The Dark Part of Me (25 page)

‘No. Not any more.’

‘Oh.’ His eyes flickered over my face. ‘I thought he was. Hollie told me he was.’

I heard the rustle of the trees outside. Inside the cave the air became lighter, less oppressive, and I felt a chill as the earth edged closer to dawn. Danny threw the stripped bone to the
ground and wiped his mouth on his T-shirt. He knelt down and bundled sticks and dry leaves together to re-build the fire.

‘OK,’ he said, lighting the kindling with the burning candle. ‘You want to know about Scott? I’ll tell you.’

I nodded and perched on the egg rock. Our shadows reared up around us as the flames stretched higher. I pulled my T-shirt over my knees. Danny paced back and forth across the cave, his profile a
giant hunchback against the wall. It took him ages to settle down but then he crouched near the fire and began.

‘It was the summer holidays and I’d just turned fourteen. You and Hollie were up here, playing your Shakespeare games. It was really hot and sticky and I was bored. There was jack
all to do. All my mates except Scott were away so I called him to see if he wanted to hang out.’ Danny paused and stared into the fire. He scratched at his belly. His neck muscles were
strained, his shoulders tense. A tangled lock of hair hung over the left side of his face. He brushed it away and continued. ‘So, Mrs Greenwood drops him over and, as soon as he’s
inside, he pulls this porn video out of his backpack. He’s nicked it from his brother’s room and is raring to watch it so I get us some wine from Dad’s cellar and we put it on in
the billiards room. It’s mostly lesbian stuff. Scott’s really into it. He rewinds it five or six times. He keeps looking over at me like he wants to make sure I’m into it,
too.’

‘You weren’t?’

‘Yeah, sure, but not as much as him.’ Colour rose beneath Danny’s muddy cheeks. He reached for a stick and prodded at the bandicoot carcass. ‘Next thing he gets his dick
out and starts jerking off. Don’t ask me why, but seeing him do it so casual gives me an instant hard-on. He glances over, sees my boner and grins. “Just whack it out,” he says to
me. I scull more wine and stare at the porno. By this time, I’m fairly wasted. Scott’s batting away. His eyes are closed, head back against the couch, frowning like this.’ Danny
mimicked Scott’s expression in a way that was startlingly familiar.

‘So I slide off the couch and onto the floor. I unzip my shorts, hoping Scott keeps his eyes shut, and whip it out. I’m going for it when he looks over. “Yeah, boy,” he
goes. “That’s it.” Scott’s dick is still out, erect, in full view, and I watch my hand drift over and touch it like it’s not my hand but someone else’s. I give
it a squeeze. Scott sighs and slumps back in the couch. He’s got his eyes closed and he doesn’t say anything. I edge in closer for a better grip and wank him, slow at first, then faster
till he comes. For a few seconds, he just lies there, not moving a muscle, but then he sits up and says, “Thanks, mate” like I’ve just bought him a beer or something. He
doesn’t seem the least bit embarrassed but my face is burning up. I go upstairs for a towel but when I come back he’s gone.’

Danny’s story didn’t surprise me. It was just Scott’s style to sit back and take whatever was on offer. What slated me was knowing what must come next. Danny stood up, shaking
his head. He went back to his pacing.

‘The rest of the holidays we spent a fair bit of time hanging out, playing video games and cricket in the backyard, smoking pot. He told me about all the stuff he’d done with chicks
and how he liked to spy on his older brother having sex. Each time he came over, I’d jerk him off but we never talked about it and he never touched me. I started having feelings, you know,
weird feelings, but everything changed when school went back. The other guys still came over to watch porno, drink and do cones, but not Scott. Never Scott. Then, they all stopped coming over. At
school, they completely ignored me. Then this rumour started going round that I was gay.’

‘But you’re not, are you?’

‘No. Maybe. I don’t know. I like women alright.’ Danny padded back and forth across the cave floor, getting more and more agitated. ‘Anyway, the rumour gets around and
then they all start laying into me after footy.’

‘Who’s they?’

‘Bomber. Muzza. Matty.’ Danny stopped, his head bowed to the ground. ‘Scott.’

‘Scott?’ I looked up and Danny was leaning against the wall, his hands clenched at his side.

‘Yeah.’

‘But he told me he wasn’t in on it.’

