by Scot Gardner
‘Well, the last time I had a smoke of any sort was last year,’ I said, and thought that she’d smoke more tobacco in one day than all the dope I’ve had in my whole life.
‘Of any sort? What else do you smoke?’
‘Camel shit,’ I said, and she chirped a little laugh.
‘Never heard of anyone getting cancer from smoking that.’
‘Nah. Tastes pretty disgusting actually,’ I said, and she had a proper laugh. She sat back in her chair with half a smile on her face.
‘So am I still grounded?’
‘Yes. Bloody oath you are. I don’t like it, Wayne. It’s dangerous to your health and it leads to other things,’ she said, and without thinking took out a cigarette and lit it.
‘What, like tobacco?’
She took a long drag and blew the smoke at the floor. ‘Would you like to make it two months?’
I got up and halfway to my room she called out to me.
‘Thanks for passing that on. If you happen to see Richo, say thanks, will you?’
I lay on my bed listening to the radio. Ernie was licking his balls and I had to kick him to make him stop. I suppose I would do that if I could . . . lick my balls, that is. I reckon I got off lightly. One month doesn’t seem like much when you don’t go anywhere or do anything anyway and Kez would still be allowed to visit. I wonder what Mum would have done if she’d pushed the shed door open and I’d been having a wank? Six months? Maybe she would have pulled the door closed and pretended not to see me. Yeah, that would have been easier.
I thought about the Humes shifting again and it felt like a mouldy doughnut. I got all excited for them because doughnuts are pretty good, you know, and then I looked at it a bit more and found all this mould on it. No way I’m eating that. I’ll just put it back in the fridge.
I got another note in my locker. This one was sick.
Dearest Wayne,
I thought up another poem for you . . .
I saw you today–going into the dunny.
Would you let me watch if I paid you money?
That’s a bit sick and a teenie bit funny.
Just can’t help myself–you’re such a honey.
Love Anonymous
The same handwriting only this time it made my tummy flip-flop and instead of love hearts on the ‘i’s there were stars. Who? Buggered if I know. I took my lunch to the common room and I got the thought that it was Kez, writing the letters to see if I’d tell her about them. That’s sly. Yeah, but what if it wasn’t? I’d tell her about them and she’d give me the silent treatment for a month. Someone else likes me and that’s my fault. Doesn’t matter that I wouldn’t have a bloody clue who it is. I started fantasising about who I’d like it to be. Carmel Davidson. What a honey. She’s seventeen and has already earned thousands of dollars modelling. She was on a Feral Pigs film clip but she says she didn’t get to meet the band. She’s related to Shane Lee somehow and Shane reckons she hates herself. I reckon I could live with that. Wouldn’t be Mandy Masterson. She’s not that bright. Not bright enough to write poems like that, and a bit up herself. Good for the old ego though, I must say. Six months ago, when my hand got cut off, I thought I’d be flat out getting anyone to like me. Funny thing that. People got used to it. The year sevens think I’m a bit of a freak but no-one else in the school gives a shit. I couldn’t have imagined that back then. Even the teachers have taken it on board. Like at the end of last year, Mr Hogeson gave me the biggest compliment in PE. We were doing gymnastics stuff and he was choosing people to lead on the vault and parallel bars and he said I should go on the rings. A couple of the other kids in the class just looked at me. Hogeson said, ‘Oh. Sorry, Wayne. Forgot.’ His face got all bloodshot. If you’d seen how white his hair is you’d know how funny that looked. The truth is, I forget sometimes, too. Not like I think I’ve still got a hand and that, just like I’m so used to doing stuff without a hand that someone will offer to help me and I’ll realise they’ve done it because they think I’m a bit handicapped. Losing a hand isn’t much of a handicap.
Kez walked. I rode. She said it was safer that way. She told me that they were going up to Fishwood at the weekend to have a look at a house. She was jiggling when she told me. Not a sign of a tear.
‘What’s going to happen to us if we shift?’ she asked.
‘I dunno.’
‘Would you write?’
‘Yeah. Of course.’
‘Phone?’
