The Never Boys Page 12

  All day he’d felt something special was going to happen. They’d spent hours together, laughing and joking away the stress while preparing for this party. A secret glance here, a brush of a hand there — all hints to affection deeper than friendship. That was why he was finally going to ask her out — tonight.

  He wasn’t taking any chances, either. Earlier, with a mat of men’s magazines across the bathroom floor and the stereo blasting, he’d preened the right look: expensive cologne, baby boy curls, beaded necklace, mouthwash, breath freshener, zit cream, crisp shirt, light jacket, Calvin Kleins, dressy pants and immaculate shoes. Zara wolf-whistled the moment she saw his transformation. ‘Girls will be fighting all night to dance with you.’

  Splitting open the ice bag and tipping it into an Esky, he was mobbed by a couple of his old rousie mates. They were keen to learn about his new life at Michelangelo’s. What did he do? (Pick grapes. Rewire trellises. Work in the tasting room. Pack orders. Stocktake. Help the chief winemaker.) Was it hard? (Any job that got in the way of the weekend was hard.) Was it better than working as a rousie? (Look fellas, no black fingernails.) Were there any hot chicks there? (Plenty. But they only liked guys with class.) That riled them with a dozen comebacks and an equal number of laughs. He slapped them on the shoulder and went back to the kitchen. But Zara was gone.

  He tried the shed, again without success, then the front gates. A knot of shearers caught his eye first. The three men were watching a leaving car. ‘What’s going on, guys?’

  Tonkin looked round at the others then said matter-of-factly, ‘Hayden was just here.’

  Dean stiffened. ‘What did he want?’

  ‘To gatecrash your party. We told him that wasn’t a good idea.’

  A bloodrush of fear and hate returned, but he was safe. Ever since the brawl, the young shearer had been banned from the Kaeslers’. Zara refused even to talk to him. She’d seen the bruises on Dean’s chest, lips and face. No way was that just boys being boys.

  ‘Appreciate it,’ he answered.

  A light came from the stables, so he searched there next.

  He stopped as soon as he heard a girl’s voice. It was Michelle’s. She was brushing Jiffy’s flanks in long firm strokes that caused his skin to snap back with each pass. Unaware she had company, she kissed the old horse on the nose, then turned her own cheek and waited for a whiskery reply. Jiffy swung his head, obviously having played this game before, but missed when she deliberately took a step back. With a hot bruff, he moved forward and planted one on her laughing cheek.

  ‘Who’s your date?’

  Michelle started. ‘Dean! How long have you been there?’

  ‘Long enough for the engagement!’

  The brush hurtled at his spine as she chased him round the feeding area. He was spared a shovel of manure when he surrendered by the pepper trees.

  ‘You win! You win!’

  ‘Not yet,’ she sang, menacing him with the raised shovel. She jabbed it at him one more time, then put it away and returned to Jiffy. The sorrel horse drank from the long trough. ‘At least you get kissed,’ she said, patting him. ‘Unlike some guys I know.’

  Dean grinned. How little did she know.

  ‘Hey, have you seen Zar?’

  ‘Not for the last hour. Why?’

  ‘No reason. I just wanted to see how she’s going.’

  Satisfied, Jiffy sauntered away. Dean figured he should keep moving too. ‘Hey,’ he added. ‘Where are the rest of your horses?’

  Michelle stopped as she was about to grab the brush, before heading towards the stables proper. ‘We had to sell them.’

  ‘Why? What happened?’

  ‘They became too expensive.’

  She didn’t elaborate and he didn’t push. Stretched between the doorway, he watched as Michelle curved her thumb over the pommel of the last saddle.

  ‘Hey, what do you say?’ he said. ‘When you’re finished here, we’ll take a sneak look at the General’s birthday cake? It’s not as good as lemon and mango gelati but I reckon it’d be a close second.’

  ‘What flavour is it?’ she asked, stepping away.

  ‘Chocolate.’

  ‘I’m there.’

  He continued his search and didn’t have to look far. Zara found him by the creek bridge.

  ‘Quick!’ she said, grabbing his arm.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Mrs Fletcher. First it was the food, then the ice, then the chicken wings. Now the music’s too loud. I swear, she’s stalking me.’

