The Boys of Summer (8 page)

Before I could answer, Toby spoke for me.
“McGee,” he said. He glanced up from his meal, confident about his
answer and motioning for Sean to pass the salt.

He knew my name?

“Ahh, McGee, eh? Your parents own the Rose
Café in Perry? That McGee?” Sean pressed.

“Ah, yeah, Jeff and Jenny McGee.”

“Best pies in town,” Ringer added with a
mouth full of chips.

They all nodded.

“Thanks! I’ll make sure I tell her the Onslow
Boys approve.”

Sean frowned as if what I just said confused
him and Ringer, Toby and Stan looked equally confused as they eyed
each other.

Sean swallowed. “The Onslow Boys?”

In that very moment I knew I had gone bright
red; the Onslow Boys was Ellie’s nickname for them. Not a common
one everyone used.

“Oh, nothing,” I stammered. “It was just
something that was written on the docket, so I could find you.”

Oh help!

Sean munched on a chip thoughtfully. “Let me
see.”

I cringed and reached for the crumpled order
I had shoved in my apron from the plate. Sean took it from me.

His smile broadened. “The Onslow Boys.”

“Don’t forget the smiley face,” added Stan,
who peered over Sean’s shoulder.

I felt like such a child. Sean handed the
docket back to me.

“That’s pretty cool. Boys, it would appear we
have a new status; we now represent the entire town.”

“That’s a frightening thought,” Chris added,
as he appeared in the bar. He had a habit of appearing out of
nowhere.

“Surely we could have been called the Onslow
Men?” Ringer puffed his chest out.

“No, I think boys is appropriate for the
likes of you lot,” Chris said.

They all broke out with laughter. Stan threw
a chip at Chris and the verbal onslaught continued. Chris gave me a
‘back to work’ look that made me scurry to action. I locked eyes
briefly with Toby who seemed to be the only one not overly amused
by the personal jokes being flung around.

I ducked into the alcove between the poolroom
and dining room hall, stealing a moment to catch my breath. I had
managed to see Toby twice in one week and he knew my name, not just
my first name but my
whole
name.

He actually knew my name.

So? I thought to myself. It was a small town,
everyone knew everyone’s name, it was no big deal.

I couldn’t help but press myself closer to
the partition; I strained to overhear their voices that were mixed
with laughter.

“So what do you think?” posed Ringer.

“What do I think?” said Sean.

“Yeah.”

“I think she makes me want to drink
Guinness,” Sean said. That had them all laughing.

Guinness?
I looked down in horror to
see that exact word blatantly advertised across my chest.

“Easy, Tiger,” Chris said.

“Whose shot is it?” added Toby, and the fray
was broken with more trash talk about one another’s pool skills.
Mortified, I ran back to the kitchen with my head swimming in all
that was the Onslow Boys and Toby Morrison, who knew my name.

By eleven o’clock, it was just Ellie and I
left in the kitchen, washing all of Rosanna’s pots and
equipment.

“Chefs don’t do dishes,” Rosanna had said as
she smugly made her way out of the kitchen.

We glared after her, the same thought no
doubt crossing both our minds.

Chef? Pa-lease!

Rosanna had pretty much trashed the kitchen.
Remnants of greasy food spattered on the work bench, spoons, pots,
dishes, sodden tea towels and an overflowing rubbish bin. I could
only imagine that this was a reflection of what inside her mind was
like. Chaos. We were on the homeward stretch, wiping down the
benches, both clearly exhausted by a long, hard night. When Chris
walked in with a new set of dirty dishes he dumped in the sink, I
dragged myself over to refill it with water.

“Leave it, Tess,” Chris said, “you’ve done
enough, come and have your knock-off drink.”

We dragged ourselves into the main bar,
pulling up the spare seats next to Rosanna who was devouring a
smoke, and Melba who sipped on a vodka and tonic. Chris plonked two
ice cold Cokes on the small table before us which we gratefully
skulled in unison.

“Thirsty work, girls?” bellowed Sean, who
appeared out of the poolroom making his way towards the gents.

I nearly choked on a bit of ice at the
unexpected comment, which Melba and Rosanna thought was hilarious.
They slapped their palms on the table with fits of cackling
laughter.

