Bleakboy and Hunter Stand Out in the Rain (5 page)

11

jesse

Dinner tonight is free-range roast chicken with gravy, potatoes and beans. Dad comes to the table wearing an eye patch. Beth groans. ‘What are you, a pirate?'

‘Beth, show a bit of sympathy,' says Mum. She reaches across and pats Dad's wrist. ‘I think he looks quite dashing.'

‘Like Johnny Depp?' Dad suggests.

Beth almost pours the gravy on her lap she's laughing so much. It's hard not to join in. Dad is tall, skinny, with a shock of blond curly hair and big ears. He looks as much like a movie star as I do.

‘Being a farmer can be quite difficult at times,' Dad explains.

‘A farmer!' says Beth. ‘Six fruit trees, a watermelon patch and two garden beds doesn't—'

‘Doesn't mean we're not making a contribution to saving the planet, Beth,' Mum interrupts.

‘Yeah. Imagine if everyone grew their own
vegetables,' says Dad.

‘There'd be more food for the starving in Africa,' I say, nervously.

Mum and Dad nod in appreciation. I pretend to be very interested in pouring myself a glass of iced water.

‘Jesse's right,' says Dad. ‘Each of us, in our small way, is helping.'

‘How is growing peaches helping the starving Somalis?' asks Beth.

‘Ethiopians,' I correct her.

‘Ethiopians, Somalis, Burundians, they're all starving,' says Beth, ‘and none of them are eating Dad's peaches.'

Mum sighs. ‘Beth.'

‘Mum.'

‘Beth.'

This could go on all night. ‘An eight-year-old boy in Ethiopia has never seen a peach, I reckon. He'd
think it was a,' everyone is staring at me, ‘a mini
football or—'

Beth scoffs.

‘It's true,' I say, thinking of my friend, Kelifa. His favourite sport is football and he wants to be a professional player when he grows up. If he grows up. He probably wouldn't actually kick a peach around. He'd
eat it. Somebody should warn him about the hard
pip in the middle. And to be careful about getting sprayed in the eye with peach juice.

As if on cue, Dad removes his eye patch. ‘This thing is irritating me.' He laughs. ‘What's a bit of peach juice,' he looks at me, ‘compared to the starving in Africa.'

I can't help myself, ‘We should try to help the Ethiopians.'

‘Yeah, let's send them Dad's peaches,' says Beth.

‘Beth,' says Mum.

‘I know my own name, Mum, you don't have to keep repeating it.'

‘Maybe the school could take up a collection, Beth. You could suggest it to Larry tomorrow?' says Dad.

‘He only wants to save the environment, not starving African kids,' says Beth.

‘Bet—' Mum stops herself just in time.

‘We could donate money,' I suggest.

‘Only yesterday, I gave two dollars to a lady in the street collecting for the Salvos,' says Dad. He picks up a drumstick and takes a bite.

‘Will she pass it on to the Ethiopians?' asks Beth.

Dad looks hurt.

‘Every little bit helps, Beth,' Mum counters.

‘We could sponsor a child?' I suggest.

Dad glances quickly at Mum. Maybe they've already been thinking about it. I have to try, for Kelifa.

‘For twenty-seven dollars a month, we could sponsor a boy in Ethiopia. Maybe someone who doesn't even have a mum.' Mum looks at me. I continue, ‘Or a dad. Someone who's stuck in a small hut with lots of sisters and only a bag of rice.'

‘Yes, well. That's a good idea, Jesse,' says Dad, hesitantly. ‘Maybe not this month though. What with school fees and—' He notices he's still holding the chicken drumstick and places it back on the plate.

‘Forget your peaches, Dad,' says Beth. ‘Just send cash.'

I wonder if Kelifa has a picture of Trevor on his wall.

‘We could just donate once,' I suggest.

Dad brightens. ‘Yeah! Fifty dollars!'

Beth grins. ‘That's not much for a pirate. What about all your buried treasure?'

‘Two hundred dollars!' says Dad. He looks quickly toward Mum, who appears to have swallowed some chicken the wrong way.

‘One hundred dollars?' asks Dad.

Mum nods.

One hundred dollars! Kelifa could buy enough food for three months and have spare change for a football. To practise, for when he becomes an Ethiopian superstar player. All because of me and Dad!

‘I know just who to donate to,' I say without thinking.

The table goes quiet.

‘You do?' asks Mum.

‘I mean … I could do it for you … On the internet, if you want?'

