Happy as Larry (14 page)

‘Well . . . yes. I think so.'

By the end of Guillermo's lecture, Larry felt slightly ill. It was no surprise his mother hadn't really broached the subject. She was the one who changed the channel whenever a couple kissed. The only time his parents hugged was when his mother was crying. He'd never seen them kissing like the lovers on TV, and they most certainly didn't do
that
.

Gilligan parked in the middle of the track. Larry skidded but still managed to bump him with his tyre. Guillermo skidded and still managed to bump into Larry's rear wheel.

The dog yelped but recovered quickly, and the boys laughed.

‘That will be on the news tonight, you wait and see,' Guillermo said, and his voice grew deep and authoritative. ‘A dog caused a two-bike crash on the track by the river today but there were no major injuries. The dog has a tyre mark on his tail but is expected to fully recover.'

Later, after the sun had set on one of the best days Larry could remember, he lay on his bunk and relived the adventures. The bike pile-up, the stone-skimming and the fright he'd given his friend in the park. Before he could think it through, his feet were on the floor.

‘Where are you going?' Denise asked.

‘Um . . . the park.'

‘It's dark. It's nearly bedtime.'

‘I left something . . . I left Gilligan's lead over there.'

‘Straight there, straight back,' Mal said.

‘But . . .' Denise said.

Larry was already gone.

The bush in the corner of the park did smell like urine. It took Larry a good minute to find Guillermo's rubbish, and in the stark white flare of the streetlight he discovered why his friend had been so embarrassed.

‘Larry?' Denise called from the porch.

In a panic, he stuffed the magazine under his shirt.

‘Yes?'

‘Did you find it?'

‘Almost.'

‘What do you mean, almost?'

‘It's just here.'

‘Hurry up, please.'

He heard the door close and could breathe again.

Larry missed Guillermo during the week. His schoolfriends paled in comparison – they only wanted to talk about TV shows and video games.

‘I wish you'd shut up about him,' Jemma complained. ‘You sound as though you're in love.'

Larry snorted, ‘No, I'm not,' but he had to wonder. He could think of worse people to be married to.

‘Well, it's Guillermo this and Guillermo that.'

‘You should meet him. I know you'll like him.'

‘Bring him to church.'

‘I don't know . . . I'm not sure if he'd want to come. I don't know if he'd be allowed.'

Denise thought it was a fabulous idea. If anything, in the week she had become even more happy-crazy. Her manic smiling unsettled Larry.

When Sunday morning came around again and the two boys met and hugged on the jetty, Larry felt his heart galloping. ‘I was thinking . . . wondering really . . . and my mum says it's okay if you want. Only if you want to.'

‘What?' Guillermo asked, suspicious but excited.

‘You don't have to . . . I was just . . . I wondered if you'd want to come to church. You could meet Jemma and her family and that sort of thing. It's fun. They have chocolate cake and everything.'

‘Of course,' Guillermo said. ‘That would be great. I will have to check with my father. What is the name of your church again?'

Guillermo's father had overheard the conversation, and when Larry mentioned the name of the church, he turned to the boys, smiled and nodded.

Guillermo could sing. He knew the words and tune to several hymns and wasn't frightened to let his voice be heard. Denise couldn't stop smiling. Neither could Jemma. When Larry made their introduction, Jemma's face went red. Guillermo – all natural charm and confidence – hugged her and her younger brother and sister. Tim stuck out his hand and scowled at the floor. Guillermo, unfazed, shook it and continued to smile.

Jemma couldn't take her eyes off him. She giggled and blushed and squeaked when he talked to her. April kept holding his hand and dragging him off to show him things – the cakes, the toilets, the pulpit, the priest, the garden. Their dad. Mr Holland nodded hello but didn't smile. He herded his children to the car.

Larry was relieved to see them waving from the back window of the utility. Relieved enough to sigh as they disappeared from view.

‘Ah, there you are, boys,' Denise sang. ‘Shall we head home then?'

‘I promised to help my father in the garden this afternoon,' Guillermo said. ‘Would it be okay to walk with you?'

