by Mo Johnson
He took a long time to respond. So long that I flipped onto my right side to face him.
‘I had a brother,’ he said eventually. ‘A twin. But he died.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. That must have been awful,’ I added lamely, trying not to listen to the new little voice in my head saying, What if Terry has twins?
When someone tells me about a person dying, I always want to discover more. Is that just me? Just as I was resisting the urge to ask what had happened to his twin, he told me anyway.
‘It was cot death. I don’t remember him.’
‘Just because you don’t remember him doesn’t mean you can’t be affected.’
He squinted at the sun. ‘I think I feel him around sometimes. Does that sound stupid?’
I shook my head. ‘It sounds logical to me. It could be the bond thing that twins are supposed to have. Have you read all the stuff on that?’
‘A bit, but I can’t be sure if it’s true or not, because me and Tim never got the chance to find out.’
‘I think you probably had a connection before you were born, and you probably still do.’
‘You reckon? I often get this weird feeling that he’s here, sharing my thoughts.’ He tapped his head.
‘That’s not weird at all.’
‘Maybe not.’
He fixed me with an intense stare, which I tried to avoid but couldn’t. I watched transfixed as his smile did its thing: his nostrils widened slightly, lines deepened under his cheeks, and his eyes brightened and crinkled. When it reached full beam it was crooked and gorgeous.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘What?’ he echoed.
A seagull screeched nearby.
‘I bet your parents spoil you.’ I broke the spell.
‘Hey, how could they not?’ He was still watching me closely.
‘Do you always get what you want?’
‘Most of the time.’
‘Interesting.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’
‘And if you don’t?’ I asked.
‘Unheard of.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
He leapt up and held out his hand. ‘I’m serious.’
I wanted to take it but my legs had gone all rubbery. If I let him pull me to my feet, I’d probably bounce into the stratosphere. I pretended to tie my laces while I got myself under control.
‘Come on, let’s get some lunch,’ he said putting on his sunnies. I was relieved. Perhaps now that I couldn’t see him properly I would stop wobbling.
We grabbed a burger and shared some chips from the kiosk and took our time eating. We laughed a lot. I could have asked him about the photos, but I felt awkward bringing them up now. We were getting along so well, I didn’t want to wreck it by embarrassing him. I figured he’d talk about them when he was ready.
The subject of Molly was another matter, however. In the end I just couldn’t help myself.
‘So tell me about Molly,’ I said.
‘Molly?’
‘Yeah, Molly your girlfriend.’ I had a fake smile fixed on my face.
He checked out the horizon then turned back to me. ‘Not my girlfriend.’
‘Oh.’ I wasn’t sure what to say next.
‘We’re just…you know…?’
‘Something to do?’
‘Exactly. I knew you’d get it.’ He motioned to the last chip.
‘All yours,’ I replied, thinking that I didn’t really get it at all. But the news had to be good for Jack.
He stuffed the chip in his mouth, bringing the topic to a close. ‘Time to develop the photos?’ he asked.
My watch told me it was. ‘Yeah, let’s go.’ I decided to ask the hard questions in the darkroom.
We collected his bike and walked the short route to Uncle Colin’s.
‘Is this your uncle’s house?’ We’d stopped at the gate. ‘I love this house. I pass it on the way home. It’s cool.’
I’d never given it much thought. I suppose it’s a pretty unusual house for the area. It’s modern, made from an abundance of steel and glass, with a leafy, private garden, just seconds from the ocean. It’s also doing a great job withstanding my cousins’ daily assaults on it.
I used my key to let us inside. All was quiet. ‘They’re in Sydney,’ I explained, heading for the darkroom. Sam followed.
‘This is awesome,’ he said, taking in the details.
I was intrigued by his interest. ‘So you like houses?’
He looked sheepish. ‘I know, it should be a chick thing.’
‘No. No way.’
‘I want to do interior design or architecture when I leave school. I don’t know how I got interested; my parents are both in finance.’
‘You’d be great at it.’
‘What do you want to do?’
