Bleakboy and Hunter Stand Out in the Rain Page 11

  ‘Dalton Enterprises is a …’ Hunter searched for the right word. What would Kate say? ‘An environmentally committed company. They could not buy off anybody who supported the killing of—’

  ‘We understand. No whales.’ The manager brightened. ‘Chicken.’

  Hunter removed the leaflets from his jacket and offered them to the manager. ‘Perhaps you’d put these leaflets on the counter? It’s a Dalton …’ He couldn’t think of the word.

  The manager took the leaflets and studied them. He frowned.

  ‘Of course, if you don’t wish to support …’ Hunter held out his hand as if to take them back.

  The manager gripped the leaflets. ‘No. It’s okay,’ he replied, placing the stack of leaflets beside the cash register. ‘We support,’ he glanced at the leaflets and attempted to smile, ‘the whales.’

  Hunter nodded. ‘I’m off to see my father after lunch. I’ll be sure to tell him about this.’ He bowed again, careful not to smile until he was facing his schoolfriends.

  Hunter turns from the window and sits at his desk. He remembers the looks on Kate and Jesse’s faces when he told the class what he’d achieved. For once his ‘father’ was useful, he thought.

  ‘Hunter?’ Mrs Riley stands at the entrance to his bedroom.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’ He blushes, even though he knows she can’t read his thoughts. No-one can.

  ‘I want to talk to you,’ she looks nervously out the window, ‘about … something.’ She attempts a smile. ‘I bought some chocolate eclairs.’ She turns and walks downstairs to the kitchen.

  Hunter hopes it’s nothing to do with his father and New Zealand.

  The kettle whistles in the kitchen. His mother leans against the counter, staring at the steam. Hunter walks across the kitchen and removes the kettle from the stove.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ he says, wondering why he’s apologising.

  He sees the teapot on the table, the lid already off, the tea-leaves black against the white china. He pours the boiling water over the leaves and replaces the lid. Hunter returns the kettle to the stove, waiting for his mum to speak. She still hasn’t moved.

  They stand in the kitchen for what seems like hours before she sits down at the table and gestures for him to join her.

  ‘I’m sorry, dear,’ she begins.

  Why are they both apologising?

  ‘I want to talk to you about,’ she blushes, ‘something I want to try. But I won’t do it unless you think it’s okay.’

  Please don’t let it be moving to New Zealand, Hunter thinks. He notices his fists are clenched on the kitchen table, waiting, expecting the worst.

  Mrs Riley presses her hands hard against her temples as if she’s trying to stop herself from thinking too much. Hunter reaches across to touch his mother’s shoulder. ‘It’s okay, Mum,’ he says, nervously. ‘Whatever you do is okay.’ Except New Zealand, he thinks.

  To stop his mind from racing, Hunter grips the teapot and pours the brew. When the cup’s full, he gently pushes it across the table toward his Mum. He takes the chocolate eclairs from the brown paper bag and places them on a plate.

  ‘I want to look for a friend,’ his mother whispers, ‘on the internet.’ She glances at her son.

  ‘A friend?’ Hunter repeats. ‘An old schoolfriend?’ he asks.

  His mother laughs. ‘No. A man friend,’ she says. She takes a sip of tea, the steam rising from the cup. ‘To go out for lunch sometimes. Maybe a picnic. Or an afternoon at the beach. To help me forget your …’ She looks hopefully at Hunter.

  He knows what she means. Anyone but Dad. He imagines his mum placing an advertisement on dating sites. Friendly, caring woman looking for anyone. Anyone but my ex-husband. He wishes he could do the same. Boy seeking Dad, for friendship and afternoon footy games. Must not own sports cars and frisbees.

  ‘I won’t go out at night.’ His mother reaches for his hand. ‘Only lunch. Just for the company.’

  Hunter nods, unable to speak. What if he doesn’t like her new friend? What if the man asks Mum to marry him? Who wouldn’t want to be with his mum. What if the new man has children of his own? And they have to move in together? He’s thrown out his father’s clothes only to replace them with a sonky half-brother who whines and cries and wants Hunter to watch dorky TV shows and help him with science experiments. What if the man calls him Hunts? Hunter shivers.

