After (11 page)

‘Meet you at the skate park later?’ asked Nic, riding his bike on the grass beside Maddie and CJ.

CJ screwed up his face. ‘I’m grounded, remember?’

‘Hasn’t stopped you before.’

‘This time’s different. Mum took my phone, iPod, computer
and
Playstation.’ CJ kicked a crumpled Coke can off the footpath.

Nic grinned. ‘I forgot.’

Maddie swung her bag from one shoulder to the other. ‘What was your punishment, Nic?’

CJ already knew the answer. Nic’s parents had decided a week’s school detention was enough punishment.

If only Maeve had been that cool. CJ didn’t get why she and Franger had gone so mental. It wasn’t like the spiders hurt Spew. Sure he freaked out, screaming the place down, but it wasn’t like Spew had been hurt.

‘Same as CJ at school,’ said Nic.

‘And at home?’ asked Maddie, her face growing red.

Nic shrugged.

Maddie shook her head. ‘So, you lock Spew in that tiny room between the science labs with Huntsman spiders you caught, and your parents don’t punish you. That’s just wrong.’

‘Hold on there, Ms Taggart,’ said Nic, sounding like a TV lawyer. ‘The spiders your boyfriend and I caught to freak the Spewster out.’

CJ could feel Maddie’s stare burning into him. He’d told her the whole thing had been Nic’s idea.

‘It was hilarious,’ said Nic, steering around a wheelie bin. ‘Spew screamed like a girl.’

‘Hilarious?’ screeched Maddie. ‘I’ve never seen anyone so scared.’

‘Bitch,’ muttered Nic.

‘What did you say?’ Her voice was flat and cold.

‘Dude, you gotta dump her.’ Nic jumped onto his bike and rode over the gutter onto the road.

‘Playing netball this weekend, Maddie?’ asked CJ.

Maddie spun to face him. ‘Are you serious?’

CJ stepped back. ‘What?’

‘After what that jerk said, you want to talk about netball?’

‘Yeah,’ said CJ.

‘You don’t get it, do you CJ? You play footy with the senior team, indoor cricket with Year Elevens. If you dyed your hair pink, everyone, even Mr Milito, would do the same. It’s like the whole school loves you.’

CJ shrugged. ‘So?’

‘So? Why do you hang out with a complete loser like Nic Zanchi?’

‘He’s my mate.’

‘He’s an idiot—a stuck-up idiot. And so are you when you’re with him. You’re loud. Cruel. And stupid.’

Maddie sounded like Maeve. CJ folded his arms. ‘What’s your point?’

She leant towards him, eyes bulging. ‘My point? I’m over Nic. And I’m over you. We’re over.’ Maddie ripped off the bracelet CJ had given her and flung it at his feet. She marched away, head high and arms pumping.

‘Maddie, wait.’

But she just kept walking.

The Ranges game was at the Winter Creek ground. Grandpa called a meeting of the committee to discuss last week’s ‘incident with the spectator’, as he described it, so I had to put the padding on the posts by myself.

I could have gone into the change rooms and asked one of the Under-14 players or their parents to help, but just the thought of going in there made my hands and knees weak. The last time I’d been in a sports change room, well, that’s when everything went to hell.

I did the road-end goals first, then dragged the padding to the paddock end. I grunted as I tried to force the strips of Velcro together on the last post.

‘Join, you idiot things.’

As though my words had magical power, the pieces came together. I ran my hands down the Velcro and stepped back. Benny stood on the other side of the goal post, grinning. I didn’t think of him as Luke anymore.

‘Joined!’

‘Thanks, Benny.’

‘It’s okay, Beetle.’

‘You watching the footy today?’ I just about groaned as I said it.

‘No. Just the netball. All the parking spots were gone at the netball. Dad parked at the oval.’ Benny shoved his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. He looked at the red stationwagon then back to me.

‘Hey, cool runners,’ I said, noticing his white shoes with gold stripes.

He lifted his feet, one at a time. ‘Make me run faster.’ He looked from the car to me again.

‘What’s up, Benny?’

‘Dad bought me a new footy.’

