by Scot Gardner
Scot Gardner has been a counsellor, masseur and hypnotherapist but currently works in schools with young people who’d rather be somewhere else. He lives near the Victorian town of Yinnar in a solar-powered barn with his wife and three sweet little fairies (HA!). He likes hippie music and thunderstorms. White Ute Dreaming is his second novel.
Also by Scot Gardner
One Dead Seagull
white ute
scot gardner
Teacher’s notes for White Ute Dreaming are
available at
www.panmacmillan.com.au
First published 2002 in Pan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited
St Martins Tower, 31 Market Street, Sydney
Copyright © Karijan Enterprises 2002
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrievel system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-publication data:
Gardner, Scot.
White ute dreaming.
For young adults.
ISBN 0 330 36337 9.
1. Teenagers – Conduct of life – Juvenile fiction. I. Title.
A823.4
Typeset in 11/14 pt New Baskerville by Midland Typesetters
Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group
All characters and events in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
These electronic editions published in 2002 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd
1 Market Street, Sydney 2000
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.
White ute dreaming.
Gardner, Scot.
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For David ‘Dozo’ Alldridge
Acknowledgements
The following people made this book possible through their yarns, their laughter and their big hearts:
Robyn, Liam, Shaun, Jim, Joan, Belle, Jennie, and Bryce Gardner, Darren Pilcher, Jason and Andrew Curry, John and Faye Warren, Pauleigh Gardiner, Peter Little, John Marsden, Pam Reynolds, Pete Counsell, Godwin Bugeja, Lance Gilbert, Rod Mayman, Darren Smith, the Gippsland Men and all the young fellas.
Oh, and Anna McFarlane—you rock!
Contents
About the Author
Also by Scot Gardner
Title Page
Teacher‘s Notes
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter One
DOGS DO SOME WEIRD SHIT. MAYBE IT WAS JUST ERNIE. HE’D prop his bum on the grass and drag himself along with his front paws like a little kid on a skateboard. He loved to sniff the odd crotch and he wasn’t shy about it either; just waltz right up to you and bury his nose in your bits and you’d have to drag him off with a pair of dentist’s pliers. He didn’t do it to me but he did give a few of my mates a cheap thrill. And Kerry. She’d come around every other day and instead of vanishing into my room for some flushed cheeks she’d pick her way around the backyard with a little shovel and collect all the eggs that Ernie had laid, and put them in our wheelie bin. A good service in such a small yard. She asked me why I didn’t do it myself and I made some limp excuse about not being able to with one hand. She didn’t question that. I felt sorry for the bloke at the tip who scabbed through our rubbish. Surprise!
Kerry was trying to extract a particularly unfriendly number from the shaggy grass one day, not long before the end of the summer school holidays and I saw Ernie line her up. I mean, her dress was a tasteful length but seeing her bent over was too much of a temptation for a red-blooded dog like Ernie. You go, fella. Boom. Should have heard her squeal.
Ernie didn’t bark. Funny, but I hadn’t noticed until Ted from the flat next door pointed it out. He stuck his head over the back fence one arvo. His grey moustache is curled at the ends so he always seems to be smiling. He was watching Ernie and me tear around the yard.
‘He doesn’t make much noise,’ Ted said.
I stopped in my tracks. He was right. I’d never heard him bark and Ted was saying it as a compliment. Who wants to live next door to a yapping mongrel? ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘He’s good like that.’
‘What breed is he? Looks a bit like a dingo.’
‘Yeah? I wouldn’t have a clue.’
‘Dingoes don’t bark. Ivy and I went to a dingo farm near Bendigo or Ballarat last year. The bloke who ran the show was a bit of a dingo himself but he knew what he was on about. Said that dingoes are too flat-out surviving to worry about barking.’
I grunted. Ernie was the right golden colour. I’d noticed that his tail had started to curl like the dingoes in the newspaper—the dogs they shot on that island because they mauled a kid. That’d be right, I thought. I bet Ernie’s ancestors lived with my ancestors in the bush somewhere, chomping on roo bones and goanna guts.
‘Maybe he has a bit of dingo in him. I doubt he’d be purebred,’ I said.
Like me, I thought. Bit of a mongrel. I got Ernie from Griz and there’s nothing purebred about Griz.
He nodded. ‘Mongrels are probably the best pets anyway. Do you feed him bones? We’ve got a few chop bones from dinner. Do you want them?’
‘Yeah, he loves bones.’
He handed me an aluminium foil-wrapped package.
‘Ta,’ I said, and unwrapped them without touching them. Them bones, them bones, them doggy bones with old people’s spit on them. Ernie jumped up and scratched my leg.
