Bitin' Back (2 page)

‘Yeah, what bout Gracie, eh? Tell me that?'

‘A cover. He's just using her as a cover. Ya hear bout all these movie stars n such, tellin the world they're queer. ‘‘Comin outta the closet'', they call it. Yep, I seen all that sorta shit on Ricki Lake. Women wantin to be men and men wantin to be girls. Yeah, Mave, the boy's been watchin too much a that American shit on TV. Seems to a man that kids don't know who they are. They all wussies I reckon. Black wantin to be white; white wantin to be black. That's where
all these ideas come from—TV. Like he shamed a who he is or somethin.'

‘Booty, he don't hardly watch TV. Nope, all he does is read them books a his. It's them books puttin ideas into his head. Brainwashin him, Booty.' I slump me shoulders wearily.

‘Well, what can a man do, eh? He won't listen to his ol uncle here,' Booty gets up from his chair and walks over to the window, shrugging his broad shoulders.

‘Yeah, but it's not only that. He thinks he's a writer! A white woman writer. Thinks his name is Rhys!'

‘What the...? Booty croaks, swinging round on his heels, mouth agape, a stunned look on his dial.

‘Jean Rhys. J-e-a-n R-h-y-s. That's his new name, so he reckons. She sposed to be a writer. Can't say I heard a the woman. Don't read books meself. Must go n ask Lizzy at the library there. She'd know bout this woman, I betcha.'

I watch Booty's face turn a faint shade of grey, the veins stickin out on his thick neck. ‘What the hell's wrong with that boy! Jean Rhys, eh. He needs a good throttlin, that's what he needs. And I'm just the man to do it! Ain't no bloody nephew a mine gonna go dancin round the town callin hisself a woman!'

Booty busts his guts, pullin out a chair with such force that the can a beer topples to the floor.

‘Righto, don't go givin yerself a heart condition, Brother. All I'm askin is for you to have a good talk to him. I blame it on Davo. The way he upped and pissed off on us. That's half the trouble, I betcha,' I say, feelin me heart start to gallop as the memory of Davo comes back.
Davo, friggin scourin off like that. No wonder Nev don't know hisself.

‘Bullshit! Never worried him all these years. Why would it worry him now? Nah, the boy's got a screw loose upstairs. Only thing you can do is get him to Doctor Chin. Take a
good look at that head a his. I heard a people doin some sicko things—but this! Well, this really is somethin. Bad, fuckin bad business.' Booty gives me a serious, this-is-gonetoo-far look.

‘Maybe yer right. Can you come over n talk to him first? See, I'm thinkin he'll listen to you.'

‘Righto, Mave. Gotta stop him from gettin outside in that friggin frock. Imagine his mates n the others, specially the footie team! They'd tear him to pieces for sure! You know what this town's like, Mave. They'd pick him to death.' Booty gets to his feet. ‘Ready?'

‘Yeah. But I'll warn ya, it's not a pretty sight. When I left him he was singin in the bathroom bout bein a woman n roarin.' I shake me head, me own words seem unreal to me own ears.

Booty strides out in front of me. Each step he takes drives into the footpath. His shoulders hunch forward as though he's ready to tackle somebody, ready to put em into the ground.

Up at the corner shop I notice Big Boy Hinch, one of Nev's mates from the Blackouts, our local footy team. I silently pray he don't ask bout Nev.

‘Hey there, Missus Dooley. Where's the Nev?' He asks the dreaded question as he shoves potato chips into his big mouth.

‘Nev. Well ... um ... he's crook. Got a flu or somethin,' I answer, watchin the way his muscley arms ripple.

‘He's crook, eh. A man'll have to get him back onto that football field, best thing for him. We got the game comin up with the Rammers next week. Hope he's right for that. Best player we got, Nev.' Big Boy smiles, football pride drippin from his eyes.

‘That's our Nev. Now look, you tell em other fellas not
to call round my place. Nev needs a good rest. He'll be right by next week I reckon.' I give him a wide smile, wonderin what he'd do if he saw our Nev this mornin, singin n dancin round.
Hmmph, probably tear him a new arsehole.

‘Mave! Come on, woman!' Booty yells out from the end of the street.

‘Comin! Righto, Big Boy, see ya, love.'

‘See ya at the game, Missus Dooley.'