Beth laughs. ‘There you go, Dad. Give Jesse your credit card and it's all taken care of.'

‘I'd only spend—'

Dad reaches for his knife and fork. ‘I'll handle the financial—' He looks at Mum. ‘Your mother will handle the financial transactions, Jesse.'

I can picture Kelifa with a football. Tomorrow, I'm going to write a letter to him. Maybe I'll be able to find his address somewhere on the website. I'll tell him about Dad and Mum and our fruit trees and how one hundred dollars is only the start. I won't mention Beth. He'd probably be jealous of me for having only one sister.

12

HUNTER

Hunter walks into the bathroom and takes the scissors from the cabinet under the sink. He stands in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his hair. He grips the scissors, considering what to do.

Short on top? Yep.

Long at the sides? Too girly.

Straggly bits at the back? Mullethead! No-one at school would have the guts to call him that.

He puts the scissors down on the sink and turns on the cold tap, filling the basin with water. He ducks his head down and scoops water over his hair. The water runs down his back and makes him shiver. He looks again in the mirror. Wet streaks of hair stick to his face, like a gargoyle.

He grins. Now that's a hairstyle. But he can't go to Walter every five minutes to wet his head in order to maintain the look. Not even Sarah would allow that.

He opens the bathroom cabinet, reaches for a fine-tooth comb and runs it slowly through his hair. He picks up the scissors again and starts cutting: a snip here and there, even to uneven, long to short, wet to dry. What does it matter? His hair drops into the basin, floating on the surface of the water. After a few minutes of careful snipping, he looks again in the mirror. One side of his fringe is longer than the other and a strand of hair tips over his right ear while his left ear sticks out, like a clown.

‘Uuuummm,' he says. He snips away the long fringe and considers the options. ‘Too clunky on top.'

And there's still the back to do. He opens the cupboard beside the bathtub and picks up his dad's old shaving mirror. Holding it behind his head, he can see what the haircut looks like in the bathroom mirror.

In one word?

‘Gross.'

He sighs. What now?

He remembers the time a few years ago when he was beginning swimming lessons and he'd somehow paddled into the deep end, away from his group. When he put his feet down to touch the bottom, there was nothing but water. Water and rising panic. He kicked and flapped his arms against the surface of the water, wondering why he couldn't scream. He went under, gulping water before resurfacing and spitting it out. He wanted to yell, but still no voice would come. He flapped and grabbed at vacant air and felt the water filling his ears and nose. Why couldn't he shout?

He reached one arm high into the air as the rest of his body went under. And that's when his mother dived into the pool. She reached him with a few strokes. With her arms circling him, he felt weightless. His breathing settled immediately as she kicked and floated, with him in her arms, to safety. He could smell her perfume mixing with the chlorine. At the side of the pool he gripped the bar and noticed his mum was wearing a dress, soaked and clinging to her body. The water streaked her make-up. Her dark hair shone in the sunlight.

‘Are you okay, dear?' she asked.

Hunter nodded. He stretched his legs and stood up in the pool. His mother touched his cheek with her long fingers. They stood in the pool, looking at each other and the din of splashing and laughing children faded away. After a few moments, they both walked slowly through the water to the steps at the shallow end and got out of the pool. His mother's dress dripped as they walked back to his towel. Hunter noticed she was shivering, even though it was a warm afternoon.

The next time they visited the pool, his mother arranged for a different instructor. A gruff old woman who tolerated no nonsense and never took her eyes off her students. Hunter's mum came to every lesson. She wore the same dress, every week. A private joke, between Hunter and her.

He stares once more at his hairstyle reflected in his dad's mirror. He hates it. He picks up the scissors and starts snipping, not caring where he cuts, just taking off as much hair as he can. He's back in the pool, and every snip is one more paddle, one more stroke to safety. Or further into the deep end? Hunter reaches to the back of his head and snips blindly. He feels the tickle of hair against his neck as it falls to the floor. He keeps cutting until his fingers can no longer grip the locks of hair on the back of his head, until there's nothing but awkward stubble. He grabs at tufts of hair around his ears and cuts wildly. He doesn't stop until there are no more locks to cut.

Hunter notices he's breathing heavily, like that day in the pool, short sharp gasps that aren't enough to fill his lungs. He drops the scissors on the floor and looks into the mirror. A grinning bowling ball stares back.

‘Ha!'

