by Bill Condon
‘No, Dad. You’re making it up.’
‘Suit yourself. Go in the toilet and have a look around. But if you get eaten, don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
Dad’s kidding. I’m sure of it. I just wish he’d grin or laugh, instead of looking so serious. That serious look makes me feel a little edgy as I step inside the toilet. First thing I do is check behind the door. Nothing there. Thought so. The room is bare except for a roll of toilet paper, a book of crossword puzzles, a pen, and a calendar from last year. I try the chain. Pull down on it hard. Water gushes and gurgles. This is more fun than pushing buttons. And you can get muscles in your arms doing it, too. If you do it enough times. I don’t have very big muscles yet but I’m—
Thump!
The door shakes. And so do I! (I wasn’t expecting it.)
Thump!
‘Yes?’
There’s a growl and then, ‘I’m hungry. Let me in.’
‘I know it’s you, Dad.’
‘No it isn’t. It’s a talking vampire rat!’
‘Daaaad.’
When I open the door Dad hasn’t got his serious look any more. He can’t stop laughing. But he didn’t fool me. Not for a second.
‘Can we go down to the water now?’
‘Sure can, Steve.’
Dad lifts himself over the falling-down fence at the bottom of the garden. I follow him and we stand on the edge of the cliff that leads to the river.
‘The tide’s coming in now,’ he says. ‘Pretty soon the mud will be covered over. All you’ll see is water.’
‘When that happens, maybe we can go fishing?’
I copy Blue’s hopeful look, the one she puts on when she wants to be taken for a walk. Or she’s hoping for the leftovers from someone’s plate.
‘We’d need a boat out here, Steve.’
‘Then let’s get a boat.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
When Dad says that, he nearly always means no.
As we walk back to the house a voice calls, ‘Hello there.’ A tall man waves from the next yard.
We go over to him and I stand on the bottom rail of the fence so that I’m up almost as high as Dad.
‘Hi,’ Dad says. ‘I’m John Kelly.’
The man’s face looks like it’s got sparkles on it. Dad’s face gets like that, too. When he hasn’t shaved for a few days.
‘And this is my boy. Stephen.’
‘Norm Smith.’ He reaches over the fence to shake hands. ‘Nice to meet you both.’
His hand feels soft. Dad’s hands are rough because he’s a builder and a bricklayer. Mum has soft hands …
‘Are you a teacher, Mr Smith?’
‘No, not me. I’m retired now, of course, but I used to be a cook. Not restaurants or fancy business like that. Basic food, that’s me. I can do a real good hamburger. I’ll make you one sometime, if you like.’
‘That’d be good. I like hamburgers.’
Dad tells Mr Smith that his garden looks good. Like I said, Mr Smith is tall. But when Dad says that, he seems to get even taller!
‘Why, thank you, John,’ he says. ‘It’s not a great garden, but I get a lot of enjoyment out of it. Now over here I’ve put in cabbages. The caterpillars are a nuisance, but … ’
Mr Smith sure likes talking about his garden. He’s got a deep, rumbly voice and he smiles a lot. His hair is like Liam’s brother’s hair. It’s tied up in the back with an elastic band. But Jonny is sixteen; so long hair is fairly normal for him. Mr Smith must be nearly as old as Aunty Lola. His long hair isn’t normal. And neither is that headband.
‘Mr Smith?’
‘Yes, lad?’
‘I like your headband.’
‘You’ve got good taste. I like to call it a bandanna; that’s more exciting than a plain old headband.’
‘I like the colours. And the blue stars.’
‘So do I. Lolly made it for me.’
‘Who’s Lolly?’
‘Your aunty. That’s what I call her.’
I take a closer look at the bandanna. It’s way better than anything I could have made.
‘She did a good job.’
‘Yeah. Lolly’s a clever woman. Generous, too. She reckoned the old one was ready to fall apart – like myself – so she whips me up a new one. And I love it.’
‘I don’t think you’re going to fall apart.’
‘Thanks, Stephen. Hope you’re right.’
‘Seems you know Lola pretty well,’ says Dad.
