Hey Brother Page 10

  The gang of three had recruits: Scooby Doo, Minnie Mouse, Donald Duck, the Hulk, Iron Man and a load of others I didn’t know the names of.

  I looked over my shoulder to the third floor of C Block. Same thing. Every window was filled.

  One of the year ten girls in the quad followed my gaze, pointed up and screamed.

  And that’s when they attacked.

  Balloon after balloon after balloon, every colour of the rainbow, showered down. Splat splat splat splat splat splat splat.

  ‘Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!’

  Each masked senior must’ve had at least two buckets’ worth of balloons by their side. As soon as they’d lobbed one, they reached down and grabbed another. Then a few of them appeared at a window with a fire hose, which they let loose.

  Kids screamed and squealed and laughed. Shoes scraped and slapped on the concrete as teachers and kids fled. Others just stood, raised their hands in the air and asked for more. More. More! MORE!

  I turned round to see Jessica walking back into the quad. She smiled as she watched the mayhem, then ran straight into the crowd to get among it. She stood in the middle of it all, chanting like the others for more. Not just chanting, but dancing, too. Twirling in circles, hands in the air. Catching the hose water that sparkled like raindrops in a sun shower. Flinging her wet hair round, her eyes beaming, her smile shining.

  I stood and watched her till the bell rang, thinking she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

  Shaun and I were down the creek, swinging on the rope swing the same way we had all those years ago.

  On Shaun’s goes he’d swing right over the hole, roaring and whooping like a mad Tarzan, kicking the bright green leaves of the giant camphor laurel that grew on the other side. Then on the backswing he’d let go of the rope and enter the creek in coffin position and—boosh!—a megalitre of water would fly into the air. On my go I swung out with my mouth clamped shut, afraid a scream might pop out, and my bum muscles clenched, afraid some shit might dribble out. It wasn’t like I was scared of doing tricks all of a sudden—I’d done plenty of wild shit off that swing over the years but this time I wasn’t game, not with the dodgy-looking state of the rope.

  I paddled through the cool green. With the lack of rain it smelt more of rotting leaves and mud and silt than usual. At the edge where it was shallower and clearer I climbed up on a semi-submerged boulder and dangled my legs in the water.

  As I watched Shaun continue his mad rope-swinging I waited for an eel or catfish, escaping the bombardment, to brush against my feet, then—shooop pluush—I’d scoop the fucker out with my bare hands and slap its head on a rock. Shaun’d done it once; he built a dam out of rocks further down the creek, and plucked a cattie out.

  ‘Raaaaaahhhh!’ Shaun burst from the branches of the young she-oaks that grew along the bank. One-handed he swung over the rest of the bank, right across the hole and ploughed into the lower branches of the thick crown of the camphor laurel. ‘Raaaaaahhhh!’ He swung back, clutching a handful of leaves. Then he tossed them into the water and let go of the rope.

  ‘Bombs aw—’

  Boosh! Shaun sunk into the murk, sucking the water down with him, and then—shooom—up it shot! Thousands of drops showered down, plipping and plopping onto the surface of the water that was now all choppy, like a bowl of green jelly that a littlun’s played with instead of eaten. Shaun surfaced, tilted his head back and caught the final falling drops on his face. Then he focused his eyes, murky green like the swimming hole, onto the rope swing.

  The swing swayed back into position. With the sun still bright and hitting the cream-coloured rope, it was hard to make out its condition from where I sat. But from my last swing—when I decided I’d had enough—I knew how close to snapping it was. One of the strands was already fully busted and another so frayed it wasn’t far off.

  ‘C’mon, Shaun, let’s get back. She’s only got a few more swings in her, hey. If she goes when you’re over the bank or the shallow part, you’re fucked.’

  Shaun breaststroked towards the bank, taking in a mouthful of water and squirting it out through the small gap between his two front teeth. ‘Nah, she’s got heaps more to go. Dozen, I’d say.’

  ‘Oh yeah, wanna bet?’

  ‘Yeah, alright.’ Shaun hauled himself up onto the bank. ‘Under six and you win. Six to twelve and I win. Over twelve and no one wins.’

  ‘Alright, you’re on. Ten bucks?’

  ‘Done!’

  I didn’t have the money, but I knew I wouldn’t need it. No way that rope had more than six swings in it. I just hoped Shaun wasn’t going to break a leg trying to prove a point.

