An unusual boy, p.11
An Unusual Boy, page 11
In the car, Coach sends Mum a message from his phone.
After a while there’s a little ding and Coach turns to me and says, ‘Well, she’s very relieved. Put your seatbelt on, please, Jackson.’
I strap in and start watching the busyness outside the car. There are loads of adults pushing prams and mowing lawns and walking dogs and carrying shopping bags, and loads of kids on bicycles and playing handball and basketball in driveways. They all look so normal, I wonder if any of them ever get into trouble, or can’t get their words out, or think about people in the Otherworld?
Suddenly I see this teenager skateboarding on the road ahead of us, he’s not on the footpath where he’s supposed to be. He’s wearing this bright yellow Hawaiian shirt and these great big gold headphones and a silky green jacket that flaps behind him in the wind. He’s carrying a huge bunch of sunflowers and he’s not wearing a helmet. When he looks back to check the traffic behind him, he’s got this big gleaming smile spread right across his face. He looks so happy that I start smiling too. He veers across the road right in front of Coach’s car, forcing him to brake.
Coach says something rude under his breath.
Suddenly I realise it’s Riley, Milla’s friend from the bus stop, only he’s not wearing his school uniform because it’s Saturday. I try to open the window and call out to him, but I can’t. Coach’s car is super high-tech and he’s always in control of all the buttons.
Riley crouches down and holds onto the edge of his skateboard with one hand, cutting left into a side street and whizzing around the corner.
‘Wow,’ I say. Riley looks like he’s having heaps of fun, probably the most fun anyone’s having in Queenscliff today.
I wonder if Mum and Dad will ever let me skate without a helmet like that, but I reckon I know the answer already. Mum probably wouldn’t and Dad probably would, so they’d argue about it for hours. Some weekends Dad comes skateboarding with me, but Mum doesn’t like that much. Maybe he’s at home already, waiting to take me to the skatepark?
I wiggle forward and tap Coach on the shoulder. ‘Is my dad at home?’
‘Isn’t your dad still in New York, mate?’
‘Oh, right.’ I remember everything else, but somehow I forgot that.
Coach glances at me in the rear-vision mirror. ‘Is your dad away a lot, Jackson?’
I don’t want to say ‘yes’, so I just say nothing.
‘That must be hard for you.’ Coach is still looking at me. ‘And for your mum, too.’
I grind my teeth together to stop my chin from wobbling.
‘Are your mum and dad… still together?’
I don’t know how to answer that, and I wish he hadn’t asked.
A moment later we’re turning into Seaview Street and parking in the driveway behind the Red Rocket. Mum’s waiting for us on the veranda with her head in her hands. I feel like the biggest idiot in the world because I can see how worried she’s been.
As soon as I climb out of Coach’s car, Mum flies down the steps and hugs me like she hasn’t seen me in three years. I lean into her softness.
Mum doesn’t say anything for a long time, she just strokes the back of my neck. After a while she takes my face in her hands.
‘I was so worried, Jackson. I almost called the police.’ Her eyes are glistening. ‘Why did you leave Digby’s without telling his parents where you were going?’
Mum goes foggy in front of me because I’m crying too.
‘Digby’s parents weren’t there,’ I whisper. ‘I couldn’t tell them.’
Mum blinks. ‘Then why did you leave Digby’s at all? We agreed that I’d pick you up at two o’clock. Don’t you remember the conversation we had at soccer?’
I can remember that conversation. I can remember every conversation. But I also remember Digby standing in his driveway tugging at my arm, trying to make me go inside and play Alt-World again.
‘Can you imagine how I felt when I got to Digby’s and Miranda said you’d already gone home, Jackson?’ asks Mum.
Her waterfall tears are telling me that she was really scared.
‘Why did you leave Digby’s, Jackson?’
My eyes start to twitch. ‘I needed to… get some fresh air. Like you needed to, last Sunday in the café with Nanna Pam.’
‘But why?’
‘I need to tell you something, Mum.’
‘Okay.’ She’s frowning so hard now, I can count five deep lines across her forehead.
We sit down on the steps together. I glance over at Coach, wondering how I’m going to tell Mum about playing Alt-World with Digby and the lady with no trousers when he’s standing right there, listening.
