The Water Seer

by HMC

  I heard whistling from the back of the shop. It was Reggie making pies. The smell of pastry wafted through the bakery. The Ashes were playing on the ABC Grandstand radio, and I could just make out what the commentators were saying. Australia was winning. Reggie had recorded it and had played it a few times this month. Australia hadn’t won in years, and Reggie’s mind was still fresh with our success in the nineties – over a decade without a loss. ‘Them’s were the days we always beat those poms. Cricket’s changed,’ he’d say. ‘The world’s changed, Mouse. You never got somethin’ for nothin’ back when I was growin’ up. Ya did the hard yards, and you might get what ya wanted if you were lucky, might not. ’Pends on which way the wind blew, mate.’

  I took a sip of water and watched as a mum pushed her stroller past the bakery window.

  Bastos. The child.

  Anna had put a protection spell on us all, but we couldn’t possibly do that for every child. No witch’s circle of protection stretched that far. If this thousands-of-years-old-Sacmis-woman showed up, I’m not sure how well our spells would work, anyway. Begone! Or I’ll smite thee with my sage! Oh dear, if Cat could hear me now, I’d cop a wallop across the back of the head. ‘Sorry, Cat. No disrespect.’

  ‘Huh?’ My boss, Reggie, called from the kitchen.

  ‘Nothin’, Reg,’ I called back.

  For now, I wanted to go on as normal.

  ‘Mouse, give us a hand, will ya?’ Reggie called.

  ‘Coming.’ The oven heated the already oppressive room, but there was no air conditioner – not in this old school, run-down place. Besides, the front had no walls, just a pull-down garage door. Even if we got an air-con, the sweet, cool air would just dance on out into the flaming atmosphere that was summer on the Gold Coast.

  Reggie stood over a tray of curried-chicken pies, placing a leaf-shaped pastry on top to identify them later. The BEST PIES ON THE GOLD COAST sign out front meant a lot to him. The money went into the quality food, not the decorating.

  I glanced at the calendar. I still needed to document my Visita from this morning. In all the craziness, I’d forgotten. ‘What’s the date again, Reg?’

  ‘Ahhh, the 25th. How could you forget? Tomorrow’s Australia Day.’ He didn’t look up from his work. I jotted the date down on a sticky note, along with the approximate time the bruja showed up this morning. I shoved the note in my pocket so I could write it all down in my journal later on.

  ‘Survival Day, you mean?’ I said. ‘Invasion Day? Day where England stole…’

  ‘I know, I know. I acknowledge the traditional owners of this here great land, Mouse, just as much as the next fella. Just like yourself.’

  ‘I’m just stirring you, Reg. I know you do. But we really should move the date.’

  ‘Maybe we can have our party a weekend early. Start some kinda Aussie Day trend. Move the Triple J countdown. Anyway, sorry you can’t make it this year,’ he said.

  ‘Me, too. I have my first day of school on Tuesday, teaching grade one. I have to be ready,’ I said, remembering out loud. How could I plan lessons and teach in the state I was in? At least I had Monday off. Even though Sunday was Australia Day, we still got our public holiday.

  ‘That’s all right. We’ll have a beer for you. Or seven.’ Reggie let Trent and I have a few at his BBQs. We weren’t far off legal age, but Mum would still freak out. She was firm on the alcohol rule.

  I looked up at the round school clock on the wall, and noticed it was three o’clock. The afternoon had flown by.

  ‘Are you okay? You’ve been a bit distant today. Somethin’ on yer mind?’ said Reggie.

  Ha! You don’t wanna know. I shook my head. ‘Just thinking about school, is all. Sorry. I’ll try to stay focussed.’ He still looked worried. It was hard to put anything past Reggie. He was a beer-drinking, sport-loving Aussie, but Reginald Spence was in touch with his feelings.

  ‘University is hard work,’ I went on. Maybe that’s all it was, a little mental breakdown. But that didn’t explain Anna’s reading, and whatever had happened to her that morning. Or the cuts on my hands. I’d had to tell Reggie it was the rocks at Burleigh. He was mad I’d surfed near the headland.

  ‘Well as long as you’re okay. Can you watch the mince, please?’ he said.

