The Beauty Is in the Walking (13 page)

‘There.' I pointed. Everything was exactly as I'd left it, even the skid mark my fall had left in the undergrowth.

They strung yellow police tape around the site before Dunstan drove us back to town, leaving his partner to hunt around. Mum had barely said a word. That changed as soon as we were alone.

‘You walked all the way from Kibble's? No wonder your back's sore. Your body's not made for that sort of thing.'

‘I didn't think it would be so far,' I said, sounding more defensive than I wanted to.

‘You shouldn't have been there in the first place. You were supposed to be here, studying.'

‘I did study. I'm up to here with studying.' I put my hand to my throat and tapped the underside of my chin. ‘Just needed a break.'

‘But I thought you were here, Jacob. How can I know you're safe if I don't know where you are?'

‘Safe! Jesus, Mum, you don't have to know where I am every minute of the day. I can take care of myself.'

Her eyes showed she had more to say on that topic, but she switched tack. ‘You shouldn't be meddling in police business. It's time you left that mutilation case alone.'

‘I didn't go up there because of that,' I said, in the interests of honesty.

‘Then why?' she wanted to know.

‘To get out of Palmerston for a while,' I told her bluntly. She could make whatever sense of that she liked.

She did, too. She knew exactly what I was saying. Neither of us wanted to start yesterday's argument all over again, but we could feel it in the room like an oppressive heat.

What's the order soldiers use to call a break? Stand down, that's it. We stood down, convincing ourselves separately that we weren't as angry as we'd seemed – her with me and me with her.

‘I have to go back to the office,' said Mum in calmer tones. She glanced at her watch in a movement that reminded me of this morning and her promise.

‘You said you'd do my back.'

‘There isn't time,' she snapped.

‘Mum, I can barely move.'

She shook her head, even when I stared at her with accusing eyes. We both knew this was a punishment.

‘There'll be no one to massage your back at uni,' she said on her way out the door.

I wanted to crawl into bed and rest my aching body and if I hadn't had to sit three exams in the next two days I might have done just that. Even as I sat at my desk with notes and books spread out in front of me, the bed seemed to whisper my name like some drop-dead gorgeous blonde sent to lure me away.

‘Bitch,' I said to the bedspread and laughed at myself.

Panadol was helping and if I was careful I could rest my back in just the right place to give some respite. When I couldn't find the sweet spot, though, nothing much would go into my brain and in the other direction came thoughts about Mum. My complaints meant nothing to her, and that alone made me angry, too angry to concentrate, yet at the centre of my fury was a fear of having to handle my CP without her.

My phone stirred in my pocket, not the ping of a text but the music of a voice call. It was Amy. Thank God – someone to talk to. I'd started to feel like the last person on earth.

‘Hi, Ames. You're just the voice I need to hear.'

‘If you mean that, maybe I should come over and hug you as well.'

‘Sounds good to me.'

‘Only if you tell me what happened with the police. It was about the apples you found, I bet.'

‘It was definitely dropped there by The Ripper. Just about proves that Mahmoud is innocent.'

‘Are you serious!' She was practically coming through the phone at me.

‘I'll tell you the rest when you come over.'

‘Like now?'

‘Unless you can get here sooner.'

My anger had vanished and along with it the vague whiff of fear. I guessed how long she'd need to walk and opened the door to find her coming up the front path.

‘You're amazing, Jacob O'Leary,' she called before she'd even reached me and once inside gave me the hug she'd promised.

‘Ow, ow,' I complained.

She backed off and listened, concerned, while I told her what the long trek from Kibble's place had done to me.

‘Can't you take something for the pain?' she asked through lips tender with sympathy.

‘I'm maxed on Panadol already. A rub down's the best, but Mum's making me suffer.'

Amy looked stunned. I was messing with Mum's halo and decided not to say anything more.

‘A rub-down is like a massage, right?'

‘Same thing.'

I could see her thinking, but didn't twig to where this was going until she asked, ‘Can anyone do it?'

‘You could try.'

The thing about massage is that it hurts, but in a good way. It hurts a lot when your muscles were as angry as mine and the relief afterwards is double, too. Amy had a go at my leg first and she learned quickly how hard to press, how to work heat into the muscle and dig a little with her thumbs where I told her.

‘That's so much better,' I said in thanks.

She saw me wince, though, even as I said it.

‘Your back's the worst, isn't it? Want me to try that as well?'

‘If you're okay with it,' I said, measuring my tone carefully so she could back out if she wasn't sure. Maybe it was no big thing to her because she nodded, even smiled, like she was eager and I started to pull my t-shirt over my head. Didn't get far. That movement is as hard as it gets when your back's on fire.

