by Peter Rix
Yes, was all Lizzie’s mother said. Maybe she was learning about Newton.
Tom opened his window and yelled to Russell, Hey, dude, Newton says Karen’s not coming. That’s not fair. She wanted to come. She told me last week ago. Amit and me could have pushed her wheelchair.
When Russell came up to the window, he threw a couple of dummy passes and side-steps on the way. Cool. Russell was a footballer. He always wore his shorts and his singlet and his sneakers. It didn’t matter how freezing cold it was, Russell always wore them. High five.
I know she was keen, mate, but we just couldn’t work it out.
Kaylee was in the van now. She sat in the driver’s seat and did the mirrors so she could see everything. There’ll be other trips, Tom, she said. If this goes well, we can have a group meeting and plan another one that Karen can come on.
How about the Gold Coast? They’ve got room service, Tom told her. You ring on the phone and they just send it right up. My dad knows about it.
Amit arrived with his mother. Tom didn’t even need to look at his special digital watch. His dad said it once – nine sharp, like a knife.
Amit said, Everyone is here at the meeting place. Except Karen? Karen was coming but now she’s not coming? Karen’s not coming now. There’s been a change?
Amit always talked like he was asking you a question. You could tell him an answer, but it didn’t make any difference. He frowned at everyone in the van to see if there were any answers. Tom ducked down to look under his seat.
No, he said, I can’t see any answers around here. Sucked in, Amit.
Kaylee gave him her special frown, and then he remembered about the teasing. It’s just my stupid brain, Kaylee. Which was like saying sorry about the teasing.
Amit’s mother poked her head through the van door. Everyone else is here, Amit, so that’s good. You’ve got your Discman. Now, you boys make sure you behave yourselves.
Not like last time? Amit said. Tom and I got into trouble last time?
Russell said, I’m sure there’ll be no trouble this time, will there, guys?
Amit repeated, No trouble this time?
Russell was a cool dude – Tom and Amit agreed on that – because Russell didn’t care about disabilities things. We’re not stupid. Russell’s just our friend, Tom told his dad. The talk about trouble was no good, though. The trouble happened in the time that was past. Last week or last year ago.
Take my advice, Russell, Tom called from the back of the van. I’m nineteen, going on twenty.
Kaylee and Russell had operated the Independence Group for all the time since Tom became a member. Movies on Saturday afternoons, ten-pin bowling, a rock concert at the Entertainment Centre, picnics in the country.
Your group does some cool things, James said.
Tom told him, You can join if you want.
Nah, better not. I’d just want to hook up with Virginia.
Hook up! I’ll remember that one, Tom said.
Tom’s group, his best friends – Amit, Lizzie, Virginia, Newton and Karen – had been friends when they were just kids at school, and now they were still friends, which is called loyalty. There used to be others, but their families moved away to live somewhere else, or they died, so everyone had to go to the funeral. Sometimes, you could tell they were going to have a funeral because they got sick and people cried all over the place. Sammy wasn’t sick; he just rode his bike at full speed straight out onto the highway.
That club is a circus, Tom’s father said to his mum one day.
It’s for him, not us, his mum said. Best friends smooth the edges.
When Tom’s family went to see the circus for Tom’s thirteenth birthday, he did a special act with the clowns, catching all the sharp knives in his hands and even with his teeth to be the hero. And that was so James would think it was great to have a little brother who could do special tricks. It was cool to go to the circus in his brain, because his mum would be so surprised about how he got the special clown clothes and the face paint. And Virginia could be there, too, so Tom did swinging on the trapeze without any safety net, which is what the real acrobats do, and he waved to his family sitting in their seats, and all the people in the audience looked at him and cheered.
But when he suggested the Independence Group go to the circus for their next outing, no one else voted for it. The river trip was Tom’s suggestion too. The group met to talk about the outings. Every member had to say what they wanted, then they had a vote – except Tom had to help some members lift up their special voting arms.
I’m the adventurer, Tom reminded the others. Just follow me.
But Kaylee looked at Tom and talked about getting lost or losing the money.
The policeman at the station helped us, Tom told her, and the shop lady gave me some more money.
But should they have needed to, Tom?
Then Tom said it loudly to the whole meeting. Kaylee doesn’t even know what Independence Group means. My dad says it means doing things on our own.
We know, mate, we know, Russell said. As long as you do them responsibly.
Anyway, Tom said, my big brother says if I get into trouble and I can’t get him on his mobile, I should ask people. And my dad says if I can’t find any people I have to think hard and do it myself. That’s what Kaylee doesn’t even know about.
Tom’s eyes wanted to cry then, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew what Russell meant. No one in the group had a brain that could do really good thinking. Not the kind of good thinking adults liked. He and his friends had brains. How could Amit remember everything if he didn’t have a brain? And his mum said that Virginia had more common sense than most nineteen-year-olds. After the school swimming carnival last year ago, Tom’s dad talked about Newton’s party trick for hours and days.
He asked Tom’s mum, What is it with that Chinese boy, Newton Lim?
