‘Well, that’d be great.’ Mikey nods thoughtfully. ‘I’d appreciate that. A lot. Anyway, I might walk home from here. See you, guys.’ He nods some more. ‘And thanks again. Again.’ And then he’s gone, leaving me and Trav with the nerds.
‘Do you always have that effect on people?’ Trav says.
Often it seems that I do.
18
Next morning I don’t go running, as that might be pushing the coincidence thing a bit far. So I head off to the car yard, seeing the lady who plays in the brass band, although all she’s doing is dislodging snails from her letterbox with a stick, which tells me not a lot.
I’m the first to arrive at GateWay, so I hang around the front until Belinda turns up and parks illegally. In the backseat I see a little blonde kid.
‘That’s Casey.’ Belinda gets out and we unlock the gates. ‘She’s got a Correction Day, so she’s come to help.’ She introduces us through an open window. ‘Marc goes to school, too, Case. But this week he’s helping us here. Just like you are.’
Casey appears to be counting her fingers. I would’ve thought she’d have that sussed by now.
‘So, a day off?’ I say, having no idea at all how to talk to children, as I don’t know what they think, or if they think at all. ‘Hey, that’s good.’
She stares at me, her face small and triangular, with a fringe cut as straight as the top of a cereal box. She is holding a squashy-looking cloth zebra.
‘Mummy says I gotta do a card for Vinnie.’ Casey drops the zebra and picks up a bundle of pens. ‘With cows and cars on it because that’s what he likes. I’ll need paper. I haven’t got any.’
Now that’s one thing I do know about children. They’re maniacs for paper. And they only ever use one side, the freaks.
‘Great,’ I say. ‘I bet you’re a good drawer.’
‘I could be,’ she says. ‘I might be.’
Belinda gets back in the car and Casey winds up her window, looking like a small, bored member of the Royal Family. And she doesn’t even wave.
Mikey and I clean cars, kept company by our buckets and hoses. People pass by, making sure not to look at us, as if they think we might drag them in off the footpath and make them sign something.
‘She’s a funny kid, that Casey,’ I say. ‘She sounds like something off a cartoon.’
Mikey gives a Falcon a quick blast with the hose.
‘Yeah, Daisy Duck. Can’t be easy for Belinda. Keeping a kid happy and fed and full of vitamins.’
I reckon. I can’t imagine me having a kid; not that I’m in any great danger, as I believe to have one you actually have to have sex, and a partner to have sex with. So this’ll be pretty much a hypothetical conversation, although I do know a lot about not having a partner, and not having sex. Man, I could talk about that for hours.
‘Yeah. It’d be tough as.’
‘Families.’ Mikey slaps his sponge on a windscreen. ‘They can drive you mad. But yours must be okay, Marc. You turn up everyday with a smile on ya dial, ready to rock.’
Do I? Geez, I don’t know if I like the sound of that; it makes me sound a bit simple.
‘They’re all right,’ I say, although the only other family I can really compare mine to is Trav’s. ‘You know, the old man works. My mum arranges sticks. My little sister’s a psycho. Two cars and a garden. Standard.’
‘Sounds nice.’ Mikey gets to work with his chamois. ‘Yeah, my mob are pretty normal, too. In their own special way. Which leaves me to think that I might be the odd one out. As in, the problem.’
Sometimes I just get these massive blocks of feeling that arrive like two hundred rolls of instant turf accidentally dumped in your driveway. And they cannot be ignored.
‘You’re not the problem, Mikey,’ I say. ‘You’re fine. You’re a good guy. It’s just that, well, I s’pose being gay’s the problem. With them, I mean. Not you. Hey, you know. Respect. You know what I mean.’ I doubt he would after that, because I don’t think I do. Not entirely. ‘You’re cool as.’
Mikey steps back. I can see myself reflected in his sunglasses. I look like an ostrich.
‘Yeah, I hear you, Marc.’ He scrubs at a dried insect stuck on the front of the Falcon. ‘But the problem is that the problem for them will never go away. Me being gay, that is. So there’s no going back.’
‘Do you mean you can’t ever go back there ever?’ I ask. ‘Or that there’s just no going back ever with some things in general ever?’ I look to see what Mikey makes of that question, because it’s baffled me a bit.