‘I haven’t told you before, because… I didn’t think you’d like it.’
Why isn’t Coach leaving, anyway? He’s not joining us on the steps and he’s not getting into his car, he’s just standing in the middle of the lawn like he’s playing musical statues.
‘What is it, Jackson?’ Mum’s voice sounds a bit scared.
I’m pretty sure Coach likes Digby because he drops him home every week, or at least he doesn’t not like him. So I can’t tell Mum about Alt-World, not right now with Coach so close. But she’s standing there waiting for me to tell her something, so I decide to tell her my other secret.
‘I’ve joined a girls’ dance group.’
‘What?’ Mum looks confused.
‘At Queenscliff Public. I’m the only boy in it and I’ve learned aerial silks.’
The words come out easily, maybe because I love dance so much.
‘I’ve practised for three-and-a-half months and Miss Marion is the best teacher. She’s given me a special role on stage at the town hall for the Winter Eis… Eis…’
My brain gets stuck on the word ‘eisteddfod’, which is a super tricky word to say out loud.
Coach moves forward and sits down on the other side of Mum.
‘That’s where I found him,’ he explains to her. ‘At dance practice in the hall. I went over to Digby’s straight after you called. Digby told me that he’d heard Miss Marion mention it to Jackson at school yesterday.’
Mum looks irritated. ‘Well, I wish someone had bothered to tell me about this. Why did the school know, Jackson, and I didn’t?’
Her voice is prickly.
If I tell her about the fake signature on the permission note, she might not let me do dance again. No more aerial silks, no more flying angels and no more April Kennedy.
Mum keeps staring at me.
‘I didn’t tell you because I wanted to make it a surprise.’
That’s sort of true, but my eyelids start to flicker. Mum looks doubtful.
‘And I didn’t think Dad would like me dancing.’
That part’s definitely true.
Mum rubs a hand over her face, which looks about a hundred years older. ‘Right. Well, thanks for telling me. We can talk to Dad about this when he gets home from New York.’
The invisible Dad-hole in my chest rips open even wider, because that’s still half a week away.
Mum turns to Coach. ‘Thanks for all your help this afternoon, Steve. I couldn’t have coped without you. Not with Andy overseas and everything.’
‘No worries,’ says Coach, patting Mum on the shoulder. ‘It was a bit of a fright for all of us. It’s amazing how you manage to keep going, Julia. What with a job and three kids and…’ He nods at me, but I’m not sure what he means.
Mum lets out a massive sigh. Coach just keeps patting her shoulder.
‘This calls for an old-fashioned rural remedy,’ he says after a while. ‘Got any whisky, Julia? I’ll pour you a stiff drink. Need one myself, as a matter of fact.’
Laughter explodes out of Mum’s mouth. Suddenly she’s not so scared and cranky any more, she’s smiley and a bit silly.
‘We don’t drink the hard stuff, Steve, but there’s a bottle of Pinot in the pantry.’ She waves a hand in the direction of the kitchen. ‘I’ll get some glasses.’
‘Nah, I’ll find ’em.’ Coach stands up and moves to the front door.
It’s sort of strange that he’s letting himself in, when he’s never been inside our house before. The wire screen door bangs shut behind him.
I watch Mum’s face, waiting for her to roast me. But she just sits there, looking worn out and disappointed.
‘I’m so glad you’re safe,’ she murmurs. ‘When I went to pick you up at Digby’s house and Miranda said you’d been gone for hours, I just felt… so scared, Jackson.’
Maybe she felt as scared as I did when I ran away from Digby’s house today.
‘Mum, there’s something else I want to tell you…’ I start, but the wire screen door opens again. Coach Steve’s muscly footballer’s bottom pokes out of it first, then the rest of his body follows. He’s carrying a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other.
‘Here we are,’ he says, sitting down next to Mum again. ‘Doctor’s orders.’ He pours her a glass so full, wine slops over the side.
I watch them clinking their glasses together and I’m thinking of fixing myself a Milo, when suddenly a boy on a skateboard veers into our driveway.