‘Yeah?’

‘It’s in the car.’

Grandpa was on the other side of the oval, talking to a group of men, all in Winter Creek bomber jackets.

‘Can I see your footy, Benny?’

He nodded and ran in his little kid way to the car. He flung open the back door, dived inside and came out holding up a black and white football.

‘Hey Benny, are you a Collingwood supporter?’ I asked ‘Yeah.’

‘Me too.’

‘Bucks is the best.’

‘But he’s retired,’ I said.

He shrugged. ‘Still the best.’

‘Fair call.’ I reached for the ball and tossed it from one hand to the other. Benny watched, his eyes not leaving the footy. I thought long and hard before asking. ‘Want to have a kick?’ Benny raced to a patch of grass the other side of the gravel road circling the oval.

‘I’m ready,’ he called, right leg forward, hands raised to catch the ball.

I kicked the football to him. He fluffed the mark, but charged after the ball. His kick back to me was pretty accurate. After a few misses, Luke marked the ball if I aimed right at him. Each time he marked, he held the ball in one hand above his head and bellowed, ‘Wooohooo!’ After a while he had me whooping and laughing too.

‘Kick it here, Luke,’ said an adult voice behind me.

Benny grinned and booted the ball. It sailed over my head and bounced to the right of a tall bloke with hair like Benny’s. The guy limped forward and bent to pick up the ball. He fumbled it.

‘No good,’ yelled Benny. ‘You suck, Dad.’

Benny’s father laughed and handballed the footy to me. ‘You must be Beetle.’

‘Yeah, I’m Beetle.’ I remembered the stuff Grandpa had said about shaking hands. I stepped forward. ‘Hi, Mr Bennett.’

His handshake was gentle but firm. ‘How do you like Winter Creek, Beetle?’

‘It’s okay, I guess.’

I handed Benny’s ball back to him.

‘Good.’ He nodded.

‘Come on. Kick it, Dad,’ called Benny.

Mr Bennett examined the ball. ‘This is Benny’s new ball.’

‘Yeah ... he showed me it and I asked if he wanted to have a kick.’

Benny clapped. ‘Come on, Dad.’

Mr Bennett tucked the ball under his arm. ‘Ella’s done, Luke. It’s time to go.’

‘But Dad—’

‘No buts, Luke.’

Benny plodded to the car and slipped into the back seat. Ella jogged across the gravel road, tracksuit bottom slung over her shoulder.

‘Hey, Dad, guess who got player of the week?’ She waved a piece of paper in the air.

‘Well done, Ella,’ said Mr Bennett.

She stopped waving the paper when she saw me. ‘Hello.’

‘Well done. With the award,’ I said. ‘Did your team win?’

‘Yeah.’ She glared at me as she opened the car door.

‘Good to meet you, Beetle,’ said Mr Bennett.

‘Yeah. Bye, Mr Bennett.’ I waved to Benny in the back seat. ‘See you at school, Benny.’

Benny waved.

Mr Bennett and Ella both stared at me.

I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d broken some rule.

‘Let’s hope your grandmother made her famous pumpkin soup while we were gone,’ said Grandpa, driving through Marrook’s bluestone gate posts.

‘I love pumpkin...’ My words trailed off as the garage came into view.

Nan stood, hands on her hips outside Grandpa’s shed. Beside her was a huge pile of stuff. At first I thought it was garden prunings or something like that. Then I noticed Grandpa’s shed door was wide open and saw the easel, netball, hockey stick and an open suitcase on top of the pile.

‘Inside, mate. Through the front door,’ said Grandpa, parking outside the garage. ‘World War III is about to start.’

I slipped out of the ute and crept along the veranda, easing open the front door. My head kind of spun out. It didn’t take a brainiac to work out Nan had told Grandpa to get rid of all Mum’s stuff, but Grandpa had stashed it in his shed instead.

What I couldn’t work out was why Nan wanted it gone. What could Mum have done to make her mother stop loving her? Was it as bad as what I’d done?

