2
2
‘No way he’s gonna show,’ Rick told Marty as they made their way down to the football field the next day. What he didn’t say was that he couldn’t have given a monkey’s left nut if he never saw Aaron again. The fat loser attracted trouble and the last thing Rick needed was more of that.
But Aaron did show. He was waiting right where Marty had told him to be, sitting in the shade of a lilly pilly tree stuffing his puffy, bruised face with chocolate. When he realised he wasn’t alone, he got to his feet and brushed off the seat of his shorts – real ladylike.
‘Hi. I wasn’t sure you’d come.’
‘Yeah, well I nearly didn’t,’ Rick said, stuffing his hands in his shorts pockets. ‘But it’s friggin’ hot and I want a swim.’
Aaron licked chocolate from around his mouth.
‘Oh? You should’ve said yesterday. I haven’t brought my togs.’
‘Togs. Yeah, right.’ Rick stalked off.
Just seeing Aaron again bugged Rick, what with his faggy hair and those fat lips – always red because he licked them so much. No wonder his step-brother had pounded the snot out of him. Rick knew it wasn’t fair to dislike Aaron for no good reason, but he couldn’t help it. He glanced down at Marty, who’d caught up and was rolling alongside. Why did he have to go and invite the loser down to the billabong? It was their private hangout.
As Rick quickened his pace he sensed Marty dropping back to wait for Aaron.
The billabong was hidden in bushland behind the new Mountain View housing estate. Mountain View was a local joke; a posh name that didn’t quite deliver. Although it was built on the highest hill in the area, the only view you got from up there was of everyone else’s roofs. On a good day you might even see the smoke stacks from the steelworks over in Redridge.
When they built the estate, the developers cut a piece out of the hill and shored it up with a six-metre- high wall made from rough sandstone blocks. At least two kids Rick knew of had almost killed themselves climbing that wall. All it took was one dodgy toehold and you’d be on the fast track to bitumen heaven. (That was if you didn’t hit the concrete ramp on the way down.) Beside the bitumen path was the bush, and somewhere over yonder, the creek.
There were usually plenty of kids hanging around, riding bikes and boards and climbing the wall – especially on weekends. The first waterhole, the place everyone called the lagoon, was less than a hundred metres away. It looked wild and untouched in contrast to the ultra-modern houses on the hill.
It was no easy feat getting near the lagoon on a hot day. A gang of Mountain View kids reckoned they owned it and would only let other kids swim if their money was the right colour. It was better value going to the pool. But despite the gang the lagoon had become the ‘in’ place to be that summer.
Rick and Marty were the only kids who seemed to know about the smaller waterhole, the one they called the billabong. They’d never seen anyone else hanging around and it would have been packed if anyone, especially the Mountain View kids, knew it was there. Its existence had probably stayed secret because it was off the main track and was so well hidden that a person wasn’t likely to see it until they’d fallen in, which was exactly how Rick had found it. Of course someone else at some distant time must have known about it too. After all, the VW had been dumped there. But they’d either kept it to themselves, or had forgotten about it.
If he had his way Rick would live at the billabong. Ever since his father’s death, life at home was unbearable. He didn’t know much about local history, but he was sure the billabong had once been a sacred Aboriginal site. ‘This place is magic,’ he’d said to Marty on that first day as they’d sat on the bank, skipping stones across the water. He knew how flaky that sounded, but he didn’t care. He supposed that finding something you didn’t expect to find always felt like magic. But somehow it was more than that.
Rick led the others around the lagoon and into deeper scrub, doing his best to keep out of sight of the gang. If they weren’t careful the mongrels would charge them a dollar just for passing through.
‘I don’t see any car,’ Aaron called out. The parts of his face that weren’t bruised were flaming red from exertion and slick with sweat.
‘Not so loud, mate,’ Marty said.
Rick grinned. Aaron sure wasn’t built for action. Marty charged past them both and took the lead.
He crashed through overhanging branches, rocks and sticks flying from his wheels. After several minutes he stopped beside the giant red gum marked with a deep X and waited for Rick and Aaron.
‘You really oughta get some off-road tyres for that thing,’ Rick said, nodding at Marty’s chair.
Marty let out a low chuckle. ‘Sure would make this a lot easier. But I’d need a whole new chair for wheels like that. This one cost over three grand. I can just imagine what my father would say if I asked for another one.’
‘Three grand, and you take it bush-bashing?’ Aaron said.
Marty rubbed the ball of his thumb absently over a gash in the glossy black paintwork. ‘Come on, we’ll never get a swim at this rate.’
The group turned off the track and pushed their way into denser scrub.
‘Are you sure you two know where you’re going?’ Aaron said, fighting off a clump of lantana.
‘Whatta ya reckon?’ Rick shook his head. With luck they’d lose fat boy before the day was over.