‘I dunno. Probably cost a bit in long distance the way we go on some days.’
‘The way you go on,’ she said.
‘Me? You’re the one always asking about Ernie and that.’
‘Would you get another girlfriend?’ she asked, straight-faced.
‘I dunno. Would you get another bloke?’
‘No way.’
Yeah, that’s what I was going to say. No way. Well, that’s what I should have said. Nah, that’s what Kerry said. No way.
I told her about being grounded for a month and that Mum had caught me having a smoke in the mower shed.
‘You said you’d given up smoking.’
‘I have. It wasn’t entirely tobacco.’
‘Your mum caught you smoking dope?’
‘Yup.’
‘That hurts. So you’ve given up smoking as long as it’s no more than fifty per cent tobacco.’
Smart arse. ‘I just felt like it then.’
‘Why?’
I shrugged. ‘I dunno. I thought it would relax me. Heaps of stuff going on.’
‘Ha! What stuff?’
‘You guys shifting and that.’
‘Does that stress you out?’
‘Yeah. I feel like I’m going to lose my best mate. And my woman. You know?’
She took my hand. ‘You could come and visit,’ she said quietly.
‘Yeah. Short pushbike ride.’
Something changed in Kerry. She couldn’t sit still when we got home. It was like she was excited about the possibility of shifting house. Dad had already dropped Ernie off so we took him for a walk. She gave me a peck on the cheek as she was leaving.
It’s easy to tell when I’m depressed: I do homework. Mum comes to the door and I try to hide the fact that I’m working on my maths so she won’t give me the once-over, twice. Pull out a magazine, flick the telly on. Something. It’s like I don’t even think about it. When I start feeling flat I just click into autopilot and do what has to be done. That night, my cover-up was all too sloppy and she leant against the doorframe.
‘What’s the matter, love?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Doesn’t look like it. How’s school going?’
‘Good.’
‘Did you take Ernie for a walk?’
‘Yep.’
‘How’s Kerry?’
‘Good.’
‘How long do we have to play the guessing game, Wayne? What’s bothering you? Sick of being grounded already?’
‘Nah. Yeah. Sick of it but that’s not it.’
‘What is it?’
‘I dunno,’ I said and shrugged. ‘The Humes are looking at moving to New South Wales.’
‘What?’
‘Yeah. Decided it’s time to move on. I think Barry wants to live in the bush.’
She looked at the floor, deep in thought for a minute. ‘When’s all this going to happen?’
‘Dunno, but they’re going to look at a house on the weekend.’
‘Where?’
‘Fishwood.’
She frowned as though it was familiar. ‘Your dad goes fishing near there. What’s that place called? Starts with an “M” . . .’
‘Bermagui?’
‘Yeah. That’s it. Starts with an “M”,’ she grunted. ‘Go and have a look on the map in the back of the car. I’m sure it is.’
She was right. Fishwood is only about thirty ks from Bermagui and that made it seem a whole lot closer. Weird. I didn’t feel like doing maths after that.
Lying on my be
d that night, drifting in and out of la la land, I remembered something that Kez had said when we were at Mars Cove. She’d told me that one of her uncles had sexually abused her mum. I sat up with the thought in my head that it was Uncle Al and if they shifted up there then she’d be right near him. That’s sick.
I’m going to have to get video surveillance to catch this woman. I got to school half an hour before the bell and the note I found was downright horny.
Wayne,
I saw you at lunchtime, eating your food.
Muscled body, you’re such a dude.
I’d tell you my thoughts but they’re a bit lewd.
Come with me baby, get down and get rude.
Anon.
I didn’t care what she looked like anymore. I just wanted to know who she was. In desperation I asked Hendo if he’d seen anybody putting stuff into my locker. He asked me when and I told him anytime. His locker was next to mine. He said that he hadn’t but got me to show him the letters anyway. He wolf-whistled after reading the first one and his mouth dropped open with the second and third.
‘Mate, she’s hot. Who is it?’
‘I just told you I don’t know.’
‘Yeah, yeah but who do you reckon it is?’
‘I dunno.’