As I walked in the front door, I noticed my grandparent’s bedroom door was open. It was never left open. I peeked inside. No way could I imagine Grandpa sleeping under that floral doona or laying his head on the lace-trimmed pillowslips. In fact, when I looked around, there was nothing about the room that looked like Grandpa even belonged there.

I turned back into the hall and froze. The door to the room beside the bathroom was open. I’d figured it was a spare room, but with the door open, I knew I was wrong. The striped doona on the double bed was crumpled. Grandpa’s reading glasses sat on an open book on the bedside table. Beneath the book was a copy of
Stock and Land.
A pair of Grandpa’s work pants was thrown across a wooden chair.

I jogged down the hall to the kitchen. Whatever was going on outside had something to do with their separate bedrooms. And Mum. My heart quickened as I eased the window open.

Grandpa walked towards Nan, coat slung over his bent arm, footy folder in his hand. ‘Hello, Pat,’ he said.

‘Don’t you dare hello me,’ said Nan. She was puffed up like a fighting cat. ‘Explain this.’ She pointed at the pile beside her.

‘You told me to get it out of your sight, and I did,’ said Grandpa.

‘You told me you’d burnt it.’

‘No, I said I’d dealt with it.’

‘You made me believe you burnt it.’ Nan paced and ranted, waving her arms. ‘All that carry on about the bonfire.’

‘It wasn’t ours to burn, Pat.’

Nan snatched the hockey stick from the pile. For a second I thought she was going to hit Grandpa. Instead she tossed it at his feet. ‘Not ours? Who do you think paid for it?’

‘She was just a kid, Pat.’

Nan snorted. ‘Not so much of a kid that she couldn’t—’

‘I wanted it, for when she—’

‘When she what, James? Dumped her son on us?’

Grandpa’s eyes narrowed. ‘Leave Callum out of this.’

‘Why? He’s the reason—’

‘Don’t say another word.’ His voice sent a chill down my spine.

‘I trusted you.’

‘Trust?’ Grandpa shook his head and inspected the shed door and lock. ‘How’d you find the key?’

‘That’s not the point—’

‘Then what is the point?’ bellowed Grandpa. ‘What was the point of abandoning our daughter? Of not tracking her down and bringing her home?’ Grandpa shook his head. ‘We didn’t bring her back because of our pride. Stupid bloody pride. If we cared more about her than about what other people thought, if we’d been better parents—’

Nan covered her ears with her hands. ‘Stop it! Stop it!’

‘I’ve had enough.’ Grandpa marched towards the back gate.

I leapt off the kitchen bench and raced to my bedroom.

Door shut, I paced, trying to put the pieces together.

‘Callum?’ Grandpa opened the door.

‘What?’

‘Come give me a hand with that trough.’

Grandpa eased the ute onto the gravel road and steered past the pile of Mum’s stuff.

‘Your grandmother needs time to...’

I waited for him to finish the sentence, but he didn’t. I twisted to look back over my shoulder. ‘Should we...’

‘When we get back.’

Grandpa drove along the same ruts in the grass as he had followed last week. He pulled up at the gate and opened his door.

‘I’ll get it.’ I unlatched the gate and swung it open. I stared back at the house as Grandpa drove through. Smoke rose in a twisting column from the chimney.

‘She wouldn’t burn Mum’s stuff, would she?’ I asked, climbing back into the warmth of the cabin.

‘Who, Pat?’ asked Grandpa.

‘Yeah.’

‘She’ll leave it.’

The sunset was amazing. Splashes of pink, red and purple filled the sky.

‘Bit late in the day for checking troughs isn’t it?’ I asked.

‘Never too late to make sure the animals have water. Besides this trough is a bloody temperamental thing.’ Grandpa grunted. ‘And it’s best to give your grandmother space.’

When we reached Swampy’s, the sheep were gathered by the gate, staring at us.

I hesitated when Grandpa stopped the ute. ‘Just wave your arms. They’ll back off.’

He was right—they did. Imagine if all your problems could be fixed with a wave of your arms. At the trough, I helped Grandpa lift the cement cover and watched him muck around with the plastic ball.