The first few nights when we shut him in the laundry he howled his squeaky puppy howl until I thought about kitchen knives. It was Mum who eventually lost it with him, grabbed him so suddenly that he yelped and threw him on the end of my bed. That’s where he was every night after that and he never made a whimper. He bailed up the Velos’ tabby once, not like he was going to bite its head off or anything, just growled at it so it puffed itself up like a pompom. He tilted his head to the side and poked it with his paw. The cat sunk its claws in and hissed. Ernie—the big brave guard dog—yelped and ran into the mower shed.
He�
��d grown heaps in the few weeks I’d had him. Griz reckoned he was seven weeks old when he gave him to me just after New Year so he would have been about ten weeks old when I went back to school at the end of January. I thought about getting a double bed. That was mostly why I wanted a double bed. Nah, if I’m honest Kerry was the reason I wanted a double bed. Big fantasy of mine, testing mattress springs with her. I told Mum that Ernie kept falling asleep uncomfortably on my stump. She didn’t question that. She told me one morning while she was tying my shoelaces that she didn’t have enough money for a new bed. Besides, where would it fit? I don’t know. I’d take my desk out. I’d make it fit.
Kerry and I’d never had sex—with each other or anyone else—but we’d talked about it often enough. Kez loves to talk about sex. We’d spent almost every waking minute together since Christmas—except the time when she thought I was hot for Mandy—and sometimes it was a real struggle to keep it in my pants, you know. I wished she’d grab hold of me like when we were at the beach. Mate, that was hot. And wet. She said we’d know when the time was right. Yeah, any day with a ‘y’ in it, I reckoned. Nah, that’s not true. Pashing with Kez was bliss but I could wait. There wasn’t much risk of me bursting. That’s why God invented hands. If I’m totally honest, the idea of going the Big One with Kez scared me a bit. A little bit. Condoms and pregnancy and blowing my load too soon, that sort of stuff. When she wasn’t around then I’d want it something shocking but if she was there, it wasn’t as bad. Just hanging out together took the edge off it. That and not having a place where we both felt comfortable.
Mum made a rule that whenever we were in my room at the flat we had to leave the door open. And when Mum wasn’t home, we weren’t allowed in the bedroom at all. She told us to our faces. Kez got embarrassed. I got pissed off. How stupid was that? We could heat up in the lounge when Mum was at work. In theory, anyway, but Kez couldn’t get comfortable at the flat.
‘What? Reckon I’m going to take advantage of you while Mum’s not around?’ I asked her as we stood on the porch wondering if we should go in.
‘I wish . . .’ she said, and I grabbed her hand.
‘C’mon. Let’s go!’
She screwed up her face. ‘You know the rules.’
As if Mum’d know. I suppose she could have done spot checks of my undies. Or random sniff tests. That’s a bit gross. Mum was all smiles and that while Kerry was around but when Kez left, I felt like I was at sea. Mum’d storm around the flat like a low-pressure system on a weather map, letting off bolts of lightning and sending Ernie and me scurrying off to the bedroom or Game Zone. She was like a bear with a sore bum. Something was bothering her and the easiest thing to do was to steer clear of her. I’d ride with Kez to the flat and grab Ernie’s lead so he didn’t wag his tail off, then we’d go up to the Humes’ or just walk. There were no rules at the Humes’ place but there were always others there and they didn’t think twice about just barging into Kez’s room. Den wouldn’t leave us alone. Gracie kept stuffing us full of food. We spent a lot of time walking.
Mum went out one Thursday night just before the end of the holidays and it was like I had dumped a backpack full of bricks I’d been carrying for weeks; I was all light on my feet. She was dressed up to the max but she reckoned she was just going out with the girls from work. Never been out with them before. Never heard her come home. I thought she’d better start leaving her bedroom door open.
I really wasted that night. I did three hours of nothing. Well, one hour of nothing and two hours on this survey sort of competition thingy about Internet pornography that Hendo had pulled out of a Hustler magazine. Fill in all the answers and you could win a massive computer. Jeez, they asked some sick stuff. I’ve only seen Internet porn once—when Den and I were at Hendo’s place—and only for a few minutes before Hendo’s mum came home. Hendo reckons it’s brilliant and he talks all the time about the warped stuff he’s found so I guess I was writing about his experience when I filled in the form. It ended up a whole lot more colourful than if I’d have filled it in honestly.
I could have spent the whole night raving on the phone with Kez. Could have, but it didn’t happen that way. I could have spent the night watching TV but that didn’t happen either. I jumped into bed early and scratched my balls until I had made a little tent out of my boxers. Ernie started licking his bum. It sounded disgusting and I almost kicked him off the bed before he got the message. I didn’t finish the job.
