‘What a pain in the arse. God, I hate that man! He’s upset you by what he’s doing with your mother and now he’s upset the both of us, by ruining our plan!’
‘I know. That’s exactly what
I
was thinking when I was in the chemist’s. I mean, of all the fucking people that could have been there…’ I so want to go over and bash the shit out of Bruce.
‘Oh, Stan! What are we going to do?’
‘Don’t worry. We’ll do this again tomorrow and it’ll be OK.’
Rhonda hangs her head. Then she looks up suddenly, with a new look in her eyes. ‘Well, we can’t let him get away with this. It would make me feel better if we did something to really piss him off!’
She sounds like Bruce. What could sweet Rhonda possibly have in mind? I look over at the monkey bars again; Bruce has disappeared. Where did he go?
‘Well, what sort of thing are you thinking of?’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She paces back and forth some more and then turns to face me. ‘We could put dog shit on his chair in the church. He has a special chair doesn’t he?’
‘Well, yeah, he does. But are you serious?’
‘Yep.’ She is serious. She has a determined look on her face.
‘Well, I don’t know if the church will be open now. It’s probably locked up.’
Rhonda looks disappointed and turns away.
‘But … I guess we can always try.’
She turns back and smiles.
Our second plan goes smoothly. We’re lucky enough to find some relatively fresh dog shit in the park. Using sticks, we put it in the paper bag I got with my headache tablets. We go to the church and Rhonda drops the dog shit on Father Ryan’s chair. I grab a little prayer candle from the back of the church and use it to smear the shit in so it can’t be easily removed from the fabric. I throw the shitty candle on the floor. The stench soon becomes overwhelming and we leave. For the first time in ages, I think it might actually be fun going to church on the weekend. Miracles
do
happen.
I can hear muffled voices. They bleed through my bedroom wall. The conversation is animated; the voices rise and fall and come in short, sharp bursts. It’s Mum and Dad. Mum and Dad having a lively conversation. I push it out of my mind.
I’m in no hurry to get out of bed. I love waking up on Saturday mornings, knowing that I can sleep in if I want to. There’s no rush. There’s no alarm. I can lie here as long as I like and get up when I’m ready to. That’s a luxury. So, I indulge that luxury. I lie here and think about the day ahead of me. I’m looking forward to going round to Mike’s place tonight. We haven’t had a chance to hang out in a while. I’m also looking forward to getting a bit drunk. I could do with some relief from all the crazy shit that’s been happening.
I start thinking about plum jam on toast, so I amble out to the kitchen in my Astro Boy pyjamas. That’s when I realise that Mum and Dad aren’t having a lively conversation – Mum is, in fact, livid.
‘Who would do such a thing?’
‘I don’t know, Peggy.’
‘It’s probably those atheists who live on Harwood Street. I’d bet you anything it was them!’
‘What’s going on?’ I yawn and stretch.
‘Oh, you’re not going to believe this, Stan!’
‘What? What’s happened?’
‘Well, someone – some despicable human being – has put dog excrement in the church!’
‘Really?’ I hope I’m looking convincingly surprised.
‘Yes! But not only that – it was left on Father Ryan’s chair!’
‘Holy shi…’
‘Stanley!’
‘Sorry!’
‘It was smeared in with a prayer candle and the candle was left on the ground, near the chair, as if the culprit threw it down in some hideous, mocking gesture!’
‘Oh, my God! Really?’
‘Stanley, don’t take the Lord’s name in vain!’
‘Sorry!’
Dad starts laughing and I’m so surprised that I start laughing myself.
‘Trevor and Stanley, stop laughing this instant!’ Mum stamps her foot to emphasise each word. Her frustration makes us laugh even more. ‘You think this is funny, do you? Well, go ahead and laugh! You’re just as bad as the sick person who did this! Perhaps I should invite him round for dinner so you can enjoy each other’s crude sense of humour.’
‘Him? You said invite “him” round to dinner. Was it a man who did it?’ I was enjoying watching Mum get worked up about this un-Christian incident. It was bliss.
‘Of course it was a man. You don’t think a woman would be capable of such a shameful act, do you?’
‘I guess not. That’s another reason why the Catholic Church should allow women to be priests! They wouldn’t go smearing crap on chairs, would they?’
‘What do female priests have to do with this, Stan? Sometimes you talk such utter rubbish.’
‘Well, it’s just an observation, Mum. You just said yourself that only a man would be capable of such a despicable act. And perhaps if there were more women involved in the church, these sorts of things wouldn’t happen.’
‘Stan, shut up!’