‘I do. We go back quite a few years. She’s been a good neighbour. When she had her chooks she was always giving me eggs. I’d off-load tomatoes and broccoli to her when I had some. And we’d often have a cuppa together and a yarn over the back fence. Once in a while we’d go to the bowling club for lunch. Oh yes indeed, we enjoyed each other’s company. But, you know how it is – nothing lasts forever.’
‘Does that mean you’re not friends any more, Mr Smith?’
He juts out his lips as he nods, and says, ‘Afraid so.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s a long story.’ He laughs, low and soft. ‘Basically, I messed up. It was all my fault, no doubt about that.’
I want to ask what he did wrong, but Dad squeezes my hand. That means ‘don’t ask’.
‘We better move along; things to do.’ Dad looks at his watch, making sure Mr Smith sees him. Then he steps away from the fence. ‘Good meeting you, Norm.’
‘You too, John. And you, Stephen. If there’s anything I can help you with while you’re here, let me know.’ Mr Smith’s eyes become all sparkly. ‘It’s no trouble at all.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ Dad says.
He starts walking away, but I don’t, because I know something he can help us with.
‘Have you got a boat, Mr Smith? One that we can borrow so we can go fishing?’
Dad shakes his head. ‘Steve, you can’t ask people you’ve only just met to lend you things. Especially expensive things like boats.’
‘It’s no problem, John.’ Mr Smith turns to me. ‘But you’re out of luck, old son. I don’t own a boat. Wish I could’ve helped you.’
‘That’s okay. Is there a good fishing place around here? Where you don’t need a boat?’
‘There is, actually. At the bridge. I often go there to see what they’re catching. There’s hardly a day when they don’t land a fish. Quite a tidy size, some of them.’
I knew Mr Smith could help us.
‘Where’s the bridge?’
‘Down the end of the road and turn left. It’s not far.’
‘Can we go there, Dad? Now?’
‘Mad about catching a fish, he is, Norm.’
‘Can we, Dad?’
‘Yes. We can go. Lead the way.’
‘Thanks, Mr Smith!’
We start walking, with me dragging Dad’s hand.
Five minutes exactly. Dad times it. I could do it in two or three if I ran.
It’s a narrow wooden bridge, with peeling white paint. There are three grown-ups leaning over the rail, fishing with hand lines. Underneath the bridge some older kids are fishing. They stand on grey rocks, flat and round, near the edge of the water.
Dad walks up to a lady.
‘Any fish yet?’
She wears raggedy jeans and no shoes. My feet get dirty sometimes, but not as dirty as hers.
‘You come with me.’ The lady waves her hand for Dad to follow her. ‘See yourself.’
She takes the lid off a bucket. Inside are lots of silvery fish. Most of them are what Dad calls tossbacks. They’re too little to eat so you toss them back in the water. Tiddlers is another word he uses for them. But one is so long it would hardly fit into Mum’s frying pan.
The lady smiles. She only has a few teeth, but she doesn’t seem to care who knows.
Dad frowns. That’s to remind me it’s rude to stare.
‘You like what I catch?’
‘Sure do.’ Dad nods. ‘Very good.’
&n
bsp; I drop to my knees and stare between the rails into the river. The water’s brown and dark.
Dad is beside me. ‘See anything?’
‘Not yet.’
Looking up, I see dark grey clouds steaming across the sky, like battleships. It’s been cold all day, but all of a sudden it’s super cold.
‘I think it might be time to head home.’ Dad turns up his coat collar so it covers his neck. I do the same. ‘If we stay out here we’ll freeze.’
‘Just a little longer?’
‘But it’s going to rain, Steve.’
‘We’ll go as soon as it does. Okay?’
‘No, we’re going before that. I’ll give you five minutes.’
Every five minutes doesn’t feel the same. Like when there’s only five minutes to the bell at school. And I’m busting to go to the toilet. That five minutes takes about a year. But when you want it to stretch out and keep going, five minutes runs away like five seconds.
‘Time’s up, Steve.’
‘Aw.’