He said that he had a detention in C6 that evening and told me that he’d watch my locker like a hawk. Yeah, that’s comforting. Hendo watching like a blind hawk who’s stoned out of his tree.
I saw Den at recess. He was having a smoke with Carlson and Shane Lee.
‘It’s the drug lord! Can I buy some hashish from you, mister?’ he said in his best Colombian accent.
‘Get stuffed.’
‘Kez said you got grounded. Whoah. That’s harsh.’
‘What’s this about some chick writing you love letters?’ Carlson asked.
Good old Hendo. Should be working for News Corp or the BBC. Want the world to know? Tell Hendo.
‘Nothing. Anonymous letters with sick poems.’
‘Hendo said she’s hot for you, mate.’
They jeered. Kez came around the corner and asked her brother for money. He fished in his pocket and my stomach leapt into my throat. Don’t mention it. Please let it be.
‘I reckon I know who it is,’ Den said as he handed her some coin.
‘Who?’ Carlson asked and ground the remains of his smoke into the concrete with the heel of his runner.
‘Mambo Mandy, I reckon.’
‘Masterson? You go, Wayne. Whoo!’
Kerry looked at me, wide-eyed. ‘What?’
I should have told her all about it right then but the part of my brain that has been damaged by too much dope kicked in. I shrugged and said, ‘Nothing.’
‘Bullshit,’ Den said, and began to tell Kez what he’d heard about the letters. Hendo arrived halfway through and added his fifty cents worth by making lots of humping actions and licking his lips. Kez took it well. She walked off. She went home on the bus that night. Yep, she took it well.
Mum spent two hours getting ready. It made me sick in the guts to see her fussing with her hair and checking herself in the mirror. I was lying on my bed when she poked her head in the doorway and asked me how she looked. I whistled but I thought she looked old. Sometimes she tries too hard. Richo would be impressed though. He’s nearly fifty and not married. You’d reckon you’d give up after a while. Not Richo. I couldn’t help thinking that my life would have been massively different if they had worked out as a couple.
Richo brought her flowers. Huge bunch that Mum had to split into two vases. He just looked like my school principal—boring suit, numb-nuts tie and shiny shiny shoes. Still, his suit pants had both knees in them, he was clean-shaven and he stank like stale cologne, which has to be an improvement on my old man. When Mum slipped into the passenger seat of his BMW and Richo quietly closed the door, I felt like she’d let me down. Let me and Dad down. Mum and Dad busted up eight years ago and since then neither of them have had an obvious relationship. I mean, Dad hangs out with Auntie Pat and that but if they’re bouncing the bedsprings it sure is well hidden. Mum just went on a date. Couldn’t really call it a hot date but it was a date just the same.
I did a runner. I figured that I had a couple of hours at least before Mum got home. I grabbed Ernie’s lead off the clothesline and got him running along next to my bike up to the Humes’ place. We were both puffing and huffing when we got there, only Ernie had his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth and he dribbled on the front doormat. Kerry answered the door.
‘Sorry, Kez,’ I said and she bent down to scruff Ernie’s ears and give him a hug. She fussed at him for a full half-minute while I held his lead and listened to someone shouting next door. When she stood up she looked across at the neighbours’ kitchen window. There were two people arguing—a man and a woman—and they were going right off. Something smashed. One of them appeared in the kitchen window and ripped the blind closed. Kez and I looked at each other and raised our eyebrows at exactly the same time. She laughed.
‘Sorry, Kez,’ I said again. This time she shrugged and asked if I wanted to come in.
‘What about Ernie?’
She shrugged again and shouted, ‘Mum, it’s Ernie and what’s-his-name. Should I let them in?’
Footsteps from the kitchen. Gracie’s face lit up. She looked at Kez. ‘I dunno. Do you think they’re house-trained?’
‘I don’t know about the big one but the cute one is. I helped train him,’ Kez said.
‘All right then. Put newspaper down just in case.’
Ha, ha. They let us in and Ernie went scratching across the wooden floor. Gracie asked me how I was going and I told her things were cruising.
Den poked his head around the doorway to the kitchen and nodded. ‘I thought you were grounded,’ he shouted and went back to clanking dishes.