I think about Rhonda and the way she suddenly conceived the ingenious idea. I feel an immense pride in her.
‘So, has it been cleaned up?’
‘Yes, it has. I went down there first thing and took care of it. The parish has agreed to chip in and replace Father Ryan’s chair. We did consider reupholstering, but in the end we decided it would be best to get a new chair altogether. Father can’t be expected to sit on that chair after what’s happened. It would be a constant reminder to him of this hateful act against the church.’
‘And so the smell has all gone, then?’
‘Actually, I was worried for a while. Even after we’d got rid of the chair, the stench was still hanging around. But Laura Dean and I sprayed air freshener everywhere and it seems to have done the job.’
‘Oh, that’s good. You know what you should have used, though?’
‘What?’
‘Incense. That stuff is so overpowering, it’d cover up the smell of anything. And the church has so much of the stuff…’
‘Well, thanks for your suggestion, but it’s all under control now. I’m just so shocked and baffled by the whole thing. Who would do such a thing? Father Ryan is such a lovely man. He doesn’t deserve such disrespect.’
I look at Mum, who’s now making coffee for Dad, and I wonder how she can be comfortable making such a statement. I sneak a glance at Dad, who has his head stuck in the paper. How could she suggest that Father Ryan doesn’t deserve disrespect? The man has broken his vow with God and succumbed to temptations of the flesh. Doesn’t that warrant some disrespect? And how can she stand there, pouring her husband’s coffee and passing judgement on other people while turning a blind eye to her own behaviour? I mean, isn’t sleeping with a priest one of the most sinful things you could ever, ever, ever do? If she honestly believes in her religion, she’d have to consider the prospect of burning in hell for eternity. I mean, surely she’s got herself a one way ticket to hell. She’ll be flying there first class, hopefully doped up to her eyeballs on hard liquor. But perhaps she’s created yet another impossible loophole in her mind. Jesus was known to get along well with prostitutes. Maybe she’s banking on that.
Straight after breakfast and a shower, I’m out the door and on my way to Apex Park. Rhonda and I have arranged to meet there at half past ten so that we can get the pregnancy test over with and enjoy the rest of the weekend. I feel really confident about the whole scenario. After last night’s success with the dog shit, I’m feeling like I can take on anything. The thing is, if you want to get something done, you’ve just gotta go ahead and do it. So that’s what we’re gonna do today.
Rhonda isn’t there when I get to the park. I jump on a swing and bask in the warmth of the mid-morning sun. I grip the chains, lean back and angle my face so that the sun’s rays can cover as much surface area as possible. I close my eyes. The light behind my eyelids is a soft orange. There are black splodges that appear in different places and their edges bleed out into the surrounding colour. They disappear and are replaced by new black splodges. I wonder what causes this effect.
When I was younger, I had a terrifying experience. I was lying on the lawn in our backyard, enjoying the sun’s soft rays. But when I closed my eyes, instead of seeing a few undefined splodges, I saw a perfectly formed face. It was intricately detailed like the brown and orange colours of a photograph negative. It didn’t belong to anyone I recognised, and this scared me. Was it just a trick of the light, or an eidetic memory of someone I’d glimpsed on TV? Or was there some more sinister explanation? There certainly wasn’t a logical one.
I wondered if I would ever come across the person in my lifetime. Would they have something important to tell me that would change my life, or was it the face of a person who would kill me in the future? Was its appearance meant as a warning? As these thoughts occurred to me, I became more terrified of the face. I blinked hard several times and the image lost its intensity and disappeared into the orange. But the detail of the face has never faded. It’s like I’ve got a photograph of the person that I can retrieve and study again and again. I get a bit nervous sometimes, thinking that I might bump into the owner of the face in a crowd or, worse, somewhere secluded when I least expect it.
‘Stan!’ It was Rhonda.
‘Whoa! You scared me.’
‘You were a million miles away. I’ve been standing here for at least a minute.’
‘Why didn’t you say something?’
‘I was enjoying watching you, and I wanted to scare you a bit too.’
I jump off the swing and take her in my arms. ‘You’re a very bad girl and you shall be punished!’ I lean in and open my mouth wide, baring all my teeth as if I’m a vampire and I’m about to take a chunk out of her neck. She screams and pushes me away. I grab her again and gently kiss her instead. She’s so beautiful. I still can’t believe she’s my girlfriend. She is
the
best thing that has ever happened to me.
Her tongue touches mine and sends electrifying prickles through my whole body. But then she says, ‘Stan, I’ve got some bad news.’
‘What’s going on?’ I think for a moment that she’s already done a pregnancy test and it’s come up positive.