  He grabbed the rope and, as he headed towards the she-oaks, called over his shoulder, ‘Gonna just be me swinging then, is it?’

  ‘Yep!’

  ‘Mmm. Figured as much.’

  ‘Huh? What’s that s’posed to mean?’

  Shaun turned, holding the swing and looked down at me. ‘Well, that’s the kind of attitude the fellas who failed to make the grade for the forces had. Quit on the selection course when the pressure got too much. Y’know?’

  He disappeared among the she-oak branches, dangly and thin like bristles of a broom.

  ‘Raaaaaah!’

  Same as the last swing: he cleared the hole, kicked the camphor laurel leaves, bombed the water and emerged grinning.

  ‘That’s one.’ He hauled himself up onto the bank. ‘See, they only take you if they know you’ll be able to take it. Pressure, that is. Lots of it. They take the guys that aren’t quitters.’

  ‘Raaaaah.’ Kick. Bomb. Splash.

  ‘That’s two…Then they make you even tougher. See how much further they can push you.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘Raaaaah.’ Splash.

  ‘Three…Yeah.’

  I zoned out as Shaun yammered on about the selection course and his training and how tough it was and how hard it made you. I’d heard it all before—but he never went on about it like this. He always talked about it with passion, excitement, and you could tell he just loved it. Now, it was almost like he was trying to work out if he still did or not.

  ‘That’s five. One more swing, Little Man, and you lose.’ I took my eyes off the water and looked up to the bank.

  The orange light of the sinking sun coloured everything that had been pale before—Shaun’s back, the trunk of the giant gum and the rope. In the softer light I could see the outline of the rope more clearly. It’d gotten thinner. The second strand was close to busting.

  ‘Shaun. Let’s just call it a—’

  ‘Raaaaahhhhh!’ Splash. ‘That’s six.’

  ‘Okay, okay, didn’t bust under six. You win! Let’s go.’

  ‘No, I haven’t won yet. Remember? Still got to see if it busts in less than twelve. If it doesn’t bust under twelve it’s a draw.’

  Shaun disappeared into the cluster of she-oaks. From the angle of the rope I knew he was taking it further than he ever had before. Almost to the top of the bank.

  ‘Raaaaaaaaaahhh!’

  Out he flew. Over the hole. Deep into the crown of the camphor tree. Crack!

  He swung back out, brandishing a metre-long branch, which he speared into the water before releasing the rope and dropping down right on top of it.

  ‘Seven.’

  Swings eight to ten were almost the same—Shaun took the rope as far up the bank as it would go, like he was trying to make those threads snap. Then, on the second-last swing he didn’t roar or whoop as he swung. Instead he grunted, and hissed. ‘C’mon, you fucken thing. Snap. Snap!’

  Shaun swung back over the hole, over the deep middle, and let go just before the bank.

  ‘Jeez, Shaun,’ I said as he emerged. ‘You can’t jump in there, it’s too shallow.’

  ‘Nah, it’s all good.’ Shaun climbed up onto the bank and reached up for the rope. ‘And look. One more go and that thing’s done. Be right on twelve. You’ll see!’

  ‘Yeah, you�
�re right. Okay, okay. One more to go and it’ll snap for sure. You don’t even need to bother. You’ve won, okay?’ I plunged back into the water and swam towards the bank as Shaun disappeared among the she-oaks. ‘Hey, why don’t you let me take the last go?’

  I wasn’t planning on swinging—fuck that! I was going to stand on the bank and pull and pull on it until it snapped so neither of us had to get injured. But by the time I reached the bank Shaun was already swinging over my head.

  ‘SNAP, YOU FUCKEN THI—

  Just as he’d swung over the middle of the hole, and was headed towards the camphor laurel branches, Shaun fell, clutching a metre of busted rope. He landed with an almighty SMACK on the water’s surface. I waited for him to emerge, expecting him to be swearing and howling about his back, but when he popped out of the water he was grinning.

  ‘Twelve!’

  He freestyled towards the bank, whipping the water in front of him with the busted rope. As he climbed out and marched up the bank, I noticed his back reddening like a stovetop heating up.

  ‘You right?’

  ‘Yeah! Sure.’ He pressed forward as if nothing had just

  happened, as if he hadn’t almost broken his own neck.

  ‘You sure? That was fucken crazy!’

