The Ice-cream Man (7 page)

7

Aaron wheeled his bike around to the back of the shop and leant it against the garden shed while he dug in his pack for the padlock key. A blast of hot air hit him as he opened the door. He wheeled his bike into the shed and propped it against the lawnmower. As he stepped back a shadow blocked out the afternoon light.

‘Hello, little bro. All on your ownsome, eh?’

Aaron tensed, turned towards the voice. Steve was slouched in the doorway, as ominous as a storm cloud. He couldn’t make out his step-brother’s features, but Aaron knew by the tone of his voice that he was smiling.

‘Leave me alone, Steve.’

‘That’s rich. You should’ve given your little boyfriend that advice this morning. Wasn’t leaving me alone then, was he?’

Aaron had completely forgotten about the scene with Steve and Rick outside the shop that morning. He mentally kicked himself. What was wrong with him? He was usually sharper than that.

The interior of the small shed was stifling. If

Aaron was going to get his butt kicked, he’d rather it was outside in the fresh air. He moved towards the door. ‘Look, I’m sorry about Rick, okay?’

Steve planted a hand on Aaron’s chest. ‘Not so fast, gay boy.’

‘Come on, Steve, I apologised, didn’t I? Let me out, it’s hot.’

Aaron’s heartbeat boomed in his ears. Breathing the stagnant shed air had become a chore. He licked his lips, trying not to let his rising panic show. Steve would only lap it up and keep him here even longer.

‘Y’know, fatties like you pay good money at health clubs to sit in a hot box and sweat,’ Steve said, reaching for the door. ‘They reckon it melts all that fat right off.’

Aaron’s throat closed up. He shook his head.
No
!

Steve dangled the padlock in front of Aaron. ‘If I was to leave you here for a while I’d be doing you a favour. You’d probably even thank me.’

Aaron rushed the door but Steve was ready and threw him back. He crashed into his bike and collapsed in a heap on the concrete floor.

‘This isn’t a safe neighbourhood, you know. Can’t go leaving sheds unlocked like you could in the old days. People will steal anything. If Dad found out I’d seen the shed door open and hadn’t locked it, he’d have my balls.’

With a clatter, Aaron scrambled onto his knees. He swallowed, tasting bile – and something else, sharp and bitter: the taste of fear.

‘Steve, p-please.’

‘Of course it didn’t occur to me to look inside the shed, did it? I just locked the door like a good son, thinking my lazy little step-brother had forgotten to do it after he’d put his bike away.’ Steve sighed and shook his head. ‘Tsk, tsk, accidents will happen.’

With tears and sweat blurring his vision, Aaron scrambled forward on all fours. But Steve was too fast. The door slammed shut and with a rattle the bolt and padlock slid home. Openly sobbing now, Aaron threw himself repeatedly against the scorching metal, screaming at Steve to let him out.

Rick couldn’t decide if Marty was the gutsiest kid he’d ever met, or the craziest. He remembered the first time Marty had done a slam-jump. He had come up with the idea after seeing an extreme sports show on TV and was busting a gut to try out some of the moves in his chair. Rick had dared him to do it, not believing for a second he was serious, and Marty had seized the challenge the way a pit-bull seizes a chop. Targeting a garbage truck, Marty had almost got on the wrong side of dead that day. Once the garbo had recovered, he had leapt out of the truck and chased Marty a full block yelling that he was going to tear him limb from limb when he got hold of him – which he hadn’t. Rick was yet to meet a person who could outrun Marty.

But the stunt he’d pulled on the ramp made no sense. For one thing there was no one there to see it, except Rick, and Marty hadn’t known that. Everyone knew a stunt was no good unless someone saw it. It was almost as though Marty had wanted to get hurt. In his mind Rick could still see him hurtling down the ramp, grinning like a madman.

Rick kicked the toes of his joggers in the gravel on the side of the road and swiped at a cloud of flies. Even if he wasn’t able to smell the dump up ahead the flies were a sure sign it wasn’t far away.