Amy helped it over and with my skinny frame exposed I think she sensed the intimacy of what she'd volunteered for. She made a show of folding my t-shirt and then dared a glance at my face, smiled again, sheepishly this time, and said nothing.

I lay face down on the sofa, worried all over again that she'd be repelled by my white skin.

‘Where?' she asked me, taking her role seriously.

‘The long ridge of muscle beside my backbone. No, other side. Yeah, there.'

I groaned without meaning to. Like I said, it hurts and I wondered if I should explain about good pain and how it chases away the bad.

‘You're doing a great job,' I said and turned my head to look at her.

She didn't seem the least bit embarrassed to have her hands on my naked skin. I didn't dare ask what she was thinking – couldn't imagine how to phrase the question because it would reach way beyond the movement of her hands, beyond this moment, this place. Was she reading my mind in the way I couldn't manage with hers? She stopped pressing solely on the muscle beside my spine and smoothed her flattened palms more widely.

I turned my head to face down again and lived only through the skin of my back. Her hands stopped moving and I was on the point of asking what was wrong when I felt something warm that couldn't be her hands. She'd kissed me on the shoulderblade.

I turned to look at her again and found her sitting back on her heels. Despite the pain I turned on my side to look at her more fully and so close to me still.

‘Did that make a difference?' she asked.

‘Yes,' I responded instantly. ‘And I'm not talking about the massage.'

I sat up, telling the pain to bugger off. I was on a mission here. My legs were as awkward as ever, but with
my eyes on Amy's face I ignored them as well. At that moment I wasn't a cripple.

Amy watched me straighten up, her face serious and with even the hint of a frown. I took her hand and drew her towards me, intent on a kiss. It was easier for me than leaning forwards where I might lose my balance. Amy let me have her hand, but her arm simply lifted as I tugged it nearer, while the rest of her stayed out of my reach.

Okay then. I'm the one who'll move. But as I stretched forwards Amy rocked back out of reach and stood up. I couldn't follow her, not as quickly as I needed to for the moment to stay right. My body simply couldn't stand up without a push from my hand and a heave of my shoulders. I fell back into the sofa, once again in the grip of the discontent that had dogged me for days. Until I was able to tame it Amy seemed just another person who kept me just where
she
wanted, leaving me to accept what I was given, and not what
I
wanted.

Amy made a show of helping with my t-shirt while I looked for signs she knew what she'd done. Was I imagining things, or had she rocked back because the strain on her knees had become too much? Then she bloody kissed me, just a peck on the corner of my mouth and too quick for me to turn it into anything more. I was being spun around in a kids' game and that was never a fun thing for me. Was I supposed to be pleased with that kiss? Was it second prize? I wanted to kiss her like a boyfriend's supposed to kiss his girl, to show how close he wants to be with her when words have done all they can. I
thought she'd want that, too, a full-on show of how much I liked her.

I more than liked Amy, I got a buzz out of every minute we were together, every touch and every smile and when we weren't close, like now, every text and every thought of her that wriggled into my head even during this morning's exam. I wanted that to keep going so I stomped on my disgruntlement, if Svenson's word was the right one. Don't know if I quite succeeded; maybe what I felt simply joined the queue behind all the other things that were making me . . . well, there it was again, another Svenson word – restless.

I poured us each a Coke and we headed down the hall to my room and my laptop.

‘Wow, nasty,' I said when Mahmoud's page appeared. A handful of new comments slammed Svenson's about the meatworks and the language didn't hold back. I scrolled up as far as his message from Sunday, which wasn't far because kids were too busy to add much.

‘I thought you were going to delete that,' said Amy, pointing to Svenson's solid paragraph amongst the single line comments and the four-letter words.

‘Seemed too much like censorship,' I muttered lamely.

‘You should get rid of it now,' she pressed more firmly. ‘I bet he regrets putting it on there himself after yesterday.'

This was new. I asked what she meant and she stared at me for a moment, surprised. ‘Oh, of course, you weren't at school yesterday, were you? Big blow-up in the
staffroom after the morning exam. A couple of teachers had a go at Svenson because of that,' she said, tapping the screen.

I looked at it again. ‘His comment's not about Mahmoud being innocent,' I said, highlighting Svenson's words with the mouse, ‘it's about Palmerston being guilty,' and with a press of my finger it was gone.

‘Okay, time to show what that bag of apples means,' I said, more brightly. ‘Only a local would know where to cross the river. You agree, Ames?'

‘Absolutely.'