“Don’t worry love, Seany-boy has that effect
on all the girls.” Rosanna knocked my chair with her foot as she
wriggled her pencil thin eyebrows in a ‘hubba-hubba’ motion.

“And he’s really nice, too,” added Ellie,
dreamily.

“Ha! It’s the nice ones you have to worry
about,” Melba said.

Our conversation was getting more and more
bizarre in a really dysfunctional way; it was like a bonding
session of sorts. And as Sean reappeared and walked back towards
the poolroom, we all tipped our heads sideways, watching, in
appreciation of such fineness.

Chris worked on drawing the blinds, switching
off the main lights and deadbolting all the doors.

“Time for everyone to head home by the looks
of it,” I sighed.

“Oh, honey,” Rosanna said, “they’re just
booting up, the night doesn’t kick off till now.” She butted out
her cigarette.

“How so?” asked Ellie.

“They’re doing a lock-in.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s the lurks and perks of being mates with
the nephew of the publican.” Rosanna stood, hooking her handbag
over her bony shoulder.

“Dropping me off, Melbs?”

Melba swallowed the last of her gin, slapping
her hand on the table.

“Let’s go. See you girls tomorrow at eleven.
Don’t be late.”

Chris unbolted the back door and let them
out. My shoulders drooped, my body unclenched. I saw Ellie do it,
too. For the first time that whole night, Ellie and I collectively
relaxed.

She leaned towards me. “So what do you think
of Sean?”

What I wanted to say (but didn’t dare – not
here) was, ‘
what do you think of Toby?
’

“He seems nice, friendly enough.” I shrugged.
“I don’t really know him.”

“Hmm, I would like to, though,” Ellie said.
“I mean, seriously!” She had that glazed look in her eyes as she
stared towards the poolroom.

Chris collected ashtrays and rolled up bar
mats, hovering over us in a not-too-subtle gesture for us to get a
move on. We skulled the last of our drinks and gathered our
handbags. We were both exhausted and obviously not invited to the
lock-in anyway. In order to get out the front we had to make our
way directly past the poolroom, where a very merry Stan was
shuffling to K.C and the Sunshine Band’s ‘Get Down Tonight’.

“Who put this on?” complained Ringer.

“Random,” they all said at once. But the Boys
sounded unconvinced, casting dubious glances at Stan who
mysteriously knew all the words as he pointed to no one in
particular.

Ellie and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Don’t encourage him,” said Chris, who
couldn’t contain his own smile.

“He’s trying to psyche me out,” Toby said as
he concentrated on potting the black ball. He did, with ease.

He shook Sean’s hand, who had now spotted us
waiting for Chris to un-deadbolt the front door.

“So the ‘Perry Girls’ are off, then?”

“Perry Girls?” repeated Ellie.

He shrugged. “Seemed only fair to return the
title.”

She thought for a moment, and smiled. “‘Perry
Girls’. I like it.”

Sean walked over and shook Ellie’s hand, then
mine.

“For services rendered in the line of duty.”
He smiled.

Next thing we knew, we were ushered over to
Ringer who shook our hands and was fighting not to fall asleep at
the bar.

“It couldn’t have been an easy job, having
that knucklehead order you around.” He tilted his head towards
Chris. “He’s drunk with power, ya know?” Ringer winked.

“Watch it, Ringo, let’s not forget who the
gatekeeper is here,” Chris said in mock seriousness.

Ringer shook his head. “See what I mean?”

And then there I was. Standing in front of
Toby, who held his hand out to me. I placed my hand into his and
memorised the pressure, the feel, the length of one-two-three
shakes and then it was over all too soon. But he did look at my
hand for a mere moment, his brow furrowed.

Oh God, was he looking at my nails? My
mangy, chipped, dishpan hands?

Ellie didn’t get past Stan who was still
shaking her hand in a way that threatened to dislocate her
shoulder.

“Come on, Chris, can we keep them?” whined
Stan.

Ellie laughed and looked at Chris with the
same forlorn plea in her eyes.

“I think the girls have better things to do
than hang out with a bunch of derelicts like us.”

The truth was, Ellie’s dad would be waiting
down the road to take us to our childhood bedrooms for us to curl
up in our jammies in bed. It had been a long day, and I had felt
exhausted, but I was suddenly wide awake, standing next to
Toby.