‘Don’t know yet.’
I suddenly realised that I’d just been truthful with myself about my future for the first time in ages. Back home, I’d always wanted to be a teacher. Since coming to Australia I wasn’t so sure. There seemed to be lots of new possibilities. Thinking about them made my head hurt, so I didn’t.
‘Here’s the darkroom,’ I said, and he was immediately distracted, saving me from having to answer any other difficult questions.
When we’d prepared the room for our films and turned on the special lighting, I took a quick breath and raised the burning issue. ‘Tell me about my photos, Sam?’
He needed help to understand.
‘The ones we mixed up that day,’ I prompted.
‘Oh yeah, that was funny…but why did you take pics of Jack Ferris’s dad?’
‘What?!’ My mind raced. Jack’s dad? How bizarre!
‘I thought maybe they were for your Major Work?’
I shook my head.
‘My family’s known Steve Ferris for years. They were quite good.’
No, they were awful. With his expertise he should know that. What was going on here?
He held up his first photograph with a flourish. ‘What do you think?’
I looked at it, my confusion growing. It was crap! How could someone so proficient last week take such a boring photograph today?
‘Well?’ he demanded.
‘Yeah…good…yeah,’ I murmured.
He seemed to take that as a given, because he frowned and said, ‘No, I mean about Steve Ferris? I sealed them in that envelope for you so Jack wouldn’t know you had a crush on his dad.’
He was clearly expecting an explanation. I sighed. ‘Thanks for that. It would have been awkward if he’d seen them. I didn’t take the shots, Sam, my dad did.’
I relayed the entire story to him.
He whistled, then hung a few more snaps up to dry. I snuck a peek and wished I hadn’t. Ghastly!
‘Is-la McBay, it’s your lucky day. Not only did I recognise Steve Ferris, I know what he does at the football ground.’
I did a double-take. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘Nope,’ he said, clearing up his mess. He was tidy. I’m not the mess police – I believe everyone’s personal space is up to them – but it takes three of us to clean up the kitchen and the living room after Dad, so I have to say, I was impressed.
‘What does he do?’ I demanded. ‘Tell me!’
He grabbed my hand and smiled. ‘I’ll show you. We’re going to the footy, Is-la! There’s a game at Lion Park this afternoon.’
‘Okay.’ I kind of wished he’d stop saying my name wrong. But I had to focus. I had to get back to the photos of me.
‘I love your photos of me,’ I tried again.
‘You do?’
‘Yes. They’re spectacular.’
He nodded in the direction of his drying snaps. ‘Yeah…I like them too. They’ll be great when they’re dry.’
I shook my head in exasperation, ‘No, not these, I’m talking about your black-and-whites. The photos that I got when you picked up my dad’s?’
‘Ah!’
Finally, we were on the same page.
‘They weren’t mine,’ he said casually, closing the chemicals cupboard with his foot.
‘What?’ My world came tumbling down.
‘I didn’t take them.’
I held my breath. He was fluffing around the darkroom wiping surfaces, totally oblivious to my turmoil.
I tried to keep my voice calm. ‘Who took them?’
‘Jack.’
I gulped.
‘They were Jack Ferris’s photos, Is-la. He asked me to pick them up that day, and they were the ones that got muddled with yours. I didn’t get to see them. Were they any good?’
I couldn’t speak.
‘Hey, wait a minute, were they all photos of you?’ he asked, catching on.
‘Yes.’
‘No wonder he freaked out when I told him that you had them. Hey, did he tell you they were mine?’
I thought about that for a second. ‘No. He gave me the impression they were yours, but he didn’t actually say it.’
‘So you thought I’d been sneaking around after you, taking photos?’ He laughed. ‘Well, I’m not the weirdo; it’s Jack.’ He stopped abruptly. ‘He must like you.’
‘He likes me?’
‘I guess. Why else would he take photos?’
I shook my head. It couldn’t be true. Ferris Face was fast becoming the most intriguing person I knew.
Sam leant against the bench. ‘Did he say anything last night when he walked you home?’
