After (8 page)

‘What were you and Jack doing?’ asked Grandpa, when I climbed into the cabin.

‘Talking.’

‘Looked pretty aggressive for a talk.’

‘Just setting up a game for tomorrow.’

‘Caught up with Brian at the co-op today,’ said Grandpa, sitting at the kitchen table. ‘He said Paula has her final chemo next week.’

‘Poor woman. Are they hopeful?’ Nan placed our meals in front of us—brown lumpy stuff and a pile of mashed potato. It looked gross, but smelt okay.

‘I didn’t ask. Hmmm, chicken casserole. Who is it?’

My heart skipped a beat. I looked from the lumps to Grandpa. ‘Is this ... Did you kill...’

Grandpa laughed.

Nan tutted. ‘I bought the chicken from the butcher, Callum. We don’t eat our chooks’

‘We eat the eggs though.’ Grandpa eyes twinkled. ‘And the roast lamb and chops? Bred and grown here.’

I shuddered. What meat—chicken, lamb, beef, any of it—was before it was a lump on a plate wasn’t something I wanted to think about.

Nan glared across the table at Grandpa. ‘Leave the boy alone.’

As if she cared. After school that day, Nan had me bringing in washing, loading wood into the boxes by the lounge room and family room fireplaces, setting the table and vacuuming my room. Cheap labour, that’s all I was to her.

While I was doing stuff for her, I’d stewed over what Frewen had said. Not the stuck-up thing—I didn’t care what any of them thought of me—but the stuff about Grandpa picking me up.

‘How far is it from here to school?’ I asked, stabbing a lump of chicken with my fork and popping it in my mouth. It tasted better than it looked.

‘About five kays,’ said Grandpa. ‘Thinking of catching shank’s pony?’

‘Shank’s what?’

Grandpa looked up, his face alight with surprise. ‘Shank’s pony. Surely you’ve heard of the expression.’

I figured it had to be some stupid country thing. ‘No.’

‘To travel by shank’s pony is to walk, Callum,’ said Nan, as though I was five.

I raised my eyebrows.

‘I can’t believe you haven’t heard that before,’ said Grandpa, shaking his head. ‘What on earth are they teaching kids at school these days?’

‘Casserole’s great,’ I said, hoping to move the topic away from shanks, ponies and any other ancient expression.

‘Good,’ said Nan. ‘So why do you want to know how far it is to school?’

‘I was thinking I could walk to school to save you two driving me.’

‘The driving is taxing,’ she said.

Taxing? Right. She’d only picked me up twice.

‘Perhaps it’s time you caught the bus with the Frewen children. I’ll arrange it tomorrow,’ added Nan.

‘I’d rather walk.’

I caught the look that shot between my grandparents.

‘For fitness.’ I added.

‘You’ll make friends on the bus,’ said Nan. ‘Pass the bread please, Callum.’

‘I’m making friends at school,’ I lied.

Grandpa leant back in his seat and scratched his head. ‘It’d be an easy bike ride.’

‘All that way?’ said Nan. ‘Nonsense.’

‘Maeve did it.’

Nan’s lips twisted. She buttered her bread. ‘Callum doesn’t have a bike.’

‘I do at home. Mum could send it up on the train.’

Grandpa pressed mashed potato and casserole onto his fork.

‘You could ride Maeve’s bike.’

Nan dropped her knife.

When she picked it up, she didn’t spread the butter, she bashed it onto the bread. ‘That old thing went to the tip with the other stuff.

I’ll phone the school and organise the bus tomorrow, Callum.’ Her smile didn’t disguise the chill in her voice.

I’d been expecting Frewen to get stuck into me as soon as I arrived at school the next day, but there was no sign of him. When Mr Agar was marking the roll in home room he stopped after Grace Darwell and said, ‘Frewen’s sick,’ then continued to Tim.

That was about as exciting as the day got. In technology Mr Tippett gave us a Photoshop task, then didn’t look up from his own computer screen or leave his seat for the rest of the class. That gave me the chance to work my way around the school’s Internet blocking setup and check MySpace, Facebook and Messenger—just in case someone had left me a message. Which they hadn’t. No one had since, well, not since before.

Luke didn’t speak all day. When we cleaned up he just dragged the bin behind him and ignored me if I spoke. The bin scrape was annoying.

