’ college. The catcalls meowed after him all day.

  The Mongrels were taking turns at racing motorbikes in an arcade game at the local cinema when Blackwell grabbed Matt. His goons weren’t far behind.

  ‘Keen to die, feral?’ he fumed, spinning Matt round.

  ‘Hey, Aaron. What’s happened to your cowboy costume today? Or have you given it to Barbie to wear?’

  The Mongrels laughed.

  ‘I thought I warned you,’ Aaron said, his face turning volcanic.

  Blackwell tried taking Matt outside but a big Maori blocked his way. ‘Let go of my friend,’ Rhino said.

  ‘Go herd some sheep,’ Blackwell shot back.

  Rhino stepped in his way again. ‘Sorry, it’s not shearing season.’

  ‘Boys, deal with him!’ Blackwell barked to his goons.

  They stepped forward but so did Hazem, Grover and Chris. Not to mention two other Mongrels—Johnno and Big Mack—who’d tagged along for the afternoon. Understandably, the goons retreated after realising the odds.

  ‘Now, let go of him,’ Rhino repeated.

  Outmuscled and outnumbered, Blackwell growled then released Matt. He glared at the big Maori.

  ‘Next time, Cassidy, you won’t be able to hide behind your friends.’

  Blackwell turned to leave but Rhino grabbed him with a massive hand. ‘There won’t be a next time, understand? No more pranks. No more ambushes. No more drugs. If you threaten him, you threaten me.’

  ‘All of us,’ Chris added.

  ‘So you leave Matty alone or we won’t leave you alone, got it?’

  Blackwell snarled but swallowed his comeback. He left, his goons trailing behind him.

  Matt let out a sigh. He was a little shaky, but he was okay. For now. ‘Thanks, fella.’

  Rhino snorted once then offered to race him on the motorbikes.

  Booting his football down the street, Matt chased after it, scooped it up then planted it over the gutter for a try. Thumping his hands in the air and making his own crowd noises, he pretended he was playing in a grand final. Cheerleaders shook their pompoms and his dad was jumping up and down in the grandstand telling everyone, ‘That’s my son!’

  Kicking the ball again, Matt watched it soar between two wheelie bins before cringing as it nearly hit an old lady with purple hair. Miffed, she told him off for being a hoon before he shot out of there.

  Slowing down in the car park near his home, he finished laughing then stopped to tie up his shoelace. That’s when he heard the shouting coming from his unit.

  He ran to the back of the fish and chip shop, where he saw Mr and Mrs Nassaris standing on the steps leading up to his place. They both looked worried.

  ‘Matthew,’ Mr Nassaris said, grabbing him. ‘I’m glad you’re here. Your mother needs your help.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘There’s a lady she’s trying to get rid of but she won’t go.’

  ‘A lady? What lady?’

  A woman backed out of the doorway and onto the metal landing. She jabbed a finger at his mum and shouted, ‘You’ll hear from my lawyers!’

  To which his mum answered by slamming the door.

  Infuriated, his dad’s mother clomped down the stairs and nearly barrelled into him.

  ‘That mother of yours! She hasn’t changed a bit.’

  ‘But I thought she banned you from talking to her.’

  ‘She did. But now that you’ve met your dad, there’s no point in us fighting any more, is there?’

  Matt gagged. ‘She knows about me and dad?’

  Mrs Ryan put an arm on his shoulder. ‘She does now. I thought you must have told her about your visits. That’s what encouraged me to come over here. But you didn’t tell her, did you?’

  ‘No, and for a good reason!’

  ‘Matthew! Why are you talking to that woman!’ his mum shouted from the landing. Mr and Mrs Nassaris had gone up to calm her down and were trying to push her back inside the front door.

  ‘Heather, can’t you see we’re having a private conversation?’

  ‘I thought I told you to leave!’

  ‘This is public property. I can stand wherever I want.’

  His mum didn’t care. ‘Matthew, get up here!’

  ‘No, she’s my grandmother. I want to talk to her.’

  ‘She’s not your grandmother, but I am your mother. You’ll do as I say!’

  Growling, he turned to Mrs Ryan and said, ‘I better go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?’

  ‘Matthew,’ she called after him, as he stomped up the steps with the football against his chest, ‘do you want to see him again this weekend?’

  He nodded. ‘For sure.’

  She smiled. ‘Come round for dinner one night. I’ll tell you some stories about him.’

  ‘Yeah, okay. I’d like that.’

  ‘Now, Matthew!’ his mum shouted again.

  He walked past her into the unit. Slam! The door banged shut. Ding! The repair
ed phone fell from the side table.