  ‘How about if we hide up there?’

  ‘Yes. Anything! Before she catches us.’

  They climbed the large water tank and sat scouting the party. Even from this height they could hear the band and the high-pitched laughing.

  ‘So are the rumours true? The General’s finally agreed to take you on a holiday?’

  ‘Some holiday,’ Zara groaned.

  ‘I thought you’d be excited.’

  ‘Uluru, Alice Springs, Darwin, then Broome for four weeks? Boring. I’ve seen them on TV a million times before.’

  ‘Where did you want to go?’

  ‘Portugal. Germany. Russia. Anywhere but Australia.’

  A balloon burst with screams outside the shed.

  He stretched nervously. ‘Zara —?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘We’re good friends, aren’t we?’

  ‘The best.’

  ‘I can talk to you about anything, right?’

  ‘Yeah. Sure.’

  A deep breath.

  ‘I’ve been thinking — y’know — about my two months here and how much fun they’ve been. A lot of that fun’s been with you. I was wondering — er, well I kinda want to know if —’

  She placed her hand on his knee. The touch was reassuring; even calming. ‘Hold that thought for a sec,’ she said. Then, standing, she yelled, ‘Hey! Up here! — No, wait. I’ll come down!’

  Bewildered, Dean watched as she abandoned him for a group of friends who had just arrived. She ran down the hill, hugged her mates, then gasped as a straggler stepped forward. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Meeting all my new neighbours,’ the guy in green answered.

  ‘You’re kidding!’

  ‘Nope. Mum couldn’t stand the cold any more, so she asked for a transfer back here.’

  ‘That’s fantastic!’

  She almost leapt on the boy to hug him. She rocked him side-to-side until another friend joked that she was crushing him.

  ‘Dean! Dean! Come here. I want you to meet a friend of mine — Dean, this is Stephen.’

  The two boys squeezed hands, offered curt hellos.

  ‘We used to go to school together,’ Stephen explained.

  ‘Rouseabout and cellar hand,’ he answered.

  Zara pushed back her hair, suddenly flustered. ‘Tell me you’re staying for the party.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be anywhere else,’ Stephen said.

  ‘Come with me. I’ve got to show everyone you’re back.’

  ‘Actually,’ he resisted, ‘we wanted to know if you’re interested in joining us for a bit of herbal remedy.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yeah, now.’

  ‘Who’s going?’

  ‘We all are.’

  ‘Mum’ll get suspicious if we head to the ruins while the party’s on.’

  ‘That’s the thing. We were hoping we could use the shearers’ quarters?’ His voice rose towards the end; a half-hearted attempt to make an assumption sound like a question.

  ‘Sure. Why not. You cool with that, Dean?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘It’ll only be for a little while. We’ll stay in the kitchen.’

  ‘Closer to the munchies,’ another friend quipped.

  Dean glanced at Stephen, then Zara, who smiled with please-don’t-embarrass-me eyes.

  ‘Yeah — sure.’

  ‘All right.’

  The group laughed, then started for the creek. Zara paused
when she realised that Dean wasn’t following. ‘C’mon.’

  He glanced at her, hoping she’d stay with him. ‘Maybe next time.’

  ‘See you a bit later then, okay?’

  Gaze grounded, he nodded, already forgotten as they headed for the quarters. A snort of wind pushed him back to the shed. Nerd. Freak. Geek. He could still hear the echoes of his own school mates.

  ‘Was that Stephen Dyson with Zara?’ Michelle asked, intercepting him. She’d come to check out the birthday cake no doubt.

  ‘Yeah. It was.’

  ‘Where are they going?’

  ‘To smoke a joint. You can still catch them if you want.’

  Her tone softened. ‘Are — Are you going?’

  ‘No, I’m four equal sides.’

  ‘Four —?’

  ‘Square. I’m square.’

  Even when the band stopped for a break, Dean didn’t move. He stayed fast to the shed wall, greased over by the stares of passing guests. His imagination was red-hot about what Zara and her new best friend Stephen Dyson were doing up in his quarters. That hug was more than a welcome home.

  ‘This cake — it’s delicious.’

  Maybe they were just getting stoned.

