The Simple Things

by Bill Condon

  ‘Aunty Lola.’ I tap her arm. ‘You know what my favourite food is, in the whole world?’

  ‘I do. You like rocky road. Your mother told me. But it’s for after.’

  ‘The brownies, too? They’re my second favourite.’

  ‘After. You’ve had your dinner.’

  ‘Aw.’

  ‘Stop thinking of all that sugary food. It’s bad for your teeth.’

  ‘Just thinking about it is bad?’

  ‘Yes indeed. Now about bingo – you may sit with me. Or find yourself a nice secluded corner out of everyone’s way and do some drawing. I brought pencils and paper for you. I think you’d like that much better, being all by yourself. But it’s your choice.’

  ‘Sit with you.’

  ‘If that’s what you wish. But no questions. You must be on your best behaviour. Bingo is a very serious matter.’

  I reach into my pocket and pull out Dad’s iPod. He let me have it, just for tonight. ‘Is this allowed?’

  ‘Stephen Kelly. Look around you. Do you see anyone else playing with whatever that foolish gadget is?’

  ‘Not yet. But they might get them out later – if they get bored.’

  ‘Give it to me.’

  ‘But Dad said I could—’

  ‘Now, please.’

  I hand it over.

  She drops it into her handbag and says, ‘Confiscated.’

  We have a few minutes before the games start, so I check out the hall. There are maybe seven or eight kids here with their parents or grandparents. Mostly it’s old people. Some of them have really interesting faces. It’s like when you look at a tree up close and you see all these twisty shapes and bumps in the bark. Mum says faces get that way from smiling and laughing for seventy or eighty years. Most of the people have grey hair. A few have hair that’s totally white. Then there’s blue hair, and heaps have no hair at all. (Dad might be like that one day.) I get up close and listen to them. There’s a lot of talk about doctors and operations and a bit about people dying. But there’s laughing, too. Loud, rocking laughing; the kind people do when they don’t care about what anyone thinks. I don’t get what’s so funny, but I still feel happy. How weird is that?

  Now I sit with Aunty Lola.

  ‘Pay attention, Stephen.’

  I concentrate as hard as I can. Mrs Smith is the bingo caller. Every time she says a number, she has a rhyme to go with it.

  ‘Twenty-five: duck and dive.

  Thirty-three: dirty knee.

  Sixty-two: tickety-boo.

  Fifty-two: Winnie the Pooh.’

  I cover my mouth but a laugh still gets out. When people say poo it always makes me feel like I’ve been tickled.

  ‘Shh!’

  Heaps of people shush me, not just Aunty Lola. I mumble ‘sorry’ and go back to concentrating on the game. The players dab a pen over their cards, blotting out each number as it’s called. It’s the person who blots out all their numbers first who wins. I can tell when the game is nearly over because everything gets whispery. That’s because people are listening really hard for their number to be called.

  Aunty Lola taps my hand. ‘Only two numbers to go.’

  ‘Which ones?’

  ‘Can’t talk now.’

  ‘Sixty-one: time for fun.’

  ‘Was that your number?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Forty-nine: rise and shine.’

  ‘Was—’

  ‘Yes. One more.’

  ‘Sixty-six: clickety click.’

  ‘Was—’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Four: knock at the door.’

  ‘That one?’

  ‘No. I’ll tell you when.’

  ‘Eighty-eight: all the eights.’

  ‘Now, Stephen! Now!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Say it!’

  ‘Aw – BINGOOOO! BINGOOOO! BINGOOOO!’

  ‘It looks like we have a winner,’ says Mrs Smith.

  I can feel everyone looking at me. I wish I could hide. I wish I could disappear.

  ‘Up you go, Stephen. Mrs Smith is waiting.’

  ‘I have to go out the front?’

  ‘My word you do. So she can check your card. If it’s correct, we win.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Go on. Scoot.’

  ‘If I have to … ’

  I keep my head down while the lady checks the card. That way I can pretend that I’m all alone; just me and the floorboards. It’s not as good as disappearing completely, but it’s close.

  ‘All correct. We have a winner.’