‘The other guys in school, they all turned a blind eye. They didn’t want to be seen siding with faggot-boy. I put up with it for ages. Who was I gonna tell? Dad? A teacher? One
night, I just lost it. They had me up against the wall, kicking me in the shins. I guess I fought back and wrestled free. Then Matty comes charging at me. I swung at him and caught him on the side
of the head and he flew back against the lockers, this stunned look in his eyes, and slid down onto the cement. He slumped sideways and there was this awful silence. Everyone was watching, saying
nothing. I was praying for him to get up. Scott tried to pull him up, but his head just lolled to one side and blood was coming out of his mouth. Bomber threw a bucket of cold water on him. I had
this sick feeling spreading through me. I knew I’d done something bad. The rest of the guys from the team came over in their socks and undies and someone went to call an ambulance. Scott
stood up and screamed at me, his eyeballs popping out of his head, “You fucking faggot bastard, you’ve fucking killed him.” Muzza was saying, “Fuck, man. He’s
fucked” over and over, and I remember Matty just lying there with his eyes all glassy.’

Danny sunk down on his haunches, his filthy arms wrapped around his knees, his head hung low. He tipped over onto his side and rolled around in the dirt. I lay down next to him and hugged him to
me for a long time, inhaling the soil, the trees, the scent of blood and fur and flesh which clung to him. After a while, he drifted off and I crawled out of the cave into the first glimmer of
dawn. The gum trees were slicked with gold and the air was fresh and humming with the new day. I ran down the hill, sneaking past the cops who were asleep, chins to their chests, and rode home.

We stood on the front lawn in the blistering sun. It was Christmas Day. Randy was wearing dick togs and a Santa hat. Mum was sporting a skimpy, red bikini, which revealed every
last shaking inch of her middle-aged flesh. I stood as far apart from them as possible, in the lime-green bikini which Mum had given me, just a few minutes before, as my Christmas present.

‘Now, put these on,’ said Randy, handing a blindfold each to Mum and I. ‘Keep your eyes closed until I say.’

I reluctantly put it on. If only I could have been having a normal Christmas with a normal family like the Greenwoods. I pictured Mr and Mrs Greenwood and all Scott’s rellies sitting
around the tree in their pyjamas, opening the presents. Randy manoeuvred us into a chain; himself at the lead, Mum holding onto his waist, me bringing up the rear. I felt like a complete tosser but
Mum was spoofing.

‘Isn’t this exciting?’

‘This is stupid,’ I grumbled.

‘No talking,’ said Randy. ‘Just follow me.’ We headed around the side of the house, through the side gate, click-clack, and along the bark path. As we crossed the
fishpond, Randy took a deep breath.

‘OK, girls. On the count of three. One.’ There was a high-pitched squeal of pipes groaning into action. ‘Two.’ A spluttering sound and water splashing against tile. Mum
whimpered in anticipation.

‘C’mon,’ I said, fed up with the palaver.

‘Three!’

And there, in all its hideous glory, was the Decontamination Chamber, pastel pink (Mum’s favourite colour) and gleaming in the sunshine. It was enormous. It took up more than half of the
courtyard. It reached flush against the eaves and stood at least two metres wide. Bursting with pride, Randy pulled back the retractable frosted glass door to reveal a glittering confusion of
nozzles, jets and flexy hoses, each one firing a relentless trajectory of shooting water. On one side was a full-length mirror; on the other, a set of metal racks equipped with every kind of
anti-bacterial liquid, soap, shower gel and body wash as well as various scrubbing brushes, sponges, pumices and loofahs-on-sticks.

Mum was in raptures. ‘It’s so beautiful.’ She smothered Randy in sloppy kisses. Dragging him with her, she leapt into the shower and began sudsing herself into a
decontaminating frenzy. Then she started on Randy, tearing off his Santa hat, and working up a thick lather all over him. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I went to my room and shut the door.
The back of the Chamber was right against my window, blocking out most of the light. I stumbled towards my bed and sunk down onto it, pulling the sheet over me. Closing my eyes, I pictured a pale
and distracted Hollie, sitting down with Mr Bailey for their usual Christmas lunch at the Marriott; and poor Danny, alone in the cave with nothing to eat except chargrilled bandicoot. I racked my
brains for some way I could help him, but I’d done all I could – the cops were bound to get him sooner or later. From above the rumble of the power shower, there came raised voices and
the sound of a scuffle. Mum was shrieking. I got out of bed and went outside to see what was causing all the racket.

Mum was in the middle of the courtyard, jumping up and down, her face contorted in horror. Christmas lunch lay splattered across the ground. There were broken plates everywhere and the table and
chairs had been tipped over. Inside the shower, Dad had Randy in a mean headlock up against the pastel tiles. Turbo-strength jets of water fired into Randy’s face as he kicked and squirmed
and flapped his arms about. Dad stood rigid with his arm around Randy’s neck, soaked through to the skin in a pair of striped pyjamas and his old Volleys.