‘It means I can’t change. They won’t change. So there’s no going back in any way what-so-ever, ever.’
I don’t like the sound of that last ever. I mean, if Mikey’s brother, Brad, was prepared to put people in hospital for him, he doesn’t sound like the sort of guy without any feelings. And people can change; look at Gretchen. One day she’s normal, next day weather stations all over the world are queuing up to name storms after her. I believe one was called Hurricane High Maintenance Stupid Selfish Princess Problem Child Gretchen.
‘I guess you could just ring them up sometimes,’ I say carefully. ‘You know, for a chat.’ I realise that giving personal advice is probably not in my Work Experience job description. And it’s probably not as if Mikey wouldn’t have thought of this before. ‘You know, to see how your dog is. Chopper.’
‘Marc – ’ Mikey, deliberately, perhaps even a bit menacingly, folds a polishing cloth and puts it on the car bonnet. ‘Chop’s a smart dog. But even he can’t answer the fucking phone.’ Then he turns his back on me.
‘Well, you could try texting,’ I say. ‘It’s cheaper, too.’
That, at least, makes him laugh.
But he doesn’t turn around.
19
The day passes, leaving me to decide if I should go to footy training tonight. Tonight’s session isn’t compulsory, but if I do go, Coach Tindale will be impressed. Then again, I guess it depends on what I do when I get there.
In the afternoon I head up to the office to get a Picnic bar I’ve been saving. Casey and Belinda are leafing through a picture book. On the desk is Casey’s card for Mr Gates, which is basically a pattern of black cows and purple cars heading up a six lane freeway. It’s fantastic.
‘Read it, Marc.’ Belinda hands the card to me.
‘This is a great card, Casey,’ I say. She’s sitting in Belinda’s chair like a junior jet pilot, a picture book in front of her as she kicks the underside of the desk with runners that have flashing lights in them.
‘Mummy did the words.’ She doesn’t look at me. ‘I done the pictures.’
Belinda reaches over, takes Casey’s card, and hands it to me. Then she gives me the teacher’s nod. ‘In a big voice, thanks, Marc.’
‘Cars go hoot,’ I read the front. ‘Cows go moo –’ I open the card. ‘This is a get-well card just for you!’ I look at Casey, who is flipping through the picture book as if she’s hoping I might just go away. ‘This is fantastic, Casey. You’re really clever.’
She shrugs. No, she doesn’t. She ignores me. She’s watching her shoes light up.
‘You’re tired.’ Belinda studies her. ‘Aren’t you, Case? But I did say I’d take you down for an icy-pole in a minute, didn’t I?’
‘Ice-cream.’ Casey puts the book down and slides out of the chair. ‘C’mon. Now.’
The phone rings and Belinda answers it.
‘Could you just hold the line for one moment, please, Mr Jacques.’ Belinda presses the phone, I can’t help but notice, between her bosoms. ‘Marc, I have to talk to this guy about a car, and it could take a while.’ One-handed, she takes out a five-dollar note from her bag. ‘Could you take Casey down to the milkbar, or Macca’s, and get her an ice-cream? I’ve been promising for an hour.’
So out into the sunny afternoon we go, just the two of us.
‘Hold her hand across the road!’ Belinda calls out the window. ‘And let her push the button!’
Casey
and I sit on plastic chairs and watch the people go by. I don’t mind McDonalds, except I don’t trust the kids who work here. They’re all just a bit too friendly.
‘We got a rabbit at school,’ Casey says. ‘He stinks.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘We had guinea pigs. They stink, too. What does he eat?’
Casey licks her ice-cream in an upward direction, somehow making it bigger than it was to start with. Quite an achievement.
‘Carrots. Grass. Lettuce.’
‘Oh, right,’ I say. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Whitey.’
Crap. There goes my next question.
‘So what’s he live in? A hutch?’ I know about rabbits. We had a black one called Miss Francine; it was Gretchen’s, obviously.
Casey looks at me with the clearest eyes I have ever seen, and I notice, for the first time ever, someone else’s eyelashes. Hers are like outward curving feathers, like a doll’s. Not that I ever had a doll, of course; I had a teddy who, incidentally, lost an eye in an horrendous tricycle pile-up as he was unrestrained in a trailer at the time. Anyway, he had no eyelashes at all, that was the point I was trying to make.