There’s no label, Tom’s mum said. No one suspected anything until he was four. His mum and dad are both academics. It must have driven them crazy trying to work out what was wrong. His dad was in the middle of his studies at Oxford. At least we have something definite to deal with. Isn’t it funny how we all think our problem is easier than the others?
Have you heard Newton do his thing with the dates? Tom’s dad said. And in that pukka English voice. That is truly amazing. What a waste.
At the meeting, Tom said, Let’s climb the Sydney Harbour Bridge for our next outing.
It’s too high. We might fall off, Virginia said.
Not me, Tom told her. I’ll do a dive into the water like I did with my dad.
You can see the whole world from up here! Tom said at the top of the Harbour Bridge. What if you dived off, Dad?
You can’t, because of the harness. Anyway, it’d kill you, Tom.
Not me. I do it in the pool all the time.
This is different.
I can see New Zealand! Tom yelled, so everybody looked out there, even the special guide. Tom climbed up onto the railing.
His dad shouted, No, Tom, it’s too dangerous!
But Tom stood right on top of the Sydney Harbour Bridge and bowed to the people and the cars and the boats, and he laughed because he wasn’t scared of anything. And he dived into the water and all the people cheered. Cool!
Five
Roads out of Sydney to the west and south take their leave of the city by degrees; only heading north is there a sudden break free. On the drive out from the city, Jim crawled past traffic lights and pedestrian crossings until he was swept down the entrance ramp onto a hundred kilometres of northbound freeway. North to the sun, north to the water, to the good life. North is a creed, luring disciples from anywhere south. Soon, he was on a stretch carving through great sandstone canyons, washing a constant stream of vehicles to the promised land. He checked the clock and set a new time target for the Hexham Bridge north of Newcastle. Cruise control.
He had set lots of targets in the early days. That had always been his role, to make things happen.
It was first-in gets best position at the camping area behind Seal Rocks, and his goal was to have their tents set up before the weekend family groups arrived. Summer of ’72, Whitlam elected, Jim’s last long uni holiday, one more year of study before joining the long march into slavery, as his dad put it.
Is Andy bringing anyone? Fran asked. Did he have a new girl was what she meant.
No idea, Jim admitted. Wait and see, I guess.
That was Andy. Ever since that first time racing the dawn out to Barrenjoey headland, Fran had been drawn to Andy just like Jim had been ten years earlier.
I really like him, she told Jim, but he’s not really …
Jim laughed and said, Reliable? Trustworthy? Of course not. That’s his fatal attraction. He does whatever he wants at any moment. He does what the rest of us wish we could.
She made a face. The Dynamic Duo, though, who the hell came up with that?
Mayfield and Campion. Who had started it? That French master at school: Monsieur Banal, Andy christened him. The tag chased them right through into university. Their debates were all undergraduate intensity, rapid-fire point scoring, finishing the other’s sentences – the others hardly got a word in. It was always Mayfield setting the pace, Campion chasing hard. It would be Andy then slipping free with a new proposition, never quite following the rules, flicking a grin as he skipped away. Andy scored straight high Ds in second year. They celebrated in their favourite pub at Tempe – Andy was the first to pull away from the student haunts.
You’ll pick up the medal next year for sure, mate, Jim told him.
I won’t be here, Andy said.
It had to be another joke. But it wasn’t.
I’m not throwing anything away, son, just avoiding the expectation.
What’s that supposed to mean? What’s going on? Jim protested. And why don’t I know about it?
And now it was a threesome. It shouldn’t have worked, but it seemed to them the most natural thing.
Not that kind of threesome, Mayfield, you horny opportunist, Fran had said, waggling her finger at Andy when he’d tried to climb into their bed on a skiing trip.
Fine, Andy humphed, but if I perish in the wee cold hours, on your head be it.
Andy easily found new girls, but they didn’t last. And, sure enough, on the jaunt to Seal Rocks, he huddled alone on the back seat wrapped in an old blanket, protesting about the lack of heating in Jim’s VW and bemoaning his inability to find a partner.
I’m beginning to think it’s you or no one, my lovely Frannie, he said sadly.
You’ll be a lonely old man, then, Jim said and pulled out sharply to pass a truck.
Fran half-turned in her seat. Poor Andy, she said and reached a hand back to him. Jim settled back for the drive. He loved to see how easily Fran managed Andy, as if she were comforting a small boy rather than falling for his ‘tragic man of mystery’ act. It seemed somehow to put him and Andy on a more equal footing.
Maybe it was because that trip turned out to be their last real time together that it stayed in Jim’s memory. Not that it went sour. Fran told him years later that those few days were some of the happiest in her memory. It was the culmination of a great year for her. Older than Jim, she had already graduated, joined a national radio broadcaster on a cadetship, loved having money in her purse and had been part of the successful grass-roots campaign for a change of government. Fran had already made it clear she was ready to take on Jim, all found. It seemed right to him, also, and when they were together, just the two of them or with other friends who were established couples, it seemed set in concrete. It was only around Andy that Jim side-slipped, joined in his mate’s talk of improbable escapades, of taking off for South America or spending a couple of years hitting every surf break right around the Australian coast. It was just talk – there was no chance of Jim following Andy’s declared intention to drop out of his uni course – but Fran saw how it unsettled him.