Something big flashes. Out of the water. Into the air. Just as quickly, it’s gone.
‘Did you see it, Dad?’
‘I did, yeah. Could be a mullet. We might catch it one day. Right now we have to go. Let’s move.’
We only take a few steps.
‘Got one!’
My eyes zoom in on the teenagers below. One boy stands out from the rest; the one with long blond hair. The others say his name – Adam. He has a fish on the end of his line.
‘Can we watch, Dad?’
‘Okay. For a little while.’
Adam’s line stretches and twists. But he seems so calm. So in control. His friends are just the opposite. They’re like noisy fireworks, exploding with shouts. Adam ignores them and drags the fish closer and closer to the bank.
‘Here he comes!’
Now I get a good look at the fish. It’s all silver and squirming as it’s hauled out of the water.
‘Not bad,’ Adam says.
He holds it up for the others to see, like a trophy. It’s still struggling to get away. The other kids laugh. One of them has a knife. When he grabs the fish, I turn my head. I don’t want to see what happens next.
‘That’s one of the best feelings,’ Dad says. ‘Catching a fish. When you get that first one – I tell you – that’s really something. Brilliant.’
I just know it’s going to be so good. I can hardly wait.
‘It’ll be your turn soon, Steve. Any day now you’ll be hauling in your very first catch.’
‘Hope you’re right, Dad.’
‘Oh it’s going to happen. Believe it. It’s exciting because the river is like a big lucky dip. You toss in your line and you take your chance. There are all kinds of bizarro creatures down there. You never know what you might pull up. Might even hook yourself a monster.’
As we walk home, I look around at the road ahead, and the trees and the gardens. I hear thunder boom, as if the world might be going to split apart. I see lightning rip across the sky. And soon I’m racing the rain, side-by-side with Dad. But all the time, every second of it, I’m still at the bridge. Over and over in my mind I watch that fish being caught. It isn’t Adam who reels it in. It’s me, Stephen Kelly. I’m on the flat rock jutting out over the water. I fight with the fish until my arms hurt. And when at last I win the battle, I hold it high for everyone to see. Just like Dad said, my very first fish is a monster.
When I was a little kid I used to try to talk underwater in the bath. I knew kids who said they could do it, and I believed them. I swallowed an awful lot of water before I decided that it wasn’t true. I still duck my head under the bath water, but now I keep my mouth closed. Sometimes, like today, I see how long I can stay down without taking a breath. It would be good to get a waterproof watch for Christmas …
‘Stephen.’
Mum knocks on the bathroom door.
‘Yep?’
‘You’re awfully quiet in there. You’re not holding your breath, are you.’
‘No.’
It isn’t really a lie because I stopped doing it when she knocked.
‘Because it’s dangerous.’
‘Okay.’
‘Dad and I are going to the shops. Aunty Lola will be here if you need anything. Won’t be long.’
‘See ya, Mum.’
The front door opens and closes. Footsteps sound along the path. After a few minutes the car rattles into life and drives away.
I let the plug out of the bath and then block the drain with the palm of my hand. It almost feels like my skin is going to be ripped right off. Or as if something is trying to drag me down into the drain hole.
When I move my hand the water gurgles out, like it’s saying, ‘I’m free!’ I block it again and it’s my prisoner. Free, prisoner, free …
I know heaps of games like this. They’re all fun. The only problem with this one is that, same as always, the water gets cold and I have to let it run away – till next time. I get out and dry myself. Flex my muscles in the mirror. Nothing’s changed since the last time. Dad says it will. Muscles take forever to grow.
The house is empty. No Aunty Lola. I wander into the backyard. The grass is wet from the rain, but the sky is blue and clear, every trace of the storm washed away.
‘Hellooo. Aunty Lola. Where are you?’
‘In here.’
The toilet.
‘What do you want, Stephen?’
I liked it before when I was in the toilet and Dad banged on the door and said he was a vampire rat. He didn’t scare me or anything, but it was kinda funny. I don’t think anyone plays tricks like that on Aunty Lola. I’m sure she’d like someone to …
‘Did you hear me? I said, “what do you want?”’