‘Do you get many kangaroos and stuff around here?’ I asked, nodding at the bush the other side of the fence.

‘Yeah, round dusk and early morning.’

‘Cool.’

‘Not really. They wreck the fences.’

‘Serious?’

Grandpa nodded. ‘Emus are worse. The echidnas are good though.’

‘I’ve only seen an echidna in the zoo.’

Grandpa looked up. ‘Yeah? I’ll have to find one while you’re here.’

We lifted the cement cover back on the trough. The sheep had circled us in the growing gloom and were watching with their weird eyes.

‘Grandpa, why did Nan want to get rid of Mum’s stuff?’

Grandpa stared across the bush block. ‘Best head back.’

In the ute, he gazed at the gum trees and bracken before turning the key and driving to the gate. The mob of sheep scattered. ‘Has your mother ever...’ His powerful voice was a whisper. ‘Callum, what has Maeve told you about her life here? Before you were born?’

‘Nothing, really. Just that she grew up on a farm—a property.’

‘So she hasn’t ever told you why we hadn’t met?’

‘No. Just that you didn’t get along.’

Grandpa’s breath was ragged.

‘She loved it here,’ he said, after I’d opened and shut the first gate. ‘She helped me with crutching, shearing, lambing. She was a natural. Always thought she’d end up running the place.’

‘So what happened?’

In the gathering dark Grandpa looked old and tired. ‘What has she told you about your father?’

‘I dunno. Stuff about how he was a guitarist and that he came from Perth.’

‘Perth?’ Grandpa sounded surprised.

‘Yeah, Perth.’ I pressed against the passenger door. ‘Do you know something I don’t?’

Grandpa stared straight ahead.

‘She lied about Perth, didn’t she?’ I asked. Grandpa coughed a little.

‘Okay, so she lied about him being from Perth. Did she lie about him being dead, too? Because if he’s not, I need to know.’

‘He’s dead, Callum. He died three years ago.’

‘Three?’ I whispered. ‘She told me he died before I was born.’

Grandpa stopped at the gate before the house paddock. ‘I guess he did for her.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I snapped.

‘You’ll have to ask her.’

‘Yeah, right. She’ll just tell me another lie. I need a straight answer.’

‘Okay, I’ll give you a straight answer, after you tell me what happened to you. Why are you here, Callum?’

It felt like he’d kicked a soccer ball into my chest.

‘Stuff this!’ I exploded out of the ute, slamming the door behind me. When I flung the gate open it crashed into the wooden post and bounced on its hinges.

I didn’t wait for Grandpa to drive through. Instead I stormed away from him. A minute later, I heard the gate chain chink behind me and saw the sweep of lights as Grandpa drove towards the house. In the growing dark, I stumbled in the dips and holes in the paddock. Star and Jilly barked and strained on their leads. One of them, probably Star, jumped on its kennel. The scrape of claws and chain against metal sounded sinister.

I zipped my windcheater up to my chin.

So my father wasn’t from Perth and he’d only been dead three years.

Frewen’s voice filled my head.

‘Tried to trap Woosher.’

It was like everything stopped. The barking dogs, the wind through the cypress trees, my heart. Woosher ... He was my father, I knew it. And if Frewen knew his name, then my grandparents did too. And that meant he’d lived around here. I could have met him. Known him.

The world heaved under my feet.

Everything I’d worked so hard to keep bundled away suddenly bobbed to the surface.

Nic’s face, pale and waxy.

My friends turning on me.

Being sent away.

My life sucked.

I ran, hard and fast, until I stumbled and fell near the woolshed. Knees burning, I stomped up the woolshed ramp and pressed my back against the tin door. The chill from the door seeped through my windcheater and skin.

Mum. Nic. Woosher.

I thumped the woolshed door. The noise echoed around the darkness. Slumped against the door, I stared up into the sky. The evening was darker and heavier than I was used to. And so quiet. At home when everything crowded in on me, I’d go for a ride on my bike or skateboard, or play a computer game. Sometimes, I’d hang over the front fence and invent stories about the people in trams or the ones scurrying to work, briefcases swinging by their sides.