‘No way! We fought again…actually we’re always arguing.’
‘So you’re not into him, then?’ he asked.
‘Are you kidding?’ Of course I wasn’t…was I?
No way – Jack was captivated by Molly. And that was panning out to be quite convenient after all…Jack could have Molly, and I could have Sam, and hey, we could even double-date. My forehead creased in protest as the idea flashed in my brain.
Sam was saying something, but I tuned him out. I was on the look out for the custard-pie thrower: the guy who waits until you’re feeling invincible, then lobs a big mushy pie right at your face.
I was alone with Sam-Gorgeous-Doyle, in a darkroom, and all I could think about was Jack-Bloody-Ferris.
Custard pie!
‘A bird in the hand could crap
on your fingers, Isla. I’d always
choose two in the bush.’
(Gran McGonnigle)
I was suddenly desperate to get out of the darkroom. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. All the ease between Sam and I had been blotted out by Jack’s shadow, and Sam’s chatter died as we hurriedly packed up.
I was furious with Ferris. He was such an intruder in my life, always turning up at the worst moment. And now he was here even when he wasn’t!
Thankfully things began to improve in the daylight. We relaxed back into easy conversation en route to the footy; it was as if Sam had made a decision to forget about Jack, and I resolved to do the same. Neither of us mentioned his photos again, though Steve Ferris’s name kept cropping up, considering where we were going.
‘Come on,’ I said to Sam as we took a shortcut through the mall. ‘Just tell me what Jack’s dad does.’
He shook his head stubbornly. ‘Nope, I want to show you. The stadium isn’t far. This will spin you out.’
I was already spun out. Sam was my dream guy. He was my type. He was an Aussie Brian, and he seemed to like me – but he hadn’t taken those brilliant photos.
Stop thinking about them.
‘How come Jack’s dad isn’t in Queensland, too?’
‘Steve doesn’t live with his family. Sally Ferris is with some other bloke; Jack lives with her. They’ve been separated for years, but the divorce is only just happening now. That’s why they’re going to Queensland. Jack said his mum wants to be out of his dad’s way when he signs the papers.’
‘Does Jack get on with his dad?’ I was grappling with my curiosity.
‘Yeah…I suppose. He still sees him, which is more than his brother, Danny, does.’
‘What’s his brother’s problem?’
‘Steve Ferris gambles. Mum says if you don’t stand still, he’ll be down the TAB putting a fiver on you. He gambles on everything: horses, dogs, pokies…That’s one of the reasons they split. Danny’s older; I guess he remembers more.’
‘Funny they didn’t get divorced until now.’
Sam shrugged. ‘Jack’s mum is getting serious with Tom Granger; he’s the other bloke. Maybe that’s the reason.’
‘You and Jack must be pretty tight for you to have all this information.’
As he considered this, I realised it couldn’t be true: Molly had divided and conquered them.
‘Not as much as we used to be. My mum went to school with Sally, so that’s how we all met in the first place.’
‘Does Jack ever talk to you about how he feels about his dad?’
‘A bit, but only basic stuff, and I never ask.’ He looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Maybe I should. I just figure if he wants to talk about it, he will.’
There it was: A Guy’s Guide to Empathy, coming soon to the back of a postage stamp near you. But I wasn’t going to criticise him at this delicate point in our relationship, so I paused before finding my words.
‘Maybe he wants to be asked.’
‘You reckon?’
‘Could be he keeps things to himself because he thinks you’re not interested,’ I suggested.
Sam frowned. ‘Is it really bad to admit that I’m not?’ He rushed to explain: ‘I mean, he’s my mate, but do you ever feel sometimes that you’re on a big enough downer yourself and you just don’t want to hear about anyone else’s worries?’
I have to admit, I got him immediately. I’d felt the same way about Terry all week: I wasn’t strong enough to carry her problems, and I didn’t even want to. Why should I feel bad about that? His honesty was kind of liberating.
I laughed, but even as I did I heard Gran’s voice: ‘Duty makes arses of us all, but at least we’ve got clean arses.’
