Racing the Moon

by Michelle Morgan

  There were two more weeks until Easter, but I didn’t think I could last that long. There must be something wrong with me, I thought, not to mention Brother Felix. There’s something seriously wrong with him. I haven’t done anything to be ashamed of, but I feel like I have. I don’t know what to do! Then it came to me in a flash: I’ll go home – just for the weekend – Mac and Teddy will cover for me. We’re blood brothers after all.

  It was easy. On Friday afternoon after sport, I just walked out. I caught the ferry to Circular Quay and then the tram back to Glebe.

  It was five o’clock, and I was pretty sure that Dad would still be at the pub. The front door was wide open. Mum was in the kitchen and nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw me.

  ‘Surprise!’ I said, giving her a big hug then lifting her up and swinging her around.

  ‘What are you doing home?’ she asked. I tried not to make eye contact. Mum is a walking, talking lie detector.

  ‘This weekend is “home weekend” for all the new boys – all the new altar boys, like me!’

  ‘You’re an altar boy at St Bart’s? Congratulations, Joe!’ Mum kissed me hard on the cheek. My lie was working a treat. As she looked me up and down, my right eye started to quiver.

  ‘You’re so thin. Are you getting enough to eat? There’s a meatloaf in the oven.’ Mum was very excited to have me home.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe the muck they feed us – tripe at least twice a week, and more kidney, liver and brains than anything else. I give all that rubbish to Teddy to eat – he’s one of my new mates. It’s no wonder I’ve lost weight!’

  ‘It’s a disgrace! With the money we’re paying, they should be feeding you lamb or steak.’ Mum stood at the stove, stirring a pot. ‘When do you have to be back at school?’ she asked.

  ‘Sunday night,’ I replied, looking down at my shoes – they were still shiny from their morning polish. Then I set the table without being asked.

  ‘Where’s your bag?’ she asked, with that look on her face. The game’s just about up, I thought.

  I heard the front door close, and then footsteps in the hall. ‘What are you doing home?’ Noni asked, giving me a quick peck on the cheek, looking pleased to see me.

  Kit was right behind her. We did our secret handshake, finishing with an extra loud growl. ‘Mr Thompson let me take over your paper run. Doesn’t seem to mind that I’m only ten – saves him money he says. Did you hear about the crook that’s been bashing paperboys and stealing their money? If he comes near me, I’ll knock him down, kick him in the nuts—’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing, Christopher Riley!’

  Kit ignored Mum and kept going. ‘I’ll tie his hands behind his back, then push and shove him all the way to the police station. When he falls over, I’ll lay my boot into him like this—’

  ‘That’s enough!’ said Mum. She needn’t have worried – Kit could only ever hurt someone in his dreams.

  ‘Did you hear about what happened in Church?’ Noni asked, with a twinkle in her eye.

  ‘Why don’t you mind your own business?’ Kit snapped.

  ‘If you don’t tell him, I will.’

  ‘Tell me what?’ I asked.

  Kit rolled his eyes and sighed. ‘Father Dennis asked me to be an altar boy, a proper one like you. I was running late and in too much of a rush to notice that I’d put my robe on inside out. I followed Father Dennis up the altar steps and went one step too far. When he opened the little curtain to put the body of Christ inside, one of the other altar boys pulled the back of my robe and I nearly fell down the steps. People started laughing. Then I smelt the incense burning – it always makes me sneeze. I couldn’t stop. After Mass, Father Dennis got really angry with me. I’m not an altar boy anymore.’

  I put my arm around Kit. ‘Being an altar boy isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be.’

  ‘Dinner’s ready!’ Mum said, putting the plates on the table.

  I heard a key trying to find the lock in the front door. The door flew open, banging against the wall.

  ‘Well, look who’s here!’ Dad said, drunk as usual, but trying his best in front of Mum to look sober. Mum pushed past him with the plates. He lost his balance and fell against the table. ‘Is it holidays already? Time flies when you’re having fun.’ Dad pulled out his chair, just managing to sit on it without falling off. ‘Good to have you home, son.’ He tucked into his dinner straight away.