After school, when Nan drove up the drive at Marrook, Grandpa was waiting by the garage. Nan flung open her car door and strutted over to Grandpa.

‘Have you finished the fencing?’

I heaved my bag out of the car and followed. At least Nan was consistent. She didn’t just bark at me, she barked at Grandpa too.

‘All done,’ said Grandpa. ‘Much quicker with Paul and Jack’s help.’

So much for Frewen being sick.

‘Want to give me a hand for a while, Callum?’ asked Grandpa.

Nan folded her arms. ‘Is it important? I have jobs for him around the house.’

‘Very important. Secret men’s business.’ He winked at me. ‘Coming?’

‘Sure.’ Anything would be better than doing stuff for Nan.

Nan tutted and fumed all the way to the back gate.

I tried not to smile.

I followed Grandpa to the shed with the locked door and the mural on the side. He pulled a key ring from his pocket and unlocked the padlock. The door screeched as it scraped across the concrete. It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom.

The place smelt of dirt and old paper. The front part was filled with bags of grain and wooden boxes filled with tools. A stack of yellow containers and cardboard boxes divided the shed in half.

‘All empty,’ said Grandpa, nodding at the drums and boxes. ‘Just a barrier.’

I was about to ask from what when I saw the stuff stacked behind. A flat netball, a hockey stick, a pair of roller-skates with no laces, a two-storey doll’s house, a saddle and an easel covered in smudges of paint.

‘Maeve had a mind like a hummingbird. Never stopping on one thing for long,’ said Grandpa, clearing a path to a mountain bike leaning against the back wall. ‘I’m glad she stuck with her painting. Her teachers always said she had talent.’ He freed the bike from the mess and wheeled it towards me.

I offered him something of mine. ‘She’s always sketching, painting, stretching a canvas. She’s tutoring at the uni now.’

Even in the gloom I could see Grandpa’s face light up. ‘Art?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Good. Are you arty too?’

‘I’m okay, but nothing like Mum.’

Grandpa inspected the bike. ‘Will this be any good?’

I squatted in front of it. ‘With a bit of work.’

‘You take it outside and I’ll get hot water and my tools.’

I wondered if he’d do a Mum. When she wanted to know stuff, she’d get me busy, then fire away with questions. The time she wanted to pick my brains about Maddie, she asked me to help her cut back the banksia growing across the front veranda. We’d just pulled our garden gloves on when Mum started. What were Maddie’s parents like? Did she wear eyeliner? Was she my girlfriend?

By the time Grandpa returned from the house carrying a bucket of steaming water scrubbing brushes and a toolbox, I decided I’d get in with the questions first.

‘Grandpa, can I ask you something?’

‘Sure,’ he said, tossing me a brush. ‘You do the front half.’

I tried to sound casual. ‘Do the Frewens come here often?’

‘Not often for meals, but Paul and Jack do help me out around here a bit, like today. Paul’s been helping me out for years, since he left school. Well before he bought their property.’

‘So they help out with farm stuff?’

‘Yeah—fencing, crutching, shearing, moving stock, carting hay. But not all the time. I hire workers too. Why?’

I scrubbed the spokes. ‘Jack seemed surprised to see the ewes had been moved.’

‘He hinted at that today.’ Grandpa dipped his brush in the bucket. ‘Probably thinks I paid you instead of him.’

‘Star loves him.’

‘Now, that must have cost him a fortune in dog treats. It used to be both Star and Jilly hated him. Jack’s the only person Jilly has ever bitten.’

I kept my head down to hide my smile.

‘My turn for a question.’

Something fluttered in my chest.

‘Jack reckons you’re ... aloof at school. Not trying to fit in.’

The flutter turned into a flame of anger. ‘I’m just hanging back, you know, keeping to myself while I get to know them. It’s not easy. They all know everything about each other.’

He nodded. ‘Do you reckon you and Jack could be friends?’

When the sun burns itself out.

‘Maybe.’

‘Good, because he says he’s trying hard to include you. You might like to try harder with him, too.’

That scumbag.

‘And, while we’re on it, you could try harder with your grandmother too.’

Was he for real? I sucked in air through my teeth.

Grandpa raised his hand before I could speak. ‘I know she can be...’

‘A total pain?’

He glared at me. ‘Show a little respect, Callum. I was going to say harsh.’