Aaron went on, ‘This place could be dangerous. I
wouldn’t be surprised if there were snakes in here.’ Rick rounded on him. ‘Course there’s snakes, you
numb-nut. This isn’t some fancy zoo where they put the creepy-crawlies in cages so’s you won’t get bitten. That’s half the fun. And it’s probably what keeps people from snooping around too much, which I’ve gotta say is fine with me.’
‘And feral dogs,’ Aaron said as though Rick hadn’t spoken.
‘Really?’ Marty said.
‘Says who?’ said Rick.
Something rustled in the undergrowth. Aaron jumped, eyes darting. ‘It was in the local paper. Some bloke from Mountain View said he saw a pack of dogs round here.’
‘We’ve never seen them, hey, Rick?’
Rick sniffed. ‘Nope. But if you’re so worried, maybe you should run on home to your mummy.’ Rick didn’t wait for a response. He dived into the dense grass, weaving and ducking between the trees.
When the bush grew too thick for the wheelchair to pass, Marty always got out and walked. He couldn’t go far with his legs all bent up like pretzels and his back stooped like an old man. The last stretch he crawled. No matter how hard the going was, Rick never tried to help him. Marty wouldn’t like that.
As Marty hauled himself out of the chair, using a sapling for support, Aaron watched slack-jawed. Rick had seen that look heaps of times and didn’t like it one bit. Sometimes he felt like smashing their faces in. Right now, more than anything, he wanted to smash Aaron’s face in.
‘Whatta ya friggin’ gawking at?’
Marty gripped the tree he was leaning on so tightly his knuckles shone white and his arms trembled. The hamstrings behind his bent knees poked through the skin like broken bones.
‘Geez, what happened to your legs?’ Aaron gasped.
Rick took a step towards Aaron. Marty stopped him dead with a glare.
‘He’s only asking,’ Marty said. Then to Aaron:
‘You know those yellow lines on the train platform? The ones everyone tells you never to cross?’
Aaron nodded.
‘Well, I crossed the line.’
‘You mean . . .’ Aaron’s eyes grew huge. Marty shrugged. ‘It happens.’
Rick laughed so hard his gut ached.
Marty managed to keep a straight face. Aaron looked from one boy to the other, obviously confused. He glanced at the surrounding bush, probably looking for snakes. His tongue flicked in and out so fast it was a red blur. After a moment he seemed to make a decision and turned back to Marty. ‘What’s the joke? I don’t get it.’
‘I wasn’t hit by a train,’ Marty said. ‘I’ve got cerebral palsy. It’s a muscle thing.’ Marty pulled himself across to the next tree, and then the next. Aaron lumbered after him and Rick followed, his eyes never leaving Aaron’s broad back.
Marty and Rick’s arrival at the billabong was sudden. One second there was nothing to see but bark and leaves, and the next they were standing on the bank of a waterhole roughly twenty metres across. Hemmed in by a tightly woven wall of trees and shrubs, the billabong was so dark and still that it appeared bottomless. Gnarled tree roots dipped into it like many-fingered hands. As a breath of wind stirred the foliage overhead, sunlight played on the surface of the water, setting fire to the shadows.
With a grunt, Marty dropped to his knees on the gravelly bank. ‘So, Aaron, what do you think?’
Aaron blundered through the trees and jerked to a stop at the water’s edge. His slick face was a mask of fear. ‘Hey! Why didn’t you warn me?’ he cried, arms windmilling in an effort to stay upright.
Rick rammed Aaron with a shoulder, knocking him to the ground. ‘Watch your step, fatso.’ He grinned.
Aaron went to say something but scanned the water instead. ‘Looks a bit green. Sure it’s okay to swim in it?’
‘Geez, will you quit it?’ Rick said. ‘No one cares what you friggin’ well think.’
Lickety-lick went Aaron’s tongue.
‘Shut up, Rick,’ Marty said in a low voice.
It was Rick’s turn to gawk. What was Marty paying out on him for? Aaron was the one being a pain in the butt. Well, stuff him. Stuff both of them! He dropped to the ground, scooped up a handful of stones and started pegging them one after another at the VW.
The car slumped on the bank half a dozen metres away, its front end submerged to the roofline, rear end high and dry. Sunlight arrowed off the VW’s back window, shooting lasers into Rick’s eyes, stuffing up his aim. He gathered more stones and tried again, doing better this time. As the stones connected with the car’s rust-red body, something darkly feral moved in the space behind the driver’s seat.
Marty nodded at the car. ‘Rick and I tried to pull her out last weekend. I wasn’t much help. We gave it a good go though, didn’t we, Rick?’
‘See that? Something’s living in it.’ Rick picked up another handful of stones. Ting! Ting! Ting!
‘She doesn’t look the best,’ Marty went on, ‘but V-dubs’ engines are in the back, so I reckon she’ll still go – if there’s petrol in her tank, that is.’
Aaron studied the car. He tapped his chin with a fingernail, a nail that Rick noticed was not only ridiculously clean, but shaped into a perfect oval.
