Head of the River

by Pip Harry

  HennyPenny: Night Cris

  I smile and think about our hypothetical first date. She’s wearing a sundress and thongs, her hair pulled out of the hard ponytail she usually wears. We share fish and chips on the beach at St Kilda and then walk along the edge, our toes in the water. My arm rests on her shoulders and she hooks a thumb in the back pocket of my jeans. Afterwards we go to see a band and she sways in front of me, her hips loose.

  I snap back to reality. Penny would never go out with a guy like me. A hopeless seconds fatty with love handles. I sneak out of my room and down to Smith Street called by the siren song of barbecued meats.

  Leni

  My bedroom is never completely dark. Fluorescent light leaches under my blind from the street lamp outside. It’s never completely quiet either. Drunk people are always steaming out of the pub down the road, shouting things like, ‘Heeeeey! Brutha! Yo! Where ya going?’ The guy who lives next door is coughing, so I listen to that for a while. He can go all night long. Coughing so much it sounds like he might throw up from the effort. I see him sometimes lighting up a ciggie on the lumpy yellow chair on their front porch. He looks half dead, but he won’t quit. People are so stupid.

  I’m getting out of bed for a glass of water when I hear a soft knock at my window and a guy’s voice saying my name. Scared, I open the blind and peer out.

  Adam’s in our front garden, holding the side of his head. Something’s wrong. First – we hadn’t agreed to meet, and Adam, like me, is into planning stuff. Second – he looks a mess and there’s blood on his T-shirt. I’ve never seen Adam without product in his hair and matching clothes, even on the riverbank. Even when we are alone together.

  ‘I’ll let you in,’ I whisper.

  I turn the front door latch gently and push him into my bedroom, closing the door behind us.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  Adam sits down on the bed. He puts his arms around his body and silently howls, like that painting we studied in school, The Scream. I hug him awkwardly. He’s cold and shaking.

  ‘Adam, are you okay?’ I ask. It seems inadequate.

  ‘Yes … no. I don’t know.’

  I peel his palm away from his forehead. He has a small gash above his eyebrow and a shiny lump.

  I know a bit about head injuries from the time Cristian blacked out during a rugby tackle, got concussion and had to sit out for three weeks.

  ‘Are you dizzy? Do you feel sick? Maybe we should go to emergency.’

  ‘No. I’m not going to the hospital,’ says Adam.

  ‘Just to get it looked at, make sure it’s not serious.’

  ‘It was my fault. I got kicked out of the firsts. Westie’s doing a cull. First Cristian, now me. I’m not strong enough. Not tough enough.’

  ‘There’s no one tougher than you,’ I say. Adam will row until he vomits. In the rain, cold, rough water, forty-degree heat. He never complains.

  ‘Can I have a better look?’ I say.

  I turn my bedside lamp onto his wound. It’s not too bad but it might need stitches.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘My brothers rowed in the firsts, Dad, Granddad. I can’t row in the seconds. Not this year. Do you know how many boats my father has bought the school? Do you know what they cost?’

  I feel sick to my stomach.

  ‘Who did this to you?’ I ask, thinking the worst.

  ‘I did,’ Adam whispers.

  ‘Why?’ I feel confused and upset. Why would anyone do this to themselves? Especially not Adam. He always seems so together. So dependable.

  ‘I was fighting with Dad and he was calling me a pathetic loser and making me feel like nothing. Like I didn’t matter. I got so angry I banged my head against the table. He made me feel so bad about myself; it actually felt better to do this instead. I ran away and came here. I didn’t know what else to do.’

  ‘The glass table? In the living room?’ I picture the designer table with its thick, square edges, magazines stacked artfully on the surface.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Adam. You could have knocked yourself out.’

  ‘That was the idea, Leni. At least it shut him up. I couldn’t stand it anymore. He is always, always down on me. Something snapped. Haven’t you ever snapped?’

  I think about it. He wants something from me that I can’t give. I’ve never felt out of control.

  ‘Not like this. You don’t want to give yourself brain damage because you’re not in the firsts.’

  ‘It’s okay for you, you’re never going to get chucked out of your crew.’

