I’d always been a coward, and here was proof. I’d stood by and watched Joel disappear out the window, stood by and watched him abscond before vanishing into the suburban streets that surrounded Dad and Craig’s home. And I’d stood by and watched Steven savage his little brother, stood by and watched Moose beaten bloody on that front lawn in West Coburg, and I’d even left him to sleep rough in the stadium. The only time I could remember taking any action had been at Ellie’s behest, when she’d gotten me to chase Mr Tracksuit off the tram the year before. I could still hear her voice, loud and piercing: ‘You’re the bloke, you should do something.’
Well, here I am, Ellie, the bloke, and I’m not doing anything except letting you down.
When the sun came up over the houses – sharp, jagged rays glinting off the tiled and tinned roofs – I’d had more than I could take sitting there as a co-conspirator in the misery of a girl I adored. I got up out of the plastic lawn chair and announced my departure.I didn’t bother shaking anyone’s hand and avoided catching Ellie’s eye; I couldn’t escape the feeling that she was looking at me. I’d wanted, so badly, the courage to invite her to walk home with me, but like always I kept this and any feeling to myself, the river of sentences finding no estuary once more.
Bell Street was flooded in new sunlight that caught the divots in the bitumen, making it sparkle. There wasn’t anyone out except for the odd tradie’s ute that flew by along the thoroughfare.
I didn’t like being stoned all that much, but I smoked grass because it was the hardest thing I could get my hands on. My body felt soft and floaty, and I drifted along the blocks back to Pentridge, before turning off the main road and cutting through the backstreets.
Somewhere before The Compound, I came across a house I had no recollection of passing before – a rundown weatherboard, double-wide, with a window in need of repair, and a weedy front lawn. And right there, on that lawn, was a post hammered into the earth and, tethered to it, a goat. The animal was eating up blades of grass as it circled the post, like some sad and tired and very slow lawnmower. I’d never had much affinity with animals, but I understood that goat.
SIX
Consequences
Career Advice
One Thursday I was opening my locker when House Master Daniels asked me to join him in his office. I’d never been in his office before, and so the invitation filled me with apprehension. What could he possibly want?
I picked up the heavy textbooks I was in the act of returning, and joined him to walk through the between-periods crowd in the Blue House locker bay, most of the boys horsing around, punching and pinching and slapping arse and making mincing noises, all while Daniels barked demands for straighter ties and higher socks and better tucked-in shirts.
When we got inside his office, he closed the door. In a trophy cabinet lining one wall, metal figures fastened to wooden bases commemorated sports carnival victories in swimming and athletics. Blue House was down on athletic talent that year, and I wondered if he sat in there sometimes thinking back on past glories – and, if he did, I wondered if this wasn’t the saddest notion I’d yet dreamed up.
On top of his desktop monitor there was a pennant for the Sydney Swans, and an assortment of pens and confiscated items lay scattered across the desk.
‘So, ah, what’s this about, sir?’ I asked, waiting for him to allow me to sit.
He waved at the chair nearest me and I took the offer gladly and placed my books down at my feet. ‘We need to talk about William,’ he said.
I was confused, shocked even. What on earth did my house master know about Will? And how did it relate to me?
As ever, Daniels had the posture of a man about to work himself up to a lecture. And he was. He stated that Will and I had been caught on CCTV doing something we shouldn’t have. I needed to set a ‘better example’ for ‘young William’, because – as this mysterious footage demonstrated – I’d egged him on during recess days earlier as he’d kicked in several of the school’s bins in a frenzy, before throwing one of them down the main stairwell of the science wing. This, of course, had occurred, though I imagined that someone had witnessed the act and dobbed us in; the CCTV story sounded like bullshit.
Ever since our night out, Will’s behaviour had been erratic. We would go days without communicating before being thrust together in some odd way – sneaking off campus at lunch to smoke cigarettes, or wreaking havoc for the janitors. This oscillating pattern of distance and closeness had me confused and wary.