‘I don’t think we’ll be able to move it. Looks kind of heavy,’ Aaron finally said. ‘Of course if we had a rope and maybe a tow truck – or a winch. Yeah, a winch ought to do it.’
Rick and Marty looked from each other to the car. Of course they’d need a tow truck. What had they been thinking? A gang of wrestlers would have a hard time shifting that wreck. The day they’d tried to get it out – Rick up to his ears in water – it hadn’t budged so much as a fly’s fart. They’d been so full of ideas about cruising around town with the radio up full blast and their elbows out the windows that they hadn’t seen what was staring them in the face. The VW had been part of the billabong for years. It wasn’t going anywhere.
Rick and Marty laughed until tears streamed down their cheeks.
‘It was a good idea though,’ Aaron said, watching them warily.
‘Yeah, it was,’ Rick said.
Marty wiped his eyes. ‘Had big plans for that car.’
That set Rick off laughing again. ‘Yeah, real big plans,’ he said when he got himself under control.
‘I can understand that.’ Aaron moved over to a tree root and sat. He studied Marty and Rick from under his striped fringe and then pulled a chocolate bar out of his shirt pocket. ‘Want some?’
Sharing that runny chocolate was akin to smoking a peace pipe. Aaron didn’t bother Rick quite so much after that.
For a long time the three boys sat at the edge of the billabong saying nothing. They licked sticky fingers and breathed in the cool, green air. Muffled sounds drifted on the breeze from the lagoon. Occasionally a bird called. And from way off in the distance came the faintest tinkle of the ice-cream man.
‘Don’t know about you pair, but I’m going to take a dip,’ Marty said. He yanked off his shoes and shirt and then flung himself into the water.
Aaron leapt to his feet, tongue flickering, hands flapping. ‘Geez! Is he going to be okay? I mean, what if he drowns?’
‘Don’t sweat it. You’ll see. Marty can swim like an eel.’ Rick stripped down to his jocks and splashed
in.
Marty’s head broke the water’s surface. ‘Come on, Aaron. What are you waiting for?’
Aaron’s eyes darted back and forth. ‘I don’t know. Might be leeches in there, don’t you think? Maybe something worse.’
‘Stop being such a girl,’ Marty said.
Aaron removed his shoes and dipped his toes in the water. Rick splashed him and he jumped back as though scalded.
‘If you don’t get in here right now, I swear I’m gonna chuck you in,’ Rick warned.
Aaron undressed, folding everything neatly. Wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, he stepped into the water. His eyes widened in alarm as he continued downward, slipping into the dark depths of the billabong. Seconds later, he surfaced in an explosion of water and flailing limbs.
‘Probably should’ve warned you about the drop, huh?’ Rick grinned.
Clutching at the bank, Aaron snorted water and then sucked in another lungful of air. ‘Yeah, I would’ve appreciated that.’
Rick laughed and pushed him under again.
‘Race!’ he challenged and a moment later all three were doing laps. Marty left the others dead in the water, just as Rick knew he would.
Exhausted, they dragged themselves onto the bank and lay panting on their backs, staring up at the shifting kaleidoscope of blue and green.
‘Man, I could stay here forever,’ Rick said, putting an arm under his head.
‘Yeah,’ Aaron agreed. ‘It’s real tranquil.’ Tranquil? Rick screwed up his face. He turned to
Marty. ‘Hey, I reckon if we built a hut we could live down here and no one would ever find us.’
‘Yeah they would.’ Marty sat up and shook water from his hair. ‘We’d have to really go bush if we wanted to hide.’
‘Well I reckon there’s protective magic here,’ Rick said. ‘So no one would find us if we didn’t want to be found. Aborigines reckon magical things live in billabongs. What are them things called?’
‘Bunyips?’ Marty said.
‘Yeah, that’s them. Maybe a bunyip lives here and it’d protect us.’
Aaron propped himself on an elbow. ‘I doubt it.’ Rick glared at him. ‘Why not?’
‘Bunyips are imaginary,’ Marty said.
‘Even if they were real,’ Aaron added, ‘they wouldn’t protect us. Bunyips don’t like people. They say bunyips protect their waterholes from invaders by eating them.’
Rick collected his shirt. ‘If they aren’t real then why are there so many stories about them, huh?’
The ice-cream van was closer now, its trademark music chiming through the trees.
Rick swatted a fly and pulled his T-shirt over his head. ‘Anyone got money?’
‘Nope.’
‘Nah.’
‘Well I’ve got a couple of bucks I reckon.’ Rick pulled on his shorts and then fished in the pockets. He counted the coins into his hand. ‘Three bucks twenty, thirty, forty-five. Should be enough for an ice-cream.’ He forced his wet feet into his joggers and stood up.
‘Sounds like the ice-cream man’s up at the lagoon already,’ Marty said. ‘Better hurry if you want to catch him.’