  ‘Sure.’ I took a deep breath and added Italian herbs to the pot of bubbling meat, busying myself with the next day’s pastries. They weren’t for the shop. They were for Reg’s Triple J Top 40 countdown extravaganza by the pool. His pool was fit with a slippery dip, and beside it, Reggie had built a Bali-hut with a dining table to fit nine, a mini bar, and fridge for the beer. He’d worked hard to earn enough to buy a house for his family. He’d done a killer job on his yard over the past decade. Pity his ex-wife had never appreciated it.

  The buzzer jolted me back to reality – a customer. I washed my hands and dried them on my apron. ‘Coming! What can I get… ’ I stepped through the doorway and halted. It was Trent. ‘Think of the devil, and that S.O.B. will show right up on your doorstep lookin’ for a sausage roll,’ I said.

  He smiled at me with his lop-sided, cabbage-patch dimples. His skateboard was in his hand. ‘Awww, you were thinkin’ about me? I’m spesh. How are ya, Mousie?’ Trent Albright was a sight for sore eyes. He frowned at me. ‘What happened to your hand?’

  I looked down at the bandages. I felt like Mum had gone overboard now, wrapping them up like that. ‘Oh, just the rocks.’ I felt bad lying to my best mate, but he’d live.

  ‘How was the surf this morning? Apart from slashing your hands up?’ Bruno, Trent’s staffy, was by the door, tied to a pole and almost choking himself to get in the shop. ‘Sit, Bruno!’ he shouted. The dog tried to run at him and got coat-hangered in the process.

  ‘Small, but good.’

  ‘You up for tomorrow?’ he asked.

  ‘For sure. Five?’

  ‘Yep. Sounds good.’ Trent and I often surfed on Sunday mornings, especially during summer. We wanted to go super early, before the Australia Day crowds.

  ‘So, I’ll have a chicken, mayo, lettuce, and tomato on white-and-sliced thick, please,’ he said.

  I laughed. ‘Sure.’ I turned toward the bar and sliced the loaf. As I was slicing, I remembered Anna had put me into Sonny’s grade one class for my internship. He was Trent’s little brother. ‘Is Sonny happy I’m going to be teaching in his classroom?’

  ‘Are you kidding me? He flipped his lid! He wants to know if he can still call you Mouse, or if it has to be Miss Castro. I told him to call you Miss Mouse. It has a nice ring.’

  ‘Great, that’s gonna stick.’ I shook my head.

  ‘I’m hoping so. Hey, don’t be stingy with the chicken, either.’

  ‘Shush your bush!’ I said. ‘I could lather Sonny like butter on toast for breakfast every day of the week, by the way.’

  ‘Yeah, he feels the same about you.’

  Sonny wasn’t just a sweet little blondie who could tear it up on a short-board, he was smart, too. Because his parents had been trying to have him since Trent was born, Trent had been waiting for a little brother or sister most of his life. Trent and I had been sitting in his room watching Stephen King’s IT on his laptop, with the sound turned down so we wouldn’t get caught, when his Mum broke the news she was pregnant. I’ll never forget that moment, or the movie – Pennywise the clown kept me away from circuses forever.

  I remember the day Sonny was born. He’d looked like a squished-up, little old man with a misshapen head. That head turned out to be a pretty damned cute one – butter-wouldn’t-melt cute.

  ‘Here’s hoping his whole class is as well-behaved as he is. My last prac nearly killed me.’ I wrapped Trent’s sandwich.

  ‘I remember that. Prep, right? Those five-year-olds! Watch out, they’ll cut ya if you’re not careful.’

  ‘Seriously, if you taught that class for one day, you’d have had a mental breakdown. Imagine Sonny jacked up on red cordial and then times him by thirty,’ I said.


  ‘I’ve never said I could teach. In fact, I think you’re insane. My prac is already shaping up to be awesome, as well. The legal secretary there has a mouth the size of her entire head, and the coffee tastes like arse. And not the good kind.’

  ‘There’s a good kind?’ I laughed. ‘Gross.’

  ‘Hey, Albright, stop distracting my staff!’ Reggie said as he came out from the back.

  ‘Hey, Reggie.’ Trent said.

  ‘You gonna pay for that?’ he said, pointing at Trent’s sandwich.

  ‘Probably not.’ Trent shook his head with a wide grin.

  ‘You’re a bloody pain in my nether-regions, Albright. Tell your Dad your tab’s now twenty-one bucks, and fifty-cents for interest.’

  ‘Your nether-regions? Which area exactly in your nether-regions?’ Trent smirked.

  ‘Getta outta here, ya tight-arse.’ Reggie threw his hands up.