He’s skating so fast he’s definitely going to crash into the Red Rocket, but then he leaps off the board like an acrobat, flips it up with his toe and catches it in his left hand.
It’s Riley again, only he’s holding the bunch of sunflowers behind his back now. Up close, he’s got suntanned skin and snowy-white teeth and curly long blonde hair like Ruby’s.
He grins as if he expected to find us all on the front steps like this.
Mum and Coach just stare at him.
‘Hi, I’m Riley,’ he says, fidgeting with the drawstring of his big green jacket. ‘Is Milla home?’
‘Oh,’ says Mum, setting down her glass. ‘And you are…?’
‘Riley,’ the boy says again.
‘You said that.’ Mum looks a bit embarrassed. ‘And you know Milla from…?’
‘School,’ he says. ‘We do Pilates together.’
Coach Steve snorts into his glass so hard, wine spurts from his nose. I run to the Red Rocket and grab the mini box of tissues and pass them to him for politeness.
‘Sorry. Second shock of the day, mate.’ He dabs at his face with the tissue. ‘School sport’s not what it used to be. Do you two do any other sport, apart from… Pilates?’
Mum laughs again and takes another long sip of her wine.
‘Well, I’ve just done my Bronze Medallion,’ Riley replies. ‘I’m a volunteer lifesaver down at Queenscliff.’
‘Good on you, mate,’ says Coach. ‘That’s an important skill.’
‘I think you met my dad earlier,’ says Riley, looking at Mum now. ‘His name’s Malcolm. He was going for a surf.’
‘Oh… yes,’ says Mum. ‘We talked about the library.’
Suddenly Milla’s standing at the front door, tugging at her braids and looking really nervous and pleased and embarrassed all at once. She opens the screen door and steps onto the veranda.
‘Hi,’ she sort of squeaks, which doesn’t sound like Milla at all.
‘Hey,’ says Riley. He’s fidgeting with the cuffs of his jacket, then he passes her the sunflowers without really looking at her. ‘Want to check out the waves?’
‘Sure,’ Milla-Mouse squeaks again and it makes me giggle. I press my teeth together, because that helps with crying and laughing.
Milla turns to Mum, super excited. ‘Can I go down to the beach, Mum?’
‘Okay,’ says Mum, glancing at Coach.
‘Thanks, Mrs…’ Riley starts, but Mum says, ‘Call me Julia. Don’t stay out too long, please.’
Milla practically bounds down the steps to Riley, hugging the sunflowers to her chest. She reminds me of those lovesick top-knot pigeons outside my bedroom window.
Milla props the sunflowers against the post of our library, then she and Riley head off down Seaview Street. I scale the front fence to watch them go. I’m wondering if they’re going to hold hands or kiss or something, and if maybe I might walk like that one day with April Kennedy? The idea makes my stomach go all fluttery and my beans start bouncing, so I do a headstand on the fence.
‘Jesus,’ says Coach, which must mean he’s a Christian. ‘Has Jackson ever done gymnastics, Julia?’
‘Get down before you fall down,’ Mum calls.
I somersault off the fence and start walking back to Mum and Coach. They’re talking about Dad now and all the cool places he visits in the world, and how hard he’s working because he doesn’t want to be ‘made redundant’. That sounds a lot like the word Nanna uses for chewing gum – ‘repugnant’ – which means extra nasty.
Mum’s eyes are glossy and her cheeks are pink now, she looks much younger and definitely more relaxed.
‘Top up?’ She waves the bottle of wine at Coach.
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ he says.
Mum tries to pour more wine into his glass but manages to slosh it over the step.
‘God, I’m an idiot!’ Mum giggles, but she didn’t laugh like that when I spilled my porridge last week.
I wish Dad would come back from New York right now.
I pass Mum the box of tissues and she takes one and dabs it against the top step. Some of the wine has leaked into the wood and Dad won’t like that; he’s always rubbing special oil into the steps to protect them from wind and rain and salty sea spray. I’m not sure how to get wine out of wood, but Dead Granny would know because she’s the spotless specialist. I’ve been waiting for her to call all day, so I decide to call her now and ask.