‘It’s the responsibility of gentlemen such as yourself to keep people like William in line,’ Daniels said.
‘But there’s nothing wrong with Will, sir,’ I replied. I wasn’t sure how I’d been saddled with such a responsibility, or why ‘people like William’ caught Daniels’ attention. Sure, he’d been mucking about, but surely not to such an extent that it would merit him a place on the school’s watchlist. Perhaps my house master knew something that I did not, and I found this idea quite disturbing.
‘You think it’s right, the way he behaves?’ Daniels said. ‘Behaviour such as that is unacceptable from an Antonian.’
‘I don’t think it’s right or wrong, sir,’ I said. ‘I mean, he probably just doesn’t wanna be here.’ I shrugged. With another glance at Daniels’ trophy cabinet, I decided to add, ‘I mean, who does?’
‘You don’t like it here, Mr McCullen?’
‘Well, not particularly, sir.’
‘Then why come?’
‘Well, I mean, that’s kind of a silly question, really. I don’t have a choice, do I? I’m sent here, and my family wants me here.’
Daniels seemed taken aback by my candidness. Our chat was beginning to feel very important; I could see that my small dose of truth, my refusal to uphold the formalities of interactions between staff and student, was sending the house master’s world into a state of near-chaos.
‘And what exactly don’t you like about this college, Mr McCullen, seeing as you’re so filled with opinions this morning?’
I’d already opened the door; I figured I might as well step all the way inside. ‘Well, nothing in particular, sir, ya know. It’s more just the general vibe that I don’t agree with. I mean, Mr Saltzman was talking just the other day about how we’re all in this elite, privileged position as men who will graduate from the college soon, and he was saying how as a result we’re all going to go out in the world and do something special with our lives, ya know, make something of ourselves.’
‘Yes?’
‘Yeah, well, I mean, I just don’t agree with that, ya know, because it’s not really true, is it? I mean, most of the other boys here are gunna go to uni, study Commerce and become accountants. Or else their parents might buy them a car or something. Or they’ll become a hedge fund manager living in South Yarra or Brighton. But that’s about it. I mean, it’s hardly special, is it?’
‘And you’re so different, are you, Mr McCullen?’
‘Well, probably not, sir. But the point is, none of us are going to do anything. Nobody here is going to split the atom or cure cancer or save the world or fight for democracy. I mean, we’re all too cowardly and well-educated to join the military and go off overseas shooting the Taliban. So, no, when you think about it, sir, when you really think about it, none of us are all that much. And I think it’s highly unlikely that anyone here will do anything of any worth at all.’
House Master Daniels shook his head in grave and exaggerated disappointment. ‘That’s a strange attitude you’ve cultivated, young man.’
‘Sorry, sir.’
Daniels had little else to say, except to fall back on some tired clichés like my needing to ‘smarten up my act’. But he was a philistine and it didn’t matter. I’d shoot myself if my life ever amounted to meddling in the lives of teenage boys.
‘One other thing, before I dismiss you, McCullen,’ he said. ‘You’re to see Ms Lee halfway through the next period at 10.30. Just excuse yourself from class. Do you know where her offic
e is?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Room 105. I’ll write it down. Now, it’s crucial that you attend this meeting. Everyone’s been assigned a time, so don’t forget.’
‘I won’t, sir. Thank you, sir.’
‘Alright,’ he said, tearing off a slip of paper with the career counsellor’s office jotted down and passing it to me. ‘You’re dismissed.’
At 10.30 I was walking down the hallway in the main building, to go see Ms Lee, when I ran into Will. He was coming back from the bathroom and wringing his wet hands so that droplets flew out onto the floor in front of him.
‘Hey,’ I said, looking at his hands as he flicked off the last drops.
‘Dryer’s out,’ he said, wiping his hands against the back and sides of his trousers for good measure. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Got my appointment with Lee. It’s time to find out what I’ll be,’ I rhymed.
Will laughed – everybody thought the careers counsellor meetings were a waste of time. ‘Well, good luck,’ he said, turning back to class.
