Spud - Learning to Fly (34 page)
Read Spud - Learning to Fly Online
Authors: John van de Ruit
‘Come on, gents!’ shouted Rambo. ‘Touch rugby, boys only.’ Fatty cheered loudly and was about to thunder out onto the lawn for the game when I grabbed the back of his shirt and gave it a yank.
‘Not such a good idea,’ I whispered and motioned to where Penny and Brenda were standing around looking spare.
‘Oh right,’ said Fatty and fumbled in his pocket for his chewing gum.
He then hollered, ‘Guys, I’ll catch you up. I just want to check what Joseph’s planning for lunch.’
I watched him hesitantly approach Penny and Brenda.
Go, Fatty, I whispered to myself. Don’t be scared.
Fatty and Penny walked off behind the house together leaving Brenda alone on the driveway and looking awkward.
‘Hey, Brenda!’ I called. ‘Come watch the game.’ She grinned with relief and sprinted after me. She then didn’t stop talking until we reached the field.
Rambo chose sides, so I was teamed up with the uncoordinated, the effeminate, and the clinically insane.
FATTY’S DONE IT!
I heard the loud whoop from the forest behind the house. Seconds later the pair of lovebirds galloped out of the woods looking flushed and exhilarated. Penny and Brenda immediately raced off to the dam, while Fatty announced that I had a phone call and dragged me up to the house before bundling me into the spare room to break the news.
‘I did it,’ said Fatty. ‘She was a brilliant kisser … like it was hectic and amazing and just …’ He stood there panting and looking as happy as a human being possibly could.
Fatty reckons he didn’t even get to use my system in the end, because as soon as they were behind the first tree, Penny ordered him to kiss her! Fatty said they kissed three times and one kiss went on for at least five minutes. He threw himself down on the bed, which creaked loudly under his weight. He folded his arms behind his head and crossed his feet before saying, ‘Girls, Spuddy, they’re just amazing, aren’t they?’
14:00 Somebody was feeling me up under the lunch table. Unfortunately, it turned out to be Brenda who enquired immediately after lunch if I would like to take a walk with her into the forest. I put on the sweetest face I could and said, ‘No, thanks, but thanks for asking.’ Poor Brenda looked humiliated and ran away.
I took a stroll around the dam and joined Rambo where he was sitting under a tall tree listening to his Walkman. At first I thought he was going to ignore me completely but then he sat up and removed his headphones.
‘Complete wank,’ he said.
I thought he was referring to the cast party but it turned out he was talking about everything, from theatre to Wrexham College and VPH.
‘Complete waste of our time,’ he said. ‘I took more pleasure out of being expelled than my term at Wrexham.’
I nodded and didn’t know what to say. Rambo said that he was finished with schoolgirls and that older women make better lovers and are less complicated.
‘By the way,’ he added casually, ‘I never got to tell you the bad news.’
‘What bad news?’ I asked.
‘That night in the rose garden? I had good and bad news for you, but you only wanted to hear the good.’
‘What’s the bad news?’ I asked in a faltering voice.
‘Pike’s after you,’ he said.
‘Pike!’ I exclaimed sounding alarmingly like Garlic.
‘Spike told me that Pike saw you ratting to Viking the night before he was busted and he thinks you were somehow involved in his busting,’ said Rambo. He watched me closely for a reaction.
‘But I was helping Viking sort out the scripts,’ I cried, suddenly wondering if Rambo was trying to mess with my emotions.
There was a pause before Rambo said, ‘Just wanted to give you advance warning.’
‘What should I do?’ I asked.
Rambo shrugged like it wasn’t his problem and said, ‘Stay in the house – he can’t get you there.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, unsure whether I had anything to thank him for.
‘Actually, I’m out of here tonight,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Death in the family.’
‘Jeez, sorry,’ I said, suddenly realising why Rambo’s been so morose lately. ‘Who died?’ I asked.
Rambo looked at me with absolute scorn. ‘Nobody, you toss!’ he said. ‘You see, that’s your problem, Milton, you just believe too much.’ He grinned disturbingly and continued, ‘It’s a sham. I’m going home tonight. I’m outta here. My dad’s already on his way.’
‘Wow,’ I said stupidly. ‘Enjoy your holiday.’
‘I will,’ said Rambo. ‘Next term is going to be massive.’