‘Yeah. I am.’
Gracie frowned. ‘What are you doing here then?’
I shrugged. ‘Mum went out for tea. It was a bit quiet at the flat.’
‘Ah, I see. Better make it a quick visit,’ she said, and I felt like bolting back out the door.
Kez stood in the hall watching Ernie pull at his rope and sniff the furniture. ‘You coming?’
I shrugged and followed her to her room. Jesus the cat sat in the hallway licking his paw. At the sight of Ernie his eyes narrowed, his ears flattened and his tail began slashing across the floor. I thought he was going to run off and I held Ernie’s rope hard as he pulled and scratched over the timber to get a better sniff of the cat. He was stretched right out and heaving on his lead like a sled dog. Jesus smelt Ernie’s nose then stood up and rubbed against him. No fear. Ernie squirmed and backed away. Big brave guard dog.
‘Sorry, Kez,’ I said a third time, and sat on her bed.
‘What for?’
‘I dunno. Not telling you about the stupid notes I’ve been getting.’
‘That’s cool. Don’t worry about it.’
‘Nah. I should have told you.’
‘Maybe, but you didn’t,’ Kerry said, and hung her head.
There was a big hole in the conversation and I could hear the distant clunking of dishes in the sink and Ernie panting.
‘I think we should give it a break,’ she said from behind her hair.
‘Give what a break?’ I asked, but I knew. I could feel it in my guts like I’d swallowed a boulder.
‘Us,’ she said flatly.
I would have thrown up but it felt like that boulder had stuck in my throat. I should have kissed her, held her, told her I loved her. Something. Should have. Big brave guard dog me stood up and slipped out the door. A fat lazy tear splashed on the mat with Ernie’s dribble. No-one would see it there.
Chapter Four
I DID MORE HOMEWORK IN THE FOLLOWING WEEK THAN I’D ever done in my life. Fell asleep at my desk one night, face down on my English folder. Woke up with a paperclip mark on my cheek that made me look like a pirate. Slept in my clothes. Didn’t brush
my teeth. Wore my Bulls hat instead of combing my hair. Mum didn’t take any notice. She was pretty light on her feet and she told me I wasn’t grounded. Keep off the grass, she said. Whatever.
Dear Wayne,
Through the jungle I would slash,
With my sword I’d crash and bash.
All the demons I could smash
Just for one good body pash.
Anon.
I was reading and re-reading that note with this image of Xena floating around in my mind—boobs nearly jumping out of her steel-studded leather bikini—and someone sniffed back a booger right in my earhole. Hendo. What a charmer. He said he’d spotted the girl putting the note into my locker, only it wasn’t a girl it was a boy. I reckoned he was bullshitting and he swore he wasn’t. Pointed him out to me. Year eight, I think. Weedy little crim. I felt like bashing the worms out of him. Little poofter. Hendo and I cornered him at recess. His mates ran off a safe distance and he stood there like he was some sort of kung fu expert.
‘Come on,’ the kid said flatly. There was no fear in his voice but his eyes were almost all black.
‘Settle down, you little prick. I don’t want to go you yet. I just want to know why you’re writing me letters.’
‘I didn’t write you any fucking letters.’
‘Bullshit. I saw you putting them in his locker,’ Hendo said, and pushed him in the shoulder. He stood like a rock.
‘Yeah, I put them in there but I didn’t write them.’
‘Who wrote them?’
He shook his head.
‘Who wrote them?’
‘Nup,’ he said, and got ready to run.
Hendo lunged at him and the kid pushed his hands aside so he stumbled. I grabbed at the sleeve of the kid’s shirt and pulled him to the ground. Put my knee in his back and mashed his head into the concrete with my stump.
‘Fuck off, you prick. Get off me,’ he shouted, his voice breaking into a squeal.
‘Who writes them?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know. Some sheila in year eleven. She pays me but I don’t know her name.’
‘She pays you? How much?’
‘One buck. A buck a letter.’
I looked at Hendo, who smiled and told me to let him up. The kid got to his feet but I held on to his shirt.