Dennis and I didn’t do much in the holidays. I saw him nearly every day but I was with his sister, and when I saw him on the first day of school, I thought that I’d wasted the whole break. Didn’t get up to anything wild. Missed out on all my mates’ get-togethers and madness. The cool thing about Den is he didn’t give a shit, you know. Just dropped down next to me in homeroom and picked up where we’d left off. He told me that Otto had been put on probation for belting the crap out of him and that Griz had bought him a Coke. He thanked me for making up the numbers in his army—which was a bit stupid really. If Otto was beating the intestines out of me, Den’d be the first one in and the last one down. I know that for certain. He’s that kind of mate.
Going back to school was a bit spooky for Kez and me. She hung out with Rebecca and that during the day and I hung out with my mates, catching up on all the goss. I went looking for her at the end of lunchtime, just to let her know that I was still alive but I couldn’t find her. By the end of the day, I was feeling like my summer with Kez had all been a dream. But I grabbed my bike and she was waiting at the front gate. She kissed me and I held her hand while she walked beside me. Steered my bike with my stump. We saw the bus go past and Den waved with a pointer finger from the front window. Mandy and Carly looked over their shoulders out the back. Kerry squeezed my hand.
We crept up on Ernie. It was the first day he’d spent by himself and I’d missed him so he must have missed me. I peeked around the corner of the flat and he was already standing against the wire fence that Dad and I had made, his tail spinning so fast he was almost airborne. Maybe he’d been standing there all day? How would I know? Still, nothing and nobody had ever been so excited to see me. The play fight we had cracked Kez up. He was a strong pup with needle teeth. After that first day of school, he totally stuffed the sleeve of one of my school shirts.
Chapter Two
‘HEY WAYNE, GOT SOME NEWS,’ DEN SAID AS HE CRUNCHED into the chair beside me. Mr Davis had darted in behind him and started to check names off the role.
‘Yeah?’
He nodded. And nodded. I hate that.
I grabbed him by the throat. ‘Don’t give me that crap. What?’
‘I can’t . . . I’m not allowed to . . .’
‘Put him down please, Mr Armond. You don’t know where he’s been,’ Mr Davis said. ‘And put your chair down.’
I let go and sat forward on my chair, pinning Den’s toes under one of the legs. He yelped and thumped me in the arm. He couldn’t drag his foot out.
‘Get off, Wayne. Get off,’ he shouted.
Mr Davis looked over his glasses at me.
‘You going to tell me?’
‘No. Get off, you bitch,’ Den squealed.
‘Tell me,’ I snarled.
‘Wayne, could you please leave Dennis alone.’
‘Yes sir,’ I said, and whispered, ‘Tell me.’
‘Orright, orright. Get off my freaking foot.’
I rocked back on my chair. Den cursed in whispers and rubbed his shoe.
‘What is it?’ I said, and the bell rang.
He smiled, grabbed his books and hopped as fast as he could for the door. It was English in C11 and we’d sit next to each other again so I let him go.
I saw Kez across the quadrangle and I chased her down through the mob.
‘Den said he’s got some news but he won’t tell me.’
She looked at me, puzzled. There was a smile on her lips but her eyes were pinched.
‘What is it?’
She shrugge
d and took my hand. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, and looked at the faded paint on the quadrangle. Her smile stretched. Stretched into a frown. She kissed my hand and trotted off waving over her shoulder.
Bitch. They are both bitches. On the way to C11 I decided not to let their shit game annoy me. Den’s weaker than I am like that. He’d tell me. Guaranteed.
He told me at smokers’ corner in the first minute of recess. He’d just lit up. We were watching the year nines play soccer.
‘We might be shifting,’ he said, puffing nervously on a PJ 12.
‘Yeah?’
‘Up the coast to near where my Uncle Alan lives. Fishwood.’
Someone in the distance yelled ‘fuck off’. I looked over at the soccer ground. Two year nines were pushing each other around by the face.
‘Dad and Mum want to move out of the city and Uncle Alan has offered Dad a job.’
It was on. The kid with dark hair had closed his fist and cracked the bigger kid in the mouth. The big kid grabbed him around the head and punched him in the ear. The little fella broke free and assumed a boxing position just out of arms’ reach. The big bloke wasn’t going to back down.
‘Fight,’ I said, and started running. The soccer game had stopped and the players formed a rough circle around them. They were jeering and pushing them closer together. The bigger kid was saying, ‘Come on. Come on,’ and waving the boxer over. The boxer was red on the left side of his face; his eyes were almost all pupil.