‘Hey, wait a sec.’
As quickly as I could, I told him about the incident with Daniels.
‘That guy’s a fucking idiot,’ Will said.
‘Yeah, well, he’s got his eye on you. Dunno why he thinks I’m the one to straighten you out.’
Will laughed again, only harder. ‘Because no one knows what you’re really like.’ He winked at me, smiling broadly, teasing me in a way I didn’t fully understand. But I liked the attention, as if he was in on something with me when no one else was. I laughed as I watched him attempt to moonwalk up the corridor to his class.
Ms Lee’s office was on the other side of the quadrangle, next to the chapel. It was not the kind of office allocated to teachers in higher positions, like House Master Daniels, but was instead an expansive white room with thick green carpets and furnished with ornate leather chairs and a beautiful heavy oak desk. There were no trophy cabinets, and from her window Ms Lee had a clear view of the Yarra. Dense gums lined the embankment, forming what looked like a gulley, and small boats often passed by. In the mornings, the water teemed with rowers; both St Anthony’s and Scotch College had their rowing sheds within sight of Ms Lee’s office, and the crews would break their backs in the early hours, driving their sculls upstream in the fog.
I noticed that the school’s crest was emblazoned into the carpet in thick gold stitching. It was like visiting the president of the world.
‘Take a seat, Mr McCullen,’ she said. Her accent was as thick as the carpet, as heavy as her oak desk, behind which, at just over five feet in stature, she was rather diminished.
I only knew her by reputation, having been told that everyone would see her towards the end of Year 12. I’d wondered what she did the rest of the time, and it soon became apparent that she spent it monitoring every score we’d ever achieved on any assignment or test since we’d begun at the college – and even before that. In fact, she had in front of her, within a folder entitled ‘McCullen’, an academic transcript from my previous school. What the fuck is going on?
‘You show excellency in English, Mr McCullen …’
‘Ah, thanks?’
‘… mmm, yes … but nothing else.’
‘…’
‘…’
‘Ah-huh.’
‘Mmm.’
‘…’
How many of these weird fucking meetings am I going to have to sit through today?
‘What you want to do, Mr McCullen?’
‘Ah, like, when I grow up, you mean?’
Ms Lee pulled a face. Either it wasn’t such a funny joke or she simply didn’t understand it because I wasn’t in primary school anymore and seemed rather grown up already.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘I don’t really know, ya know. I was just kind of thinking it would be good to go to uni somewhere, maybe … That’s what most people seem to do.’
‘And study what?’
‘Well, like you said, I’m good at English, so I guess maybe I could study that.’
‘You must have plan for the future. Study plan. Real plan. Life plan.’ Ms Lee seemed majorly annoyed with me, especially considering we’d only just met. ‘You study English. What degree?’
‘I mean, ah, I don’t really know. I don’t know how unis work. I’m in high school,’ I stated, feeling the matter needed clarification. ‘But I suppose I could do Arts or something. I’ve heard that’s pretty good if you’re not too sure what you want to do yet. My mum did that.’
If Ms Lee was already annoyed, this suggestion only seemed to exacerbate her condition.
‘Arts? You want to study Arts? And then become what?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, wondering if this behaviour was indicative of the work careers counsellors did for high school-aged students. ‘That’s kind of the point, Ms Lee. I don’t actually know, yeah?’
Behind her massive desk, she became very grave. ‘You must decide by end of exams. Before results. Your marks so far – fairly good. Not great. But fairly good. However, limited options for you. Arts Degree at Melbourne University this year – 95! Your marks … I’m not sure you can get TER 95.’
‘…’
‘…’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Well, ah, thanks.’
Exams would start in a couple months, and my careers counsellor had just predicted I wouldn’t get high enough marks to get into a degree I’d only just been convinced I might want to do at an institution I hadn’t even mentioned.
I left her office feeling both alarmed and jinxed, a shadow of the self-assured version of Ford that had presented himself in Master Daniels’ office just an hour earlier.