‘No. A house.’ Casey slides off her chair. ‘Let’s go back now.’
Fair enough, and as soon as we hit the footpath, I feel a warm little hand in mine. I grin and look down, which is a mistake as I then walk straight into someone female, by the feel of things – front-on.
‘Sorr– ’
My God. I’ve shirt-fronted Electra, in her school uniform.
‘–eeee,’ I add. ‘Hey! So how are you going? How’s the runn– ’
‘Oh, not you again.’ Electra considers me with dark blue eyes that have elements of stormy black. ‘Hi. I guess.’ Then she smiles, as if she’s letting me in on a secret about herself, but the smile is redirected at Casey, who’s hanging off my hand like a bowling ball. ‘Hi, Casey. How are you? What’ve you been doing?’
I notice Electra has a fine, looping silver scar across her cheek, and her hair, long, black and fine, is loosely tied. She’s more gorgeous, and definitely more real, close up. And even if she was to go back to Broome this afternoon, I would never forget her.
‘I went with him to Macca’s.’ Casey points at me. ‘Mum told me to.’
Boy, I think she could’ve talked that up a little more. Then, building on my good work from the other morning, I courageously ask Electra a question. And that’s not as easy as it sounds.
‘Would you like to go and get a coffee?’ I say. ‘I could quickly drop Casey back, and then tell you all about Melbourne. Or, if that’s boring, you could tell me about Broome. Which would be great. Much more interesting. The Great Barrier Reef and all that.’ No, that’s not right. I smile. ‘Just joking.’
Electra looks as if she might smile, but doesn’t quite get there. I read this as her giving me the benefit of the doubt, which isn’t a bad result.
‘Oh, alll-right,’ she says, looking at me with those stormy blue-black eyes. ‘At least you’re not hyperventilating this time.’
I laugh that off. ‘Oh, yeah. Then. Well, I was doing some wind sprints for footy training. You know, going pretty hard at it, too. Anyway, I’ll be back in one minute. Don’t go anywhere.’ I would like to add, ‘with anyone else, for the rest of your life’ but even I pull back from that.
‘Hey,’ says Casey, jerking my hand in the direction we’ve just come from, ‘you left my toy back at McDonald’s. We gotta go back and get it.’
Not right now we don’t.
‘I’ll get it in a minute,’ I say. ‘Don’t worry, it won’t be lost. I never lose anything.’
From now on, that is.
I hope.
20
Electra and I do coffee at a corner table of the Leadlight Café and she answers my questions, which is good, because I’ve been out with girls who won’t – and that can get awkward after an hour or so.
‘Is Broome in the Outback?’ I ask. ‘Do your parents know you’re over here?’
Electra plays with a sugar stick, smiling in a way that suggests she might actually get me – which is great, because most girls don’t. I get them but they don’t get me. Even Trav gets me more than girls do. Even Dot does.
‘Yes, they know. And, yes, I guess Broome does kind of qualify as the Outback. Although it’s right on the sea. Not quite the reef. Or not the one you’re thinking of.’
Two answers! And a semi put-down, but that’s okay; I asked for that.
‘Mr Gates said you’re here on an athletics scholarship.’ I’m on a roll. ‘I mean, I know you can run. Just by looking at you, I can tell that. You look kind of, well, powerful. And fit. And focused.’ In other words, she’s one of those freak kids who are flown in to kick normal kids’ arses, get in the local paper, and then disappear off the map after Year Eleven. ‘You look kind of extra-terrestrial. You know, so fit you don’t look real. Normal, I mean.’
‘Oh, really? Thanks.’ She makes invisible notes on the table with the sugar stick. ‘I’m not sure my mum and dad would like that much.’
I can tell she’s freaky, but she’s not that freaky; she speaks quietly, she has sugar in her coffee, and she ate the free chocolate before doing anything else. But when I look at her – at her golden hands, straight shoulders and killer eyes – and I remember how effortlessly she ran, I can see exactly what’s she’s got, and why she’s here.
Speed.
And plenty of it.
