Tigers on the Beach (7 page)

Rose is waiting for Sam and me when we get back to Port Argus. She looks flustered, but relieved that we haven't run off and joined a train-surfing cult.

‘Adam. Sam. You're late. I was worried.'

‘We saw a different movie,' says Sam. ‘It ended later.'

‘You didn't see
Eternal Winter
?'

‘We couldn't get in.'

‘You should have rung.'

‘We're not
that
late,' says Sam.

‘Nearly a whole hour. It's impolite not to ring.' I apologise to Rose.

‘What film did you see?' she asks.

‘It was a comedy,' I say.

‘Which one?'

I doubt that Rose would be a huge fan of
Up the Duff
. ‘I forget the name,' I say.

‘It was a Rob Ryder movie,' says Sam.

‘Rob Ryder? Is he one of those smutty comedians? Always doing sex jokes?'

‘He's matured,' I say.

‘Did you like the biscuits?' Rose asks.

It's such a rapid change of subject that it takes a second for me to catch up.

‘They were delicious,' I say.

‘I'll get you some more,' says Rose. ‘As well as some moisturiser. You wait here.'

Rose exits, leaving Sam and I to linger in the living room.

Sam has been quiet. I know she hated the film.

‘I'm really sorry about the movie,' I say.

‘That's okay,' says Sam. Her hair is pressed down from wearing a bike helmet. I think of what it would be like to run my hands through it.

‘I know you didn't like it,' I say. ‘I didn't think it was that great either.'

‘You were laughing a lot,' says Sam.

‘Not that much.'

‘Adam, it's not a crime to like Rob Ryder.'

‘I
don't
like him,' I say. ‘I hate him. I wish he would die. Next time we'll see the movie that
you
want to see. No matter what happens.'

‘Sure.'

I want Sam to be more enthusiastic, but she remains calm and enigmatic. At least, I hope she's being enigmatic, because if she isn't, it probably means she doesn't like me all that much.

‘Sam, we've gone out twice now and it really hasn't worked out,' I say, ‘but I have a very good feeling about us. Okay, we didn't have such a good time in the general store because I started a mooning craze, and the movie was a disaster because it wasn't funny –'

Sam interrupts. ‘
You
thought it was funny.'

‘I didn't. I really didn't. And worse than that, I was rude about a handicapped person. Apparently I am a fascist.'

‘I don't think that about you,' says Sam.

‘Let me show you how much I like handicapped people,' I say. I hold out my hands and make three gestures, like this:

‘What does that mean?' asks Sam.

‘That's your name,' I say. ‘I just spelt out your name in sign language.'

Sam smiles. ‘Do the whole alphabet.'

Happy to oblige, I do my hand gestures for all twenty-six letters of the alphabet. Sam looks impressed.

‘Did they teach you that at school?' Sam asks.

‘No, I taught myself.'

‘Why? Do you know any deaf people?'

I shake my head. ‘I work in the hospitality industry. I meet all kinds of people. One day I'm bound to meet a deaf person and I'll know how to communicate with sign language. I can teach you, if you like.'

‘Okay,' says Sam. ‘I'll ring you.'

‘Promise?'

‘Sure.'

‘And next time,' I say, ‘we'll do whatever you want. Your choice.'

I smell Sam's cherry chapstick and it drives me crazy, but I know she doesn't want me to kiss her yet. Not properly. I tell myself that I'm okay with that. We don't need to rush around like Ben and Michaela, taking off our clothes on bushwalks.

Rose's voice rings out. ‘I don't have any biscuits left. Do you like macaroons?'

‘Sure, I like macaroons,' I say, not sure what they are.

‘Take them home with you,' Rose says, handing me a bag of little coconut cakes and some lotion. ‘Enjoy the moisturiser.'

‘Mum, you used another zip-lock bag,' Sam complains.

‘You'll use the bag again, won't you, Adam?' says Rose.

‘Cross my heart,' I say.

I guess Sam's mother
does
like me. But I know that I'm pushing my luck if I bring Sam home late again.

Mum and Dad are in the front office when I get home. Incredibly, they are arguing.

‘You need to have a word with your mother,' Dad says. ‘There was another incident today. While you were out shopping, she climbed a ladder.'

Mum is shocked. ‘Ken, you shouldn't let her climb ladders. She's old. Imagine if she fell.'

‘I didn't find out about it until afterwards.'

‘What was she doing up a ladder?'

Dad replies in disbelief, ‘She was hanging four teddy bears from a tree.'

‘Oh.' This doesn't seem so strange to Mum.

‘Why on earth would she do that?' Dad asks.

‘It's an old trick,' she says. ‘It's meant to keep away possums. You know how Mum hates the possums.'

‘I think everybody at The Ponderosa knows that by now. Nathan took down the teddies.'

‘Then there's no problem, is there?'

‘This is a
holiday resort
, Georgia,' Dad snaps, ‘not
The Blair Witch Project
. You can't have hanging teddies. It's disturbing for the children.'

Mum realises Dad is right. ‘Yes, I'm sorry about that.'

‘It won't be long before the guests start leaving,' Dad adds.

‘I'm sure they won't.'

‘
Please
, just speak to your mother.'

‘I will, Ken. I will.'

I make my arrival known. Mum smiles hello and leaves the office.