I hung my head.

Grandpa sighed. ‘Callum, it’s complicated. Just try harder, okay?’

‘But she—’

‘Please?’

‘All right.’ Not that it would make any difference, she’d still act like a cow.

‘Good man! ‘Grandpa stepped back to inspect his work. ‘Looks better than my first bike,’ he said, smiling.

‘What was wrong with it?’

‘Nothing—it was a great bike. Before I left it lying in the driveway and Dad backed the tractor over it. Bloody bike looked like a Twistie afterwards.’

As I laughed, I noticed my grandmother frowning through the kitchen window.

‘Grandpa, is Nan all right with this? The bike?’

He stole a glance at the window. ‘She’ll be right.’ He pressed the front tyre with his thumb. ‘It’ll need new tyres. I’ll take it into Millington tomorrow and have Trent look over it.’

‘Thanks. I’ll do stuff around here, you know, help out, to pay for it.’

‘Deal,’ said Grandpa, straightening up. ‘First thing you can do is make an old man a cup of coffee. Stick that by the garage so I don’t forget it tomorrow.’

I wheeled the bike to the garage. Grandpa locked the shed.

Nan met us at the back door, her face more threatening than a thunderstorm.

‘Hello, Sunshine,’ said Grandpa. He was braver than me. ‘Callum’s about to make me a coffee. Want one?’ He sailed past before she could answer.

Most of the class milled on the grass between the oval and the stadium. Michael stood beside them, back to the stadium.

‘Where do you reckon Burbridge is?’ asked CJ, lying on the oval, arms clasped behind his head.

Nic lounged at this feet.

‘Checking his pecs in the mirror.’ Nic struck a body builder’s pose. ‘The guy loves himself sick.’

‘Well he can check himself out for as long as he likes,’ said Ruby, sitting with Maddie and Bec on the chain fence circling the oval. ‘PE is the last thing I feel like doing.’

‘Hey,’ said Michael, nodding towards the centre of the oval. ‘What do you reckon Spew is doing?’

Stu Rogers stood alone near the cricket pitch, head back, staring at the clouds.

CJ lifted his head. ‘He’s a weirdo.’

‘You guys should be nicer to him,’ said Bec. ‘Mum said he has spaz burgers.’

The others burst out laughing.

‘You’re the spaz burger, Bec,’ said Maddie.

‘What?’ Bec’s eyes were wide.

‘I think you mean Asperger’s,’ said Michael.

‘Spaz burger. Asperger’s. Whatever. He can’t help how he is.’

‘Maybe, but he’s good for a laugh,’ said CJ.

‘Hey Spew. Whatchya doing?’ sang Nic.

Stu turned to face them, hands clasped behind his back. ‘Nicholas, my name is Stuart, not Spew. Stuart Rogers. I am studying the cirrocumulus.’

‘Cirro what?’ asked Nic.

‘Cirrocumulus. The clouds above us. Spectacular.’

‘Quite,’ said Nic, copying Spew’s formal speech.

The girls giggled. The rest of the class, still waiting by the stadium, sniggered.

CJ sat up. ‘Hey, Spew, there was a full moon last night, careful you don’t get mooned.’

This time everyone laughed.

Stu’s face twisted. Fists by his side, he ran to where CJ sat, stopping metres from him. ‘Moon this,’ he yelled. In one movement he turned his back and pulled down his shorts, wiggling his bare backside at CJ.

CJ hooted with laughter while Maddie squealed.

‘That’s disgusting!’ said Bec, face in her hands.

‘Stu Rogers! Pull up your strides, now!’ Burbridge hurdled the chain fence, stopping between the hysterical class and Stu, facing CJ. ‘This better not have anything to do with you, CJ.’

Luke stood by my bench, bread roll in one hand and bin in the other. I plonked my butt down and unwrapped my sandwich. Grated cheese and Vegemite. Again. What did Nan have against lettuce or tomato, even an avocado?

Luke sat beside me. I sighed and bit into the sandwich. Luke inspected his roll and sighed before biting it. He watched me while he chewed. Luke’s constant copying was seriously annoying.

As soon as he finished his roll, he stood. ‘Let’s go. Oval today’

‘Can’t we clean up around the library?’ I shoved the last bit of sandwich into my mouth. ‘Or the office?’

