Red Rocks (2 page)

J
ake was vaguely aware of his father getting up in the morning. The short, thin curtains blocked out none of the light, so he put the pillow over his head and went back to sleep. Dad had always got up early. Usually by the time Jake sat down for breakfast, his father would have been for a walk along the beach and then written for two hours. Dad said it was so they could spend some time together
during the day without him worrying about his work, but Jake knew that he still worried about it anyway. He would sometimes stop what they were doing, holding onto the ball, or the dice, depending on the game, and his face would become vacant, as though he had left his body behind and popped off somewhere else for a few seconds.

‘Your turn,’ Jake would have to say. ‘
Dad
.’ And his father would smile and keep on playing as if nothing had happened.

This morning, Jake got up to the smell of something delicious frying in the kitchen. Dad was listening to the radio, humming along to a piece of classical music.

‘What time is it?’ Jake peeked into the frying pan and saw pieces of dark sausage cooking next to an egg. Black pudding. Yuck. He used to like the taste of it, until he’d found out what it was made of: blood.

‘It’s nine o’clock, sleepyhead!’ Dad rumpled his hair and pushed him towards the table. Jake
sat down as his father tipped the contents of the pan onto a plate and set it in front of him. ‘Careful,’ he said. ‘It’s hot.’

‘Aren’t you having any?’ Jake asked.

‘I had porridge earlier. Besides, I know how much you like black pudding and there was only enough for one.’

Jake couldn’t refuse it now. Dad was looking so pleased with himself. Gross. He forced himself to put a piece in his mouth. If he closed his eyes and pretended it was regular sausage, he could enjoy the taste without thinking about it.

‘Hey, I pumped up the tyres on your old bike,’ Dad said. ‘You can take it out for a spin if you want.’

This cheered Jake up. There was nothing he liked more than riding along the road by the sea, especially with the wind at his back.

What Jake hadn’t counted on was the southerly. He always forgot about it until it hit, which was often. There was nothing between this part
of the coast and Antarctica, as his dad often reminded him, so the wind was laced with ice, and any part of him that was exposed to it quickly became numb. Sometimes Jake fancied he could smell penguins and hear the bark of husky dogs on the breeze. It wasn’t strong today, but it was enough to make him take a sharp intake of breath as he rounded the first corner. He pushed on anyway, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands, so he was riding with paws instead of fingers on the handlebars.

He had planned to bike to the Island Bay shops, maybe see if there was a movie on at the Empire, but once he was out the gate, it was as if the bike had other ideas. He felt the pull of the cliffs again, the beach with its talking stones and seals, the old man in the shack. But as he rode past the houses of Dad’s neighbours, something didn’t seem right. Two boys stood at the gate to a house that had always cheered Jake up when he walked past it. The cottage was painted blue and sparkling white, and the garden had a lot
of windmills in it, which in the usual blustery weather would spin crazily. Some of them were in the shape of birds with funny faces, their wings whirling madly. All of them were painted to match the house. Sometimes a smiling Labrador would be in the front yard, playing. It would hide behind the lavender bushes and jump out at the windmills, barking and lolling its tongue. It never seemed to tire of the game, and Jake never tired of watching it play.

As Jake got closer to the house, he could hear the dog barking, but it wasn’t a happy bark. Its yelps were high-pitched and troubled. What was going on? Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. One of the boys, with dark wavy hair and an oversized brown hoodie, was holding a rope. At the other end of the rope, on the other side of the fence, the dog thrashed and howled. It was as if they had lassoed him, with the rope making a tight noose around his neck.

‘Hey, Mark! Pull him closer!’ The other boy, with blonde spiky hair, had a handful of stones.
‘He won’t bite, he’s too soft.’

Jake stopped a safe distance away. Mark, the brown-haired boy, was intent on pulling the rope, but the blonde boy caught sight of him. He pulled himself up to his full height, which was much taller than Jake.

‘What are you looking at, loser?’

Jake’s voice was small. ‘Nothing.’

A stone zinged through the air and struck him on the shoulder.

‘Get outta here and mind your own
business
,’ hissed the dark-haired boy, while his friend sniggered and pretended to hoist another missile. Jake ducked and the boys laughed. His cheeks burned and he got back on his bike and pedalled away. He didn’t look at the dog as he passed, couldn’t bear to see its face.