‘Of course,' Denise said. She put her hand on Guillermo's shoulder as they left the church. ‘Did you enjoy the service? You have a lovely singing voice.'

‘Thank you, Mrs Rainbow. It is a good church. It reminds me of Susan's church in Bolivia.'

‘Ah, so that's where you picked up the hymns.'

‘Yes, mostly in English. My father's church was the same church but mostly in Spanish.'

Guillermo began singing to himself. Larry recognised the tune. It was one of the hymns they'd just sung but he was singing in Spanish.

Denise clapped quietly when he was done, and Larry shook his head in amazement. Sometimes he felt he didn't deserve a friend like Guillermo. Sometimes this boy from Bolivia was just too clever and beautiful and wise in the ways of the world. Sometimes Larry just wanted to hold his hand – but he never did.

When Larry and his mother got back to Condon Street, Stan Ward's brother's furniture van was backing into the driveway, making a delivery. The cargo was an ex-postal CT110 motorcycle that looked as though it had come off second-best in a duel with a brick wall, which, as it turned out, was not far from the truth. Dominic Evans had run into a Daewoo Nubira that was backing out of a driveway at emergency-services speed. Dominic lived to sing another day, but the bike was a write-off. The front forks were sadly bent and the wheel was buckled like something from the circus.

‘Just needs a new front end,' Mal said. ‘I priced one from the wreckers in the city. Should have it on the road for under two hundred dollars.'

Mal had a new toy. It was broken, but that fact had no impact on his mad smile. He was keeping with the recent tradition in the Rainbow household of being unaccountably happy, a tradition that finally explained itself that evening.

Both Larry's parents came to tuck him in that night.

He knew something was coming.

‘We have some news, Larry,' Mal whispered.

‘Good news,' Denise said.

‘Very good news.'

‘I'm pregnant,' Denise said. ‘I'm going to have a baby.'

FANTASTIC
BROTHER

I
T WAS 12:06 A.M.
when Larry looked at the clock. He hadn't slept. Hadn't even come close. He was going to have a little brother or sister – they didn't know which – around 26 February next year. Five months. It seemed like such a long way away. He wished they hadn't told him until the day before it was due. Or maybe just surprised him as if it was Christmas morning: here, Larry, here's your new brother/sister. He thought about a new brother versus a new sister and couldn't decide which he'd prefer. He thought about what they might name the baby. He imagined how happy his friends would be when he told them the news. Jemma would squeal and spend three hours making a card for his mother. Guillermo would hug him and congratulate him, even though Larry had nothing to do with making the baby. Then he almost made himself sick thinking about what his parents must have done for his mother to become pregnant.

Larry ran with Vince again on Wednesday and when he heard the news, the old man had to stop and sit on the low log fence that marked the edge of the breakwater.

‘That's incredible, Larry. A miracle. Fantastic, fantastic news. Your mother and father deserve that after all these years. After the fantastic job they've done with you.'

He reached out gently, found the boy's head and messed his hair. ‘
You
deserve it, Larry. You'll be a fantastic brother.'

Tears spilled from the old man's eyes and splashed onto his shirt.

Larry took his hand. ‘What is it, Vince? Are you okay?'

Vince shook his head and drew him into a hug. Part of a sob escaped – big and black and lonely – but Vince held his breath and shook faintly as he tried to swallow it. Larry hung on tight, didn't know what else to do, then Vince was drawing away, rubbing his face, wiping tears on his sleeve.

Larry's muddled brain had already come to a conclusion: Vince was sad because he wouldn't see Larry's little brother or sister born. Vince was dying.

‘What is it?' Larry asked again.

Vince couldn't see the boy's wrinkled brow but he could feel the confusion in his voice. He sniffed and reached for the boy's hand again.

‘Sorry, Larry. I'm happy, I really am.'

‘What?'

‘It's not about you. I'm happy. So happy for you and your mother and father.'

‘Tell me,' Larry demanded. ‘You're my friend. I know there's something wrong, so don't lie to me.'