‘Did you have a good afternoon, Adam?' Dad asks.

‘Sure.'

‘How was the movie?'

‘Bad.'

‘What was it about?'

‘This guy who gets pregnant.'

‘Wasn't that a movie with Arnold Schwarzenegger?'

‘This was a remake.'

‘They remade an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie? Hollywood must be desperate. Who was in it?'

‘Rob Ryder.'

‘He's funny.'

‘He's not
that
funny.'

‘I thought you liked him.'

‘Never. I'd rather watch paint drying.'

Dad is startled by my sudden hatred for Rob Ryder.

‘Dad, is everything okay with you and Mum?'

‘Of course it is,' he says.

‘Do you swear on a stack of bibles?'

We actually have a stack of bibles in a box under the counter. The bibles were given to us by the Gideons, to put in the cabins. We've never got around to it and the guests haven't complained. We keep the bibles for swearing purposes. Dad takes out the bibles, swears on them, then puts them away again.

That night after dinner I go outside, eat macaroons and think about Sam. I lean against the Barnetts' fence, feeling sorry for myself as the stars come out. My relationship with Sam hasn't been developing the way I would have liked. She's seen me perform a lewd act at the general store. She's witnessed me losing my temper with a blind person's friend and laughing at a man being attacked by a breast pump. As I eat the last macaroon I realise that despair tastes of coconut. I never want to eat another macaroon for as long as I live.

Later, I lie in bed wondering what I can do to prove to Sam that I'm her perfect boyfriend. I consider ringing her, but Sam said she'd ring me, and I don't want to look needy or desperate.

‘Poofter,' says Xander when he sees me using Rose's moisturiser on my face. ‘Poofter, poofter, poofter, poofter. You are a gigantic poofter.'

‘You are an
enormous
poofter,' I say back.

‘You are
two
enormous poofters,' says Xander.

‘You are a haemorrhoid.'

There is a massive blowfly in the room. The buzzing in the dark is driving me crazy.

‘I think there's a blowfly in the room,' says Xander.

‘Of course there's a blowfly in the room. Do you think
I'm
making that noise?'

‘You'll have to kill it.'

‘I thought you liked insects,' I say.

‘Blowflies are disgusting. Whenever they land they vomit.'

‘Then I hope it lands on your tongue.'

‘Kill it, or I'll murder you.'

I climb out of bed and turn on the light. ‘Okay, I'll get some flyspray.'

Xander sits up in bed and screws up his eyes against the light. His hair is mussed up and he looks like a troll doll, only less attractive. ‘You can't use flyspray,' he says. ‘You'll poison my bugs. You have to squash it.'

The fly buzzes loudly as it circles the light bulb. I grab Xander's Ronald McDonald towel to flick at the fly.

‘And you can't use that,' says Xander. ‘It's a valuable antique.'

‘Tough,' I say.

I run around in my undies, flicking the the towel at the fly.

‘Zzzzzzzzz,' the fly taunts.

I yell at it to shut up.

‘Zzzzzzzzz.'

‘It probably doesn't understand English,' says Xander, helpfully.

I flap and flail with the towel.

‘Zzzzzzzzz.'

I stub my toe on the bed. It hurts like anything.

‘Zzzzzzzzzz,' says the fly.

I swear and nurse my sore toe.

‘You're useless,' says Xander.

The fly has landed on his bedhead. Xander picks up a large book and whacks the fly. I'm amazed that he squashes it on the first go. Then I'm annoyed to see that he has used one of my books to do it. It's my big special-effects book, the one that Grandpa and Grandma gave me.

‘I'll murder you for that,' I say.

‘All right,' says Xander, happily. ‘Come and murder me and I'll murder you.' He jumps up on the bed in readiness. But I feel exhausted.

‘Sorry, Xander, not tonight. Go to sleep.'

Before I flick the switch, Xander speaks in a solemn voice I don't often hear. ‘Dad doesn't like Grandma staying here,' he says. ‘He's looking cross. Around his head.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘He's got an angry colour around his head.'

Has Xander inherited Grandpa's gift?

‘You can see colours around people?' I say.

‘Sometimes.'

‘How come you never mentioned it before?'

‘I don't have to tell you everything that's interesting.'

‘But you tell me everything that
isn't
interesting. Have you told anyone else?'

‘No.'

‘That means you can read auras.'

‘What?'

‘It's called reading auras, when you see a colour around a person. Grandpa could do it too. Did you know that? Xander?'

But Xander has either fallen asleep or is pretending. I look at him and wonder what it must be like to live in his world, where he can see colours that aren't there, but he can't see trees that are. Is my little brother actually an alien, who can do impossible sums in his head, but can't hold a tray? Should we hide him away, in case the scientists from Roswell come for him? I wish I could have a secret power like Xander and Grandpa. I can't see auras. I can't do incredible sums in my head. I can't fly. For someone who is so interested in special effects, I am sadly lacking in special powers.

I turn out the light and overhear Mum and Dad arguing in the next room.

‘Of course I don't hate your mother,' says Dad.

‘Then why won't you be civil to her?'

‘I'm very civil. She's the one who's going around throwing stones and terrifying the guests.'

‘Can you imagine what it must be like for her?' says Mum.

‘But she's had time to get over it all.'

Mum sounds really furious. ‘Since when did grieving have a time limit?'