ON THE ROAD HOME

It was 35 degrees the day that Charlie started playing up. John got a call about it at work. His boss, Jimmo, was an old friend and didn’t mind John ducking off from the garage when it was something about Charlie. Fixing cars can wait, he’d say. But not too long. Jimmo usually added something like that. He started doing it after John got cross with him for being too nice. You’re my boss , Jim. Not my fucken counsellor.

John sat in traffic, the air-con blowing dusty heat at him from the guts of his old hatchback. The bonnet reflected a warped haze. What the school secretary had meant by ‘emergency’, John didn’t know.

‘Charlie isn’t hurt,’ she had assured him. ‘But Mrs Riley thinks it’s appropriate for you to come in.’

John pulled into the primary school car park. Charlie sat on the steps out front.

‘Charlie mate, you alright?’

‘Yeah,’ Charlie sighed.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Mr Toring,’ the principal, Mrs Riley smiled from the entrance. ‘Come through this way, please.’

Charlie jumped up and ran to the car. John watched him climb into the passenger-side door, shutting himself in and slumping down into the seat.

The office was a hot box. John could feel the perspiration seeping from his forehead. The seats were upholstered with scratchy synthetic tweed.

‘Can I make you a cup of tea, Mr Toring?’

 ‘Ah, no thanks. And it’s John. Just call me John.’

 ‘Sure, John. Well, I’ve asked you to come in this afternoon so that I might enquire about Charlie,’ she said, creasing open a fresh manila folder, taking out a pen.

‘Alright.’

‘We had a bit of an incident here today, and I just want to check that everything is going okay with him.’

‘At home, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fine, everything’s fine. He’s been, you know, normal.’

‘Okay,’ she said, jotting something down. ‘Has Charlie mentioned anything about how he’s been feeling recently, or, more to the point, changed his behaviour in anyway at all?’

‘He’s fine. He’s been fine.’

‘Sure,’ she confirmed, scribbling again. 

‘What’s happened? Did Charlie do something?’

Mrs Riley took off her glasses, set them aside and held her hands together, resting them on the table.

‘Charlie urinated in the fish tank.’

‘Pardon?’ John couldn’t hold back his smile. Mrs Riley smiled too.

‘Look, John. I am aware that this may seem rather humorous. But since you enrolled Charlie with us six months ago, we have seen nothing from him but the best behaviour. He is a really good boy. This is a little out of character, and a bit of a concern.’

‘Right.’

‘Now, we are going to keep a closer eye on him. I just wanted to talk with you in case there had been any changes at home that might cause this kind of reaction in him. We have details on Charlie’s file for a Rose Toring, is that Charlie’s mother?’

‘Yes it is.’

‘Would I be able to get a contact number for Rose, for during work hours?’

‘She’s out of town for work mostly. Best just to call me.’

‘Is that usual, for Rose to be away for work?’

‘Yep. Been that way for a while now.’

‘Alright.’ Mrs Riley smiled, their talk was over. ‘Well, if the situation changes, please let us know. It’s good to have a couple of people to call on in these situations.’

‘Yeah, I can understand that.’

John took his leave, out into the sweltering afternoon. He reached the car and turned to wave goodbye to Mrs Riley, who stood, arms cross, watching him go. She nodded to him in reply.

The car took three turns to start, and backfired as John turned out onto the road.

 *

That night John lay awake, thinking about Charlie. He imagined him in ten year’s time, stealing cars and pulling cones, donned in a crease-brimmed cap, with a dirty neck and a plait of long hair. He thought that perhaps the move to Melbourne from the coast had been too quick. Perhaps he should have waited until Charlie was older. But staying in their old home was too difficult an option at the time. John knew he needed to get his shit together; who knows how much permanent damage he was allowing to ferment here. 

He heard footsteps down the corridor.

‘Dad?’ Charlie whimpered.

‘Charlie? You alright mate? It’s four in the morning.’

‘Can I sleep in your bed?’ He asked, peering around the bedroom door.

‘Come on,’ John said, ‘in you get.’ He pulled back the covers.

Charlie crawled in and lay next to him. John put an arm around him and patted his hair. Charlie’s breathing slowed, and he nuzzled closer to his father. His pants brushed against John’s leg. They were warm and wet. John played with Charlie’s hair, and lay awake while pee soaked pyjamas dampened the sheets.

*

‘You can’t play with us,’ said Jimmy Paterson, taking initiative through the awkward quiet. Charlie had sat down next to the other boys at recess. His usual lunch-time buddy, Hector, had tonsillitis and wouldn’t be back till next week.

‘But Hec’s not here,’ Charlie pleaded.

Hector was sweaty and round. He had a fluffy upper lip and his mother packed him a lunch box full of baklava to take to school every day. A whole box, every single day – he carried it around with him at lunchtime, wheezing.