He shouted in Randy’s ear, ‘Who the hell do you think yar screwing around with my sheila!’

Mum rushed forwards into the shower, trying in vain to pull Dad off her new lover. ‘Call the police!’ she shouted back at me, her face streaming with water.

I stood rooted to the spot. No way was I calling the cops. For once, I was on Dad’s side.

‘Rosemary! For god’s sake!
Do something!
’

‘Like what?’

‘Call Mr Greenwood! He’s a policeman, isn’t he?’ I wasn’t calling the Greenwoods. Scott might’ve answered the phone and he was the last person on earth I
wanted to talk to right now.

‘He’s retired, Mum,’ I said. ‘And it’s Christmas.’

‘This is an emergency!’ Mum raced inside to the phone. I watched from the other side of the courtyard as Randy struggled to fight back. He managed to slip out of Dad’s hold and
they fell into a sloppy tackle, punches misfiring, legs flailing this way and that. Above the strangled snorts and groans, I could hear Mum inside on the phone to Mr Greenwood. Dad got Randy pinned
again.

‘She’s mine, y’know,’ he shouted. ‘My woman. Say it and I’ll let yer go. Just this time, mind. And if I ever, ever catch your hairy mitts on her again,
there’ll be trouble, y’hear. Big trouble.’ Randy shook his head in defiance. He shouted something back at Dad but I couldn’t hear it above the torrents. ‘I wanna hear
you say it,’ roared Dad. ‘My woman. Trevor’s woman.’ Funny how he’d had fourteen years to get Mum back but it was only now she’d gone and got herself a new bloke
that he was taking action. It was obvious he’d been on the turps all morning. His eyes were glazed and bloodshot from the half-dozen or so tinnies he’d probably knocked back since
breakfast. Like Nan used to say, it was the devil in the drink that tipped him over. Sober, Dad’d never hurt a cockroach. He was a pacifist at heart. Perhaps it was my fault for telling him
about Randy, who, right at that moment, wasn’t getting off too lightly. Dad had the hose looped around his neck like a noose and was pulling tight. But Randy stood firm. ‘C’mon,
mate,’ Dad barked in his ear. ‘Spit it out and I’ll let yer go. Fair deal.’

Mum threw herself into the shower, pummelling Dad with her fists. ‘Let him go! Let him go!’

‘Stand back, Janice,’ said Dad. ‘Let me handle this.’ It was obvious that neither man was going to back down: too much pride on one side; too much grog on the other.

A car screeched to a stop outside. I rushed to the front door. Scott was sprinting across the lawn, shirtless in a pair of boxers. Why the hell had he come? I did my best to snub him. Behind
Scott came ex-cop Mr Greenwood, armed with a riot baton and a spray can of tear gas. I led them through to the courtyard where they jumped on Dad and wrestled him off a dazed and saturated Randy.
Dad, the nifty codger, slipped out of their clutches, shouting, ‘I wasn’t trying to hurt the bugger, just stop him mucking around with my wife!’

‘You can run but you can’t hide, Trevor,’ said Mr Greenwood, trying with Scott to corner him. ‘You can’t escape the law.’

‘But I can bloody well have a go,’ rallied Dad. They’d never met before but I’d always thought that Mr Greenwood and Dad would have got on well; both men were passionate
about beer, cricket and Buddy Holly.

Meanwhile, Mum’d nipped into her bedroom, returning with the handcuffs, which Randy, the frisky bugger, had never given back to me. She slipped them to Mr Greenwood, who took them with a
solicitous nod of his head. Quick as a pro, he clamped the cuffs on Dad.

I caught Mum smiling at the sight of Dad being dragged away like a crim as she cooed over beaten-up Randy. ‘Poor possum. My poor, brave possum.’

Leaving Mum to nurse Randy, I went outside to the men. Mr Greenwood was already at the wheel of the Falcon, engine idling. Dad was restrained in the back, head hung low. His anger had ebbed
away, leaving him shamefaced and melancholy. I tapped on the window but he wouldn’t even look up at me.

‘Hey, Rosie.’ Scott’s head popped up on the other side of the Falcon. His tanned arms rested on the rooftop. ‘You want to lead the way to your old man’s
place?’

‘I think Dad’ll manage that,’ I said, real curt. ‘Why are you here anyway?’

‘The old man needed a back-up.’ He grinned. ‘You wanna come with me?’