Life would not have been worth living if Dad had chosen an ordinary house but through some miracle he’d bought the best thing on Echidna Avenue. The house had started life as a simple Housing Commission home and undergone several flashy alterations. The backyard featured a pebbled barbecue area while the lounge was decked out with a fancy cocktail bar and fluffy stools. My father was particularly keen on the bar. It had black vinyl panels and a wood-grain Aussiemica top. The house was carpeted throughout with speckled Merino Dream shag pile and decorated with embossed wallpaper. There was even a Brady Bunch style rumpus room in the basement. To access this converted garage, a hole had been cut in the lounge floor and a spiral staircase had been installed.
For the first month in Echidna Avenue, Mum and Dad seemed almost happy. The move had shaken things up and made room for hope in their relationship. Their new bedroom helped. It had its own bathroom with mirrored shower doors and a row of mirrors over the basin. It was called The Ensuite and was the most beautiful thing we’d ever owned after the Royal Albert. Its mirrored shower was also excellent for masturbation purposes.
Not long after we moved in, Dad’s older sister Dolly paid us a visit. Dolly had lived in Hobart for years and was the closest thing we had to family in the city. She was older than Mum and had Dad’s bulbous nose, small mouth and tiny teeth.
Mum had put out the Royal Albert and I’d done her hair in a flick-back Farrah Fawcett for the occasion. I trailed after her as she showed Dolly around the house.
‘It’s a very big house but comfortable for a family.’ Mum was using her Celebrity Glitter voice. It was gushy and nasal.
‘Housing Commission, wasn’t it?’ Dolly ran a hand over the bar and examined her fingertips.
‘It’s been a private home for some years. The previous owner was a wool buyer. A very successful man.’
‘And?’
‘He chose a quality carpet and made very tasteful alterations. We’ve now got two lounge rooms, that’s one up here and the rumpus room below. Quite handy for entertaining.’ Mum was standing at the top of the spiral staircase and tapped the rail with a fingernail. We never entertained but that wasn’t the point.
‘These staircases catch the hip. I won’t descend.’ Dolly pulled in her chins for emphasis.
‘The spiral can be difficult if you’re big.’ Mum pulled in her chin for emphasis.
Dolly was certainly a substantial woman. Mum said she was trying to eat her way out of an unhappy marriage.
‘Let me show you the kids’ bedrooms.’ Mum moved her hand backward in a graceful follow-me manner.
‘Oh my God! This must be Liberace’s room. Look at those curtains!’ Dolly was standing in the doorway of my beautiful new bedroom pointing at my dragon brocade.
I stared at the floral synthetic of her frock and felt anger surge through me. The fabric was stretched to capacity across the large rectangle of her unhappy arse. From behind, she looked like a gift-wrapped Land-Rover.
‘Those were hand-picked by Des at the Blue Gum Plaza.’ Mum had stopped using her restaurant voice. Her tone was unfriendly.
‘That old Ulverston queen. No wonder the place looks so gaudy.’ Dolly chortled. ‘Do the boy a favour and run up some proper drapes. Something with a pop group or spaceships.’
‘Des is a happily married man and Julian likes these curtains just as they are.’ Mum had her hands on her hips. ‘They suit his artistic temperament.’
‘Is that what you call it? Best to nip that sort of thing in the bud. James told me all about your brother.’ Dolly put her hands on her hips, blocking all movement in the hall in the direction of the bedrooms. ‘And that Des never had children. There’s something queer going on there.’
‘Des is a fabric expert and you know nothing about my brother. Norman runs a thriving hair-care business in Melbourne. He does the permanents of very prominent people.’
Mum fully extended her elbows, blocking all hall flow toward the kitchen. Dolly was effectively cornered in the bedroom section. She pursed her lips and gave Mum a sour look.
‘And we’ve got no worries about Julian, Dolly. Mark my words, this boy will go far.’
Dolly turned to examine me. I knew what she was thinking: I was a Norman tint and permanent away from Elizabeth Taylor.
Mum didn’t wait for Dolly to contradict her. ‘I hope Sharon has settled down after all that trouble.’
Dolly sagged a little.
‘It was in Cobber’s supermarket, wasn’t it?’
‘It was just a little make-up kit and she said it fell into her pocket by accident.’ Dolly turned her head to examine the wallpaper.