Vince laughed, eyebrows raised. He patted Larry's hand.

‘Where's the rope? Come on, let's run.'

Larry sighed and trailed the rope across Vince's lap. For a second, his frustration with his neighbour overwhelmed him and he considered dropping his end. He thought about running off and leaving Vince to find his own way home. But the old man stood, wiped his face with the front of his shirt and began jogging on the spot. ‘Lead on, Larry. Lead on.'

They were halfway to the bridge when Vince spoke again. ‘We
are
friends, aren't we. More than just neighbours. More than oddly paired running buddies. You've become my eyes, Larry, and I trust you more than I trust the sand. Can't run on the beach any more . . . broken glass . . . needles. It's not safe.'

‘Crack in the footpath,' Larry said automatically.

Vince lifted his toes and felt the unevenness of the fracture under his heel. ‘See! See what I mean. That's the sort of trust you need in your fellow man. Blind faith.'

Larry huffed.

Vince growled and shook his head. ‘I don't hate much about this world, Larry, but I do hate going blind.'

Larry was so relieved that Vince wasn't dying that it took ten long strides for it to sink in. The old man wasn't going to die, but he wouldn't
see
Larry's brother or sister. Sleep eventually came easier to Larry.

Mal was neck-deep in a project installing a beer fridge under the house, apparently – and worked on it into the evening; sawing, hammering and drilling sounds came from beneath the lounge-room floor. Larry found the industry soothing.

He still thought about his little brother or sister cooking away in his mother's tummy, but the thoughts were older and wiser now.

His mother was tucking him in tight on a chilly September evening when she discovered Guillermo's rubbish – the magazine – under his mattress.

Larry had forgotten it was there. He watched his mother flick the pages and saw her face contort. Her mouth hung open.

‘Oh my goodness,' she whispered and dropped it as if it was lava.

She bumped the doorframe on her way out. ‘I can't believe it,' she hissed. ‘Malcolm!'

He hid under the covers but he could still hear her ranting like Muriel Hammersmith. He cupped his hands over his ears and hummed a single confused note to himself until the covers were gently drawn away from his face.

He blinked against the harsh light.

His father seemed to be smiling. He had sawdust in his hair.

‘Where did you get this?' he asked, holding the magazine as if it was a library book, not molten rock.

Larry lifted himself onto one elbow. ‘I found it. Found it in the park.'

Mal nodded and flicked through the pages one by one. When he got to the last page, he closed it with a flourish and shook his head. He was definitely smiling.

‘Your mother and I don't approve of this sort of thing,' he said, theatrically loud. He closed the door quietly. ‘And she asked me to come in here and talk to you, but I don't think I'm going to say the things she'd want me to say, so let's just keep this between you and me, okay?'

Larry nodded.

The conversation that followed variously fascinated and horrified Larry. He had been collecting shells of information all his life and their ‘little talk' was mostly a chance for him to help arrange those shells. They turned them over together and examined them under the light, asked straight questions and told straight answers. There was no mention of birds or bees, and twenty red-cheeked minutes after they began, the conversation came to a comfortable landing on the magazine that had started it all.

‘Just a tip,' Mal said, in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘If you want to hide something from your mother, don't put it anywhere near your drawers or your bed. She's in those places all the time. That's one of the reasons we have a shed.'

He winked, kissed his boy's cheek and turned out the light as he left. Larry heard the garbage bin open and close and he bade the magazine good riddance. So much more trouble than it was worth. No wonder Guillermo had reacted strangely when Larry had caught him with it. He rolled over and buzzed for a while, but the gentle sounds of activity coming from under the house eventually lulled him to sleep. ‘You don't even care,' Denise growled at her husband as she made dinner on Thursday evening.

Larry was staring at the television, biting his thumbnail and listening to their stifled but heated conversation.

‘Rubbish. Of course I care. It's just . . .'

Denise scoffed. ‘You say that, but your actions say something else. Why do you need a motorbike all of a sudden? Why do we need a refrigerator under the house and a beer tap in the lounge? What about somewhere for a new baby to sleep?'