Burning Boy (Penguin Award Winning Classics), The (22 page)

It's a well-shaped head, if you believe in heads, Norma thought. She did not. Appearances almost always cheated. The advantage, the yard start, given by good looks was something she had learned to take away in the final assessment, and she did sums for the ill-favoured too. The acne scars on Neil Chote's neck were not evidence (any more than Mr Stanley's ears).

The other man, Cater-Phillips, had needed no scaling up or down. He had ordinary looks of the manly sort. The snake-entwined broadsword tattooed on his forearm was pleasing or deplorable, according to taste. He had left the dock grinning at his sentence. That was prescribed, Norma thought. But the way his eyes blinked was all his own. She wondered if he would cry back in his cell. She could picture him doing that more easily than half-throttling her father with his stick.

Neil Chote would not cry. The policemen were quick to his side, but she had no sense of danger, not of the usual sort. He was like, she thought, searching for something outlandish enough, a piece of anti-matter, burning what it touched by a natural law. There's nothing in him that can change because there's nothing in him. Ordinary questions – where had he come from? where was he going? – did not apply. And punishment, correction? She blinked like Cater-Phillips. Neil Chote would do his time as easily as other people walked across a room, and nothing would change. He was – she turned the word over, knew it right – incorruptible.

Norma went out as the next case was called. A man walked down the steps ahead of her. ‘Mr Birtles,' she said; and when he turned, ‘Thank you for your letter.'

‘That's all right. Least I could do.'

‘It was good of you all the same.'

‘I wasn't trying to be good.'

‘No. I realize.'

‘If Shelley had kept her mouth shut they wouldn't have gone there, that's all I mean. We did it, so we're sorry.'

‘ “We” seems going a bit too far.'

‘Well lady, you haven't got any kids.'

‘No, I haven't. But I don't hold you responsible. Or Shelley either, beyond a certain point.'

‘Thanks.' A bitter edge to that.

She tried to explain what she meant. ‘After seeing that boy, Neil Chote …'

‘Yeah, he's something.'

‘I don't think that Shelley … When does her case come up?'

‘Tomorrow. Do us a favour, eh?'

‘Of course.'

‘Don't come. Yeah,' he stopped her, ‘I know your father's dead. I know all that. But this is …' She saw his struggle. ‘It's different now.'

It had to do, he meant, with his love for Shelley and her survival and Norma Sangster had no part in that.

‘Yes, all right. Mr Birtles, what you said about Hayley, I accept that.'

‘Yeah. Good.'

‘How is she taking it?'

‘She's OK. Hayley's got her head screwed on.'

‘And – Shelley? How is she?'

He turned away, looked across the car park. After a moment said, ‘She's a job. I don't know if Shelley's going to make it.' He walked across the asphalt and got into his car. It came by her as she unlocked her own. She saw the care he drove with, as though each move were something he must practise or forget.

She closed her car again and walked by the river. Water, willows, salt-smell from the harbour, toi-toi flags shifting in a breeze: that loveliness should be medicinal if taken in sufficient quantity.

She walked along the path from bridge to bridge. She set herself to notice actively: the breeze, the flow. But all the way Shelley and Mr Birtles followed behind. Whenever she stopped trying, there they were.

‘Oh please,' she whispered.

She would hate them if they did not go away.

Women like that made him angry, they could never let their minds be still but always had to shift to some new place; sliding out of the way all the time, using words like bloody roller-skates. They hid behind their good looks and saw things from one step further back where they were safe. He didn't believe they had the same feelings as everyone else or lived the same way; sat fagging at a table with curlers in their hair. You'd almost think they didn't piss or shit. She reminded him of Maggie Thatcher; covered in vinyl. Stand her in a corner at night and wipe her down with an oily rag.

My girls are real, Ken Birtles thought.