  Before he could say anything, his mum launched a full barrage. Cluster bombs and all.

  ‘How dare you!’

  ‘How dare I what?’

  ‘How dare you betray me like this!’

  ‘Me betray you? You’re the one who’s been keeping secrets from me.’

  ‘It was for your own good.’

  ‘My own good? How could lying to me for fifteen years about my dad be for my own good?’

  ‘Don’t call him that!’

  ‘Why? That’s who he is.’

  ‘He is not! What kind of father spends all his son’s life in prison?’

  ‘What kind of mother says my father is dead?’

  ‘I told you he was dead to protect you. I didn’t want you growing up with a role model like that.’

  ‘Role model? Who cares about role models? I just wanted to know the truth.’

  ‘You weren’t old enough to know the truth.’

  ‘When were you going to tell me then? When were you going to say, “Oh Matthew, you know when I told you your dad was dead? Whoops, I made a mistake.”’

  ‘When you were ready.’

  ‘Mum, I’ve been ready for fifteen years! Do you know how long I’ve wanted a dad?’

  ‘Of course I do. But I’ve always tried to make up for that by being there for you. I can’t say the same for your father.’

  ‘How can he be here? He’s in jail.’

  ‘Exactly. And that’s why I don’t want you seeing him again.’

  ‘You can’t tell me to do that.’

  ‘Yes, I can.’

  ‘Bad luck, because I’m going to keep seeing him.’

  ‘He’s a criminal, Matthew.’

  ‘No he’s not. He’s changed. He’s sorry for what he’s done.’

  ‘Sorry? Your father? The only thing he’s sorry about is getting caught.’

  ‘He is sorry. He told me so. If you talked to him, you’d see that for yourself.’

  ‘No! We have nothing to say. And you’re still banned from talking to him.’

  ‘But he’s my dad!’

  ‘Your father is gone. He left the day he walked out on us. I’ll never forget what he did to me. He’ll always be the biggest mistake of my life.’

  Matt glared at her. ‘Does that include me?’

  ‘No, of course not—’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. Thanks a lot.’

  Matt threw his football at the wall and marched to the door.

  ‘Don’t you dare leave. You’re staying right here, Matthew Cassidy.’

  ‘Stop calling me that. That’s not my name.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid—’

  ‘It’s Matthew Ryan from now on. After my dad.’

  That cut. But he didn’t care. He ran down the steps and into the street, his mother’s angry yelling hammering in his ears. His grandmother was waiting for him in her car.

  ‘Can I stay with you for a couple of days? I need a new home.’

  ‘Sure,’ she said, smiling. ‘You can stay as long as you want.’

  Inmates and their visitors looked up from their huddled conversations as a howl echoed through the mess hall.

  ‘My boy’s going to be a big-shot footy star!’

  ‘Dad,’ Matt said, pleased but embarrassed at his old man’s outburst.

  ‘Can’t a bloke be proud of his son? You’re gonna be set for life now, aren’t ya?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘The Doggies, huh? Not as good as the Dragons, but they’ll do.’

  ‘It’s all rumours at the moment—’

  ‘Yeah, but leaked from a team insider, mate. That’s almost a sure bet. And the scouts aren’t watching your games for the fun of it, are they?’

  His dad howled again until one of guards barked his name. The leash pulled, his old man huddled forward and asked, ‘So what did your mother say when you told her?’

  Matt shifted in his chair. ‘She doesn’t know yet. We’re not speaking to each other.’

  ‘She found out about me, did she?’

  He nodded.

  He’d stayed up half the night at Grandma Ryan’s, fighting with his mother. She’d followed him to Balmain and demanded that he return home with her. Matt refused.

  ‘No! I can’t live with you any more.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. Grab your gear. We’re leaving.’

  ‘Didn’t you hear me? I’m staying with my grandmother.’

  ‘You come with me or I’ll call the cops.’

  ‘You’ll call the cops?’ his grandmother said. ‘I’ll call the cops if you don’t leave my property in the next sixty seconds.’

  ‘You can’t do this. He’s my son. It’s kidnapping!’

  ‘And he’s my grandson. Now you know how I’ve felt for fifteen years!’

  The door slammed in his mum’s face and after a while the pounding stopped. Matt fumed inside the townhouse before guilt started nagging too loudly in his ear. Reluctantly, he chased after her and braked when he saw her sobbing alone in a bus shelter. He walked slowly towards her but the bus beat him. She left crying.

  His dad huffed. ‘Sounds like Heather hasn’t changed a bit.’