  ‘You sure you don’t want any? There are only a few pieces left. I can get you a plate.’

  And maybe they were just friends.

  ‘Everyone loves the cherries.’

  Just friends like Zara and himself, right?

  ‘And the rat poison. Yummo. It gives the cake that extra bit of flavour.’

  He breathed. ‘We couldn’t find the arsenic,’ he said, weary of Michelle’s pestering.

  ‘Hey, he talks!’

  ‘Michelle, please —’

  ‘C’mon, Dean, it’s a party. Enjoy yourself. Don’t stand around here all night. Let’s dance —’

  ‘I don’t want to dance.’

  ‘Then talk to your friends. Everyone’s asking if you’re all right —’

  ‘I’m tired, that’s all.’

  ‘Why don’t you go to bed, then?’

  ‘Ask Stephen Dyson.’

  Shifting against the wall, he fell silent again and watched a group of girls dancing together. Every single one of them was gorgeous. But none of them attracted him. He wanted Zara. If only they hadn’t been interrupted.

  A humming grew louder beside him. Sucking on forkfuls of chocolate cake, Michelle was dancing on the spot while singing along to the stereo. Why was she still bugging him? Either she had no friends at the party or worse — she was trying to cheer him up. He didn’t brush her off, though. Having no one to talk to would only make him look like a bigger loser.

  ‘So did the baker use premium rat poison like we ordered?’

  She smiled. ‘They must have misheard you. It’s premium chocolate and cheap rat poison.’

  ‘Premium, eh? It’d be a shame to let someone else eat my slice, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Well,’ she grinned from behind the fudged fork, ‘it might be too late for that.’

  The first taste was magnificent. The second — better than amnesia. When the world was against you, there was always chocolate.

  Not to mention music.

  Which inspired her next crazy idea to cheer him up.

  ‘The General will love it. It’ll be the best gift she gets tonight.’

  ‘I can’t. My guitar’s back in my quarters.’

  ‘Borrow one of the band’s.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be right. One guy’s guitar —’

  But she was already making her way through the crowd. She found the lead guitarist, explained her idea, then came back. ‘He said yes.’

  Dean’s nerves prickled.

  ‘C’mon. It’s your big debut,’ she said, dragging him.

  ‘What if I suck?’

  ‘Then I’ll take over and make you look good.’

  He stood dumbly among the instruments as she picked up an electric guitar from its stand and looped the strap over his head. He felt its polished surface in his hands and felt the familiar yearning to play. Maybe if he did so soft enough, two — maybe three — people would pretend they were interested before politely clapping him off. But he was soon aware of the sudden drop in noise. Glancing up, he saw the hundreds of guests corralled in pens looking right back at him!

  Ah — excuse me. Who ordered the audience?

  Feeling the heat rise in his cheeks, his fingers picked the first note. Nothing. Everyone laughed. He died. Oh yeah. The amp. Electric guitar, stupid! He turned on the power, curled his toes then swallowed. He singled out Michelle. She better have that plectrum ready.

  One, two, three —

  Notes warbling, the crowd quickly picked up the tune and sang “Happy Birthday”.

  ‘Hip —’

  ‘Hurray!’

  Three times. And a toast. ‘To the General!’

  The old girl raised her own beer and yelled, ‘To me!’ inspiring more cheers. It provided the perfect opportunity to sneak away.

  ‘No you don’t,’ Michelle said, placing a stool behind him. ‘Even I can play “Happy Birthday”. This is your big chance. Don’t waste it.’

  ‘Big chance for what?’

  ‘To prove your old school mates wrong.’

  She stepped away as he froze. How’d she —?

  But there was no time. Once again, the crowd was waiting.

  ‘You sure the generator’s working, Deano?’ the Aboriginal rousie, Adam, yelled from the bench he stood on. A couple of women shooshed, tugged at his legs and told him to get down.

  Dean smiled nervously and shifted on the stool. Just before he started, he spotted Zara — standing beside Michelle in the doorway. Beautiful as always and eager to hear him. He knew what to play now. A ballad. It was the rawest song he knew. So when he finished to the crowd’s loudest praise, he didn’t hear any of it. She was gone. She’d deserted him during her own tribute.

