Dreamrider (13 page)

Dad nodded. His body shuddered slightly, as if he was mentally pulling himself together. His shoulders straightened.

‘I know you do, Son,' he said. ‘I know you do.' He tried to smile at me, but it came out wrong – weak and helpless. ‘And maybe I'll think about the moving thing a bit longer. Sometimes I get so tired of it all. I just . . . I don't know. I just want a place where I can be . . . at peace. Do you know what I mean? A place where I fit. I haven't found it yet. Maybe it's time to stop searching.'

He stood and moved towards the door. His walk was painful, almost a shuffle. A long way from the balance on the toes, the skipping and dancing.

‘Dad?' I said. He turned.

‘I know it's difficult to hit a moving target, Dad. It's in the legs and in the eyes. But sometimes it's easier to just take the punch and get on with it.'

He stood for a long moment, then laughed. He straightened and laughed and angled his head to one side.

‘And when did you get so smart, eh, Michael?' he said. ‘Who gave you permission to grow up?'

I shrugged. He took a step back into the room.

‘You know, it's the strangest thing,' he said. ‘I came in here to yell at you. Right up to the moment I saw you lying in bed I was going to give you heaps. It stinks of cigarettes in the kitchen. You can't even be bothered to smoke outside, where I can't smell it. And there's money missing from the pot. You tried to cover it up, but you can't fool me. Spent on cigarettes, of course.'

I opened my mouth, but he raised his hand.

‘Let me finish,' he continued. ‘It's important. When I saw you lying there, I saw your mother. Something in your mouth, the expression in your eyes. And I thought that if you're smoking – and stealing money to do it – well, that's partly my fault, isn't it? I've been a crap father, Michael. I haven't paid enough attention. You're overweight because you're unhappy. Smoking and pinching money. Maybe I should stop shifting the blame. That's all I wanted to say. Get some sleep now. Goodnight, Son.'

‘Goodnight, Dad.'

He had almost closed the door before he stuck his head back in.

‘But cut out the smoking, okay? It stunts your growth. So will stealing, if I catch you at it again.'

The light from the corridor snapped off as the door closed and the darkness pressed upon me. Too many things to think about. I didn't know if I would ever get to sleep. I turned on my light. Reading helped sometimes. So I got the book out of my bedside drawer. The print was small and that would probably help. Tire me out. Within fifteen minutes I wouldn't be able to keep my eyes open. Maybe.

One of the things Dad had tried after Mum died was religion. He'd been right into it for a month or so. Then he wasn't. Maybe it was because it didn't pack the immediate punch of alcohol. I don't know. But for that month we'd gone to church. I went to Sunday school. And I liked it. No one bullied me there, for one thing. Then one day we simply didn't go. I'd got dressed in my good clothes and everything, but Dad was face down on the kitchen table, bottles all around.

I missed going to church. It had felt safe there. But I still had the Bible they'd given me. I dipped into it occasionally. It gave me comfort, though I never talked to anyone about it. It was something I wanted to keep to myself. Sometimes I felt it was telling me stuff, for my ears only.

1
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My chest heaved. I sat upright in bed and stared, unseeing, into the darkness. Blood was thunder in my ears, sweat clammy on my face. I took deep, gulping breaths. So close this time. One hand brushing the glass before the explosion of colour brought me back to this, the grainy blackness and the pulse of sound.

It took a few moments before I realised the pulse was outside the room. As my heartbeat slowed, I was able to focus on the sound. A double blurt. Rhythmical. I swung my legs out of bed and glanced at the green digits of the clock. Six-thirty. Who'd be ringing at this time? I felt around and grabbed the first thing I could find on the floor. The silk of the boxing shorts was smooth against my skin. I stumbled getting into them. By the time I got to the phone, I thought the whole neighbourhood would have woken.

‘Hello?'

‘I'm outside, Michael.'