  ‘I’m going, I’m going. And by the way, there’s a new bakery opening up in Miami, and the papers are talking about how they have the best pies on the Gold Coast. Just sayin’.’

  Reggie picked up a multigrain bread roll and threw it at Trent. ‘Out!’ They both laughed and Trent disentangled Bruno from the pole outside.

  ‘Tomorrow, Mouse!’ Trent called.

  ‘See ya, mate.’ I waved them off as Bruno pulled Trent along on his skateboard, and Trent ate his free chicken and mayo sandwich with the other hand. They were both almost falling into the highway traffic. I shook my head. That guy attracted danger and never got hurt. Trent Albright was kissed on the butt by fairies.

  ‘Good kid, that one,’ said Reggie. ‘Why you two never hooked up, I’ll never know.’

  Reggie wouldn’t find out for a long time, too. Trent just wasn’t ready. I’ll never forget the time I’d tried to kiss him a few years back. He froze like a deer in headlights then took off, terrified, on his skateboard. That afternoon he hand-delivered the letter.

  Dear Mouse,

  I love you. I love you so much I want to stab myself in the eyes with a burning iron rod. I know that’s not very romantic, but that’s how I feel. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. You’re the only friend, actually, which is perfect in my opinion, because you’re perfect.

  Perfect in every way.

  But I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry about today when you tried to kiss me. If only I was different. If I was different, I would have kissed you back. If I was different, we’d get married and have a thousand babies, because I love you!

  You see, Mousey, no one knows this, but I’m not attracted to girls. Yup. Me. Trent. Don’t like girls that way. Wish I did. But I don’t.

  I haven’t told anyone yet, because I’m pretty scared, as you can imagine. I’m not the kind of gay guy who everyone suspected as a kid. The one who grows up and says, ‘Hey, I’m gay!’ and everyone is like: ‘Ah, yeah … we know, dickhead.’

  I’m the skater with a staffie and a foul mouth. No one suspects me. I wasn’t even certain myself until recently.

  You deserve to be with the most amazing person in the cosmos. It just can’t be me.

  Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t date any losers, and if anyone hurts you, I’ll poke THEIR eyes out with said burning iron rod. K?

  Hope you’re all right.

  Hope WE’RE all right.

  Your bestie, forever.

  Trent.

  It hurt like one-hundred simultaneous needles, at first. It was a sting I’ll never forget. Well, more like a throb – a throbbing ache in my hollow heart. The boy I’d fallen in love with would never be mine.

  ‘Go get that bread roll will ya, Mouse? Put it in the bin before we attract the Ibis.’ I grinned as Reggie turned and got back to his pies. I couldn’t dispose of the multigrain roll that was meant to hit Trent in the head. It had been annihilated by the highway cars.

  I finished the pies and realised I’d been daydreaming. Reggie was packing bags of bread for the end of the day. He passed me two large bags filled with loaves and buns, and kept two for old Keith, who picked them up on a Saturday afternoon to take back to his over-sized family on Mount Tamborine. ‘Thanks.’ I took them and swung the bread over my shoulder. ‘See you Wednesday, Reggie. Remember, it’s my first week of prac, so I’ll be in just on time each day.’

  ’Night, Mouse. Thanks for today. And good luck on your first day at school, teach. You’ll smash it. Happy Australia Day. Won’t be the same without you two tomorrow.’

  ‘Thanks. Have a good one.’

  The sun was so bright drivers on the highway shielded their eyes, despite already being protected by sunglasses and tinted windows. Nothing like the smell of burnt rubber and exhaust fumes in the afternoon.

  As I crossed the highway, I still felt like a bag of nerves. Although I was surrounded with Anna’s white magic, I felt vulnerable. I was a rookie with protection spells. My visitas and good timing were all I’d ever needed in the past. Anna was hell-bent on setting that straight as soon as possible, and I was good with it. She’d be home when I got there tonight. I didn’t want to be a wuss, living in fear, but I wasn’t stupid. Something was coming. We needed to prepare. Gloves off, baby.

  A bald tweeker leaned against the health-clinic wall. She had a tattoo across her neck, skeletal wings spanned from ear to ear. It wasn’t top-notch, but mid-range at least. I wondered how she’d gotten the money for it. Some tattooists on the Gold Coast were around 150 an hour. This looked like a whole-day sitting. ‘Got a spare ciggi?’ she asked.