‘You tell anyone and we’ll get you!’

Jake ducked his head and another stone whistled past his shoulder.

What could he have done? Nothing, he told himself. The dog would be all right. Surely its
owner wasn’t far away. His shoulder throbbed where the stone had hit. There was nothing he could do — was there? A sick feeling crept into his stomach.

He knew boys like that, back home. Three in particular regularly stopped him on the way home from school and pushed him around a bit before getting bored and moving on to younger kids. They told him he lived in make-believe land; they called him ‘retarded’; sometimes they hit him, but he always made up some excuse if the bruises showed, told his mum he’d been hit by a ball playing cricket, so she wouldn’t worry. He didn’t want her to march into the school, which would give the boys something else to bully him about. He thought if he just kept out of their way and didn’t make trouble they would eventually forget about him. Besides, he did sometimes live in a make-believe world — they were right about that. It was much more interesting than the real world, and much safer.

He put his head down and pedalled hard, trying to push the dog, and the boys — all of them — out of his mind.

Once he left the sealed road, it was harder to pedal, but the tyres had thick tread and they took the bump and lurch of the road well. The road ran the length of the beach, all the way to Red Rocks. He put his head down against the breeze, trying not to imagine his ears freezing and breaking off. He passed a man and a woman walking the same way. The man had a backpack with a baby in it, rugged up against the cold so only its little face poked out, like a marsupial in a pouch. They had on sturdy walking shoes and polar fleece jackets, much more sensible than Jake’s sneakers and hoodie.

Jake concentrated on the sound of his wheels, shush-shush-shushing on the muddy road, and the waves washing onto the stones, continuing their conversation from yesterday. He imagined the sea taunting the stones with tales of its adventures, while the stones had to
make do with staying still. He imagined stories of mermaids and sailing ships, of sharp-toothed fish and whales the size of houses. He would have liked to have found a boat washed up on the shore. He would jump in it and let the sea carry him wherever it liked.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn’t notice he was getting closer to the old man’s shack until he was right up next to it. The old man was standing outside again, but this time he wasn’t alone. A young woman stood beside him. It was the same woman from the fish and chip shop. Jake’s stomach gave a little flip when he saw her; he wasn’t sure why. He wondered if she had walked all that way, in bare feet. Her feet must be bruised and cut from the sharp stones.

She looked miserable. Her shoulders were hunched and she was grabbing at the old man’s hands. She seemed to be pleading with him. Her bright red hair sprang in the breeze. Jake thought it might take right off into the air and
carry her with it. Her oversized men’s coat and pants would billow in the wind, while her bare feet would be the last he saw of her before she disappeared into the sky.

But she didn’t float away. Instead, the old man put his arm around her, calming her, and guided her inside.

Jake kept riding, hard. So hard that he started to puff, and he was no longer cold; instead, the wind on his face felt deliciously cool.
Something
about the look on the woman’s face made him feel uneasy, but at the same time he was glad he had seen her. He couldn’t think why he found her so interesting. She looked so young and smooth next to the stooped and wrinkled old man, and she didn’t seem so crazy today, just upset.

He biked until he couldn’t breathe, then threw the bike on the ground and jogged to the nearest rocks. He lay down on one, like a seal, and waited until his heart slowed down and his breathing no longer hurt his chest. From where
he lay on his stomach, Jake could see the slit in the rocks where the sealskin had been hidden. He kept very still, looking at it, and as he did so, he spotted a movement. The crevice was maybe ten metres away, and a small brown shape was moving towards it. Jake held his breath a moment, willing the seal not to see him. It was much smaller than those he’d seen throwing themselves into the water. It was practically a baby. It pulled itself along the rock, grunting slightly, almost as if it were humming a tune to itself the way Jake liked to do as he walked. It stopped every now and then and sniffed the air, but Jake was to the north, so his scent would be carried away by the breeze. Finally the seal reached the narrow cave, took one last look around and disappeared inside it.

Jake watched with anticipation, and waited a minute, maybe two. He thought about creeping up to the cave, looking in, maybe even trying to make friends with the young seal. Maybe he could pat it. He wished he could talk to it,
communicate with it somehow. But as he started to move towards it he knew he was being silly. It was a wild animal. There was no way it would want to be his pet. He stopped and retreated to his lookout.