  ‘Joe, would you like to say grace?’ Mum asked, ignoring Dad’s bad manners.

  ‘For the food we are about to eat, thank you, Lord. Amen.’ I couldn’t wait to tuck in myself. We ate quietly like we always do. Dad doesn’t like talking at the dinner table – says it gives him indigestion.

  As soon as Dad was finished, he pulled a newspaper out of his back pocket and studied the racing guide. Mum cleared the table and Noni started washing up. Kit and I were supposed to be wiping up, but we spent more time flicking each other with our wet tea towels. After dinner, we all sat around the kitchen table listening to the wireless. Everything was just how it should be. I went to bed happy for the first time in ages.

  THE GAME’S UP

  CHAPTER 16

  Who knocks on your front door at six o’clock on a Saturday morning? Too early for Dad’s punters, I thought. I stuck my head out the bedroom window but couldn’t hear anything. Kit was lying across from me in his bed, sound asleep.

  ‘Mum, Dad, there’s a priest here to see you!’ There was no mistaking Noni’s voice – even the neighbours can hear her when she shouts up the stairs.

  Please God, let it be Father Dennis at the front door, I prayed. I’m all for praying – I need all the help I can get.

  I saw Mum run past my bedroom door in her dressing gown. I followed her halfway down the stairs, stopping when I heard a familiar voice:

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Riley. Sorry to bother you at this hour of the morning. Joseph went missing from St Bartholomew’s late yesterday. I believe he may have come home.’

  The game’s up.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Dad called out from the top of the stairs. I wanted to run, but couldn’t decide which direction was best. With Dad behind me and the Monsignor blocking my way to the front door, running away wasn’t an option. A voice inside me said: Be a man – stand your ground and fight – no plaster cast to hold you back anymore. But who was I kidding? I didn’t stand a chance. I decided to hide in my bedroom until I could think things through. I turned around and ran upstairs as fast as I could.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Dad asked as I ran past him and into my bedroom, locking the door. I thought about jumping out the window but the twenty-foot drop onto the garden path wasn’t a good idea. I’d get more than a broken arm for my trouble and I wasn’t about to get any more plaster on my body if I could help it.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Kit asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes.

  ‘I’ve got to go back to St Bart’s.’

  ‘That’s not fair!’ Kit cried out, pulling the covers up over his head.

  I threw my school clothes onto the floor, kicking them around the room, planning my attack. ‘Rumble time!’ I shouted, jumping on Kit’s bed and tickling him. When he tried to push me off, I grabbed onto him then we fell on the floor, wrestling and laughing. I soon got the upper hand, but when I looked in his eyes, I didn’t feel like a winner. I got dressed slowly into my school uniform.

  As soon as I walked into the lounge room, Dad slapped me across the face. ‘You’ve put the Monsignor to a lot of trouble, and you’ve lied to us again. What have you got to say for yourself ?’

  The Monsignor stepped in between Dad and me. ‘This is a school matter, Mr Riley, and I will deal with Joseph personally back at St Bartholomew’s. Sorry to trouble you. We must get back in time for Mass.’

  Mum was crying. ‘Is anything the matter, Joe? Is there something you’re not telling us?’

  ‘He hasn’t told the truth – that’s what he hasn’t told us!’ Dad was so angry, he w
as shaking.

  Maybe going back to St Bart’s is the best option after all, I thought.

  Monsignor Reynolds cleared his throat. ‘Mrs Riley, trying to make excuses for Joseph’s selfish actions will only prolong the problem. He needs discipline – the kind of discipline that we know best how to provide at St Bartholomew’s.’

  Dad was nodding but didn’t look like he was agreeing with what the Monsignor was saying.

  ‘What discipline? He must’ve just walked out the school gate! With the school fees I’m paying, I expect you to look after my son properly and not let him roam the streets of Sydney at all hours of the day and night. Anything could’ve happened to him.’ Dad always likes to have the last word.