‘Leah?' I cupped my hand over the receiver. ‘What are you talking about? Do you know what time it is?'

‘Come outside. Now. I've got something to show you.' She hung up.

I was still dizzy from sleep. I should have realised what this meant, but I didn't. I crept back to my bedroom, found another pair of shorts and a dark T-shirt. When I pulled the curtains back, dawn was a bloodstain on the sky. I tried to spot Leah, but there were too many shadows. I eased my bedroom door shut. One hinge had a habit of squeaking. I went down the corridor to the kitchen door. It was quieter than the front door, though it still grated when I pulled it open. I stopped and listened. Nothing except the sound of my own breathing.

Leah was behind a palm tree. She looked at me, serious.

‘Leah, what the . . .'

She ducked down behind the tree. When she appeared again, she had Scamp in her arms. He wriggled. She put her mouth close to his ear.

‘Do you want to see Michael, Scamp? Do you?'

And he could. I took him from Leah's arms and he looked up at me and his eyes were bright and clear and shining. He licked my hand. I felt something tightening in my chest. There were tears in Leah's eyes.

‘Do you know what this means, Michael?' she whispered. ‘Have you any idea?'

I held up my hand. There was a sound of a toilet flushing in the house. I could see a dim light in the bathroom.

‘You'd better go, Leah,' I said. ‘I have to go in. I'll talk to you at school.'

I didn't wait for a reply. As I bundled Scamp into her arms, I was already moving back towards the kitchen.

I'd found Scamp curled at the foot of Leah's bed. I hadn't woken her. I'd wanted to concentrate on one thing only. Scamp had woken, though. He'd jumped up on his stubby legs, tail windmilling. I'd sat on the edge of the bed and he'd leapt into my lap, twisting onto his back. I'd rubbed his hairless belly, my nerves tingling. Before, this had all been a game. Now there was something – everything – at stake. I'd turned him over and he'd looked up at me, his eyes cloudy. I'd put my hands on his head.

I'd been able to sense the milky film of blindness, and the clear, healthy jelly beneath. I'd placed one hand over his eyes. Scamp had kept still, as if he'd known what I was doing. I'd gathered the thin film into my hand, and drawn it like ink into blotting paper. It was easy. When I'd taken my hand away, there were two distorted reflections of the window in his eyes. I'd known they would be deep brown, almost black. Scamp had shaken his head. I'd watched his pupils dilate.

I sat at the kitchen table and put my head into my hands. Images spun and thoughts jumbled. I didn't even hear the kitchen door when it opened. I jumped when Mary put her hand on my shoulder.

‘Are you all right, Michael?' she said. ‘You look like you've seen a ghost.'

I pinched myself hard on the fleshy part of my forearm. In the early days that would wake me if I was in the Dream, though for the last year or so I could do that and still stay asleep. So I checked for differences as well. I didn't want to suddenly find myself in bed. I needed this to be real.

‘I'm fine, Mary,' I said. ‘Just tired, I guess. I had a restless night.'

‘Did I hear the phone?'

‘Wrong number.'

Mary took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her bag. I hardly noticed. But my words were automatic.

‘You'd better smoke outside. Dad'll go nuts.'

‘Okay, sweetie. Get some breakfast. Are you sure you're well enough for school? You can always ring in sick, you know.'

‘I'm fine,' I said. ‘I wouldn't miss school for the world.'

Nobody bothered me on the bus. I had calmed down a little, but I still needed space to think. It would take time before it all sank in. Kids got on. I heard the chatter all around – films that had been watched, students who would get bashed if they weren't careful, homework that wasn't done or done badly. Noise washed over me, but it was from a world I'd outgrown. It wouldn't have bothered me if Martin Leechy had got on. There was no reason to be scared of him anymore. But he didn't get on. Neither did Leah. I sat alone at the front of the bus. Kids stood all along the aisle. No one wanted to take the empty space next to me. It didn't matter.