‘Dunno bout that,' I whisper, trottin down the road.

Nevil sits on the edge of his bed, a book in one hand, a beer in the other. A joint hangin outta his slack gob. The room smells like it's full a horseshit; Mary Jane floatin out the window.

‘Nev, Uncle's here to see ya.' I notice the way his legs are crossed over each other like one of em Buddah people. He ignores me. ‘Nev love, lovey, Uncle Booty's waitin in the kitchen for ya.'

‘What? Who?' He asks, bringin his head up to gaze at me with bloodshot eyes.

‘Uncle. He's here right now.'

‘Why?' He takes a drag.

‘To talk. Um ... he was just goin by, wanted to see ya is all,' I take a step into the room.

‘Is this about Jean, eh? Cos if it is then I'm not talking to anyone,' he answers.

‘Jean? Who's Jean?' I try.

‘Don't start this again,
Mother.
You know very well who Jean is.' A touch of anger to his voice.

‘Oh yeah, I
forgot.'
I give him a sour I've-had-enough-of-you look. ‘Nevil, what is that on your face?' I peer at him.

‘Nothing much.' He reaches over and stubs out the smoke.

‘Make-up?
Nevil Dooley, is that woman paint on that face a yours!' I walk right into the room.

‘So? And don't call me Nevil!' He's all pissed off n riled like.

‘It's make-up! Where the hell did you get that!' I slit me eyes at him.
Face paint. Clown colourin.

‘Oh, somewhere.' He takes a sip of beer.

‘Nevil Dooley! What the hell's goin on here, Sonny Jim!' I turn to the doorway. Booty blocks the exit with his large frame, his hands on his hips as he glares in at Nevil.

‘Hello, Uncle. I ain't doing nothing.' Nevil gives him a wide, yarndi grin.

‘Son, what the fuck is that on ya face?' Booty strides into the room, gut swingin from side to side, eyes narrowed and mouth twisted.
He gonna take a hunk a flesh.

‘Lipstick, eyeshadow, eyeliner. Reckon it looks okay?' Nevil uncurls his legs, arches his eyebrows, puckers his mouth.

‘Look here, son, you can't go gettin bout like that! What are ya, a fuckin woman!' Booty tightens his mouth, a small quiver shaking his frame.

‘My business. I'm not hurting anyone, am I?' Nevil reaches down by the bed and picks up a small floral-print bag.

‘You got this shit from TV, didn't ya? Watchin too much American sicko shit, eh? Ricki Lake, is that it?' Booty yells, his fat arms choppin the air.

‘Nope. I'm Jean Rhys, in case Mother hasn't already told you.' Nevil pulls out a tube of lipstick. ‘Seductive Pink' is written large and posh like on the side a it.

‘Shit. Bullshit! You a poofter now, son?' Booty walks to the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, ready to fly.

‘Don't be stupid. What's wrong with people in this house? It's as though a girl's committed some heinous offence, like
murdered someone or something.' Nevil puckers up his mouth an smears lipstick cross his tyre-tread lips.

‘That's it! That's it!' Booty explodes; sweat poppin out on his forehead, his veins stickin up like they ready to jump outta the man's arms as he grabs Nevil by the singlet. ‘Fucken ratbag! What's got into ya? Causin ya mother all this grief! Now get into that bathroom an take that shit off ya face!' Booty shakes a crunched fist in Nevil's face.

‘Leave me alone, leave me alone,' Nevil bawlbaby.

‘Now you cut this crap out, son. And lay off the fuckin drugs too. Your heads fucked enough already,' Booty pulls Nevil up to his wonky feet.

‘Listen to your uncle, Nev, he knows best,' I say softly.

‘Yeah, yeah. Let go of me, Uncle,' whisperin weak, Nevil looks up into Booty's angry sweat slicked dial.

‘Fucken no more a this shit, Nevil! Ya gotta pull that head a yours in, right?'

‘Hmm, yeah, spose,' But Nevil's voice don't sound like he means it. ‘Anyway, I gotta go to the dole office. So you can leave now, I gotta get dressed.'

‘Now, sonny, if ya wanna have a man talk or somethin, come over ta me.' Booty pauses for a minute then says, ‘But if ya gonna be keepin on at this shit, then a man's gonna have to settle ya down, n pretty fucken soon.' He wrinkles his brow, his bottom lip twitchin.