‘So, Mahmoud's in the clear,' I murmured, as I started to type. ‘Of course, the diehards won't believe it until the cops arrest someone from Palmerston.'

‘I hope they do it soon,' said Amy. ‘For Mahmoud's sake.'

Thursday was my big one – an exam in the morning and another in the afternoon. I was dressed and checking some notes in my bedroom when Dad stuck his head in the door. ‘Good luck today, eh? I'm off to Brisbane after work to catch up with a few mates.'

‘And to drink beer with Tyke.'

‘And to drink beer with Tyke,' he agreed readily. ‘I'll be back in time for your graduation. Try not to solve any more crimes while I'm away.'

Mum had sent him in last night to tell me off about Tuesday, but his heart wasn't in it and we'd ended up talking about next year. He wasn't as against me giving
it a try as Mum was, although he wouldn't come right out and speak against her.

‘How's your back?' Mum asked in the kitchen, once Dad was gone.

There was time this morning, if I wanted her to work on it. The long muscle beside my spine was still tied in knots and aching, as she knew damned well it would be.

‘It's good, thanks,' I said. No way was I going to ask for a massage.

Later, while I waited with the rest outside the gym, Chloe started waving to me from thirty metres away and kept on towards me with long, eager strides. She was carrying a cardboard cylinder like the big movie posters came in at Blockbuster. By the time she was close enough to call out, I could see a white ribbon tied around the middle.

‘I bought you a present,' she announced, pushing one end of the cylinder towards me.

I was too surprised to do anything but grasp it. Something rattled inside.

Chloe's grin seemed to stretch beyond the bounds of her face. ‘Open it.'

I tried to unseal one end, but it was too firmly in place, making me flip the cylinder round. The delay seemed an agony for Chloe. ‘When that boy pulled you off balance the other day, I thought, hey, a bit of help and you would have stayed on your feet.'

That was enough of a clue to help me guess after just a few inches of her present had slipped out – round
varnished wood with a stopper on the end. I let the rest drop free and found myself holding a cane with an animal's head for a handle.

‘I found it in an antique shop off Meredith Street. The wolf's head looked just right for you.'

I took hold of the walking stick by its shaft for closer inspection. The wolf's snout was elongated to make more of a handle, the ears flattened and the head was levelled out, making the brows press down over the eyes to give the wolf a predatory look. The many nicks and chips along the shaft showed it was well used and I wasn't surprised that the head felt smooth inside my fist.

‘Do you like it?' Chloe asked. ‘I mean, I'm not insulting you or anything, am I?'

‘No, no. I love it. Hey, thanks. What can I say? I was expecting an exam, not presents.'

‘After those falls you've had lately . . .'

They weren't falls, Chloe, I wanted to say. Nah, forget it. It was almost worth getting knocked flat to hold a walking stick like this. That wolf was something special.

She watched as I admired it. ‘As soon as I saw it, I thought, funky, just right for Jacob O'Leary.'

‘You're the first person to put funky and Jacob O'Leary in the same sentence. Anyway, it's good to have
someone
looking out for me,' I said.

Her smile slipped a little and I immediately regretted my tone.

‘Come on, show us the thing in action,' said Chloe, still getting as much pleasure out of her gift as I was.
Before I could try a single step, however, we were called into the gym, so I took the cane with me to a desk among the military rows and laid it flat on the floor. All through the exam I snatched little glimpses of those determined eyes staring out across the floor. I couldn't remember a gift that meant so much to me.

At home afterwards, I practised walking until I found a rhythm and, when I was tired of that, slipped into Mum's room to check myself out in her full-length mirror. A bit of style at last! I snapped off a photo of myself in a dashing pose and sent it to Amy. She pinged back immediately.
U need 1 of those businessman hats
.

I ransacked the cupboard and found a hat of Dad's I'd never seen him wear – a thing for fancy-dress parties, maybe. On a roll now, I changed into my long school pants and a blazer that Tyke had been given when he played Under 19s for Queensland. Then I took picture after picture of myself with the cane at different angles and didn't care if I seemed full of myself. When had I ever been proud of the way I looked? Leaning on my cane you couldn't tell that I'd never stood up straight in my life.

When I was done with posing I examined the wolf's head again and practised its stern expression. Watch out for Jacob O'Leary when he's got that wolf's head in his hand. I took a few swipes with the cane, like a sword. Not a bad idea. Let 'em come at me in the school yard now.

I'd been so absorbed in my little game that Mum was coming down the hall before I knew she was home.

‘I'm in your room,' I called, so she didn't get a fright. In my head, I'd already called a truce between us.

‘What are you dressed like that for?' she asked in good-natured surprise.