  ‘Good on you, Stephen!’

  Aunty Lola says that. I didn’t know she could get so loud.

  ‘Here you are, sir.’ Mrs Smith gives me an envelope – the prize. ‘Well played.’

  I rush back to my seat. Aunty Lola opens the envelope. There are four ten-dollar notes inside. She gives me two of them.

  ‘Thanks!’

  ‘What do you think you’ll spend it on?’

  I know without even thinking.

  ‘Chocolates!’

  ‘A splendid choice.’

  ‘You can have half, Aunty Lola!’

  ‘Chocolates are probably bad for me.’

  ‘Aw, go on – we can have a chocolate feast!’

  ‘Hmm. It’s tempting.’ She twitches her nose like a rabbit. ‘All right then – a chocolate feast it is.’

  A new game starts straight away. Aunty Lola gets down to just one number left. I’m on the edge of my seat, desperate to call out BINGO again. But someone beats me to it.

  We play two more games. This time we don’t even get close to winning. But the good thing is – it’s time to eat!

  ‘Here you are.’ Aunty Lola passes me a paper plate. On it are chunks of rocky road and two brownies.

  ‘Don’t tell your mother I fed you all this rubbish.’ She puts a finger over her lips. ‘It’s between you and me. And I’ll have a small piece – so you won’t have to eat it all yourself.’

  ‘Deal!’

  While we’re eating, two ladies come over to talk. I back away, hoping they’ll leave me alone. But Aunty Lola wiggles her finger in a ‘get back here’ kind of way.

  ‘This is my grand-nephew, Stephen,’ she says.

  I have to shake hands with them, but that’s all: no kissing or hugging – phew!

  ‘There’s no doubt you’re related, Lola,’ one of the ladies says.

  The other one nods. ‘Oh yes, a definite likeness there. And he’s a fine-looking boy, too.’

  Aunty Lola smiles a lot more than she usually does.

  I remember a couple of years ago when we had show-and-tell at school. Jenny Tran brought a baby white rabbit to show everyone. This is almost the same. It’s like I’m Aunty Lola’s baby rabbit. I feel happy.

  Early the next morning the doorbell rings. Mum answers it.

  ‘Can Stephen come out and play?’

  ‘Stephennn. Allie’s here.’

  ‘We’re playing cricket,’ she says as we walk. ‘That okay with you?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I keep the bats at Poppy’s house in case he wants to play with me. He used to once. Before he got sick.’

  ‘He might play with us today.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Mr Smith pours out two glasses of greeny-browny juice. Pushing a glass towards me he says, ‘That’ll put hairs on your chest. Down the hatch.’

  ‘I’m not very thirsty, Mr Smith.’

  ‘You won’t really get hairs, Stephen, if that’s what you’re worried about. That’s just something old people say.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, Miss. What’s this about old people?’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean you, Poppy. You’re not old.’

  I hold the glass up to the light. ‘What are those floating bits?’

  ‘Ginger,’ Mr Smith says. ‘It’s also got mint and lime, carrot juice. Make a man out of you, it will.’

  ‘Drink it,’ says Allie. ‘Or I’ll never talk to you
again.’

  It’s hard to decide. I could probably find someone else to talk to …

  ‘Drink it!’

  In three gulps I drain the whole glass. It tastes a little bit horrible, but not bad enough for me to throw up.

  ‘I know something you don’t know,’ Allie says.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You don’t get the hair on your chest. You get it in your ears!’

  ‘Do not!’

  ‘You’ll find out – hairy ears!’

  Dad and Allie would have a lot of fun together. They both make up corny jokes.

  ‘Are you going to play cricket with us, Poppy?’

  ‘I’d love to, Al. But I had my treatment yesterday.’

  ‘What’s your treatment, Mr Smith?’

  ‘Boring stuff. I have to go to the hospital every week.’

  ‘Poppy gets hooked up to a machine, to make him feel better.’

  ‘What kind of machine?’

  ‘It sucks out bad things, like cancer,’ Allie says.

  ‘Does it hurt, Mr Smith?’