  ‘Nah. I’m all good, hey. Like I said—that’s what they do. Prepare you for that moment. They make sure you don’t snap during it.’

  Shaun handed me the rope and marched off up the bank. ‘C’mon, let’s go.’

  14

  I slid the shed door open. Shaun was on his fold-out sofa, out cold.

  ‘Hey, Shaunie. Wakey, wakey. Time for me first lesson! Remember?’

  Nothing.

  I stepped further inside and looked round. The pool table’s pockets bulged with snooker balls and the cues rested against the shed wall. Beer cans, some crumpled flat, some dented in the middle, some lying on their sides, were scattered everywhere—on top of his stereo speakers and chest of drawers, under the pool table and on the floor by his bed. It was almost as bad as when Trev’d been staying in there.

  ‘Pssssst. Oi, Shaunie!’

  Still nothing.

  The boys must’ve come over late. I didn’t hear them arrive, though. No surprise, given all the noise. Just after I’d tucked in, a massive storm blew in from the west, delivering the rain we’d all been hanging for. It was a fierce one. Lightning whipped and cracked like it was trying to bring down the mountains. The wind howled like a pack of wild dogs. Trees whimpered and moaned as the storm stripped them of their leaves and did its best to break their limbs. And the whole house shook, rattling like the bones of a dancing skeleton.

  The storm had cleared off during the night, but the rain continued belting down all morning. And now the dense clouds hung low and looked as if they wouldn’t be lifting for a while. Might not’ve been the best weather for a driving lesson, but I was still keen. A promise was a promise, and I knew Shaun hated to break them.

  His alarm clock read 10.30. Long enough sleep-in.

  ‘Oi, Shaunie! Giddy up! It’s lesson time! Remember?’

  Fuck, was he quick! His arm shot out from under the sheet, reached beside the bed, grabbed something, and before I could work out what he was doing, a crushed beer can was hurtling through the air towards me.

  I ducked just in time. Clunk! The can hit the shed wall.

  Shaun rolled onto his side and pulled the sheet over his head. ‘Faaarrrk off.’

  ‘But, Shaun, our lesson, remem—’

  ‘Aw! C’mon, Tryst. Lay off a bit. Try us this arv, would ya?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Alright, alright.’

  Fuck it. The grump! Stuffed if I wanted a lesson from him when he was in such a foul mood. I headed through the rain back to the house and back to Mum. Least I knew she’d be merry—no other way for her when Shaun was back staying with us. She’d be better company.

  ‘Gonna be a big Chrissy this year.’ Mum gestured with flour-dusted hands to the kitchen table, which was covered with trays of baked goodies. Apple turnovers. Gingerbread men. Cupcakes. Butterfly cakes. Coconut slice.

  ‘Yeah, bloody looks like it! What’s going on, Mum? Ya got some other kids yer hiding out in the bush that yer gonna invite?’

  ‘Ha ha, Mr Smart Mouth. No, it’ll just be all youse…I’m re-training too, y’know?’ She slapped a handful of flour onto a big lumpy piece of dough. ‘Thinking of hitting up Terry’s cafe and maybe the school canteen. See if they’ll stock me cakes and slices. Might even give the weekend markets a go. I’d love to go back to the bakery. Miss it. But I’m not setting a foot in that place while that tightarse Clarkey is running it.’

  It was Steve Clarke who’d lost Mum her job at the bakery. Well, according to her, anyway. She’d worked the counter there for years, and even though she wasn’t the actual baker, she loved making slices and cakes. Her old boss—this friendly old fella, Ken Johnson—used to let her bring in a small selection of her homemade stuff to put alongside the others on the shelf. Hers always sold quicker than anything the baker made. She was chuffed. Got a cut of the profits, too. But then when Kenny sold up and Steve Clarke bought the place and became her boss, he put an end to that arrangement. Mum reckoned he just had it in for her from day one—had it in for her and any of the old guard who weren’t under twenty-five and didn’t have perky tits and perfect smiles to match. She quit only a couple of weeks after Clarkey took over.

  ‘What do ya reckon?’ she said, kneading the dough, and looking at me hopefully. ‘Good idea?’

  ‘Sure! Why not?’ I grabbed a piece of coconut slice. ‘I’d pay a buck for one of these.’

  ‘Gah!’ She flicked a pinch of flour at me. ‘Trysten Geoffrey Black, I’d charge you four!’