  His mother clanks the cup back on the saucer. ‘Let’s forget I said anything.’ She picks up a chocolate eclair, but doesn’t take a bite. She puts it back into the paper bag and carries it to the bench. She looks out the window and sighs.

  Hunter looks at the single eclair, lonely on the plate. He takes a deep breath. ‘It’s okay, Mum. I understand.’ Maybe it’s like getting a new teacher every year at school. It takes a while to get used to them, but eventually everyone learns to cope. The teacher does what they do and Hunter spends lots of time asking if he can go to Walter.

  Mrs Riley turns and walks toward Hunter. She reaches for him and he presses his cheek against her stomach, closing his eyes. Her arms wrap around his shoulders. She strokes his hair and laughs. ‘Why would I need anyone else but you, Hunter?’

  Hunter keeps his eyes closed and repeats, ‘It’s okay, Mum. You can have …’ He forces the words out, ‘Just not like Dad.’ He turns his face toward her dress and starts to cry.

  28

  jesse

  Dinner is a bowl of plain rice, two yams each and a glass of rainwater, direct from our tank. Mum carries a jug of gravy to the table and places it beside the salt and pepper shakers. ‘I thought we might need something to …’ She glances at Dad.

  ‘Make it edible?’ says Beth.

  ‘Enhance the flavour,’ answers Mum.

  Dad coughs and looks from Mum to me. ‘Jesse,’ he reaches for a glass of water and takes a sip, ‘we’ve decided that this month is the last. We don’t think—’

  ‘We can’t keep donating to your friend, Jesse,’ Mum interrupts.

  ‘Great, no more of this food!’ says Beth.

  ‘Beth,’ says Mum, ‘could you try to be a little more sensitive, please.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say.

  ‘Really, Jesse?’

  I nod. Poor Kelifa. Now he’s stuck with four sisters, no mother and no money. I don’t really feel hungry any longer. Dad reaches across the table and touches my arm. ‘We’re sorry, son, but with your mum having her hours cut back and excursion fees and—’

  Mum sighs. ‘If I get more work, we’ll think about it again, okay Jesse?’

  ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Kate and I were talking about taking up a collection at school, but we’ve been too busy with the whales.’

  We all concentrate on eating our yams and rice. Beth tips half the jug of gravy on her rice and spoons it through. ‘Mmm, salt and starch, what more could a young girl need,’ she winks at me, ‘other than a bucket to vo—’

  ‘Beth!’

  ‘Sorry, Mum, it’s delicious.’

  I finish my yams and rice and ask to be excused.

  ‘Of course, Jesse. Beth’s happy to stack the dishwasher tonight.’ Mum looks meaningfully at Beth.

  ‘How could I say no, after such a meal,’ answers Beth.

  In my bedroom, I sit on the floor looking up at Trevor. He appears to be offering sympathy, his arms spread wide.

  ‘Kelifa needs food, not …’ I sigh. Beth’s right. I should stop talking to myself. It’s my fault. I should never have stolen Dad’s credit card, or made my parents feel guilty, forcing them to spend more than they can afford. Some things are too big for a boy to solve. Like feeding the starving poor or stopping the Japanese killing all those whales. I close my eyes. The vision of a harpoon firing and exploding into the shiny skin of a minke whale makes me shiver. I feel like crying.

  I wonder what Kelifa does when he feels things ar
e too big for him. Does he talk to his dad? Or his sisters? He can’t sit alone in his room, because he doesn’t have a room. Maybe he has a favourite tree he sits in.

  I stand and step carefully onto my bed, reaching up to Trevor.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, averting my eyes from his gaze. With shaking hands I remove the Blu Tack from the wall, careful not to tear the poster. Maybe I can give him to the Salvos. They could put him on the wall of their shop on Beaumont Terrace. I flop down on my bed and roll the poster before putting it into the top drawer of my desk. I shape the Blu Tack into a huge ball and throw it against the wardrobe door, time and time again. Not once does it stick. I turn off the light, climb into bed and pull the sheets up high. A stream of streetlight shines on the wall where Trevor once hung.