  ‘Nah, sorry. I don’t smoke.’ I kept walking. Just then, Santa Claus turned the corner and came my way. Not the real Saint Nick, or even a man dressed in the suit made famous by Coca-Cola. This Santa wore a white singlet and pushed a trolley full of old goods – spare bike parts, a cask of goon, blankets, and today, he had a DVD player and a carton of cigarettes. His long white beard and prominent beer-belly made children run toward him, and parents pull them back in horror. Santa passed by, stopped at the tweeker, pulled out a cigarette from his carton, and gave it to her with a grin. Rumour was he didn’t even smoke. Other rumours suggested he was more like Robin Hood in that he stole from the rich and gave to the poor.

  Trent said that wasn’t true. ‘Dad says Santa comes in for a cuppa at Abby’s now and then. One day they chatted and Dad found out Ray – Ray’s his actual name – spends his Centrelink money on things he can fix and sell, or give away. Ray even works for the dole doing paintings on the highway. You know the beautification project? Did you know they help paint those?’ he’d asked.

  I did know it. Mum had done some work for the dole when she was between jobs. She’d painted a Harry Potter banner for the local library. It was amazing. I’d asked her to do one for my classroom when I became a teacher. It sat rolled up in my cupboard awaiting its debut. I left Santa and Tweeker to their business.

  Abby’s Vans was run by Rick Albright and his family out of a building to the back of the clinic. I entered. ‘Mouse!’ Sonny Albright ran up and hugged me tight.

  ‘Hey, what are you doing here, little tiger?’ He often spent Saturdays with his nanna. ‘Still not too old for hugs. Argh! Careful, you’re stronger than you think.’ He grinned at up at me with little boy missing teeth, and held up a Superman figurine. I couldn’t tell if it was new or old, as they’d remade the movie not too long ago. ‘Cool.’

  ‘You’re gonna be in my claaaaaaaass.’ His enthusiasm was infectious.

  ‘Yes I am. You better be on your best behaviour!’

  ‘Will you teach us instead of Mrs Lawson?’ he asked.

  ‘Some days.’

  ‘Cool!’ Sonny lifted his action figure and drove it toward me in slow motion. ‘Brrrrrrjjjjjjjj. The Evil Mouse Giant ducks for cover but Superman smashes her in the face.’ Sonny waits. ‘Mouse, you have to duck!’ I complied as Superman crashed into me and I pretended to tumble back to the ground.

  ‘Argh! You’ve killed me, you vile crusader for justice! I’ll be back, Superman.’ I closed my eyes, chocked, gur
gled and ‘died.’

  Sonny spoke in a deep voice. ‘The Evil Mouse splutters and coughs up blood from her foaming mouth. But what Superman doesn’t know is that she’s really just sleeping, lying down with her eyes closed and waiting to gather strength and kill again.’

  ‘Hi, Mouse. How are you, mate?’ Rick Albright held out a strong hand and helped me up, then grabbed the bread bags and put them up on the counter. ‘Sonny, have you been slaying dragons again?’

  ‘No! Giant mice.’

  ‘Well, Superman, your mum wants a word.’ Rick chuckled.

  ‘Uh oh, you’re in trouble.’ I slugged him on the shoulder.

  ‘See ya!’ Sonny pelted past.

  ‘And where did you get that toy, anyway?’ Rick called. Sonny was gone before he could answer. ‘Where he gets this stuff, I don’t know.’ He shook his head.

  I was left standing there staring at an older version of my best friend, Trent. Rick Albright made the stone-in-my-gut feeling wash away pretty quickly. He had that way about him – Father of the Year.

  ‘Trent wanted me to remind you of your surf tomorrow. Better get down there before the Australia Day crowds,’ he said.

  ‘Yep. I won’t forget. We’re meeting at five, so we should be right.’

  ‘How’s your mum?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s good.’

  ‘Carey wants you both over for a roast ASAP. All right? Give her a call tomorrow if you can.’ Rick was gathering paper cups and plates for this evening’s run. He’d be out most of the night serving the homeless. Abby’s was a mobile soup kitchen. Abby, the matriarch of the Albright family, had been picked up and dusted off by a volunteer from a soup kitchen when she had lost her job, and had to raise two sons on her own, as well. Not only did she end up raising two gentlemen, one of which went on to have my awesome bestie, Trent, but she sponsored those who served the homeless with every extra bit of cash she had. She had eventually gotten her very own van and joined the cause.

  ‘Shall I wait until after the long weekend to call?’ I said, raising my eyebrows.