  After we said our goodbyes, I followed the Monsignor into the front seat of his car, a 1928 Ford Model A Rumble Seat Roadster. It goes up to sixty-five miles an hour, twenty more than the Model T, and purrs like a kitten. We could’ve just as easily caught the tram and ferry like Mum and I did, but I was glad we didn’t. It was magic sitting in the front seat, looking out the window and watching shops being opened, windows cleaned and footpaths hosed down, ready for the day’s business. The trams were almost empty – the city was still coming to life. Ours was the only car going west across the Iron Cove Bridge. There was more action in the water, with ferries and fishing boats coming and going in all directions. I wound down the window for a better look. The smoky breeze filled my lungs as we sped up Victoria Road towards St Bart’s. Monsignor Reynolds concentrated on driving and didn’t speak to me the whole way there.

  After all that talk about discipline, I got off lightly: six cuts of the cane on each hand, then off to confession to repent my sins. My penance – two lousy rosaries. Twenty Our Fathers and a hundred Hail Marys later, I was a new man. Not bad for a night back home with the family and a ride in one of the best cars you can buy. Well worth the trouble, whichever way I looked at it.

  NEWS

  CHAPTER 17

  I’ve been suspended from altar boy duty for four weeks – not long enough, if you ask me. I told Brother Felix that I didn’t need any help getting undressed and if he touched me again, even accidentally, I’d tell Monsignor Reynolds everything. It kind of did the trick – Brother Felix suspended me for insolence – sounds like a disease.

  I worked out that it was one week, four days, nine hours and thirty-seven minutes since I’d been for a ride in the 1928 Ford Model A Roadster dream machine. Mum’s cottage by the sea will have to wait until after I buy a car like that, I thought. Then I can drive her to the cottage and visit as much as I like.

  Teddy, Mac and I tried out for a spot in the Under 13 Quads, which is rowing talk for a boat with four sets of oars. Mac and I had never rowed before and it showed. It was heavy-going, much harder than I’d thought it would be, to row in time with three other teammates. Teddy had never rowed before either, but he’s a natural oarsman. He’s as strong as an ox and got into the right rhythm from the first stroke. It was beautiful to watch. When it started to rain, Mac and I got under the cover of the school boatshed. Teddy was soaking wet when he ran up to meet us.

  ‘I made it, I got into the Quads!’ he said, excitedly.

  ‘Congratulations, mate!’ Mac and I said, taking it in turns to slap him on the back and shake his hand.

  ‘I’ll be rowing in the Easter regatta at the King’s School.’ Teddy was so proud of himself. We were proud of him too and basked in his glory.

  I finally got a letter from Kit. He promised he’d send me one every week, but this was his first:

  Dear Joe,

  Mr Thompson says I’m the best paperboy he’s ever had. I even get tips but he won’t let me keep them. He says any money I get belongs to him. No sign of that crook I was telling you about that bashes paperboys and steals their money. I think I must have scared him off.

  When Harry put the price of eggs up, Miss Ruxton was real cranky about it. She doesn’t like Harry because he gave her a cracked egg once and Harry doesn’t like her because she tells him off all the time. Old Billy made him apologise for calling her an old bag.

  We got a new boarder. His name is Fred Davis and I think he and Noni are in love. He’s not sleeping in your bed anymore – he found a room to let just up the road. Noni has started wearing make-up. She looks different with red lips. Dad reckons she looks like a tart. Fred has black hair and uses lots of oil. He started work for Dad on Saturday. Mum and Dad have been flat out. I’ll let you know if Noni and Fred get engaged or anything.

  I miss sharing a bedroom with you even though I’ve got lots more room now. I’ve moved over onto your bed. I hope you don’t mind. It’s much better next to the window. I can look out at the old oak tree and watch the moon while I’m lying in bed, just like you used to. We all miss you, even Dad, but he pretends he doesn’t. I don’t think Noni misses you much since Fred arrived. I caught them kissing on the lounge last night. They had the lights out but there was a full moon so I could see exactly what they were doing. He put his arm around her and they kissed, again and again and again. Their longest kiss lasted about a minute and would have gone longer except Dad came home. Do you think I’m too young to play spin the bottle?

  Your loving brother,

  Kit

  PS Have you kicked Brother Felix in the nuts yet?