  ‘Fair nuff. I’m broke now, though. Can I get this on tick?’

  ‘Mmm…s’pose so. Guess I could just add it to your account.’

  ‘Account?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s a big one. Pages and pages and pages long. Fourteen years’ worth. Food, clothes, medicine, toys, and heaps and heaps of care.’

  ‘Ha! Yeah, good one, Mum.’

  Mum continued kneading the dough, smiling, humming, like she didn’t hear me taking the piss, or she didn’t care. ‘Where’s Shaun then?’

  ‘Sleeping.’

  ‘Mmm. Good. Hasn’t done nearly enough of that, if you ask me. Y’know, I’ve been thinking—it’s great to see you two hanging out again. Most time you’ve spent together in years. Good to have my boys back together, and everyone back for Christmas. Well…almost everyone.’

  ‘You mean Amy?’

  Mum sighed, pounded the dough. ‘Yeah, she’s one who’ll likely be missing. Shaun managed to get hold of her yesterday. Asked if we’d see her for Chrissy. She told him she was gonna spend it with her family this year, half of who she bloody hates! Well, if she’s gonna go on playing these games with him, I don’t want her here anyway.’

  ‘Who’s the other one then?’

  Mum moulded the dough into a football shape, placed it on a tray and opened the oven door. ‘That father of yours, of course. Can’t believe he’s still down the creek having a bloody sook.’

  ‘I don’t know if he’s sooking, Mum.’

  ‘Well, what then?’

  ‘Scared…’

  Just as I said it I sensed someone creeping behind me.

  I looked over my shoulder. Trev slipped past and shot towards the fridge like an eel to a yabby.

  ‘Scared, hey?’ he said, opening the fridge. ‘Who ya scared of, little tacker?’

  He knelt behind the fridge door so I could see him but Mum couldn’t. Then he tilted his head so it was almost completely horizontal and flung his greasy hair over the side of his face.

  Shit! He was getting ready to do the Yowie, just like he used to do when Shaun and I were little, to try and scare the hell out of us.

  Trev opened his eyes so wide they looked like they were about to pop right out of their sockets. He jutted his chin out and tense
d his neck muscles so his veins bulged.

  ‘Scared of the Yowie?’ he growled. ‘Aren’t ya? I’ll tell ya what. If you ain’t scared of the Yowie…’ He laughed silently, baring his teeth and furry grey tongue. ‘If you ain’t scared of the Yowie, Jesus-mate, you fucken well should be! That fella, he’s mean. That beast…why, he’ll get those razor-sharp claws of his and he’ll slice ya up!’

  ‘Ah, piss off, Trev! No such fucken thing as a yowie!’

  ‘Is fucken so!’

  ‘Oi! Quit it, Trev!’ Mum rolled her eyes. ‘Just find yer bloody beer and piss off, would ya?’

  ‘Well, I would happily piss off if I could find a bloody beer in ’ere…Didn’t think we’d got through ’em all last night.’

  ‘We who?’ said Mum.

  ‘Me and Shaun.’

  What? So Shaun hadn’t been drinking with Jase and Acker—he’d been drinking with Trev? Weird. Shaun’d always thought about as much of Trev as I did.

  Head still deep in the fridge, Trev coughed. Three deep, wheezy, spluttering coughs.

  ‘Jesus!’ Mum shouted. ‘Just bloody watch it, would ya, Trev?’ Christ almighty, you’ll spoil all the food.’

  Trev held his hand over his mouth till his coughing fit stopped, then stuck his head back in the fridge. Bottles and jars clunked together as he continued his search. ‘Aha! Got one! Ah, shit! It’s only a bloody mid-strength. Ah, well, you know what they say: beggars can’t be choosers!’

  ‘Exactly.’ Mum flicked Trev on the arse with her tea-towel. ‘Now, shut up and piss off. Trysten and I were talking.’

  ‘Okay, okay. Boot the poor old pisshead out then. Don’t mind me, I’ll just get back to my illustrious bachelor pad. My one-room palace in the paddock. My castle in—’

  ‘Go! Now!’

  ‘Alright. Alright. I’m going.’

  Trev shambled down the hallway like the ghost of a drunken convict. Before he closed the front door, Mum called out, ‘And quit stirring me boy! Any more of it and yer out!’

  She got to work kneading another ball of dough. ‘Where were we?’