We’d reached the football stadium. My fingers ran over the mobile in my pocket, and I wondered if I should try Terry again.
‘Hang on, I’ve just got to make a quick call.’ I moved away from him. She answered on the first ring.
‘Where have you been?’ I asked.
‘Walking.’ She sounded a long way off.
‘How far did you walk?’ I asked, alarmed.
‘To the end of the beach and back. Why?’
‘Never mind. Did you do it?’
There was a long silence before she spoke in a small voice. ‘No.’
‘Okay, don’t. Just wait till I get home.’
‘Are you sure?’ The relief in her voice made me want to cry. I’d never been more certain about anything.
‘Leave it and we’ll do it together tomorrow. It will be much easier if I’m with you.’
‘Thanks.’ It was barely a whisper, and she cut the line before I could reply.
Was that enough? Perhaps I should call her back and offer to come home? But Sam was beside me again. ‘Ready?’
I was…but…
He took his sunnies off and tilted his chin.
Okay, I was so ready.
I got my Minolta out as we paid. The crowd was going nuts, cheering and whistling.
‘Why are you helping me?’ I had to shout to be heard.
‘What?’
‘Why are you going to show me what Steve Ferris does here?’
He thought about his answer for a moment, then he pulled me into a little alcove, where I could hear him. ‘Is-la, I guess Jack might be mad at me, but it’s not that big a secret. Lots of people could tell you what Steve Ferris does here. I can see how it would be hard for your dad to work it out. But he could have found out easily if he’d known who to ask.’
He hesitated.
‘I want to help you…because…I like you…I like you a lot.’
A roar from the crowd signalled the start of the game – but the noise ringing in my ears
was coming from my own brain. Sam Doyle liked me…a lot!
Before I could respond he’d grabbed my hand and dragged me to my seat. Footy before romance. He was a real man.
The ground was packed. It dawned on me that I could get some great shots for my art project while I was here. Pulling myself together, I began to snap the crowd. A mishmash of faces; rainbows of colour; erratic movements. I love a big crowd. Then I turned my lens to the focus of their attention: the players on the field.
I’m not into Australian football. The idea of grown men tearing up and down the grass after a ball that isn’t even round seems a bit ridiculous to me. Soccer’s just as stupid, although I’ve never said that to Dad.
The ball rolled off to the side and I tracked it. Some cheerleaders who’d been waving pompoms had to scramble out of the way. Ha! Not so graceful now, I thought with satisfaction as they clambered to escape the 130 kilos of beef bearing down on them.
Unfortunately, the only casualty was a splattered pompom. Pity! I snapped it anyway.
No…wait a minute…the guy in the rubber lion suit was under there, too.
The crowd laughed. I turned to Sam. ‘Did you see that? The mascot got squashed.’
Sam was grinning.
‘I bet that hurt,’ I said, taking shots as Lion Man struggled to his feet.
‘Yeah, it wouldn’t do his back much good.’ He was smiling furiously now.
His words took a second to sink in. ‘No!’ I slapped his arm. ‘You’re joking?’ He looked pleased at my surprise. ‘He’s the mascot guy?’ I yelled.
‘Yep,’ Sam yelled back, triumphant. ‘Leo the Lion is Steve Ferris.’
No wonder Dad could never find him.
‘Why does he come here during the week?’
‘Maybe he practises with the cheerleaders.’
‘I’ll bet he does.’
Sam’s spontaneous laugh made me feel interesting and funny. I pointed my camera at him and snapped. He was so photogenic.
Then I captured Steve Ferris in my sights again. He’d taken the rubber head off to rub blood from his nose, and I clicked the camera just before he whipped it back on and continued to boogie near the touchline. Seriously, there was no other word for his corny old dance moves. Steve Ferris was boogying.
This was excellent proof. He could never deny he was Leo – which is just what I’d be doing if I were him, even without the fraud thing and the bad dancing. A grown man jumping around in a lion suit? I’d kill my dad if he ever did that. Poor Jack.