  ‘No, I’m used to it. Mostly it makes me tired. That’s why I can’t play cricket with you today. I don’t think I’d be very good.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter,’ Allie says. ‘Stephen is really bad and I don’t mind playing with him.’

  My mouth falls open and I stare at her in amazement.

  ‘Look, Poppy.’ She laughs. ‘Didn’t I tell you he was funny?’

  ‘He’s a good lad, Al. I can tell that.’

  Thanks, Mr Smith.

  ‘But about the cricket.’

  ‘Yes, Poppy?’

  ‘I won’t play. Don’t think I’m up to it. But I’ll come over to the park with you and watch. How’s that?’

  Allie hugs him.

  ‘I’m batting first.’

  ‘How come, Allie?’

  ‘Girls always bat first. Everyone knows that.’

  ‘Aw. Okay.’

  Mr Smith settles himself into a seat under a shady tree. Then Allie gives him two jobs.

  ‘You’re the umpire, Poppy. And the crowd.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, Al.’

  We find a garbage bin to use for a wicket. Allie stands in front of it and jabs her bat into the grass.

  ‘Ready when you are, Stephen.’

  My bowling isn’t very good but everyone says my run-up is amazing. So I run back a long way and come steaming in like a champion racing car. And then I fling the ball down to Allie, fast as lightning. It goes wide. So does the second ball. And the third.

  ‘Can’t you see me?’ Allie waves the bat in the air. ‘I’m over here, not way over there!’

  ‘It’s a windy day,’ I tell her. ‘I think that’s the problem.’

  She laughs.

  My next bowl is slower but straighter. Allie wallops it. After that, she does it again and again. Mr Smith claps and cheers her. He even cheers me when I chase after the balls. He’s good at being a crowd.

  When her score hits 20, Allie goes crazy. She jumps up and down, and shouts, and runs over to Mr Smith to hug him. It’s like she thinks there’s a million people watching and they all love her. Instead of only one.

  ‘Give Stephen a turn now,’ Mr Smith tells her.

  Allie is a good sport. She hands me the bat without any arguments. She even smiles as I take it.

  ‘Thanks, Allie.’

  Under her breath, she says, ‘Now you’ll find out what real bowling is. I’m going to smash you!’

  Well, she’s nearly a good sport.

  ‘Ready, Stephen?’

  ‘Yep. And you can bowl as hard as you like.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Bring it on.’

  Batting is what I’m really good at. I’ll show her who’s best.

  Allie’s first bowl thumps into the bin.

  Oh no.

  ‘You’re not out, Stephen. First ball doesn’t count.’

  Great! I forgot about that rule. It’s a good one, because the first ball is always the trickiest one for me. But after that I’m okay. I think I’ll beat Allie’s score, easy. Maybe I’ll get a hundred.

  Oh noooo!

  Her second ball thumps into the bin, too.

  ‘YOU’RE OUT!!’

  ‘I wasn’t ready. Can’t I have one more chance, Allie?’

  ‘O U T spells goodbye. Seeya!’

  I look over at Mr Smith, hoping he might help. He’s gone to sleep.

  ‘That’s enough cricket.’ Allie drops her bat. ‘Let’s climb that tree.’

  Allie charges to it and reaches the top in seconds. I follow, but stay on the ground, looking up at her.

  ‘Can’t you do it, Stephen?’

  ‘Yeah, but I don’t want to.’

  ‘Are you scared?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What’s wrong then?’

  ‘I fell out of a tree once. That was the last time I climbed one.’

  ‘How long ago?’

  ‘When I was five.’

  ‘Five!’

  ‘It was my birthday, that’s how I remember.’

  ‘It’s time you tried again. It’s easy.’

  ‘I think I’ll stay here.’

  ‘If you don’t climb up with me, I’ll come down and make you. And you won’t like that.’

  I think about waking Mr Smith. He might be on my side.

  ‘Stephen, I’m coming down there on the count of three. One. Two and a half—’

  I grab a branch and haul myself up. Just in time.

  ‘That’s the way. You’re doing it.’

  ‘Yuck.’

  ‘What’s the problem now?’

  ‘A caterpillar. I almost touched it.’