‘Yeah, yeah, okay Uncle.'

‘Right then, that's that. How bout a cup a tea, Mave?' Booty asks over his shoulder as he leaves the room.

‘Righto.' I look behind me.
That'll sort him over. That was all the boy needed, a good yarnin to.

Back in the kitchen Booty pulls out a chair. ‘Reckon he's right now or what?'

‘Dunno, spose so,' I reply, feeling sick in me gut, but hopeful.

‘Geez, you weren't wrong bout him. Where the hell did he come up whit this shit?' Booty drops his eyebrows as he looks my way, his fingers tap tappin on the table.

‘I dunno ya tell me. Those books gotta lot to do whit it, I reckon,' I answer, pouring the tea.

‘Ain't like he had any sort of buse. You know, bashin kids so they wind up bein pissed up in they heads. Nah, ain't like he was brought up like that, eh Mave?' Booty nods and takes a sip a tea.

‘No, Boot. Never had a hard life like us fellas. Wouldn't know what it's like to be so hungry you'd eat a dead horse. Nah, whatever it was it comed on him just like that. Sorta like some nightmare he can't get out of.' I sigh and then this thought comes to me sudden like. ‘Boot, do ya reckon Nev was meant to be born a girl? Like ... um ... he's got too much woman in him stead a man? Like he's a bit man n mostly woman?'

‘A sheila! Jesus, Mave! The boy's got nuts, for cryin out loud! The only half woman he's got is up there in that mad head a his!' Booty's stomach shakes the table as he splutters and gasps, laughin loudly.

‘Orh. Well...' I stop as I hear a small sound in the hallway. I turn round in my chair. ‘Jesus Christ!' I stifle a scream in me throat as I gawk at the sight before me. Nevil slides long the hall, frocked in me bright red dress, his face covered in make-up, on his feet a pair of dirty, fallin-apart sandshoes. He grins idiot-like as he stares back at me, holdin tight a handbag to his chest

‘Hey, Mum,' he mouths, creepin, his back gainst the wall.

Booty jumps up to his feet. ‘Done fuckin told ya!' he
roars. As fast as his big body can move he rushes forward and tackles Nevil, gut-section, bringin him to his knees.

‘Mum, Mum, get him off!' Nevil squeals, hittin Booty on the back whit his handbag.

‘Help me, Mave! Get him to his room!' Booty shouts, holdin Nevil's arms to his sides.

I stand up on shaky legs, uncertain as what to do. Then Booty pulls Nevil up by the dress and shoves him down the hallway.

‘Let go! Let me go! Jesus, Uncle, let me go!' Nevil's voice cracks like a teenage girl as he struggles.

‘Can't do that, Sonny Jim!' Booty growls.

I run up behind them and watch as Booty throws Nevil into his room and slams the door.

‘Have you got a key?' he gasps.

‘Yeah, I have. What ya gonna do, Booty?' A sick sussin grips me.

‘Lock him in. Can't have him goin down the street like that, can we? Jeez, Mave, what'll the town think?'

I hesitate for a moment, ‘Um ... yeah, all right,' I answer, handing over the door key, but not liking the idea at all.

After Booty locks the door Nevil starts screaming from the room, so loud that I can only hope me neighbour Missus Warby don't call the boys in blue.

‘Let him sweat it out. Don't worry, Sis, he'll come out of it. We just have to wait is all.' Booty puts a hand on me shoulder.

‘It's not right, Booty, is it? Lockin a grown man in his room,' I feel guilty, sick at heart.

‘No, it's not, Mave. But it's for his own good. They'd kick the shit outta him out there on the street.'

‘Yeah, yeah, I know. But I think Nev can handle hisself pretty good when he wanna.'
I can only hope.

‘That's not the point, Sis, they'd mob him, ya know that.' Booty looks tired out, slumpin his shoulders forward. ‘Mave, I can't fight the bloody town for him.'

‘Yeah, Brother, true. Well, I'll see what he's like this arvie, eh?'

‘No, leave him in there. Maybe he'll wake up tamarra n be back to hisself. Wait and see what happens,' Booty throws over his shoulder as he goes out the front door.

Going into the kitchen I hear Nev singin, this time bout being a lost soul or somethin. I sit at the table, drop me head into me hands and think back, tryin to find some clue as to where this all began.