Soon the seal came out. It was quivering, suddenly nervous — scared even. It looked around and caught sight of Jake and before Jake could do anything, it had bounded across the rocks and dived into the water. Jake jumped up and tried to find the animal among the surging masses of seaweed, but it must have dived and kept on swimming. He was just about to turn away when he caught sight of its shining head. It had popped up, quite close, and its black eyes glistened as it stared at him. It must have felt safer in the sea. Even when Jake stole up to the edge of the water, it didn’t swim away. It was watching him.

‘Hi, little fella.’ He crouched down and stretched a hand out towards it.

The seal bobbed around in the surf. It
bobbed closer. Jake got down onto his knees and reached down towards it. It bobbed so close that if he just reached out a little bit further, he could maybe …

Jake gasped as he came up for air from the sting of the cold water. He hadn’t even felt himself slipping, he had been so intent on touching the stupid seal. Luckily, he was a good swimmer and the sea wasn’t too rough today. He’d seen it on other days, beating itself against the rocks — to be caught in the ocean on a day like that would mean being bashed around for sure. He looked around but the seal was gone. He swam to the rocks and pulled himself back up, where he lay, shivering and wet. He heard a chattering sound. When he looked up the seal was close by again. This time Jake was sure it was laughing at him. Then, with a flick of its back flippers, it dived under and disappeared.

J
ake tried to move quickly but the wind cut through his wet clothes, making his muscles cold and stiff. I’ll freeze to death before I make it home, he thought, and imagined himself curling up inside the cave to shelter, falling asleep and never waking up. Nobody would ever find him except the seals, snuffling around his body, poking their whiskers in his ears.

He managed to climb back onto his bike
and get his feet to turn the pedals. Once he was moving, he didn’t feel the cold so much. He could see the old man standing outside the shack, looking down the road at him. He had an urge to get off his bike and go and hide, but he pushed on, not wanting to let the cold catch up with him.

‘Hey, young fella,’ called the man as Jake passed. ‘Stop!’ For a moment Jake pretended not to hear him, but when the old man called out again, he put his foot down and skidded to a stop.

‘Come here, you silly lad.’

Jake turned his bike around and pedalled back.

‘Just look at you! Did you fall in the water, or what?’

Jake hung his head and nodded. ‘I tried to touch a seal. I fell in.’

‘You tried to …’ The old man let out a great guffaw, showing Jake the pink insides of his mouth and yellow teeth. ‘Why aren’t I surprised? You’ve got to watch those seals, cheeky sods.
They’ll have your arm off if you’re not careful.’

Jake shrugged and turned to go. The man put a hand on his shoulder.

‘Now just wait, young fella,’ said the man. ‘I’m only teasing. You can’t go home like that, you’ll freeze your backside off. Come inside by the fire and I’ll give you something to wear.’ He saw Jake eyeing up his own dirty jumper and pants. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got some freshly washed clothes in here, although God knows I’m running low. I never seem to have enough these days.’

Jake was so cold, and the idea of a nice fire and dry clothes certainly appealed to him. And a part of him was curious to see the red-haired young woman, meet her properly, even. His mother’s voice in his head told him not to go into a stranger’s house, but he wanted to see what it was like inside, so he pushed the voice aside and followed the man into the shack.

‘What’s your name?’ the old man asked.

‘Jake.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Jake. I saw you
yesterday
too, didn’t I? You like it out here? I’m Ted. You want a cuppa?’

Jake shook his head and looked around the cottage. It only had one room. The young woman was nowhere to be seen, which was disappointing, though he couldn’t think why. In one corner stood a single bed with a patchwork quilt and a thin pillow; in the opposite corner a pot-bellied stove crackled away.

‘Well, here you go. I’ll just be outside.’ Ted handed Jake a pile of clothes and turned away. When he was gone, Jake brought the clothes to his face to give them a sniff. They smelt of laundry powder and a faint tang of sea air.

They were too big, of course, but the coarse pants had a piece of rope through the belt loops to hold them up, and he rolled the cuffs up. He folded up the sleeves of the shirt, feeling ridiculous. There was no way he could ride home like this, but already he was feeling much warmer without the wet clothes next to
his skin. He draped his jeans, hoodie, T-shirt and socks over two chairs by the stove.