As he drove beside the drainage ditch he saw Hayley riding towards him. She had her arms folded and was pedalling easily, with the bike running a line so straight she could have been on top of a brick wall and not fallen off. He honked his horn and stopped and she put her hands on the handlebars, made a sweeping turn, and drew up by his window.

‘I thought I asked you to stay home, Hayley.'

‘I got sick of it. They're OK. Shell's got Mum doing exercises.'

‘No kidding?'

‘Sure. Jazzercise or something. On TV. I'm going down the park with Jen and Vicky.'

‘Well don't be late. Be back for lunch.'

‘What did he get?'

‘Two years.'

‘Is that all?'

‘Two years is pretty long.'

‘He's going to be out before Shell's twenty-one. If he comes back here I'll buy a gun and shoot him.'

‘How would you feel,' he swallowed, ‘if we got out of here ourselves?'

‘Out of Saxton?'

‘Australia say? Started again? You and me and Shell and Mum?'

‘I don't want to leave Saxton.'

‘It's just an idea. You think about it, eh?' He saw her glove in the tomato-box latched on her bike. ‘You could be an Aussie rep. Bigger than New Zealand.'

‘Not as good. We can beat them any time.'

‘Think about it. We'll probably stay.'

He watched her ride, arms folded again, in his rear-vision mirror; thought of a new country, Shelley winning races, Hayley pitching no-hit games, Joanie well again, everyone happy. That still left Wayne dead, but Wayne was dead. All the rest was possible. Jobs weren't hard to get there, not as hard, the money was better, houses weren't too dear. Beth had told him all this, selling Melbourne, wanting her sister. The weather was good, though it couldn't be any better than Saxton. And it needn't be a city, a smaller place, some country town with beaches and farms, would be the thing. He saw Hayley and Shelley running down the yellow sand and diving into waves as tall as houses and coming up on the other side, sparkling and streaming and alive. ‘And no bloody sharks,' he said, fear jolting him.

Fear lived with him all the time. It followed after every hope he had. There was a biting in his chest, he felt as if an animal was there, with teeth hooked in, and tearing it away would leave a hole filled up with blood.

As he came into the kitchen he heard that soft, sexy American voice, ‘Come on, you can do it, one more time, don't forget to breathe. That's good, hands on hips –' and the music that wouldn't leave you alone. The girls with impossible legs and haunches like elongated hams were prancing and folding on the screen; exercises that should split their sinews; beautiful timing though, he had to admit. Shelley, barefooted on the carpet, was just as good. She could do anything those girls could. He watched her – shorts and T-shirt, bandaged wrist, hair that bounced like in the TV ads, even though she had it shaved at the sides in the ugly way girls went for now. He felt the fear come up and choke him.

‘Mum?' he asked when she saw him. Without losing rhythm she pointed at the bedroom and he went in and found Joanie lying on the bed.

‘Hayley said you were doing exercises.'

She put a hand over her eyes. It was as if people glowed and the light hurt her. ‘I stopped.'

‘Like a cup of tea?'

‘I'll make it, Ken. I'll just have a little rest.'

He went to the kitchen and put the kettle on. ‘Tea, Shell?'

‘Thanks.' Then she darted at the set and switched it off. ‘Jesus, I forgot him. What did he get?'

‘Two years.' He went back and laid out mugs and sugar and milk. She sat at the table.

‘It won't make any difference to Neil. Two years is nothing.'

‘Two years ago you were at school, winning races.'

It was a dangerous thing to say but instead of flaring up she slumped at the table, drooping her head. He could not bear the naked bending of her neck. ‘Shell, he's out of the way. You can get him out of your system. You've got time.'

‘How long did Steve get?'

‘Two. The same.'

‘I'll go to prison as well.'

‘Not if the lawyer handles it right.'

‘I told Neil where the money was. I waited in the car while they went in.'

‘Only because he beat you up.'

‘He beat me up because that's what he likes. I went to see him, Dad, I didn't have to, that's what they'll say.'

‘Why did you, Shell?'