‘Don’t talk with your mouth full.’ He shook his head. ‘Start there, then go to the little kids’ classes, now the oval.’ He outlined his cleaning plan. Luke was into order in a big way. He liked to work from left to right. I had to admit, his plan was logical.

‘Let’s get it over with,’ I groaned.

‘Stop complaining,’ he said, lifting the bin.

I sucked in a deep breath. So far today I’d avoided Frewen. Picking up rubbish on the oval would put me right in the hot zone.

Luke and I started at the forward flank, where the little kids sprinted after the ball. Mr Agar stood on the wing watching them. He wore a bright orange vest, like a road worker, a straw hat and had a green bum bag around his waist.

‘How’s it going, guys?’ he asked.

‘Nice bag, Sir.’

‘Thanks, Alexander.’ He patted the bag. ‘First aid stuff. You two know what you’re doing?’

‘Luke has it under control,’ I said, trying to keep Luke moving. I didn’t feel like having a conversation with Mr Agar.

‘After the oval, we do the toilets,’ said Luke.

I wasn’t looking forward to that.

‘You don’t have to clean up for all of lunch time, you know,’ said Mr Agar. ‘You could play footy with the others.’

I bristled. ‘It’s all right.’

‘Yeah, it’s all right,’ said Luke.

Mr Agar’s expression changed. ‘Got to go. Problem by the toilets.’

Luke turned to see what had caught Mr Agar’s eye. ‘Whoa, big trouble.’

At the bubble taps by the toilets, two little kids were squirting anyone who passed. They leant against each other, roaring with laughter. Nic and I had done the same thing at primary school. Only we didn’t get caught.

‘Hey, you two,’ yelled Mr Agar, jogging towards the giggling pair.

‘They’re gonna get it,’ said Luke.

‘Heads up!’

The call came too late. The footy smashed into Luke’s back, the impact so great he stumbled forward and dropped the bin.

‘Watch it, idiot,’ I yelled. ‘Are you right, Luke?’

‘I’m okay,’ said Luke, his eyes filled with tears. He bent to gather the rubbish that had spilled onto the oval.

‘You’re right, aren’t you, Luke,’ said Frewen, strolling over. ‘It was an accident.’ He snatched the bin and spun around, scattering rubbish, and tossed the bin at Luke.

Miffo and Klay cackled and slapped their knees.

‘Great joke, losers,’ I muttered, picking up the bin.

‘What did you say?’ asked Frewen, striding towards me.

‘I’m okay. It’s okay,’ said Luke.

Frewen stopped centimetres from me. I could feel his breath on my face. ‘Did you call us losers?’

Feet apart, I steadied myself. ‘Yep.’

Frewen snorted and sneered. ‘We’re not the ones picking up rubbish with a retard.’

‘The only retard around here is you, Frewen.’

‘Me?’ He snorted. ‘Hey Lukie, who’s the retard around here?’

‘Me,’ said Luke, head bowed.

I dropped the bin and shoved Frewen in the chest. ‘That stinks.’

Frewen stumbled then charged back. ‘Yeah? Well I’m not the one who made him feel like a retard in front of everyone. That was you, Greenie.’

A rush of anger surged through me. But who was I angry with? Frewen or myself? My hands curled into fists.

Frewen leant forward. ‘Take a shot,’ he hissed.

It was like everything stopped—the playground noise, even time. All I could see was Frewen’s sneer and the fear in his eyes. How sweet it would have been to smash my fist into his nose—to spread it across his face. I imagined the impact, the echo of the blow up my arm. Frewen’s howl of pain. He’d cry, I knew it.

There would be blood ... red, pooling in a puddle on the ground.

I wanted to hurt him—shut him up—but the memory of the blood was too strong. Sweat beaded on my lip and forehead. I uncurled my fist. Time moved again. Sounds—kids yelling and laughing, Miffo jeering, Klay yelling, ‘Let him hit you first, Frew’—filled my ears.

Luke tugged at my arm.

‘Clear off, Luke.’ My voice sounded strange—a growl.

Luke pushed the bin against my leg. ‘But Mr Agar’s coming.’

‘Callum Alexander,’ bellowed Mr Agar. He held his hat to his head as he sprinted across the oval.

‘This isn’t finished,’ hissed Frewen.

‘Yeah, it is.’

Mr Agar weaved between us, panting.