I looked for Leah in the schoolyard. She would want to talk. But she was nowhere to be seen. The sun was building strength. Even at eight in the morning it was hot. I stood alone in the centre of the yard. The shaded areas were thick with kids. My face prickled with sweat, but I shivered.

The bell rang and I joined the swarm towards Home Groups. I reached the first floor and Martin Leechy fell in beside me. I carried on walking, but he grabbed my arm.

‘What's your hurry, Michael?' he said.

I stopped and faced him. I waited until the other kids had disappeared. We were alone in the corridor. I looked into his brown eyes. I'd never seen fear in them before. I'd never seen anything in them except ice. But I would. I made myself a promise.

‘Never in too much of a hurry for you, Martin,' I replied, smiling. ‘How can I be of assistance?'

There was the faintest flash of irritation and then his eyes were blank again. Even so, I felt a cold joy that I had touched him. The muscles of his mouth tensed for a moment and then relaxed into a smile.

‘Feeling good today, are we, Michael? Excellent. I'm glad to hear it. I don't suppose there's any chance of a chat at recess, is there? I mean, I know a popular guy like you won't have too many gaps in your social calendar, but I would be grateful for a word.'

I patted him on the shoulder.

‘Consider it done, Martin,' I said. ‘Recess. On the oval. Looking forward to it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get to Home Group. Catch you later.'

I walked off and it felt good. I didn't turn around. I didn't feel the need.

I opened the door of A15 and walked in. The sun slanted through windows and I felt the warmth, the cosiness of the room. Happiness should exist here. Students sat in small groups, but Leah was not among them. Mr Atkins was behind his desk, marking the roll. His glasses had slipped down his nose and he was peering over them, his brow rumpled. I walked up to him.

‘Ah, Michael,' he said. ‘Good to see you, young man.'

‘And you, Sir.'

‘Draw up a pew, Mr Terny. Home Group is the ideal time to make contact, touch minds, chew the proverbial fat. Park yourself, young man, and let's communicate.'

I pulled up a chair. I wanted to see what was in Mr Atkins's eyes. I expected joy, peace, calmness. But instead there was worry. Worry and a touch of fear. That was strange. That wasn't right. I made up my mind to find out why.

Mr Atkins examined me for a while. He took off his glasses and chewed the ends.

‘Is that a bruise on your cheek, Michael? It seems a bit red.'

I touched my cheek. It felt slightly tender. That was interesting. Something else to think about.

‘Walked into a door, Sir,' I said.

‘Ah, a door,' he said. ‘You don't make a habit of that, by any chance?'

‘No, Sir.'

‘I'm relieved to hear it.' He paused. ‘I heard about Maths class yesterday, Michael. Do you want to talk about it?' I liked the way his words changed. I knew he was concerned, of course. But I liked how he could switch from dazzling words to simple language. It made me feel I was important.

‘I messed up, Mr Atkins. It won't happen again.'

He nodded, but my words didn't seem to help. He glanced down at his roll. I was surprised. He didn't normally break eye contact. There was something really bothering him.

‘And what about other things, Michael? Miss Palmer had a word with me yesterday. Are you feeling fine? Anything on your mind?'

‘Plenty on my mind, sir. But it's all good. I'm feeling great. Seriously. Never better.'

Mr Atkins kept his head down. I sensed he was wrestling with something. As if he wanted to say more, but couldn't find the right words. It was difficult to believe Mr Atkins would ever have that problem. Then he lifted his head as if he had made a decision. He snapped his glasses back on and the eyes were smiling again. At least they were smiling on the surface.

‘I confess that you exude an air of the up-beat, Michael, and that is, without doubt, cause for rejoicing. Now,
carpe diem
has always struck me as an admirable philosophy. What is your take on that?'

‘Sir?'

‘Seize the day, my boy. I recollect that yesterday you said you intended to grace the Year 10 Social with your presence. I trust you haven't changed your mind?'