  ‘How do you know that? Promise me you won’t do anything like this again.’ I grab his hands and squeeze them.

  ‘I don’t think I will,’ says Adam.

  ‘Let’s wake Mum up. She can take a look.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Leni. I shouldn’t have come here. I’ll go home.’

  He gets up to leave and I pull him back. He won’t look me in the eye.

  ‘Adam. Stay.’

  Adam looks pale. ‘I have a headache.’

  ‘I gotta wake Mum,’ I say. Her home medical kit should sort out a cut like this.

  ‘Don’t tell them it was me. Make something up. Tell them my dad’s away. Overseas.’

  ‘Okay,’ I agree. He lets my fingers slip away.

  I wait at the door of my parents’ room for a moment, thinking how with one knock, everything would change. I’d be lying to my parents and I always said I wouldn’t do that.

  Then I knock.

  Cristian

  I’m sneaking back into the house after a trip to Hasir Kebabs. They know my order now. Doner kebab, extra garlic sauce. I think for sure I’ve been sprung when I see the kitchen lights are on. We Popescus are early to bed and early to rise and nobody is usually up past 9 pm. It’s almost 11 but as I walk towards the light I can see that everyone’s up. Even Banjo. Bizarrely, Adam is sitting in our kitchen and Mum is applying Steri-Strips to a cut above his eyebrow.

  Dad turns around when he hears my trainers squeak on the wooden floor. He gives me a very sad, disappointed look.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘To Smith Street to get something to eat. Sorry.’

  Dad shakes his head at me. He doesn’t have to say, you are a useless prick. That’s what he’s thinking. What I’m thinking. Who breaks a diet after five hours? My hand goes to the 7-Eleven chocolate bar in my pocket. It’s burning a hole in my leg.

  ‘Don’t ever leave the house without letting us know where you are going. This isn’t a safe neighbourhood at night.’

  Dad turns away from me to the delicate operation in progress on the kitchen table. Mum has surgical gloves on, while Leni holds the light up so she can see.

  ‘Hey Adam,’ I say.

  ‘Shhhhh!’ says Leni, looking irritated.

  ‘What happened?’ I ask the surgical team.

  Mum doesn’t answer, she’s too busy focusing on her patient.

  ‘It was an accident. I walked into a door,’ says Adam.

  ‘All done,’ Mum says to him in her nurse voice. ‘You seem fine, Adam, but I need to observe you for at least a few hours before you can go home. You might as well get comfortable. I’ll make tea.’

  Walking into a door? Sounds dodgy to me.

  Adam says he’s fine to drive himself home, even though he shouldn’t have been driving in the first place, because he’s only just got his Ps and he’s whacked his head.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ says Mum. ‘Can you take him, Vas?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ says Dad.

  ‘I’ll go too,’ says Leni.

  ‘No, you go back to bed,’ says Dad. ‘Cristian can keep me company.’

  Inwardly I groan. Dad will use the confined space to give me a lecture about willpower and watermelon.

 
; ‘Thanks, Mrs Popescu,’ says Adam.

  Mum gives him a hug I know is the top-shelf variety – strong, committed and reassuring. His face looks small and scared over her shoulder. ‘Call me if you feel any worse. Right away and I’ll take you up to the Royal.’

  ‘I will.’

  He closes his eyes briefly and I wonder if he’s thinking about his own mum. Wishing she was closer than Sydney.

  Adam has driven over in his new Mini, but we all pile into our car.

  ‘You pick up toy car tomorrow,’ says Dad, as the engine whines to life. ‘Where you live?’

  ‘Toorak,’ says Adam. ‘Lansell Road.’

  Adam’s house is famous. One of the most expensive slices of real estate in the entire city, on the most exclusive tree-lined street.

  Dad looks blank. ‘I not know this place.’

  Adam turns on his mobile phone GPS and says ‘home’.

  A woman speaking in an American accent joins us in the car, telling Dad to drive straight. Two hundred metres. Then turn left. Vasile doesn’t like technology and he frowns deeply.

  ‘I have enough women telling me how to drive with my wife and daughter,’ he says. ‘Tell me direction.’