  I whisper to myself, ‘Dear Kelifa, I hope you and your sisters don’t go hungry. I hope another family, somewhere in the world, has enough money to spare. Maybe your dad will grow a huge crop of yams. I could send you the recipe for gravy.’

  ‘Dear whales, I hope the Japanese stopping hurting you. I hope all the other countries tell them it isn’t fair to hunt you in Antarctica.’

  I sigh.

  I close my eyes.

  And fall asleep.

  29

  jesse

  ‘We should have stormed the embassy,’ says a voice from behind me.

  I’m standing at the end of the track, looking at the ‘Thought for the Day’. It reads:

  Help others, before yourself.

  Hunter steps forward and reads the sign. He spits beside his feet. ‘We should have smashed a few windows,’ he says. ‘It would have made the news and everyone would know about what they do to whales.’

  ‘Maybe if they read our leaflet, they’ll understand,’ I suggest.

  ‘Ha!’

  I don’t know how to answer that, so I shuffle my feet and try not to think of the leaflets piling up in the rubbish bin outside the embassy. Hunter and I stand together, not speaking. A storm bird starts calling from the swamp gum beside Edith. A dark cloud lurks over the trees. It’s going to rain before the bell goes for the start of class.

  ‘Ha!’ says Hunter again, before walking away.

  The first drop lands at my feet, kicking up the dirt. I start walking toward Doris. The rain begins pelting down. Hunter stops walking and looks up at the clouds. I rush past him and reach the verandah of Doris where a few parents are sheltering.

  Hunter stands in the courtyard, rain splashing on his forehead. His eyes are closed, his mouth open, drinking the rainwater. I look at the two parents beside me, hoping they’ll call out to Hunter. One mother buttons up her jacket, while the other explains that her son, Willow, shouldn’t be forced to partner just any child during sports afternoon.

  Hunter drops his bag at his feet and shakes the rainwater from his stubbly hair. Suddenly a huge clap of thunder bursts from the sky and both parents beside me jump.

  ‘What’s that boy doing?’ one mother asks.

  ‘Someone should tell him to move,’ the other replies.

  Then they go back to talking about Willow.

  I unstrap the bag from my back and toss it next to the front door of Doris.

  ‘Hunter,’ I call.

  He doesn’t answer, just leans his head back further to catch more raindrops. Lots of students are arriving at school now, their parents escorting them past Hunter. Everyone is carrying an umbrella. A man holding the hand of his young daughter stops beside Hunter and says, ‘You better get out of the rain, buddy’. Hunter ignores him and the daughter leads her father to Edith.

  The clouds rumble and in the distance, lightning graffitis the sky. Water rushes down the track. The noise on the tin roof of Doris makes it hard for me to hear what the parents are saying anymore. Probably still talking about Willow.

  I can’t stand it any longer. I rush out into the storm yelling, ‘Hunter!’

  He ignores me, his eyes still closed, his face pointing upward. Rainwater trickles down my back, making me shiver. I reach out a hand and grab Hunter’s arm. ‘Come on, Hunter,’ I say. He opens his eyes as if awakening from a dream.

  ‘The storm!’ I shout.

  ‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘it’s great, isn’t it?’ He looks at my hand locked around his arm. ‘Are you scared?’ he says.

  The thunder rumbles again, getting closer.

  ‘It’s just water,’ adds Hunter.

  The thunder claps overhead in a mighty burst. I dig my fingers into Hunter’s arm.

  ‘Hey!’ he cries out.

  I let go of his arm.

  ‘It’s only thunder,’ he says.

  My hair and clothes are soaked. I can feel my teeth shaking with the cold.

  Hunter says, ‘Were you born scared?’

  ‘Were you born stupid,’ I answer, without thinking.

  I’m expecting Hunter to jump on me and start punching, but all he does is smile.

  ‘Ha! Good answer, Bleakboy.’ He looks up to the sky. ‘It’s like having a shower outdoors!’

  I can feel the water sloshing into my Volleys. It’ll be hours before I’m dry. Sarah will call Mum and ask her to bring a change of clothes to school. Mum will miss her yoga class.

  ‘You two boys, out of the rain now!’ yells Larry, standing under Doris’s verandah.

  I turn back to Doris. Hunter doesn’t move.