Chris opened the front door, as if the matter
was non-negotiable. This was obviously a boys-only gathering.

“Eleven am start, ladies.”

With that, we were ushered outside and the
door closed behind us. Standing in muted darkness, only small
slithers of light streamed beyond the cracks of the window blind,
the echoes of muffled laughter sounding from inside.

We started the trek down the hill towards the
brake lights of Ellie’s dad’s car when Ellie asked, “So what do you
think of Stan?”

I laughed. How things could change in an
instant with Ellie.

I didn’t answer. Instead, in the relative
privacy of the nighttime track, I said, “That’s funny, because I
was just going to ask what
you
thought of Toby.”

***

Ellie had threatened that she wanted to know
all the details of this Toby crush the next day, as we couldn’t
exactly get into the details with Ellie’s dad in the front seat. It
was hysterical watching Ellie desperate to ask, but biting her lips
together in front of her dad. Dads were a girl-talk-free zone.

After I had showered the sweat, grease and
smoke away, I removed the remnants of my poor, melted French
polish. I thought back to Toby’s expression as he shook my hand. It
was subtle, but obvious, that something had run through his
mind.

It bothered me. I’m pretty sure my hand
wasn’t clammy or gross. The nails, it had to be my nails. I
cringed, I didn’t want to even think about it.

Before I slipped into a coma for the night, I
dragged myself from my bed to my desk for my nightly ritual: to
check my email.

To: tessmcgee

Toby Morrison eh?? You little Minx! Talk
about must have made a good impression?

I want to know everything!!! I have a plan.
Operation Toby?? (Don’t stress just an idea)

ME first, which sounds better? Operation
Sean? Or Operation Stan?

Decisions! Decisions!

Sender: ellieparker

To: ellieparker

Go to bed! Talk tomorrow. NO OPERATION TOBY!
Do I make myself clear??

GOOD NIGHT!!

P.S Operation Stan!! I like his dance
moves

Sender: tessmcgee

I was set for bed when I saw an email from
Adam.

To: tessmcgee

Do you still love me???

How did you go tonight? I spoke to Chris, he
said you smashed it! I take it he is not referring to a plate and
assume you did well? Go you!! I knew you would do good. That is why
I hand picked you, you know?

Seriously Tess, that’s really great. I better
go, Nan’s telling me Matlock is on. Oh goody!

Sender: Adam I can jump puddles
Henderson.

To: Adam I can jump puddles Henderson

How can I stay mad at you? I don’t want to
run the risk of your feelings being as delicate as your bones.

And I will have you know I did totally smash
it!

In the kitchen!!!

I think it’s just as well you hurt yourself,
because I have found my calling in life. I am the Messiah of dish
pigs!

Don’t cry for me though. It kills me to admit
this, but I didn’t totally hate it. But if you repeat that I will
just deny it.

Enjoy Matlock!!

Sender: tessmcgee

The Sunday lunchtime shift was dead. It was
like a graveyard shift at best.

But why wouldn’t it be? Everyone was lake
bound and enjoying themselves. My heart ached as I looked out
through the windowpane of the poolroom, which was, incidentally, my
job for the afternoon: to clean off drunken blow fish marks from
Saturday night.

“I don’t remember reading this in the
brochure,” Ellie said glumly as she sprayed Windex and cleaned
fingerprints off the jukebox. Her bracelets clinked with each
vigorous rub.

“Melba said we had to ‘earn our keep’,” I
air-quoted.

Chris was nowhere to be seen. He had his own
room upstairs; more ‘lurks and perks’ of managing the bar, on top
of lock-ins, was, obviously, free board. That left Uncle Eric in
charge of the day shift, something he was much more accustomed to.
The place was breezy; slower and less high maintenance during
daylight hours with just a handful of church-skipping tradies
having a quiet cold one as opposed to the rowdy twenty-something
crowd of a Saturday night.

It would be our second day into the Irish
Festival and I was prepped; I wore my infamous Guinness top with a
black skirt so I didn’t look like a body double for that 1960s
chick from the Avengers. We had a few lunchtime walk-ins, mostly
tourists all damp and sun-kissed from swimming or lying out by the
lake. Seeing them put Ellie and I in a whimsical mood, so we made
plans to break away to Mclean’s Beach between shifts.