Speaking of speed, just how fast does time go when you’re talking to someone you like, and who might like you? Fast is the answer to that. And although I know I should go back to GateWay Auto, I’m not going yet.
‘Mr Gates said you live with your coach,’ I say. ‘So what’s that like?’ Personally, if I had to live with Coach Tindale, I’d kill myself.
‘Well.’ Electra sighs and smiles, as if her life’s a complicated film that’s difficult to explain. ‘It’s okay, I guess. A little weird.’ She smiles again, but this smile is like a single white shell stranded on a beach, a little lonely. ‘But it’s not home. I miss my family and my friends. I have my own TV, though. Which is good.’
Absolutely. Try living any sort of a life without one.
Electra puts her hands gently on the table, and I see that I was right about her the first time I saw her. She is a beautiful, stormy-eyed, smart girl.
‘I also really like books.’ She shrugs shoulders, angled in her white school shirt, ridged by fine bra straps. ‘I read a lot.’
‘Really?’ I let my eyebrows do most of the talking on that one. ‘Great,’ I add. ‘Yeah, there’s a library around here somewhere.’
‘I know.’ She moves her legs, which are long, even in black tights and those goofy black T-bar shoes. ‘So, d’you live where I first saw you the other day, Marc? D’you have brothers and sisters?’
Marc. She remembers my name! Now that is important. For example, I once kissed a girl for at least ten minutes, who later called me Axel – not that I can remember her name, although it was something weird like Jopey or Zaden, but the point is that Electra remembers my name. And it ain’t Axel.
‘Yeah, that was my house,’ I say. ‘And I have a little sister, Gretchen. Who doubles as a pet. But not a very good one.’ I would add, whatever, but I’m trying to cut down.
Electra finishes her coffee.
‘People have a lot of money around here, don’t they?’ She looks at me with those eyes. ‘I mean, in Broome, it’s nice. But some of the houses here are unbelievable. And the schools and the cars and the clothes. It’s full-on. Or it is to me.’
‘Yeah, I guess it is,’ I say. ‘Some people do have a lot of money.’ Like Trav’s family; they’ve got freakin’ stacks. ‘So, how’s your running going? You were flying the other morning. And you weren’t even trying.’
‘I don’t talk about it much.’ Her eyes flick towards mine. ‘It’s just what I do. I train and race and I’ll see what happens. I’m kind of pretty committed.’
Committed. That’s another word Ms Inglis would like me to be. Or Trav. In fact, any of us at school.
‘I get that,’ I say, which is something else I don’t get to say very often.
She smiles a smile that looks to have a lot to do with things other than happiness. ‘Yeah. I’m into it. For better or for worse.’
We go down the stairs, and stop in an old arcade that’s been modernised. In other words, there are hairdressing salons everywhere.
‘Electra,’ I say, bravely. ‘Would you, er, maybe like to go out one day? Or night? Or afternoon? If you’re not, um, training or studying or reading or something. You know, just something simple.’ I guess it’s obvious she’d like to go out one day with someone, but I’m hoping she’ll understand that I mean me. ‘Like perhaps just for a walk? Or maybe the movies? Or both? In any order. I don’t mind.’
Whilst I’m filling in time waiting, I imagine the boyfriend she’s probably already got; some hero high jumper with shaved legs, a genuine Tag Heuer watch, blond hair and a lunchbox full of mixed fruit featuring a very suggestive banana. And that’d be the end of Marc E. Jarvis, elite Lost Property performer.
‘Well, I would,’ Electra says gently. ‘I’d like to go for a walk.’ She nods gracefully. ‘But you don’t have a dog, do you?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘But I know where I can get one.’
I go back to work mentally punching the air, mentally high-fiving myself, mentally number one-ing myself, mentally back-at-me-ing myself – and nearly get run over by a lady in a Land Cruiser who gives me the finger. But do I care?
Of course not!
I walk up the driveway, smiling, as I watch a short promotional video of Electra in my head.
Waiting outside the office are Belinda, Casey, and Mikey.
‘He didn’t bring her,’ Casey says, arms crossed. ‘Why not? And where’s my toy? Did you get it?’
Oh, the freakin’ toy!
‘So how’d that go?’ Belinda shades her eyes against the late afternoon sun that balances itself on the top of the old buildings across the road.
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