LAYLA

Davo says you can never trust anything that bleeds once a month but doesn’t die. He tells this to his mates and they honk like donkeys. All the girls in the outer circle shift position slightly as if to combat a stiff breeze. Davo also says but not to his mates that touching me is like stroking a mousepad. I get soft and sweaty. I wish Davo would go down on me. Just once so I know what it’s like. But he says that women stink like fish. And he doesn’t eat tuna. He won’t put his head down there. But he likes to watch porn where they do the same thing. Sometimes I imagine that a woman is doing it to me. I don’t think she would be so gutless.

The other day he brought over a vibrator. He probably stole it from some sex shop. I hid it in my walk-in. As a joke, I tell him it’s all wrapped up with nowhere to go. But when he’s not there it throbs quietly under my doona. An obliging plastic treat that blasts me off into a new world. A Davo-free zone.

I try not to go round to Davo’s house much. Because his mum and dad are always on edge. They’re not fighting out loud. But even the silence feels like it could hurt you. They let Davo do whatever he wants. Because they’re too intent on winding each other up. Today they’re taking us to Parramatta. To see Jayden play soccer.

Davo’s little brother Jayden always tries to spy on us. Then he dobs if we close the door. Or cries if we turn off his Cars DVD. He’s obsessed with Lightning McQueen so he always wants to race you. Davo locks him in the bathroom sometimes. Just to give us some peace.

Davo’s dad has just fixed the aircon in the car. But it doesn’t seem to be working. He says it’s too hot to play soccer. That it’s meant to be a winter sport. Three of us squash up in the back seat. Davo’s mum pretends to be nice to me. But I know she’s a rattlesnake underneath. Just waiting to strike me down.

We park and sit in the almost-empty grandstand. The game hasn’t even started. And Davo’s mum is already screaming at this other woman. For standing up in front of her.

Take him down! she yells. When Jayden’s team starts playing. Like he’s going to war or something. Like he could even do that in soccer. Later she reckons Jayden was kicked on purpose. She looks at me for backup. But I wasn’t watching when it happened. Davo’s dad screams at Jayden at half time. For missing a really easy goal. Then the coach comes over all red-faced. And tells Davo’s mum and dad to settle down. I say to Davo, I can’t believe your parents take it so seriously. He’s only five. Davo says he stopped playing sport in primary school. They just couldn’t control themselves. In the end his coach said it was better for the team. If Davo didn’t come along any more.

Jayden’s team loses the match. And we lose Davo’s parents. We text them to see where they are. We head out into the parking lot. A guy’s lying on the ground on his stomach. There’s blood coming out of his ears. Davo’s dad is sitting on the bonnet of his car just watching. Sweat’s like a river down his face. Everyone’s on their mobiles. Calling the ambulance or telling their mates to come see. The St John’s dudes come out with a stretcher. And take the bleeding man away. He looks like he’s still breathing. He’s holding his head in his hands. Davo’s parents are quiet on the drive home. His mum strokes his dad’s arm like a soft kitten.

I never want to go over there again. Davo’s house smells like desperation. And the cat litter tray that no-one seems to empty.

Davo’s just got his P’s. For his 18th birthday. His dad gave him keys to his old car. It’s just been sitting in their garage. Waiting for someone to love it. Davo’s dad’s a mechanic. There’s a sea of car parts out their back door. The car doesn’t go too fast. But Davo’s not complaining.

It means we can get out of the hole that is Springwood. We’re heading up to Newcastle. He’s meeting granny for the first time. We’re going to have a picnic at Nobbys. Mum made us some chicken sandwiches. And I’ve got a bottle of gin for granny. That will hopefully make the distance. And so we’re out cruising past Kuringai. And we’re screaming along to Beastie Boys. And I’m thinking of all the places Davo can take me.

But of course it happens halfway up the freeway. Davo’s car decides to have a sickie. Death rattle and that’s it. We ram up against some ferns in the shade. With a trickle of water coming down the rocks. Open all the doors and drift. His dad’s with the NRMA. So the dude comes out and can’t start it. And we’re picked up an hour later in a tow truck. With a back seat, thank god. The driver, Mick, gives me a bottle of water and turns the aircon up. Turns out Mick’s great love is music. After the sound of his own voice. His band Beats 4 U plays regularly at the Oxford Tavern. He invites us along to his next gig. Davo turns back to me and we smile. It’s the place everyone goes for their bucks nights. Jelly wrestling topless dancers playing pool. A bit of tittylation. But Mick’s moved on to a possible gig at Tamworth. At the Oasis where Russell Crowe is headlining. His voice buzzes like an outboard motor.

Look, Russell Crowe is a fair musician. I went to one of his gigs once and tried to talk to him after the show. But he had all these security guards around him like he was the President of the United States or something. He wants to be a man of the people, but what about that phone affair? I mean, you don’t go to an international country like America and behave like that.

Mick calls his wife the missus. He’s the kind of guy you’d like down with you in the trenches. A good mate. Someone you can trust. Someone you’d call digger. The kind of guy who bores me to tears. And makes me wish I didn’t live in Australia.

Maybe I could move to Japan. I’ve started learning Japanese at school. It’s hard but I like all the characters. I like trying them out with a calligraphy pen. And I love eating sushi. Maybe I would fit in there.

I watch the flat greys and greens of the bush float by. I think about the guy who saved the moth. I’ve seen him on the train again a few times. He likes to sit in the same seat. At the back corner where no-one is facing him. I thought he might remember me. But when I get on he doesn’t budge. Just continues to read. As if he’s got a cone of silence around him. Sometimes his lips move a little bit. As if he might be praying. He always reads the same book. By H-A-R-U-K-I M-U-R-A-K-A-M-I. I wrote it down. So I could ask my Japanese teacher. She said he’s one of the best. And that he always writes about talking cats. She brought a book for me the next day. To look after. She said it was from her own personal collection. It is called The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. It’s like a brick in my backpack.

He’s sometimes there on Friday arvos, 4.30pm. Express to Springwood then all stations. I stand while he sits in the corner single seat. I wonder where he gets off. He doesn’t look like the Leura type. The train’s packed at this time with weekenders. North Shore couples retreating to their ye olde worlde cottages. Where they can fuck in the spa and have cups of tea on doilies. The cooler people head for Katoomba. They can buy alpaca wool. Or score some heroin to help the local junkie culture.

I never see him on other weekdays. He must live in the city. He tries to look cool but he sticks out. He always carries the same bag. It’s weird and old. Doesn’t even have wheels. A huge scruffy brown suitcase with silver snap locks. You could fit a body in there. He always has it on the floor with one hand resting on it. I think it might be something valuable. I want to pick up the case and run. To see if he’ll chase me down. To see if there’s anything precious inside. Sometimes I get so tired standing up. That by Glenbrook I want to open his suitcase. And lie down there for a little rest. He’s got really nice ears, the suitcase guy. They’re kind of tiny and sit pinned to his head like a bow. I’d like to nibble them off.

Anyway. I tune back in to the tow truck and Mick’s still wound up about Russell. Davo’s hanging on every word. He’s the biggest name-dropper. He’ll be telling all his mates. The aircon’s going full bore. I snooze down the freeway and we end up back where we started. In the driveway of Davo’s parents. Who hadn’t even realised that we’d gone.