Curly Wurly
In the lead-up to our exams, every Year 12 student had an early day in their weekly calendar, with the idea that we would devote this time to study. Mine was Thursday, so I left Toorak after lunch and took the train and then the tram back to Coburg. With a gold coin in my pocket, I stopped in at the milk bar near The Compound as I weighed up the merits of a Chomp chocolate bar versus a Curly Wurly. After I parted the fly-strips, I decided I was most in the mood for a Curly Wurly. I approached the counter, selected my treat and laid down the dosh.
From behind me a voice said, ‘Ford!’ It was Ellie, all got up in her high school finest.
‘Hey,’ I said, guilt-stricken. I hadn’t seen her since the end of the footy season, and her lonely face was still seared in my mind.
‘Whaddaya doing?’ she asked.
‘Ah, ya know. Just getting, ah, erm …’ I held the Curly Wurly out for her to see. I felt emasculated by the infantile treat, genuinely embarrassed for wanting it.
But she just smiled like a lunatic. She must be a lunatic – who else could smile at this time of year? My careers counsellor had just told me I was going nowhere, and with that in mind I had to face the stress of exams. And Ellie’s boyfriend had hurt her and then been callous enough to humiliate her by displaying this hurt in front of his mates. Who in their right mind could smile in the face of all that?
I paid for my chocolate bar and Ellie bought a little bag of Skittles and we left the shop. As we stood on the pavement outside, we struggled to find things to say. Neither of us wanted to talk about school, and the topic of Moose seemed off limits.
‘So, what are ya doing now?’ she asked.
‘Dunno. Just gunna go home, probably. Pretend to study.’
She laughed. ‘My folks aren’t home,’ she said. ‘They’re away.’
‘Oh, yeah? Where at?’
‘They took Mischa and Kieran down to Rosebud. He’s only in Year 7, so they figured they’d get a beach holiday in before the school rush.’
‘Cool. How’s he going?’
‘He’s a boy. Hates school, loves footy.’ She laughed again.
‘Well, as you know, we’re all identical.’
Ellie grinned, but my joke wasn’t so funny. I realised I wasn’t joking – I didn’t want to be a boy like that. Wha
t a waste, I thought. Fuck that. But was I really turning out much different?
‘Yeah, so everyone’s away. Got the house to myself for a week.’ She paused to select an orange Skittle from her bag and pop it into her mouth. Chewing, she added, ‘I’m kinda bored.’
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘Yeah. Hey, ya wanna smoke?’
‘Choof?’
‘Yeah. I got some pot and that.’
I liked the way she spoke, direct. It made me nervous, though. And that.
‘Yeah, sweet,’ I said.
Ellie and I hit it off great once we were stoned and sneaking a couple of her dad’s beers in the living room. Like in Unit One, pictures of her folks on their wedding day were up on the wall. But her parents were still together, so the photos made sense. I still didn’t get what was between her and Moose. Her house was lovely.
I remembered, suddenly, a time from years and years earlier, long before I was shipped off to St A’s, when Ellie and Dougie and Dougie’s sister and Moose and I had gone to a drive-in movie together. I couldn’t remember whose car we’d gone in – all I could remember was us being squished up together, and Dougie not wanting me next to his sister for fear of us hitting it off. But Moose and Ellie, they’d sat next to each other, even back then. They’d always been together. It was just the way of things.
At some point, Ellie slipped her hand into mine as we sat together on the couch. Pretty soon hand-holding turned into snogging and groping. I couldn’t believe my luck.
‘Come with me,’ she said, hopping up off the settee and leading me down to her room, which was prettier and more colourful than my own, but disfigured by a Calvin Klein ad featuring that British cunt David Beckham.
We took off all our clothes except our underwear and pressed our bodies against each other in the dim light. With my shirt off, I didn’t look much like David Beckham. Ellie’s arms were toned and covered in goosebumps that prickled my fingertips as I traced over her skin. There were the most delicate pockets of fat on both her hips above the waistline of her underwear, where I hooked my fingers under the elastic.
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