Ella Bennett blocked Mr Agar’s path. ‘Frewen was doing it again.’

‘I’ll deal with this, Ella.’

Ella scoffed. ‘As if! Frewen’s your big footy star. You won’t—’

Mr Agar struck like a snake. ‘That will do!’

Ella jumped.

‘Wait for me by the office door.’

‘But Mr—’

Mr Agar pointed to the admin building. ‘Now, Ella!’

Ella flounced away.

Mr Agar turned his attention back to Frewen and me. ‘One of you had better explain what’s going on here.’

‘He started it, Mr Agar,’ said Frewen before I could even form a sentence. ‘We were just kicking goals. You had a few shots with us before, remember?’

Mr Agar nodded.

‘Miffo shanked his kick and it hit Luke. It was an accident, honest.’

Frewen was so good, I almost believed him.

‘Alexander turned psycho and said all this stuff about how he whipped me yesterday and that he was a better footy player than me, didn’t he Miffo?’

‘Yeah, he went off,’ said Miffo.

‘Absolutely crazy,’ added Klay.

‘I don’t reckon he’s right in the head,’ said Jack.

Mr Agar raised his hand. ‘I get the picture, Jack. Alexander, walk with me.’

‘What?’ It was more a screech than a word.

‘You heard.’

‘It was Jack,’ said Luke. ‘Jack emptied the bin everywhere.’

‘Then he’ll help you clean up, won’t you, Jack?’ said Mr Agar. ‘And while he does, I’ll chat to Callum.’

Luke pulled his shoulders back and stood straighter. At full height he was taller than Mr Agar, and looked just as strong. ‘This sucks. Sucks, sucks, sucks.’ Luke shook his head.

Mr Agar took a step back. ‘Luke, that will do. Clean up the rubbish, now.’

Luke deflated with a sigh. ‘Okay.’

‘You too, Frew,’ said Mr Agar, pointing at the mess around Luke. ‘Klay, Miffo, Matt, you can help as well.’

‘Oh, come on,’ said Miffo, hands on his hips.

‘Want a game this week, Miffo?’

Frewen, Miffo, Matt and Klay started picking up the rubbish, muttering.

‘Callum?’ Mr Agar motioned for me to walk with him. ‘You need to drop the attitude. Stop causing trouble. For your own good.’

‘Are you serious?’

Mr Agar kept his voice low. ‘Callum, you need to understand, Jack’s a gun footballer and well-liked around here.’

‘And that gives him the right to give Luke a hard time?’

‘I don’t think you’re in a position to complain about Jack’s treatment of Luke, not after yesterday.’

I stopped walking. My arms flopped to my side. ‘I didn’t call him a retard.’

‘Drop it!’ Mr Agar’s voice echoed around the oval.

The mass of kids chasing the footy stopped for a moment.

Mr Agar leant towards me.

‘If you repeat that Jack called Luke a retard, I’ll come down on you from a mighty height. Is that clear?’

‘Absolutely,’ I said.

‘Good.’

The muscles in my arms and shoulders ached.

‘And Callum.’

‘What?’

‘Fly beneath my radar, if you know what’s good for you.’

‘Whatever.’ I thundered to the toilet block. In the cubicle, I sat on the closed lid, staring at the graffiti written in pencil. ‘Winter Creek is a whole.’ Morons around here couldn’t even spell. I licked my finger and rubbed off the ‘w’.

Winter Creek was worse than a hole. It sucked and the people here were losers. Idiots.

Exactly what part of my being in Winter Creek did Mum think would be healing?

Mum was an idiot too. The Queen of Idiots. An idiot who hated me.

The bell clanged outside.

I washed my face and hands and walked outside, arms by my side. On the pavers, Luke fell into step beside me, arms by his side. I folded my arms. Luke did the same. I scratched my nose. So did Luke. Something snapped inside me. A red mist filled my head.

‘Stop copying me,’ I yelled.

Luke hung his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘And stop hanging around me. I’m not your friend.’

The expression in his eyes when he glanced up at me reminded me of a sad puppy. ‘Okay, Callum.’

‘If we’re not cleaning up, you stay the hell away from me.’

It was then I realised the whole school— kids, teachers, Ella, Grace—was staring at me. Their expressions were somewhere between horror and fury.

Now maybe they’d stay away from me, too.