  ‘Caterpillars won’t hurt you, Stephen.’

  ‘It’s a big green one.’

  ‘Keep going!’

  I move from branch to branch until I’m as high as Allie.

  ‘I did it!’

  Allie cups her hands around her mouth and yells, ‘Yayyy!’

  I do the same.

  ‘Yayyy!’

  The noise wakes up Mr Smith. He comes over to us.

  ‘What’s all this racket about, kids?’

  ‘We’re happy, Poppy. You’ve got to make a noise when you’re happy.’

  ‘Do you?’ He scratches his head. ‘Well then, I suppose I better make some noise too – ’cause I’m happy.’

  Just like me and Allie he shouts, ‘Yayyy!’ And keeps on shouting as he goes back to his seat.

  Both my grandfathers died before I was born, so I’ve never missed them. But now I kinda wish I’d known them. Especially if they were like Mr Smith.

  ‘I’m sorry Aunty Lola isn’t friends with your poppy any more,’ I say to Allie. ‘If he was I could see him all the time.’

  ‘They probably won’t ever be friends again, Stephen. Poppy did something bad. He told me all about it.’

  ‘What was it?’

  Even though the wind rises up, loud and wailing, Allie whispers it.

  I go looking for Aunty Lola and find her in the shed. She sees me at the window.

  ‘Door’s not locked. Let yourself in.’

  ‘Hello, Aunty Lola.’

  She nods but doesn’t look up. ‘I’ve been doing some research on the computer. And I’ve made an exciting discovery.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’ve found one of your long-lost cousins, Stephen. Do you want to see him?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She waves me over to the computer, clicks the mouse, and up pops a photo of a gorilla.

  I see a whole bunch of new lines on Aunty Lola’s face as her grin spreads and spreads. I grin right back at her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Stephen. He doesn’t look at all like you … he must be related to your father.’

  ‘I’m gunna tell Dad you said that!’

  ‘Are you ticklish, Stephen?’

  ‘No.’

  I keep my arms pinned tight to my side.

  ‘You are, aren�
��t you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You tell your father on me and you know what’s going to happen?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This!’

  She tickles me!

  Aaarrgghh!

  Help!

  Heheheheheheheheeeeee!

  ‘Are you going to tell?’

  ‘Nooooo!’

  ‘A wise decision, Stephen.’

  It takes me a minute to get my breath back. Aunty Lola could give lessons in how to tickle. She’s even better at it than Mum.

  ‘How was your day?’ she asks.

  ‘Not bad. I played cricket with Allie. She’s pretty good.’

  ‘Quite an athletic girl, that one.’

  ‘And I climbed a tree.’

  ‘Did you now?’

  ‘I know everyone climbs trees, Aunty Lola, but I fell out of one once and I wasn’t going to do it again, but I did. I went to the very top. And it was windy, too.’

  ‘That’s an achievement. I’m proud of you.’

  ‘Thanks … you know how you said I could talk about stuff with you?’

  ‘Anything at all. Go on.’

  ‘Well, Allie told me why you’re not friends with Mr Smith any more.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Because you got mad at him.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘But Allie said that was about two years ago, so I thought, maybe you’ve stopped being mad at him now.’

  Aunty Lola fiddles with a button on her coat. Her finger circles it. She watches like it’s a magic trick. Then, when the trick is over, she looks up at me.

  ‘Stephen, the truth about Mr Smith is that he’s a drinker. When he’s had too much alcohol he becomes merry and wants to sing and dance. He also speaks far too loudly in public and says things that he has no memory of the next day. But I do. I remember every embarrassing word.’

  ‘Allie said he doesn’t drink any more, Aunty Lola.’

  ‘The damage has already been done with me. After the last time, I told him he was no longer welcome in my home. There. So now you know. Is that what Allie told you?’

  ‘Almost. The only other thing she said was that he asked you to marry him.’

  ‘He did. And I told him he was a silly old goat. I knew it was only the drink talking. It’s a hurtful thing to say something like that, when you don’t mean it. It’s a touchy subject with me because I heard it before, many years ago. He didn’t mean it either.’