  His old man had, though. Since their last encounter, the paleness had lifted from his face. Gone were the dull eyes, wrinkles and heavy spirit. Replacing them were lively brown eyes, a relaxed face and an eagerness to talk. It was almost as if he had lost ten years.

  ‘Speaking of women, you got yourself a bit of flesh yet?’

  Matt flushed red.

  His old man grinned wolfishly. ‘Ya do, don’t you, ya dog? What’s her name?’

  ‘Er …’

  ‘C’mon. Don’t play shy. It’s not like I can steal her away from ya.’

  ‘Kelly. Her name’s Kelly.’

  ‘Kelly, huh? Sounds sexy. Got a mug shot of her?’

  ‘Nah, she’s a bit coy about that sort of thing.’

  ‘She a looker?’

  ‘Oh yeah.’

  ‘She good in the sack?’

  Matt blushed again. ‘I don’t know yet. We kind of just got together.’

  ‘You don’t know yet? What are you waiting for, mate? Birds only get all sentimental on you if you wait too long. And whatever you do, don’t fall in love with them. They’ll own you for the rest of your life, right?’

  Timidly, Matt nodded. He wondered if his dad had felt the same way about his mum.

  ‘Boy I wish I could be your age again,’ his old man added. ‘All those girls were just asking for a bit of action, you know. And I was more than keen to give it to them. Who wouldn’t? Man, that’s what I miss the most being locked up in here. The chicks. Imagine what fourteen years looking at nothing but hairy blokes is like and you’ll start to realise how depressing this place is.’

  Matt laughed nervously. He felt bad about Kelly but he didn’t want his dad to think that he was a loser. The truth was he’d never even been kissed let alone had a girlfriend. Unlike Blackwell, Matt would love Kelly every day and never hurt her if she was his girlfriend. But she wasn’t and he’d spun a shameful lie like he did when his teammates bragged in the change rooms about their own ‘conquests’.

  ‘How bad is this place?’ Matt asked, avoiding any more talk about girls.

  His old man snorted and rocked back on his chair. His eyes shot around the room, like he was sizing up any challengers. Then, seeing he was safe, he leaned forward and whispered closely. ‘Ya don’t want to know, mate. And you’ll never understand it anyway.’

  ‘Tell me. Please.’

  His old man rubbed his collar then sighed, ‘Okay. Think about it this way: the second you’re driven through the front gates, your life ends. Every day you’re either showering with dozens of guys forever eyeing you off or listening to the screws cracking jokes as they carry out their tenth strip-search. I have to eat what they give me and I have to eat when they tell me to. If the other inmates decide they hate the look of ya, then they’ll either prey on you or won
’t let you sit with them during meals. That causes problems because the screws force you to sit next to them. I spend twenty-three hours in a cell smaller than most bathrooms with nothing to do but read books and listen to the radio. Once a day I’m allowed to exercise in a concrete yard with dozens of other inmates. One time we had a football but some idiot kicked it onto the razor wire. The guy ended up in intensive care for three weeks.

  ‘I don’t have any friends left in the outside world and the only person that cares I exist is your grandmother. The clothes you see on me are all second-hand, right down to my undies. My salary is less than you spend at McDonald’s each week, and that only buys me a can of Milo. I’m always scared of being raped in this place as well as catching blood diseases like AIDS or hepatitis. And if ya mess with the screws too much, they set their goon squad onto you; big blokes all dressed in black clothes and masks who come into your cell and beat you up until you’re nearly dead. How’s that sound for twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year, for fourteen years? Like fun?’

  Matt was dumbfounded. ‘But …’

  ‘Don’t even try to comprehend it, mate. Ya can’t. It’ll just send you insane. I know it does me. The only way I avoid going completely mad is by dreaming of getting out of here. I want my own house with plenty of windows and doors that I can open. It’ll be this great big property in the middle of nowhere. It would have a river too, so as I could go fishing with my boy.’

  Matt grinned. That sounded great.

  A commotion in the centre of the room attracted their attention. Guards ran towards a young guy French-kissing his girlfriend across the table. The screws grabbed and separated them. Kicking and wailing, the girl started shouting about her rights as more guards arrived. One squeezed open the boyfriend’s jaw while a second stuck long fingers down his throat. The inmate started coughing until he spat out a small balloon of heroin. Everyone gawked at it silently before the screw named Lewis seized it and barked at his fellow heavies.

  ‘Strip search them both and make them squat and cough,’ Lewis ordered. ‘I want to know if she brought in any more surprises.’

  The girl started screaming as she and her boyfriend were dragged away. Once they were gone, the whispered conversations resumed as though nothing had happened.