‘We don’t care,’ Jimmy said.

The next day Charlie was called to collect the class lunch orders from the canteen. He lugged the box full of steaming pies and sausage rolls back to the classroom, stealing chicken nuggets from the bags as he went. Before he went into the classroom, he pulled out Jimmy Paterson’s meat pie. He stuck his finger up his nose, and, after short deliberation, drove it with force through the pastry top.

Miss Fowler came out into the corridor.

‘Charlie! Get your finger out of that pie!’

John took another call at work. There would be a detention this time. Mrs Riley offered a day that suited John, him being the only parent available to collect Charlie.

‘Any day’ll be fine, thanks.’

‘Are you sure, John?’

‘Look, just –’ John rubbed his tired eyes. ‘Just tell me when I need to pick him up.’

*

John took Charlie to Lorne for the weekend. Back to the house Charlie had grown up in, with John and John’s mother, Gran Nancy.

Nancy greeted them on the balcony in her Adelaide apron, smelling like sweet sherry.

‘My boys!’ she exclaimed, kissing them both and squeezing Charlie in her arms.

‘Come in here, Charlie. You come in here and help me butterfly these cupcakes.’

Late in the afternoon, while Charlie was off walking Waffle, Gran Nancy’s ancient cattle dog, John told her about Charlie. He told her about the fish tank, and the meat pie, the nightmares and about the crying.

‘Well John,’ Nancy started, ‘I guess it’s about time.’ She had her hands in a bowl full of flour and egg and minced beef. It was rissole night on Saturdays.

‘When Rose went, he barely missed a beat. I know it’s been a while now, but those feelings of his had to pop up at some point.’

‘I know, but –’ John thought for a moment, ‘– I dunno. The school is giving me hell about it. I dunno how to tell them to give the poor kid a break.’

‘Do they know about Rose?’

‘Not really.’

‘Not really?’

‘I told them she was away.’

‘Well,"‘ Nancy snorted. ‘Dead is not away, John. Dead is dead.’

‘I didn’t want them treating him different.’

‘You didn’t want them treating him differently? Or treating you differently?’

‘I’ve had enough of it.’

‘This isn’t all about you, dear.’

The next day they went to the beach with cut sandwiches. They sat on the wharf and watched the day moon that hung low in the sky. Charlie fed Waffle his crusts.

‘You can always come back,’ Nancy assured John when Charlie was off searching through the rock pools. ‘You can come and go, and stay if you like.’

‘Thanks, Mum,’ John said. They watched Charlie chase Waffle up the beach.

*

On the way back to Melbourne, John put the idea to Charlie.

‘Whad’da ya reckon, mate? Would you like to come back and live with Gran?’ John asked him. Charlie was sorting through a pile of seashells and gum nuts on his lap.

‘Maybe,’ he replied. ‘I kinda like it with just us, our house I mean.’

‘Yeah?’

‘We do whatever we want. We can’t eat pizza all the time at Gran Nancy’s. But I like her cakes.’

John watched him twirl a gum-leaf in his fingers like a helicopter, thinking through the goods and the bads.

‘I’d like Mum to come back now,’ Charlie said.        

‘I’m about ready for that, too,’ John said.

* 

For Charlie’s detention, Mrs Riley set up a desk for him in the corner of her office. She gave him a tray of pencils and an electric sharpener. The sharpener was old and worn. It groaned with the insertion of every pencil, as if each turn of its internal blade would be the last. Charlie sat on the adult sized chair and set to work, his legs swinging. It didn’t take him long to finish the job.  As a reward he was given permission to draw.

He drew cars and planes mostly. In the corner of the page he drew a dog and a rainbow.

‘Do you like cars, Charlie?’ Mrs. Riley inspected his work.

‘Yeah.’

‘Do you have a favourite kind of car?’

‘I like all of them. Dad fixes them. Sometimes he takes pictures of the cool ones for me to look at.’

‘That’s nice of him.’

‘Yeah.’

‘What does your mum do for work?’

‘She doesn’t do anything.’

‘Does she stay at home?’

‘She’s in the,’ Charlie paused, ‘the cementrary.’

Mrs Riley watched him finish the drawing he was working on. He had drawn a castle with a flag on top. The background was spotted with stars and a wobbly crescent moon.

‘That’s very hard, Charlie. You must feel very sad about that.’

Charlie picked a pencil and rammed it into the sharpener. The rolling, grinding noise filled the room. When detention was up, Mrs Riley waited with Charlie at the front of the school.

John turned into the car park and Charlie ran across the courtyard to meet him. As he climbed into the car, Mrs Riley waved at John and smiled. The glare from the afternoon sun made it impossible for her to see his face clearly. For a moment he looked to have been smiling back. But he raised his hand to his forehead to screen the sun from his eyes, and she saw then that he was just squinting.