‘To see – I don't know – to see if I could get away. But I couldn't. I started telling about the money to make him notice me. And I got scared, so I stopped. Then he made me tell.'

‘Can you this time? Get away?'

‘I don't know. I think – dunno. I've got to go to prison, Dad. Maybe that'll be the end of it.' A careless note had come into her voice. She was not facing it any more. He gave her a mug of tea and took one to Joanie; propped her up with pillows, put the mug in her hand.

‘My cigarettes, Ken?'

He brought them from the sitting-room and put an ashtray on the bed beside her.

‘What time is it?'

‘Half past eleven.'

‘I'll make you some lunch soon. I hope I remembered to buy eggs.'

‘There's plenty of everything, Joanie. I want you to have a shower after lunch. Shelley will help. You've got your clinic this afternoon.'

‘I don't think I'll go today.'

‘You've got to go. We can't go to Australia if you don't get well.'

‘Australia?'

‘See Beth. Drink your tea, love.'

Shelley had left hers half-drunk and gone to the bathroom. He heard the pipes come alive as the shower went on and took it as a good sign that she didn't sit around. She'd quit her job on the fish-chain, though she could have taken sick-leave with her wrist. It troubled him less than it might have because he wanted better than packing fish for Shell. She had wanted to be a physical education teacher once, before Neil Chote. She could never be a teacher now, with a conviction, but there had to be work somewhere that would make her happy with herself. After prison. The pain he felt made him cry out. Two years ago their lives were right. He remembered being happy. Now it had come apart, everything was broken and he did not know what to do.

In the afternoon Hayley rode into town and looked for clothes she'd like to buy. She didn't need new gear but it was something to do. A couple of times it would have been easy to walk out with stuff, but that was all they needed, two Birtleses up in court. The power other people had to put Shelley in a van and drive her away and lock her up made a sort of ringing in her head. Her mouth kept turning dry and she had to swallow.

In Calamity Jane, Miss Duff came out of a fitting-room holding a pair of jeans and making a face. ‘I swim in them. Hallo, Hayley. Everything's baggy on me.'

‘Those are supposed to be baggy, Miss Duff.'

‘Are they? Well I don't like it. You're lucky having a figure that fills things out.' She picked up a blouse.

‘You've got the best figure. Models are supposed to be thin.' It made Hayley excited knowing they'd both been in bed with Lex. She wondered which one he had liked best and grinned when she thought of comparing notes. She didn't mind Duffie having him too.

Miss Duff frowned at her. ‘Yes, I would look stupid.'

‘I wasn't laughing at that.' She took the blouse and held it up to Miss Duff's shoulders. ‘That colour's good on you.'

‘You think so?'

‘Makes you look kinda, I don't know, like you slink around at night. Kinda sexy.'

‘That's exactly the impression I like to give.'

Why were teachers scared of coming straight out with stuff? Miss Duff knew all about sex so why get sarky? ‘I gotta go. Got some shopping to do.'

‘You think I should try this on?'

‘Sure, Miss Duff. I bet Mr Clearwater would like it.'

She rode across the car park and looked at videos in Video World. Teachers were everywhere today. There was Mrs Sangster in the section where the foreign films were kept. She'd do better getting out something like
The Rocky Horror Show
, she looked as if she could do with a laugh. Hayley kept behind the shelves and slipped out the door.

Saxton was too small. Everywhere you went there were people you knew. It might be good living in a place as big as Melbourne.

Space World was full of third-formers, and no chance of getting a game. Anyway, she was sick of games, they just went on and on, the same thing repeating itself. In softball every batter was new, you had to figure her out and pitch a different sort of ball. She decided to go home and practise; but stopped on her way to the door and stood in the crowd watching Duncan Round on ‘1942'. The lights on his face made him look like something from Elm Street. There was nothing wrong with the way he played though. Planes were coming at him from every direction but he picked them off like dabbing up breadcrumbs from a table. Suddenly he said, ‘I'm finished, who wants it?' and a kid quicker than the rest was at the controls; and was done for straight away, explosions zapping his planes off everywhere. Hayley laughed. She followed Duncan outside.