‘I’ve got to go to Perth with Mum.’
‘When?’
‘Pretty much now.’
‘Why are you going to Perth?’
‘Mum’s got to take care of something. We’re spending the night there. I’ll be back tomorrow – we’re leaving there first thing Sunday morning.’
‘Oh, OK.’ I feel disappointed. I’d been looking forward to spending the day mucking about with her. I had plans to take her back to the hay shed. There’s something about rolling around in hay that’s a real turn on.
‘So, I’ll call you when I get back. But I have a big favour to ask.’
‘Shoot.’
‘Can you please go ahead and get the test? I feel like I’m going out of my mind. I try to be positive, but the next minute I feel this doom hanging over me. It’s like there’s a black cloud following me around. I couldn’t sleep at all last night.’
I can see the bags under her eyes. I gently squeeze her to me. ‘I’d do anything for you, sweet Rhonda. I’ll go to the chemist now, after you’ve gone, and the test will be ready for you when you get back. You can count on it.’
‘Oh, thanks, Stan! That would be a huge relief.’
I walk Rhonda halfway home. I fill her in on what happened at breakfast. She thinks it’s quite ironic that it was my mother who went to church to clean things up. We laugh about Mum’s comment about the “atheists who live on Harwood Street”.
‘Oh, yes. You’ve got to watch out for those evil atheists! Fancy that – people who don’t believe in God. Why, they’re prone to do … anything!’ Rhonda laughs.
She’s in a much better mood by the time we come to say goodbye. I can’t believe I’m not going to see her for a whole day. She turns and gives me a final wave just before she disappears around the bend in her street. I return her wave and follow it up with a short robot dance. I hear her laugh as she turns away.
I turn back towards town with my mission firmly in my mind. The image of Rhonda standing there waving lingers in my head and I feel a huge smile creep across my face. I laugh out loud, thinking that I must look like an absolute fool, walking down the street with a huge fat grin on my face. I even manage to pass the presbytery without thinking about Father Ryan or Bruce. I’m tempted to look back, to see if Bruce is sitting on the fence again, but I decide not to.
Once again, the planets – or something – must be aligned, because I see my plan through with no hitches whatsoever. Before I know it, I’m on my way home with a pregnancy test in my pocket. Sally was there again and she says she’s curious to know the outcome of my pregnant guinea pig science experiment. Although she did wink at me as she handed over the paper bag.
I conceal a bottle of red wine and a bottle of Scotch in my bag. There’s about three-quarters of the Scotch left. I suspect that Mum has been drinking it. Dad wouldn’t; he tends to stick to his beer. Mum probably needs something a bit harder to help her cope with the corrosive guilt she must be enduring. I don’t care if Mum works out that I’ve stolen her Scotch. It’s not as if she’s going to confront me about taking it. Her concern about alcohol going missing from the house would be totally out of character. It would raise eyebrows. I can’t imagine how she’d broach the subject with Dad. ‘Honey, my Scotch is missing and I really need it bad. I’ve come to rely on it – especially since I’ve been screwing our very own man of the cloth.’
Mum and Dad have agreed to let me stay at Mike’s place tonight, which is great because that means we can get a bit drunk. I don’t bother telling Mum and Dad that Mike’s parents aren’t going to be home. My plan almost falls apart when Mum gets pretty insistent about driving me there so she can say hello to Mike’s parents. I keep saying that I want to ride my bike. Thankfully, Dad steps in and asks Mum nicely to let me go on my own.
‘You’re lucky your father is such an accommodating person.’
‘Thanks, Peggy.’ Dad winks at Mum and offers her a cheeky grin. She looks surprised at this.
I wonder if Dad has told Mum that he’s taking pills. Surely he has told her. I’ve been really surprised about the change in him. Even my sisters have noticed the change in him. Rose and Mia came to see me in my bedroom the other day and asked why Dad is being so nice? I just told them that he’s had a think about things and he wants to be a better person. But the change has been remarkable. It wasn’t long ago that I thought he was a strict old bastard. But since he confided in me, I’ve noticed that he’s become a lot more tolerant. He’s a more caring and chilled-out person; he doesn’t let the little things faze him anymore. It’s almost as if he’s a different person inside the same body. I think about him sitting me down at the kitchen table to lecture me before the school social and I realise that that person is long gone. I hope he doesn’t stop taking his pills anytime soon. I mean, if it’s working for him and it’s working for us, that’s a good thing, right? And seeing Dad laugh about things that he would previously have hit the ceiling over is a major leap forward. It’s better to laugh than to burst a blood vessel.