He replaced his headphones and his head began to bob slowly along to Nirvana’s screaming guitars and throbbing bass.
Ten minutes before departure, Boggo took a brief walk with Brenda in the woods. He returned five minutes later in a foul mood and said Brenda was the worst kisser in the world. ‘I’d rather snog Vern,’ he complained to a chorus of mocking laughter.
It was a bumpy ride back to Wrexham because of the mist and the drunken madman at the wheel who kept shouting slurred Shakespeare and goading us with vile insults.
22:00 Boggo, Vern and I snuck out to the pipe shed but found it locked and deserted. After snooping around the girls’ residences for a while, Boggo said he could hear distant footsteps approaching so we galloped around in terror for a while, despite knowing that nothing was really out there. After taking refuge for a few minutes in the hockey pavilion we agreed that we were wasting our time and returned to the common room for tea instead. Without Rambo illegal stuff is dismal.
I guess I’ll never know what was in that pipe, and which girl had touched my arm in the darkness.
13:45 I heard footsteps approaching inside and the white door was flung open in a dangerous manner revealing The Guv dressed smartly in his tweeds.
‘Milton!’ he said in alarm, as if I was the last person in the world he was expecting. ‘Afraid the roast pork is an unmitigated disaster, old boy.’ He led me inside a small house with a narrow corridor running through the centre. The terrible smell of burnt pork was everywhere. ‘Didn’t have my glasses on when I set the oven,’ he said, before shaking his head sadly and muttering, ‘Terrible business. Terrible business.’ He looked at me sharply. ‘You’re not Jewish, are you, Milton?’
‘No, sir,’ I replied.
‘Well, we can thank Christ for that.’ The Guv collapsed into an old rocking chair, beside which a bottle of red wine and a goblet stood waiting. He took a great swig from his very full goblet and asked, ‘How about a boiled potato and a stray pork sausage?’ I told him a boiled potato would be splendid. The Guv poured me a half goblet of wine, before topping up his already full one again.
‘So, good news, Milton,’ he said after a minute, peering at me over the top of his spectacles. ‘Rapturous applause all round, and tomorrow we leave this antiseptic feline slum forever!’
‘Hallelujah!’ I shouted.
We embarked on a long and involved discussion about The Dream and The Guv said this was without doubt my finest hour on the stage. ‘It eclipses your Oliver with interest,’ he declared. It must be noted that he was already drunk when he declared this, so once again I’m not really sure if he was being honest, or if it was the booze that was talking.
‘My most stressful moments since World War One,’ slurred The Guv as he refilled his goblet yet again. The afternoon wore on and The Guv became completely sloshed. When he started rambling on about VPH and her Mexican harlot mother I politely excused myself.
Before I left, I asked The Guv why he was wearing tweed a day before the end of term.
‘I’m in mourning again,’ he said in a theatrical manner. He sniffed and looked sadly up at the roof before saying, ‘I mourn because at my age, dear boy, you never know when you’ve just performed the bard for the last time.’
I left without even having my boiled potato.
‘Steer clear of that cantankerous lesbian!’ he shouted after me and waved dramatically before hollering, ‘Onwards and forwards, Milton, with the luck of the Irish!’
The energy is different now that Rambo’s gone. We’re now in that final lull before the end. I slipped on David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust and tried to drive the thought of Pike’s leering face from the back of my mind.
Tomorrow it’s home. I’m ready to move on.
‘Goodbye to White’
The station wagon was idling in the staff parking lot. Dad leapt out of the car when I approached and gave me a huge hug that lifted me clean off my feet. He then shouted, ‘Ja, you little bugger!’ and punched me on the shoulder. He was wearing a tight red FRANKY’S T-shirt that accentuated his rapidly growing stomach, and very short shorts which looked ridiculous. But today I didn’t care. I didn’t even feel embarrassed. All I felt was a surge of love and good karma with the world around me. As Dire Straits’ Walk of Life blared out of the tinny station wagon sound system, I stuck my head out the window and let the rushing wind scorch my face clean of everything that has stuck to it.
MILTON UPDATE
Franky’s is still rocking! Dad claims to be rolling in cash, but in severe debt at the same time. He didn’t explain how that could be possible but said he was simultaneously on the verge of mortgaging the house and buying a new car.
Mom and Dad seem to be getting on famously all of a sudden. Dad says the reason is that my mother has finally got over her midlife crisis and ‘women’s problems’. Mom puts the happy marriage down to Dad spending ninety-nine per cent of his time at the pub.