‘I’m going inside,’ I say, without explaining why. Mum doesn’t like me talking about Dead Granny and my shoe-phone, even in front of family friends.
‘Okay,’ says Mum. ‘We won’t be out here too long. Ruby’s watching a movie inside. You might like to watch it too?’
‘Which one?’
‘Oh, uh… The Devil Wears Prada.’
Ruby’s watched it at least fifty times. ‘When’s Dad back?’
‘Wednesday night,’ says Mum. She picks up her phone. ‘He’s texting me his arrival time in a while.’
If it’s going to be a while, we might be waiting weeks.
As I’m walking to the front door, Coach stands up and tries to shake my hand.
‘You’re a good kid,’ he says, pumping my palm in his. It feels a bit strange, but adults do strange things when they drink wine. ‘And that was an incredible headstand on the front fence.’
It’s the second time I’ve shaken Coach’s hand today. The first was when I got Dragon of the Match at soccer this morning, which feels like forever ago.
‘Thanks, champ,’ says Coach, finally letting go of my hand. ‘Get some rest. You’ve had a big day. I’ll take care of your mum out here.’
Mum smiles at Coach. She looks so much calmer and her face is lighter.
‘See you soon, mate,’ he calls, as I head in through the front door.
I really like Coach. And he’s being so nice to Mum, I like him even more.
11
There’s an uncanny silence in the house even though it’s already 5.33 am on an ordinary Monday morning. In the absence of music, my body clock has woken me up anyway. Could Jackson really be sleeping in?
I reach for my phone on the bedside table and check my messages: nothing in from Andy overnight. The hollowed-out feeling I carry inside whenever he’s away is morphing into something far more toxic. Irrespective of the time difference, surely he’s read the message I sent last night?
Bit of an incident with Jackson this arvo – went AWOL for a few hours. All okay, found him at school. Let’s chat about it when you get back?
Maybe it sounded too casual, too in control. Re-reading the message, I certainly didn’t frame it as the emergency it felt like at the time. But couldn’t Andy have read between the lines and simply imagined how it might have felt for me? Even sending the briefest reply would suffice.
But silence?
My thoughts are galloping like unbridled horses through hostile terrain. Andy doesn’t care. He’s wedded to his job. His work trips are a convenient way of checking out of family responsibilities. He finds living with Jackson so challenging, he heads overseas for respite. Maybe he even finds comfort there, in someone else’s arms.
I shake my head, as if to physically dislodge the thoughts. Then, recalling Dr Kelleher’s advice to Jackson – ‘distract yourself a bit, you don’t have to believe every intrusive thought you have’ – I decide to make myself a cup of tea.
Slipping my phone into the pocket of my robe, I pad down the hall towards the kitchen. Pausing at the bottom of the spiral stairs leading up to Jackson’s room, I detect a sound – but it’s not music.
I step out of my slippers in an effort to mute my footfall, then steal up the stairs. At the top, I lean my ear against Jackson’s door.
‘Granny?’ I hear him say. ‘Granny, please can you come?’
He sounds so vulnerable, it’s heart-breaking.
I nudge open the door.
With the sun rising later now as winter approaches, the room is still cloaked in darkness. I creep across the carpet to Jackson’s bed, expecting him to greet me. In the dimness, I can just make out the shape of him. He’s tucked under the duvet, even his head concealed beneath.
Gently, I peel back the covers.
Jackson screams so loudly, I scream too.
‘Oh my God,’ I gasp, pressing a hand to my chest. ‘You almost gave me a heart attack.’
Jackson scrambles upright. ‘And I thought you were Dead Granny! I’d just asked her to come.’
‘Of course.’ I let out a deep breath. ‘That must’ve been frightening for you. I’m so sorry. Here, let’s turn on the light.’
Groping for his bedside lamp, I flick on the switch.
‘You’re crying, Jackson.’ I brush his tear-stained cheek with the tips of my fingers. ‘What’s wrong?’
A delayed reaction, perhaps, from Saturday afternoon’s trouble.
Jackson sniffs. ‘Dead Granny’s not… talking to me… any more.’
His words are slower than usual this morning. It’s hard to know how to console him, when I hanker to talk to my mother as much as Jackson.