‘Nothing, Aunty Lola. I just didn’t know where you were.’
‘Well, now you do.’
‘Right. I’ll see you later. I’m going back to the house.’
‘That’s a good idea. Give me some privacy. Off you trot.’
But I don’t go to the house. I creep up on the toilet, wrap both hands around the door handle, and hold it as tight as I can.
This is going to be sooo cool!
After a minute or so, the toilet flushes. Aunty Lola tries to open the door. It won’t budge. I wonder why? Ha-ha!
‘Oh bother. What a nuisance. Don’t tell me I’m stuck here.’
She bashes on the door.
I’m not going to make a sound. Won’t. Won’t Wwww—
‘Open up, you stupid door. Let me out!’
It’s impossible not to giggle.
‘Stephen. I heard that. What is going on?’
I clamp a hand across my mouth, while still holding the door handle with my other hand.
‘What are you doing out there? Answer me. This instant.’
For three seconds more I hang onto the door handle.
Then I run.
Aunty Lola bursts out of the toilet. ‘I see you! Stop! You little beast!’
I look back and see her hobbling after me. There’s only one place to hide. The shed. This must be my lucky day. It’s not locked. I duck inside and hide behind the door.
Now I hear footsteps. Louder and louder. And closer. It’s a good thing that I practised holding my breath in the bath, because now I really need to do it. If Aunty Lola doesn’t hear me breathing, she might not find me. I count off the seconds. A minute whooshes by. One minute and thirty seconds. It feels like my eyes are going to pop out of my head.
The door swings open. I gasp, and gulp a huge mouthful of air.
‘What are you doing there, Stephen?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Doing nothing, is it? Ha! Out here. Right this minute.’
‘Okay.’
Aunty Lola stands very close to me. ‘Explain yourself.’
I can count every hair on her chin and not miss a single one.
‘Why did you lock me in the toilet?’
‘I was trying to be funny. I tho
ught you’d laugh.’
‘Then you were wrong. You were not funny. Not at all.’
‘Aw.’
‘I’m disappointed in you. Very disappointed.’
There was this one time I ate half a packet of chocolate wafer biscuits, all by myself. I ate them when Mum wasn’t looking. We were in the supermarket. She hadn’t even paid for them yet.
‘Oh Stephen,’ Mum said. ‘I’m so disappointed in you.’
She looked at me as if I’d almost broken her heart. I’d forgotten how bad I felt that day. Now I remember.
I start to cry. I don’t want to. Don’t like doing it. Can’t help it.
‘Stop this nonsense. I won’t have it.’ Aunty Lola gives me a hanky. ‘Dry your eyes. Right now.’
I use the hanky to blow my nose. It’s dripping. My legs won’t stop shaking. This is even worse than that time in the supermarket.
‘I’m sorry.’ Tears stream down my face. ‘For shutting you in the toilet.’
‘So you should be, horrible child you are.’
Now my bottom lip trembles. I bite down on it, but I can’t make it stop.
‘I’m really, really sorry.’
‘Only one really per sentence. I told you about that. Have you forgotten?’
‘Sorry.’
‘And I’ve had quite enough of this sorry business, too.’
‘Sorr—’ I stop myself, just in time.
‘It’s over now.’ Aunty Lola’s voice is still sharp and pointy like a cactus, but not quite as much as before. ‘We all make mistakes.’
‘Even you, Aunty Lola?’
‘Not as many as you.’
‘But any?’
‘Well, yes … I chased you, and called you names. I made you cry.’
‘But I didn’t cry very much. Did I?’
‘Yes you did. Too much altogether.’
‘I was trying not to.’
‘If I were a nice person, you wouldn’t have cried at all. But I am not nice and I don’t expect I ever will be.’
‘Aunty Lola?’
‘What is it now?’
‘Remember when I hugged you, and I said I was trying to be better?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, maybe you’ll get better, too. And then you’ll be nice. All the time.’
‘I doubt if I could be nice all the time. That sounds awfully hard … and boring.’