  The only letter I’d ever written was to Father Christmas and that was years ago. I knew there was no such thing, but I did it for Kit. I even bought a stamp and we posted the letter. What a waste of a stamp that was!

  Teddy got called up to the office to see the Monsignor. Mac and I took turns bowling and hitting balls into the cricket net while we waited for him to come back.

  ‘I’ve got to go home,’ he said. ‘Dad’s had an accident on the farm. He might lose a leg.’

  ‘I’m real sorry, mate,’ said Mac.

  ‘How long will you be gone?’ I asked.

  ‘Dunno. All depends. With Dad out of action, Mum can’t afford to pay anyone else. It’s up to me to run the farm, being the only son and all.’

  Mac and I looked at each other like a couple of stunned mullets. I couldn’t imagine me going home to take over Dad’s illegal bookmaking business, and I don’t think Mac would’ve been up to running a bank – not just yet anyway.

  Mac and I bowled cricket balls for Teddy to hit into the net. When we went back to the dorm to help him pack, I looked at our three beds all in a row. We won’t be the Three Bears anymore, I thought. As he finished packing his bag, I looked at the empty bedside table. I’ll miss that photo of him on his horse, and the wooden box he made with a snakeskin inside that was shed by a death adder.

  ‘You’re both welcome to come and visit me on the farm anytime. Maybe even lend a hand.’

  ‘You bet!’ I said.

  ‘No worries,’ said Mac.

  Teddy obviously had more confidence in our abilities than we did. Mac and I are a couple of city boys whose milk is delivered in bottles and whose mums buy meat from the butcher. We don’t need to milk cows or slaughter them to survive.

  Teddy went home on the train to Queensland by himself. He’ll miss rowing in the Under 13 Quads at the Easter regatta. They haven’t got a hope in hell of winning without him. I’ll miss Papa bear. At least I’ve still got Mac.

  EASTER

  CHAPTER 18

  I was the first one up as I was keen to get an early start. I got through the morning drill in record time, and then started packing my case.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Mac asked.

  ‘Getting ready.’

  ‘You going somewhere?’ Mac’s not normally dim. He’s by far the smartest in the class.

  ‘Timbuktu! Where do you think?’ I locked my case and sat on the bed all ready to go.

  ‘You going home?’

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘Nobody’s allowed to go home at Easter. Rule 124 – everybody knows that.’

  I felt like he’d just punched me hard in the guts, winding me. I couldn’t breathe
. So there really was a rule 124! I thought it was only a joke.

  Mum sent me some homemade chocolates for Easter – they arrived that morning. She must’ve known about rule 124. Mac and I got stuck into the chocolates after lunch and ate the lot. They were too good to bribe the prefects with.

  Because I was still on suspension from altar boy duty, I wasn’t allowed to serve in the chapel over Easter, which suited me fine. That meant I’d miss out on two Stations of the Cross and a mass on Good Friday, a mass on Easter Saturday and two masses on Easter Sunday. I’d still be there, though, for all the Easter services – rule 129.

  Mac woke up early on Good Friday morning with a bad stomach ache. He was doubled over in pain, and thought it might have been the chocolates.

  ‘Are you alright, mate?’ I asked.

  ‘I think I’m going to vomit!’ And he did – all over the dorm floor. He rolled onto the floor, holding his stomach. It was the first time I’d seen him cry.

  Brother Sebastian came in, ringing the wake-up bell, and then stopped dead in his tracks with a look of disgust. ‘Whoever made this mess, clean it up!’

  ‘Mac’s real sick, sir. Can you please help him?’ I pleaded.

  Brother Sebastian lifted Mac up off the floor and onto the bed.

  ‘Where does it hurt?’ he asked.

  ‘My stomach – it’s killing me!’

  ‘Can you walk?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘That’s alright, I’m going to carry you to the infirmary. Ready?’ Brother Sebastian was also the rugby coach. He lifted Mac up in one go and headed to the infirmary. I followed them every step of the way. We got him there just in the nick of time. Sister Monica suspected appendicitis and called for an ambulance straight away. The thirty minutes it took for the ambulance to arrive seemed like hours.