‘Why didn't you finish?'

‘Gets boring. That's Wayne's bike.'

‘So?' She felt as if he'd said something insulting.

‘Is that his safety chain?'

‘What if it is?'

‘Six three one.' He grinned – she supposed the showing of his teeth was a grin – and walked away.

She unlocked the bike (631) and wheeled it up the footpath, keeping behind him. So he had a good memory, what did that prove? And who gave him permission to talk about Wayne? She speeded up and got beside him.

‘You shut up about Wayne.'

‘Why?'

‘He was my brother, that's why.'

‘What harm does it do, talking about him?'

Donna Gethin and two of her friends went by.

‘Who's your boyfriend, Hayley?'

‘He's real neat-looking, Hayley.'

‘Dumb bitches,' Hayley said.

‘You don't have to walk with me, I don't care,' Duncan said.

‘I wasn't walking with you. But I will if I want to. Anyway, I've got to go. Just shut up about Wayne.'

‘OK, if that's what you want.'

‘My family's got enough trouble.'

Riding home, she saw Gary Baxter outside the dairy. He had his arm in plaster. She did a loop in the road and went by him a second time. ‘Did you hurt your arm, Ga-ary?

‘Did you do it combing your pretty hair, Ga-ary?'

She went round a corner and rode on, feeling good. His Escort came up behind her but she turned onto the footpath, gave him the fingers, turned down a right-of-way and crossed the footbridge over the drainage ditch. Shelley was walking back from the supermarket with a bag of groceries. Hayley got off and walked beside her.

‘Put them in my carrier, Shell.'

‘They're not heavy.'

‘I just saw Gary Baxter. I bust his arm.'

‘What? When?'

‘That day he tried to get me to take on his friends. I chucked a rock at him. He's in plaster. I didn't know.'

Shelley turned her face away.

‘What's the matter, Shell?'

‘Jesus,' Shelley said. She was crying.

‘Hey Shell, I didn't mean to upset you.'

Shelley kept on crying silently. Hayley tried going round to see her face from the other side, but Shelley turned her head. Tears
made her cheeks shine and she wiped them with the bandage on her wrist.

‘Shell? Is it going to court?'

‘It's everything. You and Mum and Dad. Everything.'

‘Why me? I'm all right.'

‘You're doing the same I did. With Gary Baxter.'

‘No I'm not. I bust his arm.'

‘You know what I mean. Going with creeps. Are you still pinching from shops?'

‘I haven't done that for ages.'

Shelley put down the bag of groceries. She took out her handkerchief and blew her nose. Hayley picked up the bag and fitted it into her carrier box. ‘You want to ride the bike, Shell?'

‘I'm all right.'

‘Has Dad told you about Aussie? That would be real neat, eh?'

‘It doesn't make any difference where we are. Mum's not going to get better, she'll get worse.'

‘Being with Auntie Beth could make her better.'

‘Maybe.'

‘And Neil Chote couldn't find you there.'

‘There's other blokes like Neil. Neil's sort of blokes are everywhere.'

‘You don't have to go with them.' She tried a joke. ‘You have to bust their arms like I bust Gary's.'

Shelley gave a laugh. After a while she said, ‘That old man with the stick is dead.'

‘He was real old though. He had to die some time. It's funny him being Singsong's father. Hey Shell, you didn't do it, it's not your fault.'

‘Neil tipped sugar and flour and stuff all over the old lady.'

That seemed horrible to Hayley too. ‘Neil's round the twist. But you're not, Shell. We're not, eh? If Neil comes after you I'm going to shoot him.'

‘Great, then we'll both be in prison. I'm going to cook a real good feed tonight, get ready for bread and water, eh?'