A voice came from outside. ‘Ya decent?’

‘Yes!’ said Jake.

Ted limped back inside. ‘It’s like Grand Central Station in here today. Never had so many visitors.’

Jake thought of the red-haired woman, but was too shy to ask about her.

Ted went to a makeshift kitchen bench and opened a biscuit tin. He held it out. Jake expected to see something home-made, some crazy cake that if he ate it would make him grow as tall as a house, or maybe shrink down to the size of a garden gnome. But the tin contained only gingernuts, shop-bought ones. He took one with relief and a little bit of disappointment. This old man was turning out to be less strange than he had feared, but he realised he wanted him to be strange as well. It would give him something to tell his two best friends when he went back to school in a couple of weeks.

Jake was sitting in an old armchair, willing his clothes to dry faster, when there was a commotion at the back door, like the clattering of tin cans.

‘Is it you?’ Ted called suddenly. Jake jumped. In answer, the tins clattered again. ‘Well come in, then, we have a visitor but he won’t bite.’ Ted winked at Jake with a wonky eye.

At first nobody came, but then a small hand appeared on the door frame, followed piece by piece by a small body. A little girl’s face peeked around the corner. She had red-brown hair, like the woman in the overcoat, but she was no more than ten years old. She looked at him with curiosity. Her eyes were huge in her face, almost black. Then she giggled and disappeared.

‘Ah, she’s a shy one, that one,’ said Ted. ‘Cheeky too, as you’ve seen.’ He coughed. ‘
Can
see.’

‘Who is she?’ asked Jake.

‘Oh, she’s …’ Ted trailed off, thinking for a moment. ‘She’s my granddaughter. So she is.’ He seemed to be surprised, as if he’d only just
remembered that he had one. ‘She stays with me sometimes. I can’t keep track of how fast she’s growing, though. Seems like yesterday she was a tiny baby.’

Ted went to the door and looked out. ‘No, she’s gone. Off to play on the rocks, no doubt. I know she’d like to meet you. Why don’t you come back tomorrow. I’ll make sure she’s here to stay this time.’

‘Well …’ Jake wasn’t sure. But the little girl had piqued his curiosity. The way she looked at him made him want to talk to her, to find out what was going on behind those dark eyes. She was younger than him, so maybe they wouldn’t have much to say to each other, but maybe if she was cheeky, like Ted said, she could be fun to hang out with. He hadn’t met any kids his own age here.

‘Now,’ said Ted, clapping his hands. ‘I’ve got things to do. Do you want to wear my clothes home and bring ’em back tomorrow, or do want to put yours back on?’

Jake wondered what on earth the things were that Ted had to do. Drink some more tea, maybe. A whole lot of crossword puzzle books were piled up on the table next to his chair. Perhaps that was keeping him busy. He wondered how the old man ate. He didn’t seem to have a car and he was miles from the shops. Suddenly Jake felt sorry for him. He was too thin — his clothes hung off him and his face was just a mass of sharp angles and loose skin. The eyelid of his squinty eye seemed thick and too heavy.

‘Do you want me to bring you anything tomorrow?’

The old man looked thrown for a moment. Jake thought he saw a tear welling in his good eye.

‘Well, that’s very thoughtful of you, young sir. If you could go to the shops for me and buy some vegetables, maybe, I’d thank you. I’ve got some money here, somewhere.’ He dug around inside his pockets but they came up empty. ‘Could you check yours?’

Jake put his hand in the pocket of the pants he was wearing and found a piece of paper. A folded-up ten-dollar note that had gone through the wash.

‘I knew I’d put it somewhere like that!’ said Ted. ‘You know, I get plenty of fish to eat, and I do have a couple of young helpers, but, as you saw with my young granddaughter there, they are not always reliable. So yes, thank you. Some veges I can boil and call my own would be fine.’

As Jake cycled away in his own clothes, still slightly damp, with the ten-dollar note snug in his pocket, he felt very good about himself. The old man might be strange, but he also seemed rather lonely as well. Jake was proud that he could be of some help. Then he remembered, with a stab of guilt, that he had been of no help to the poor dog. He only hoped he didn’t bump into the bully boys on his way home and that the Labrador was unharmed, no thanks to him.