After leaving Marty, Rick couldn’t face going home. Instead he headed for Stockman Road, which led west out of town in an almost straight line. It was a fair hike to the dump, about four kilometres, but Rick didn’t mind. The simple process of putting one foot in front of the other helped him order his mind. Sometimes he walked along the disused train line running parallel to the road, balancing on a rusty rail and counting each step to see how far he could get before falling off. The highest he’d got to was two hundred and four.

He couldn’t go home, couldn’t face that stranger wearing his mother’s skin. Where had that laughing mother gone – the one who used to bake muffins and crack stupid jokes and thrash him every time at cards? Sometimes he missed his mother more than he missed his father. If he went home now he knew he’d tear the place apart, maybe do something he’d really regret like burning the house to the ground.

There was something appealing about fire. Thinking about it gave him a sick sense of satisfaction that scared him silly. He walked faster, grinding gravel beneath his soles.

When he reached the dump, he sat in the shade of a gum tree beside the boundary fence. Flies swarmed, drawn to the moisture on his skin. He was sure he swallowed a few as he sucked the heat-charged air into his parched throat. He should’ve brought a bottle of water.

Resting his chin on his drawn-up knees, Rick eyed the dump manager’s shed. If the old man had spotted him, he would have sicked the mange-ridden Rottweiler on him by now. He scanned the dump, his eyes coming to rest on the recycling area for a moment where a guy in a white ute was unloading crates of bottles. Before Rick had discovered the billabong this had been his favourite hangout. It was a place he could be alone even when he wasn’t.

He leaned back against the gum tree and looked up into its branches, streaky-white against the dusty blue backdrop of sky. He had to do something about his mother. If he didn’t, she would end up drinking herself to death. Lately she’d been saying there was nothing left to live for, that she’d be better off dead. Rick always found somewhere else to be when she started talking crazy like that.

It was almost dusk, still too early to head home, but Rick was sick of the dust and flies and the smell of rotting garbage. Deciding to walk back to town along the railway line, he got to his feet. Maybe he’d swing by Aaron’s, see if he could hang out there for a while.

The lights from the bowling alley were already blazing as Rick rounded the corner. Kathy’s Korner Store was lit too, its string of coloured bulbs marking its place in the middle of the block. The temperature hadn’t dropped, and now instead of flies Rick had squadrons of mosquitoes to contend with.

He parted the plastic streamers and entered the shop. ‘Hey, anyone here?’ he called, scanning the aisles. Crossing to the counter, he was about to pick up the silver bell and give it a good shake when the fine hairs on the nape of his neck snapped to attention. He spun around and came face to face with Aaron’s step-brother.

‘Steve, isn’t it?’ he spluttered. The guy was close enough for Rick to count the hairs up his nose. He backed into the counter. ‘I’m looking for Aaron, mate. Know where he is?’

Steve folded his arms and grinned. ‘Might’ve guessed gay boy’s little boyfriend would come sniffing around.’

Clenching his fists, Rick pushed away from the counter until his chest met Steve’s. ‘Forget it. I’ll go ask your olds.’

Steve moved to block his way. ‘They’re out, so why don’t you just forget about my step-brother and run along home.’

‘What’s it to you if I hang out with Aaron, huh?’

‘He’s not here.’

‘Yeah? Maybe I wanna see for myself.’

A shadow flitted across Steve’s eyes. Rick knew that look. The guy was hiding something. He ducked Steve’s grasping hand and sprinted down the aisle to the rear of the shop where an internal stairway led up to the house. Steve obviously didn’t want him there and Rick had a strong feeling Aaron was in trouble.

‘Aaron! Aaron, you there, mate?’ Rick yelled. As he planted a foot on the first step Steve grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked hard. Rick staggered around, fists flying. ‘Get off me, ya mongrel!’

‘Hey, what’s going on down there?’ A larger version of Steve stood at the top of the stairs glaring down at them.

‘I’m a mate of Aaron’s,’ Rick said, shaking Steve off.

‘That right? Hey, get back to that register,’ the man bellowed at Steve.