  Leni

  ‘Are you tired?’ Mum asks.

  ‘Not really,’ I admit. I’m shaken, alert. The sun will be up in a few hours. It’s almost not worth going back to sleep.

  ‘Another cuppa?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Mum packs up her kit and makes us both a cup of tea. She always has tea on. A fresh brew clears her head when she is emptied from nursing sick kids.

  She hands me a chipped mug and a slice of marbled cozonac sweet bread. I’m walloped by memories as I take a bite. I love hanging around the kitchen watching her make it for special occasions. When I was little I’d help her roll the dough and wait impatiently for it to cook in the oven. Wrapped in a sweet cloud of rum, orange peel and cocoa.

  ‘What was tonight all about, Leni?’ Mum asks as I blow across the steaming tea in my mug.

  ‘I dunno,’ I say, feeling terrible for not being honest.

  ‘I see this sort of injury quite often,’ Mum says. ‘It’s usually caused by someone being pushed into a wall or a table.’

  She looks at me intensely. ‘Do you think Adam is telling the truth about how this injury occurred? Because if he isn’t, I’d have to follow that up through the proper channels.’

  I shake my head, and decide to stick to my story and not reveal how Adam got hurt. ‘Of course.’

  Breaking eye contact is the only way I can stop the story from escaping my lips. I feel a tug of loyalty in both directions. The pit of my stomach swirls with unease.

  Cristian

  We drop Adam off at home and Dad tries to act like it’s not the biggest house he’s ever seen.

  ‘Where’s your father?’ Dad asks. Or rather interrogates.

  ‘Hong Kong. Business. My stepmum Kitty is with him.’

  Dad makes a clicking sound of disapproval. He has always loathed Mitch Langley. At regattas Mitch acts like he’s head coach, despite the fact that he hasn’t rowed since he was a schoolboy. Even then he was a cox. He likes to make crew suggestions. ‘That tiny, red man thinks he buys the boats, he picks rowers,’ Dad’s said, like a hundred times.

  ‘And your other mother?’

  Adam’s real mother left Mitch when Adam was fourteen.

  ‘She lives in Sydney. I’ll call her tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes. Do. Family is important.’

  ‘Thanks, Mr Popescu,’ Adam says, politely. ‘I’m sorry I woke you all up.’

  ‘Goodnight, Adam,’ Dad says. But what he really means is, I’m onto you.

  We wait with the car engine running until Adam has gone inside the huge steel gates of his house. Then Dad looks hard at me.

  ‘Anything else you’d like to say about tonight?’

  ‘Sorry I broke the diet. I’ll try harder.’

  ‘No, not that,’ Dad says. ‘Why Adam is in our house? Middle of night? Bashed in head?’

  ‘I think you should probably ask Leni, he’s her boyfriend,’ I say. It’s what I’m planning to do.

  ‘All right, I will. Why you sneak out for food, like hungry rat?’

  ‘I was hungry.’

  ‘You hungry, you lose weight.’

  That’s what I’m scared of. Food is a friend I turn to when I’m down. I’m not ready to give it up. ‘Okay. I’ll do better. Promise.’

  ‘You’re good boy,’ Dad says and he puts his hand on the back of my neck. ‘Let’s go home. This very strange night.’

  Leni

  I’ve had about three hours of sleep, and I feel jet-lagged. My movements are slow and my head is thick with fatigue. At least the river is in form. It’s sheet glass, no wind. After the nightmare of last night, these are the conditions I dream of. The air smells like summer, too, perfumed with eucalyptus.

  I’m standing to one side of the gym, quietly warming up. Swinging my right leg back and forth under me, holding onto the wall for balance. I’m thirsty and a headache bangs behind my eyes. Switching sides, I notice Rachel and Millie on yoga mats across the room. They’re teasing each other about their morning hairdos. Millie messes up her short hair so it’s Mohawk style. Rach pulls her wet ponytail across her top lip, like a moustache. They fall about laughing.

  I’d join in, but my crew doesn’t expect me to be silly. Somehow I’ve got a reputation for being 100 per cent serious, 100 per cent of the time.