‘Wasn’t there something else?’
Satisfied, Mum pushed past Dolly and led the way to the master bedroom.
‘This, Dolly, is The Ensuite. It’s very handy in the mornings, let me tell you.’ Mum’s voice was hushed and reverent again. She opened the door and stood with her arm rigid and outstretched like a game-show host presenting a prize fridge.
‘Mirrors are very difficult to keep clean.’ Dolly frowned and pushed past Mum. Kneeling down, she ran a thumbnail along the metal trim and then held her thumb up to the light. ‘Body grime! A good scrub will get rid of that.’
I don’t know what I would’ve done without The Ensuite. Its mirrored shower gave me a morning dose of glamour before I set off each day for the drudgery of Waratah High. The teachers of Waratah didn’t beat students like the Christian Brothers had done but they were just as uninspired and miserable. The one exception was Mr Snell who taught French and wore his shirts ironed, with a silk cravat and cufflinks. His hair rose from his forehead in a tidy wave and his sideburns and eyebrows were neatly trimmed. He was very small for a human being but his devotion to appearance made him seem taller than his actual one metre fifty.
Mr Snell believed in teaching the modern way and had us do role-plays to practise dialogue exchange. Ordering in French at a restaurant came naturally to me. I was paired with Duncan Bacon, an irritating clever boy who wore gold-rimmed glasses with light-sensitive lenses and a digital watch with a fancy flip-up leather cover. Duncan was top in French and intended to stay there.
‘Are you the waiter or the customer?’ Duncan click-clicked the button of his Deskmaster ballpoint pen with impatience.
‘I’m the customer.’ I held in my stomach and imagined myself in Paris, France.
‘Qu’est-ce que vous voulez manger, monsieur?’
‘Le boeuf bourguignon.’
‘Mr Snell said it’s a fish restaurant. You can’t order beef.’
‘But there would be something on the menu for people who can’t eat fish.’
‘But why would such people go to a fish restaurant?’
‘They might be on holiday at the seaside.’ I didn’t like Duncan. He had no imagination.
‘But why wouldn’t they eat fish?’
‘They might be allergic.’
‘Can’t we just pretend you like fish so we can practise the vocabulary?’
‘What’s the French word for oysters?’
‘You’re supposed to be ordering fish.’
‘They’re both from the ocean.’
‘So is a sea sponge, stupid. I doubt you’ll be ordering sponge à la crème.’ Duncan sniggered.
‘À la crème? Sounds delicious. How’s progress?’ Mr Snell had been discreetly roving around the class listening to dialogue. His size enabled him to do this without being noticed.
‘Mr Snell, I’d like to order oysters but I don’t know the French word. Duncan here thinks it’s stupid to order oysters in a French fish restaurant.’
‘Duncan! The French love oysters.’ Mr Snell shook his head and then turned to me with a smile. ‘The word is huître, Julian.’
Duncan’s face darkened. We locked eyes as the teacher patted me on the shoulder.
‘Garcon! Je prends des huîtres, si’il vous plaît.’ I flashed a large faux smile at my opponent.
‘Bravo, Julian!’ Mr Snell pursed his lips like Valéry Giscard d’Estaing and gave Duncan a severe look. ‘Monsieur Bacon, do some revision on the dining habits of the French. You’ll need to work if you want to stay at the top.’
I was still flushed with victory when I reached the edge of the cricket pitch. It was Friday and I wouldn’t see the likes of Duncan Bacon for another three days. The boys were lined up along the fence under the gum trees passing a bottle of wine back and forth. Jackaroo was a supermarket brand and came with a convenient screw top.
‘Where’s Wayne?’
The boys jostled each other and laughed, bouncing up and down on the fence wire. I waited for them to settle down before repeating the question.
‘He’s getting a blowie, I reckon.’ Paul Lamb’s comment set off his friends again.
The boys were still laughing when Wayne appeared from behind the gum trees. He was walking stiffly and winked at them. Behind him was Christine Kandy. She was adjusting her skirt and brushing grit off her knees. Wayne took a swig of the Jackaroo and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He handed me the bottle.
‘How’s the French?’
‘Très bien.’ I tipped the bottle back and filled my mouth. The wine was both sweet and vinegary. Warmth flooded my chest.