Steve shot Rick a murderous look and slunk off. Steve’s father turned around and yelled into the

house, ‘Aaron, get your lazy butt out here. Someone to see you.’ After a long silence he grunted and thumped out of sight.

Rick cast a wary look into the shop. He couldn’t see Steve, but he knew he wasn’t far away, watching and waiting.

A minute or so passed and Steve’s old man came back into view. ‘He’s not here. Can’t imagine where he got to. Come to think of it I haven’t seen him since I got home.’

‘What about his mum? Would she know where he is?’

‘She’s gone off to a Tupperware party. I doubt Aaron would be into that. Then again you never know, eh?’ Steve’s father let out a hearty chuckle.

Rick walked back through the shop, giving Steve a wide berth. As he pushed through the streamers, Steve called out, ‘I’ll bet Aaron gets all steamed up when he finds out he missed you.’

Frowning, Rick stepped onto the footpath. What was that supposed to mean? A warm gust played over his sweaty skin raising goose bumps. He gave an involuntary shudder and then walked along the path until he drew level with the timber fence beside the shop. A square hole had been cut into one of the boards to give access to a gate catch. Steve had been hiding something, Rick was sure of it, and whatever it was it had to do with Aaron. Maybe if he had a quick look round he’d discover what it was. After checking to make sure Steve hadn’t followed him outside, Rick put his arm through the hole, opened the gate and slipped into the yard beyond.

Aaron gave up yelling and thumping on the walls of the shed after what seemed like hours, but was probably more like fifteen minutes. If anyone had heard him, they’d obviously chosen to ignore the noise. The effort only made his head pound and the suffocating heat worse. Thirst raged inside him like a wild thing and it took all the concentration he possessed not to think about it.

Steve had done some cruel things in the past two years that Aaron had known him, but none had been potentially life threatening – unless you counted the time in the Blue Mountains, that is. Being lost was a picnic compared to this though. He’d never survive being stuck in here all night, and it wasn’t likely anyone would think to look out here. He was the only one who used the shed regularly. His step-father hadn’t used the mower since the end of autumn. It had been months since they’d had any decent rain. The lawn had died ages ago.

Aaron was hit by a fresh surge of panic. Then he realised there was hope. All he had to do was wait until it was dark and renew his wall-banging. With the neighbourhood quiet and all the neighbours home from work, someone was sure to hear.

He sucked in a deep breath. It was such an effort. How long till nightfall? His eyes scoured the gloom yet again, searching for anything that might help him break out. The shed wasn’t large, only a few metres square, and he knew its contents off by heart: his bike, the mower and six cardboard boxes containing his mother’s stuff – none of which happened to contain a bolt cutter.

Aaron rested his head against the boxes and closed his eyes. His step-father was right; he was a girl. He should have stood up to his step-brother long ago and then maybe he wouldn’t be in this mess. Aaron slammed a fist into the concrete floor. Damn it, it was time he stood up for himself, time he didn’t just tell Steve to leave him alone, but made him. What was the worst he could do? Give him a pounding? Well, he’d done that plenty of times already, so what did he have to lose? Nothing, that’s what.

Aaron clenched his teeth against the pain in his fist. Then he hit the floor again and again. The pain fuelled his anger and the fear subsided.

The sound of shoes crunching on gravel made Aaron’s head snap up. Had Steve decided to let him out? He fought the urge to scuttle into the nearest corner. ‘Come on, Steve, I’m dying in here,’ he yelled, his voice raspy.

‘Aaron?’

Aaron scrambled to his feet and threw himself at the door. ‘Rick? What are you doing here?’

‘Looking for you. There’s a padlock on here. Got a key?’

‘Yeah, hang on.’ What had he done with the key? Aaron scrambled around on the floor of the shed, fingers searching the gloom for his backpack. Something with lots of legs scuttled over his hand, but he barely registered it. Finally he found the key lodged under the back wheel of his bike. ‘How am I going to give it to you?’ he asked, pressing his cheek against the door.

‘Above the door. There’s a gap. Push it through.’ Aaron wedged the key ring into the gap, but the