  Rachel lies down and lets Millie push her legs over her head in a stretch.

  ‘Stop!’ Rachel shouts. ‘I’m not a circus freak.’

  I sit on my own, pulling my head down to my knees. Pretending I’m not interested in the morning chatter and gossip of the other girls.

  ‘Girls, let’s go!’ says Laura, running into the room. ‘We have three timed thousands to do this morning. Chop, chop!’

  Now I start to feel part of the group, filling up our water bottles, pulling on caps and arranging the blades neatly on the grass. I know how to do this. The stuff off the water is more confusing.

  ‘Hands on!’ says Aiko as we file around the side of the boat and lift it off the racks.

  We walk the boat down to the bank, expertly flipping the fibreglass shell off our shoulders and above our heads, rolling it down to sit on the water.

  ‘Blades in, let’s get out there,’ says Aiko.

  I like the routine of rowing. Everything has a place to fit. I know my seat and what to do when I’m told.

  Pretty much as soon as the warm-up starts, Rachel is in my ear about how tired she is.

  ‘Ugh. I need a coffee. Actually I need a bucket of coffee. Actually I need a slab of Red Bull.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘What did you say?’ Rachel bites back.

  I’m trying to push aside my lack of sleep and focus on the row. But I feel murderously cranky.

  ‘I don’t need you in my ear complaining, okay. Back me up.’

  ‘I always back you up.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I don’t like your tone of voice, young lady,’ Rachel says, trying to lighten it up.

  I sit forward, wishing that today of all days I didn’t have to sit 20 centimetres from Rachel for two hours. She reluctantly joins me with her blade ready to start.

  We are rowing out by the docks, closer to the ocean. The air has a salty tang and the river widens up. There’s room to breathe. On either side of us are old docks and numbered shipping yards.

  ‘We will row from dock number three to nineteen,’ says Laura as she zooms up on her tinny. She holds up her stopwatch.

  ‘It’s roughly a thousand. You’re on the clock, so I expect hard strokes all the way.’

  We take off and the balance is tipping to stroke side. I
struggle to get my blade off the water. I lift my hands up violently and try to right the boat. It only makes it worse.

  ‘Relax Leni,’ says Rachel. ‘The balance will come.’

  I grunt in frustration as the boat slides back onto stroke side, trapping my fingers painfully between the side of the boat and my oar handle.

  ‘Come on!’ I yell, my finger throbbing in pain. ‘Sit the boat up!’

  It’s not only the boat that’s feeling wonky. I’m rushing the slide and slow around the back turn. I’m not setting up a nice, easy pace for the girls to follow. I feel breathless and queasy.

  ‘Find the rhythm, Leni,’ says Aiko. ‘Everyone else, relax and let the boat run!’

  We find twenty decent strokes and then Aiko calls the finish.

  ‘Well that was utter garbage,’ says Rachel behind me as we check the run off the boat.

  ‘Rachel, can you for once be positive? We had twenty good strokes, let’s focus on those,’ says Penny. I silently thank her. She doesn’t speak up much, but when she does it makes perfect sense.

  ‘The good news is, kids, we have two more of those to go,’ says Aiko into her microphone.

  There’s a groan from the seven bodies behind me. Laura idles nearby in her boat, looking disappointed.

  ‘What. Was. That?’ she says, looking down at her stopwatch. ‘Let’s not row like that again, ladies. I thought I was back coaching the Year Eight sevenths. Leni, mate, settle down the rating and let’s get some rhythm going. It’s all over the shop.’

  Dad skids his bike into the sheds. He’s back from coach­ing the thirds and looks like he’s about to blow up.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ I say to Penny as we tinker with a few minor changes to our seats, the boat out on slings. ‘Watch this.’

  ‘You take strongest rowers out of boat and replace them with novice?’ says Dad to Westie, who is looking at crew footage on his iPad as his crew washes down their boat.

  ‘Good morning to you too, Vasile.’

  Dad points at Sam, who’s quietly circling the boat with a big yellow sponge.

  ‘This boy fit, yes. He has talent, yes. But technique? Not as good as Cristian or Adam. He needs more time in second boat. Is too early for him.’