Blacky was also in surprisingly tranquil form, which Mom also puts down to Dad not being around. Innocence seemed to agree and said, ‘Ja, ja, it’s better the boss goes to work.’ She then twirled her finger around the top of her head like she was indicating my father was loopy.
Through various discussions about Marge, I’ve surmised that Mermaid and the evangelical cricket umpire are still together.
A question:
If Fatty got severe stick for falling in love with a girl three years younger than himself, then surely the cricket umpire should receive some serious abuse for dating a girl who was still only a toddler when he’d already left high school? This is hardly the kind of perversion one expects from junior ministers of the cloth and people entrusted with making important LBW decisions.
Dad’s roses are in full bloom. I have a spectacular view from my window and the smell is fantastic, if a little on the feminine side. I collapsed on my bed and felt properly home. I closed my eyes and zoned out on the sound of buzzing black and yellow rose beetles devouring a white bloom below my window.
Then I drifted off and awoke with a smile on my face.
12:00 Wombat looked resplendent in a long golden gown with great billowing sleeves that looked like something out of a fairytale pantomime. She screamed with delight when she saw me and shouted, ‘David!’ I gave my grandmother a peck on the cheek and complimented her on her wonderful dress. Wombat said it was nothing fancy and strode off to book her favourite deck chair in the shade before somebody swiped it. Once seated I caught her staring at my legs.
‘Look at those feet!’ Wombat said suddenly, pointing a bony finger. ‘They’re huge!’
‘He’s only a size seven and a half, Mom,’ said my mother.
‘You know what they say,’ shrieked Wombat. ‘Big feet, big clonker!’ Everyone roared with laughter, while I rushed off to pour another round of gin and tonics.
By the time I returned with the drinks, Wombat and Mom were already sharing horror stories of people they knew of who had recently been murdered, mugged, attacked, assaulted, robbed, raped or burgled. Dad joined the conversation and kept announcing, ‘You wait! We’re still living in the good times.’
I stayed out of the depressing conversation about South Africa slipping over the edge into chaos and joined Dad at the braai. My father was poking away at some smoky coals with a long pair of tongs. After a brief complaint about the diminishing quality of local charcoal, he asked me about the play and then wanted to know if I had a new girlfriend. Dad looked around to see that Mom wasn’t eavesdropping and whispered, ‘Good job you got shot of the Mermaid. She’s a flaky – just like her mother.’ He then shot a nervous glance at Mom and Wombat and hissed, ‘You didn’t hear it from me.’ Dad pulled me close and said I should enjoy being single while it lasted. Then there was a long pause after which Dad admitted that he would give his left testicle to be single again.
‘But don’t get me wrong. I love your mom,’ he said, looking doubtfully into his beer glass. Unfortunately, then my father’s eyes began darting around like he was incredibly nervous or agitated and I felt myself instinctively begin to retreat. I’ve learned to read the signs with my father – and this was a classic example of a red light flashing.
‘Johnny,’ he began in a strange voice. ‘Um … I think it’s about time we had a little chat about um … some men’s issues.’
I must have looked a little panicked because he quickly said, ‘Not now of course, but … sometime.’
I nodded and watched my toes curl up like withered flowers in the green grass.
There was a long and uncomfortable silence during which Dad attended to the fire and sipped desperately at his beer. Eventually he said, ‘Yip.’ And then, ‘Good times.’ I nodded again at what good times they were and kept watching my toes. Then Dad announced, ‘Hot, hey?’ and looked up at the sky like a stranded man in the desert.
‘Very hot,’ I agreed.
‘Need rain,’ said Dad.
‘Definitely,’ I replied.
‘Johnny,’ called Mom suddenly, ‘Gran wants to know what career you’re thinking of when you’re finished school?’
I felt three pair of eyes immediately zone in on me. I cleared my throat and in a confident voice replied, ‘I’m going to be an actor.’
Dad obviously thought I was joking because he roared with laughter before shouting, ‘Hey! Watch this!’ and hurled himself backwards into the pool.
Wombat turned to Mom with a horrified expression on her face and asked, ‘What on earth does he want to drive a tractor for?’
‘An actor, Mom!’ said my mother loudly. ‘In the theatre.’ Just to make sure the old bat had registered.