‘What the hell do you mean?’ Wayne was looking at me hard.
‘Bonza.’ My mouth went dry. ‘Très bien is French for bonza.’
‘Tray bee Ann.’ Wayne relaxed. ‘I’ll have to learn some French, ha, ha.’
The boys on the fence started to laugh along with Wayne but stopped when he went silent again. ‘Nah, on second thoughts, that fucking French dwarf is a poof.’
I looked at the ground and rummaged in my pockets for my cigarettes. This was no time to come to Mr Snell’s defence.
‘Those girl’s undies he wears round his neck are a dead giveaway.’ Wayne bent his wrists and wiggled his bum.
‘You’re barking up the wrong tree, Hopper.’ Christine Kandy’s voice was cool and confident. ‘Snell’s normal.’
‘Yeah, fuckin’ normal all right.’ Wayne put his hands over his bum and grimaced. This provoked another round of laughter.
‘He’s married, you wanker.’ Christine was deadly serious.
‘I bet he doesn’t have any kids.’ Wayne turned away from her and focused on me again. ‘I’d watch your fat little arse, Corker. Bums to the wall if you value your hole.’
The boys on the fence bounced up and down. Christine Kandy shrugged and looked over at me. Her face was a hard mask of foundation and heavy mascara but her eyes were soft and intelligent. I liked Christine. She was the only one of the group with anything resembling panache. Underneath all the muck she caked on her face was an uncanny resemblance to Margaux Hemingway. I would’ve loved to redo her make-up and sort out her hair but this wasn’t the time or the place. I hung around until the Jackaroo was finished and then headed for home.
Early evening was a lonely time at Echidna Avenue and I never hurried back to the house. Carmel was always at cricket or hockey practice and my mother didn’t get home until seven. Mum had found herself a job at the Boomerang Biscuits factory a month after arriving in Hobart. It was hot, noisy work. She came home every night smelling like sugar and looking frazzled and worn. Dad had settled back into his old routine of going to the pub after work with Trevor Bland. My parents were too preoccupied and miserable to notice that I often had alcohol on my breath.
I leaned on the gatepost as I opened the letterbox and pulled out a handful of letters with windows. An envelope fell out of my hands and landed with a flutter on the path. It was pale blue with a hand-drawn image of a bird under the address. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat as I picked it up and turned it over. It was addressed to me. I ripped it open.
Dear Julian,
How’s Hobart? Ulverston is fine. Dad says Hobart is colder than Ulverston. It must be cold then.
The big news here is that Ralph Waters was expelled. He broke into the school at night and was caught by Brother Dooley in the music room. They think he might have been doing it for a while. They didn’t tell us anything but I know for a fact that he pissed into that big horn thing you once tried. I think it’s called a tuba. Dad heard all about it from Father McMahon. The police came and everything.
How’s French? Parles-tu français encore?
I’m thinking of leaving school next year. I might try the Wool Board. Dad says they have good jobs. He says you’re in the arms of Jesus when you work at the Wool Board. It’s the best kind of job to have, especially for a school-leaver. What about you?
Anyway, I have to go now. Will you be visiting Ulverston soon? I hope so. I miss you.
Love,
Jimmy xxx
Jimmy lit up in my mind’s eye like a fireworks sparkler. He was smiling, riding his space-blue Pacer bicycle with a clacker in the spokes. The feelings I’d been bottling up for months burst out of me in a painful sob. I began crying uncontrollably as I put the key in the door. Tears were coming out in jerks, making my cheeks hot and slimy. I stumbled into my bedroom and threw myself on to the bed, curling into a tight ball, crying until it was too painful to swallow.
We were never going back to Ulverston and I’d never see Jimmy again. I was stuck in Hobart and it was hell. Nothing worked in Hobart. I was a nobody and had no panache. I had to forget Jimmy or I’d never survive Wayne and the rest of the louts. No, Jimmy, I’m not going back to Ulverston. I’m not going back anywhere. I can’t be that any more.
My head was thumping and my eyesight was hazy when I walked over to the window. Taking the matches from my pocket, I lit the corner of Jimmy’s letter. Flames were licking my fingers as I threw the burning sheet of paper out of the window. I looked down at the garden below. A small, unburned piece of paper lay on the soil. The word ‘Love’ was still visible.