  Dozens of hands clapped him on the back as he fought through the guests to catch her outside. He ran across to the homestead, up to his quarters, then back down to the paddocks. There, among the parked cars. The Subaru leaving for the highway. Two people sat inside: Stephen at the wheel; Zara snug against his shoulder.

  Kissing him.

  Kissing the wrong guy.

  Chapter 19

  Blue. The sea was blue. A perfect breaking blue that roared and crashed with surfers. Standing alone and fully dressed, Dean felt the waves drag across his boots and the sand erode under his soles. He stared, just stared, waiting to be washed out to sea.

  This beach had been his healing place and refuge. So why did he still hurt? Why so much pain?

  Zara. The image of her lips on another’s was lightning to his brain: flash-burned, quick and fatal.

  He’d waited for her all night. Paced by the highway, pleading for her to come home. Maybe it was just a friendly kiss, a goodbye. Purely platonic. But the only footsteps dusting that dawn were his own.

  Zara came back at midday. She’d shuddered open her bedroom window to the snores of the General’s hangover when he’d pounced. His question was blunt. ‘Did you sleep with him?’ At first she was shocked, then dismissive with an embarrassed laugh. ‘Well, did you?’

  Finally, she reddened with anger. ‘None of your business!’

  But he wouldn’t let go. Zara lost patience and screamed some more until he left.

  That ocean. So deep. So lulling and destructive. Always revered for being filled with life only because it buried its dead.

  Blue. The sea was blue.

  Two surfers hooked him out and dropped his body on the shore. They only abandoned him when they were too hoarse to shout and swear at him anymore. Breathe, man! Breathe!

  Finally, heaving on all fours, he coughed the cold from his lungs then collapsed. He tried not to cry.

  Chapter 20

  Hunched forward and drained, Dean waited at a bus stop in Nuriootpa, a ticket limp between his fingers and a bag of unwashed clothes between his fe
et. To the left of him sat a young woman eating a foul egg curry and to the right a bearded man still glowing with his wife’s goodbye kiss. Both made him sick. He looked across the road as a payphone started ringing. It was the third time straight it had tortured him. And as before, every pedestrian strolled past it, ignoring the call as if it was someone else’s problem. But who was he to complain? He’d let it ring too. Enough. He jacked up the sound on his Walkman to full and let the drums monster his ears. It helped deafen the voice inside his head. The one caught on replay. Loser. She never loved you. It was all in your mind.

  The phone kept ringing. His brain still hurt.

  He thumbed STOP and rubbed his temples. He was exhausted. One week had passed since the birthday party, but feelings of rejection, betrayal and anger still browbeat him. He couldn’t eat, sleep or get out of bed. All his thoughts were stuck on Zara and that kiss. He wished he’d never seen it. He wished he’d never met her. He wished he’d never fallen in love.

  Again, that phone.

  A bus headed his way. He stood, then flopped down as he realised it was a local charter full of teens, slippery with sunscreen and all exploring hands on the back seat. Bitterly, he wondered if Stephen was one of them, bragging to his mates that he’d scored another Barossa chick. ‘Not as good as those city girls though, eh?’ He knew exactly what would be said. He’d told the same stories himself plenty of times. There would be wolfish cheers, payouts and a shove to the shoulder. Oh yeah. He knew. Pity his were never real.

  ‘You’ve got the wrong number okay!’ He slammed the phone down and skulked back to the shelter.

  ‘Well? Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’

  Zara’s words still threatened him even though they’d been spoken that morning behind the shearers’ quarters. The tone had overpowered the wide-jawed harvester filling the last grain bin too.

  ‘Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.’

  She’d hoped for honesty at least and sighed. Looking across to the General shaking hands with the caretaker, she had decided that what was still unspoken needed to be said. ‘Did I ever tell you I once had this mate?’ she’d started. ‘He was a great friend who I cared about very much. Problem was, after a while he liked me. At first I thought it was a silly crush that would eventually go away but it quickly grew into something more serious. I dropped hints that I wasn’t interested, but he kept trying to impress me. When he found out I never liked him that way, he got all male on me. He shut me out and didn’t want to be friends anymore.’