  ‘What’s with you, Hunter?’ I ask.

  ‘Ha!’ he says.

  ‘That’s not an answer,’ I shout. ‘You’re just—’ I bite my tongue, afraid of saying something I’ll regret.

  ‘What, Rainman?’

  ‘You’re just trying to act tough because you’re weak!’ I swallow hard. The rain drips into my eyes and I rub it away.

  ‘What did you say?’ Hunter’s voice is quiet.

  If I repeat it, he’ll jump on me.

  The music sounds for the start of class. It’s an old disco song, a woman singing, ‘I can’t stand the rain’, over and over. I can’t help but laugh.

  Hunter opens his mouth to catch the raindrops again. He looks up once more to the sky and starts moving in time with the music: a rain dance!

  Larry steps into Doris and grabs an umbrella, opens it under the verandah and starts walking toward us. Hunter sees him, picks up his bag and starts walking away toward Arnold. I scurry to the shelter of Doris. Larry follows Hunter until they’re both out of the downpour. I’m too far away to hear what Larry is saying but Hunter appears to be listening. The rainwater drips from my clothes and makes a puddle at my feet. I’m shivering, but not from the cold. I’ve never said anything like that to another person. I’m not sure if I should apologise. Or should I be proud of myself for fighting back?

  One of the mothers looks at me and says, ‘You should get a towel and dry your hair’.

  30

  jesse

  I finish my vegemite sandwich, toss the wrapping paper into the bin and trudge to Arnold. Sarah is waiting in our room, sitting at her desk and writing in a notebook. I knock. She beckons me inside.

  I sit on my chair and sigh.

  Sarah attempts a smile. ‘Two detentions in a term. Not a good start, Jesse.’

  Detention. For getting soaked to the skin trying to save my worst enemy. According to Larry it’s ‘for putting yourself in danger’. It’s Larry who’s putting me in danger, leaving me in detention with Hunter!

  As if on cue, Hunter walks into the room without knocking. He shuffles to his chair near the window, flops down and stares outside toward freedom.

  Sarah checks her watch. ‘Hunter, good of you to join us.’

  Hunter doesn’t answer.

  Sarah closes her notebook and stands. ‘I trust I can leave you two together while I go to Doris.’

  I raise my hand.

  ‘Yes, Jesse?’

  ‘May I g
et a book?’

  Sarah points to the bookcase along the side wall. She looks meaningfully at Hunter. ‘Please don’t make me have to return early.’ She closes the door and walks along the verandah.

  I glance toward Hunter. He’s still staring out the window. I get up from my chair and walk to the bookcase. I don’t really want to read, but if I have my head buried in a book maybe Hunter will ignore me. As if a book can save me. Standing close to the bookshelf, I close my eyes and reach out. Wherever my hand lands, I’ll read that book. I open my eyes. A novel titled Stormchaser. Without thinking, I laugh, remembering why Hunter and I are on detention. The perfect book!

  ‘What’s so funny, Badboy?’ says Hunter.

  ‘Nothing,’ I say. I should have remembered where I was. I take the book back to my chair and open it, pretending to read. Hunter gets up and walks toward the front of the room. I slink down further in my chair. He casually picks up a marker and stands in front of the whiteboard. He starts writing, in a clear large text:

  STEALING

  TRIPPING KENDRICK NORRIS

  THREATENING TO PUNCH HARRY WILSON-HOLMES

  Hunter steps back from the whiteboard, considering what he’s written.

  ‘What … What are you doing?’ I ask.

  ‘What does it look like?’ Hunter turns to face me, looking at the book in my hands. ‘It’s better than reading,’ he says.

  ‘I mean, what are you writing?’

  ‘Words,’ he says.

  We both smile. I can’t help myself. ‘Very funny,’ I decide to risk it, ‘Jokeboy!’

  Hunter laughs, pointing his finger at me, as if he were firing a gun. I duck, dropping my book on the floor. Hunter walks toward me and leans down to pick up the book. He carries it back to the shelf. He adopts the voice of a teacher, ‘Now Jesse, the book will remain here until you learn how to treat school property properly!’

  He repeats, ‘Property properly!’