Change was in the air that summer. The country seemed infused with a restless energy searching for a purpose. In spite of their early start, the main Seal Rocks camping area was already crowded, so they lugged their gear a few hundred metres into the scrub behind the sand hills. It took a few trips, particularly after Andy decided he needed a run along the deserted beach to shake off the city. No one felt much like cooking as night fell, so they were quickly into sleeping bags, Fran and Jim in their new two-man tent and Andy out in the open a few metres away.
Jim said, Is it okay if he comes in with us? If it rains, he’ll be in here like a shot anyway.
Come on, Jim. Do you think he really forgot to bring his tent?
But eventually Fran gave in, and Jim woke at dawn to the sight of Andy’s arm draped over Fran.
Sorry, Andy mumbled when Jim flung it off her. And then, when Jim dragged him out for an early wave, I’m innocent, Jimmy. Totally. You two looked so comfortable wrapped up in each other that I just wanted to be part of it.
After breakfast, Andy announced he was going to dive onto the school of grey nurse sharks that someone had told them could be found off the main point.
They’re too deep. That guy said you need scuba, Jim scoffed.
No harm in having a look, Andy persisted and headed off.
Fran got scared for him then and wanted Jim to go too, but he laughed at her concern. I know him too well, Fran, he said. This is all part of it. We’ll go look for the pieces later.
He persuaded her to come for a walk along the beach. She went reluctantly and was soon suggesting they head back to check. When they reached the tent, they found Andy repairing a ding on his board.
Changed my mind, he said, without looking up.
Fran knelt to hug him hard and for a long time. Why are you such a dickhead? People love you and you just don’t care. You make me so angry.
Andy seemed to snap out of it then, and the rest of the holiday was perfect. The weather held, and they shook off the sense of loss that heralds change, happy on the beach, in the surf and afterwards around the fire at dusk with wine and a huge pot of stew, courtesy of Fran’s mum. The talk in the tent carried deep into the night.
I still don’t get this bit about leaving uni, Fran challenged Andy.
That’s because you’re a stayer and I’m a sprinter, Andy said. There’s no way you could understand.
Forget it, Fran, Jim said. Let him throw away his future.
Andy sat up in his bag. The future is a myth, he told them. Invented by oldies who have never spent a single minute in the present.
You see, Fran? Jim said. Argue all you like but he’ll always have an answer. He’s full of them. Nothing else, just answers.
Better than the opposite: all questions, no answers, Andy snorted.
My darling boys, Fran murmured. She settled them down like a couple of kids then lay there listening to their breathing.
In the morning, Andy woke them with a promise to be a wise uncle for their children. Have as many as you like. I’ll be there to show them the way. He looked at Jim and said sadly, The poor little bastards are going to need that.
But after that trip it was nearly six months before they saw Andy again. Jim’s twenty-first. Andy at first insisted he couldn’t make it, then turned up as if there had never been any doubt.
In the backyard of the Campions’ weatherboard house two streets back from the beach, if Jim concentrated, blocked out the party hubbub, he could just hear the surf. He had told his parents there were to be no speeches, but his father insisted on delivering one of his homilies, all clichéd quotes and worthy references.
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less travelled by –
Hey, Dr Campion, is that because you’d lost your specs again?
Ah, Andrew Mayfield, of course. Who else would it be? I’ll forgive your interruption if you can c
omplete the quotation.
Andy had the talent of remaining coherent no matter what he’d smoked or drunk. Dr Campion, you know I can, but this is Jim’s big night, so maybe old man Frost might forgive a deviation. What really makes all the difference is that we’re smart enough to hop off a path that’s not heading our way.
Jim’s father laughed and exchanged banter with Andy. Later that night, Jim and Fran became engaged, but when Jim went to ask his friend to be best man at the wedding, Andy had already left.
It seemed to be mapped out for Jim and Fran then, from uni to good jobs, their time in Europe, James’s arrival, Jim’s steady progression through the ranks at work. The firm helped him secure a housing loan at a preferential interest rate. All mapped out, right up to the morning Tom arrived.
He would be an easy baby, Jumbo Parkes assured them, but he didn’t define easy.
This new child was an alien, but theirs. At the start, they took it no further than that. The shock of his condition presented a new challenge every day, but Fran, at least, offered little resistance to the roots being put down. Tom was a small, floppy baby who fed and slept well – not so bad after the sleep-deprived nights they’d been through with his older brother. He picked up more than his share of coughs and colds but apart from that seemed healthy enough. There was no sign either of the heart problems they’d been warned about.
They told me he wouldn’t be able to suck, Fran skited. Look at him go for it.
Times like that – Jim lifting the baby from his wife’s breast, watching the pixie face slide away into sleep, holding him close, the milky, fleshy smell of him, the living reality of his son – should have made it easier to accept, somehow. But the opposite was true, as if Tom being so nearly normal, a mere one chromosome off the mark, were a calculated insult, a barbed hook jagging at the father’s insides, so that he handed the child back to Fran and retreated to the study.