13

jesse

‘It's okay, Trevor,' I whisper. ‘It's for a good cause. Kelifa needs the money more than us. And I've also emailed the Japanese Embassy, about Kate's whales.'

Trevor is silent, although the clouds behind him appear to be getting darker. It's night outside my window.

‘Can't we just turn the other cheek?' I plead.

Trevor frowns. I must have the wrong psalm.

‘You went around helping people,' I reason. ‘Why can't I?' I blush. ‘Not that I'm comparing myself to you. You're … you're the inspiration. But I won't tell Dad about that. He's a little funny about false gods.'

There's a sound of shuffling outside my room. I put my finger to my lips to alert Trevor. I creep to the door. The shuffling stops. I peer through the keyhole and see an eye staring back at me!

Someone screams!

I jump and stumble across the floor in surprise.

‘What the?' says a voice.

I scramble back to the door and turn the knob.

Beth and I stare at each other.

‘What do you think you're doing?' she demands.

‘Me? I was looking through my keyhole and saw something blobby and gruesome!'

‘That was my eye!' she says.

‘Well, I wasn't expecting it to be in my keyhole.'

‘It wasn't
in
anything,' she pauses, ‘except in my face where it belongs.'

‘Why were you spying on me?' I ask.

Beth smirks. ‘I heard voices. I thought maybe you had someone in your room.'

‘Who? Ryan Blake?' I ask.

Beth blushes. ‘He's never been in my room. And if you tell Mum, I'll deny it! So was it your imaginary friend again, Jesse?'

We both look toward Trevor. His eyes are downcast, as if to say, don't involve me. I decide I could use a real friend for a change. Even if it's my sister.

‘Beth, can you keep a secret?'

We sit together on the edge of my bed.

‘Sure. It was weeks before I told anyone Jade was going out with Nathan.' She pats my knee. ‘Tell Aunty Beth everything.' She frowns. ‘Have you been bedwetting?' She realises where she's sitting and jumps up.

‘Beth! I'm too old for that.'

She sits back down, nervously.

Trevor looks down over Beth's shoulder.

‘I stole … I borrowed Dad's credit card,' I confess.

Beth's eyes widen. ‘Whoa, that's much heavier than wetting the bed.' She frowns. ‘You don't still have it, do you?'

‘No, I put it straight back,' I say.

‘After what?' she asks, one eyebrow raised.

I squirm underneath the gaze of my twin confessors.

‘After giving some money to Kelifa.'

‘Who the hell is Kelifa?' Beth's voice is dangerously loud. Dad might not have heard, but Trevor did and I don't think he liked the cursing.

I whisper, ‘He's an Ethiopian friend.'

‘At school?'

‘No, on the internet.'

She clutches my hand and squeezes. ‘Please tell me you didn't fall for a Nigerian bank scam? They'll max Dad's credit card in a second!'

She stands ready to blab everything to Dad.

I try to drag her back.

‘Do I look that stupid?' I ask.

She moves further to the door.

‘Beth! It was CARE Australia,' I say.

She relaxes and comes back to the side of the bed.

‘Are you sure?'

‘Positive. There was a picture of Kelifa standing in front of his hut. It was smaller than your bedroom.' I wonder whether I should tell her about his four sisters. ‘And he doesn't have a mum.'

‘How much?' she asks.

‘Pardon?'

‘How much did you give?' Her eyes narrow. Trevor looks down.

‘Fifty dollars,' I whisper.

Beth whistles.

I squirm.

‘So this is what you were getting at over dinner.'

‘I wasn't
getting at
anything. It just came up.'

She grins. ‘And Dad promised one hundred dollars.' She whistles again.

‘Could you stop whistling please, Beth.'

She sees the anguish on my face. We're both quiet for a long time.

My voice wavers, ‘I'm going to tell Dad tonight.'

Beth looks toward Trevor. ‘Did he talk you into it?'

‘It's not Trevor's fault.'

Beth giggles. ‘Calling the picture Trevor doesn't make him any more real.'

Trevor and I pretend not to hear.

Beth stands. ‘Come on then.' She reaches for my hand. ‘I'll come with you.'

‘You will?'

‘Yeah, we'll say … We'll say we were fooling around on the CARE Australia site and I …' She frowns.

I click my fingers. ‘And I just put some numbers into the credit card box and they turned out to be Dad's.'

‘Jesse that is the stupidest idea you've had since stealing Dad's credit card in the first place.' We walk down the hallway. ‘I'll think of something,' she rolls her eyes, ‘something more believable.'