*

Charlie was designated Head Shepherd at the end-of-year Christmas nativity play, set to be presented to parents along with carols and a sausage sizzle. The stage they set up on the oval was rough and wonky, decorated in Paddle Pop stick stars and paper angels. One of the parents lent them an old ewe from their nearby farm, for authenticity and effect. It was Charlie’s job to steady the ewe on a short rope lead. The plastic Baby Jesus lay on the grass nearby, ready for the tender manger scene.

Mrs Riley hushed the crowd, gathering them in around the stage. The children stood at the back, loitering in costume. Hector was cast as one of the Three Wise Men. He took the role very seriously, standing still and sombre. His chubby fingers clinging onto a shoebox wrapped in aluminium foil.

The crowd went silent.

Cindy Mitchell, The Angel Gabrielle, fluttered on stage, flapping her bed sheet, and positioned herself dead centre to proclaim God’s good news. Sarah Grubb, The Virgin Mary, hissed at Jimmy Paterson to get on his knees. He obliged, although unwillingly. Jimmy Paterson was designated Donkey.

Tod Rodley forgot his lines—more a cluster of words than proper lines. Tod was the innkeeper. The crowd cooed and chuckled softly. The play fumbled on through the twilight afternoon.

John peered over the heads of other parents, waiting for Charlie’s entrance. The Baby Jesus was passed along the line of Wise Men and Charlie appeared off the side of the stage to take his turn in practiced wonderment. Charlie took Baby Jesus and raised his eyebrows in exclamation, passing the plastic doll onto another shepherd.

All was quiet and serious, until the ewe began to bleat insufferably. It tugged away from Charlie, toward the centre of the stage. Charlie held on tight, leaning against the rope that dragged him forward towards the crowd. The crowd cooed again, the volume of laughter slowly rising as the sheep pushed and dragged Charlie around the manger. Eventually the ewe stood still towards the front. The crowd was clapping now, cheering the Shepard on. Charlie beamed at them, his smile uncontainable. Everyone began to stand, clapping and whistling. Mrs Riley stood red faced, to the side of the children, clapping and eyeing the ewe in worry.

Charlie couldn’t help himself. He turned around, lifting his bed sheet, and exposed his bare backside to the parents and family.

The applause morphed into laughter and exclamation. Charlie went on with his semi-squat, his head looking through his legs at the upside-down people.

Sarah Grubb began to cry.

John excused himself as he pushed through the crowd. The laughter had lifted again. Some of the parents at the back of the crowd were just about hysterical. A few of the other dads patted John on the back as he pushed through, offering friendly smirks of ironic commiseration.

Mrs Riley got to Charlie first. She knelt down beside him.

‘Come on Charlie. That’s enough now.’

‘Righto, Charlie. Let’s go.’ John’s voice was a solid contrast to Mrs Riley’s murmur.

Charlie stood upright and lifted up his pants. John took him by the wrist.

‘What’s this about?’ John tugged Charlie’s arm, much harder than he had intended. The laughter in the crowd died quickly.

Charlie began to tremble. He looked up at John, confused.

‘John,’ Mrs Riley said softly. ‘Perhaps we can take Charlie inside for a talk.’

John glared at her, his breathe quick and high in his chest.

‘We’re going home now,’ John replied.

‘Hey,’ this time from a father in the crowd. ‘It’s alright, mate. It’s not a big deal.’

Charlie pulled away from John and ran towards the courtyard building. Hector shuffled along quickly behind him, holding his sheet up around his waist.

John walked after the boys, heat flushing his face and neck. The crowd separated to let him through.

When John got to the building, he found Hector sitting in the doorway to the toilets. John approached him and Hector raised his hand, palm flat, like a small road traffic policeman.

‘No,’ Hector said, solemnly. John stood in shock.

‘He had an accident,’ Hector continued. ‘And he wants to be left alone.’

‘Where is he, Hec?’ Mrs Riley appeared beside them both.

‘In the last block. I told him I’d go get him a new pair of pants from the second-hand box, but he said he can manage by himself.’

*

‘Can you leave the corridor light on?’ Charlie croaked from under his blankets. John brushed his hand through Charlie’s hair.

‘Sure,’ he said softly. ‘What do you want to do tomorrow? Make pancakes?’

‘Yeah,’ Charlie whispered.

‘Alright, I’ll come and wake you in the morning.’ John left his son’s room, leaving the door half open so that the light could find its way in.

John sat on the verandah out front with a beer. A breeze was up, sending the smell of warm Jasmine and worn-out asphalt up through the shrubs to meet him. He sat on the old garden chair he brought across to Melbourne when he and Charlie moved from the coast. The type that swings out on a hinge, creaking under the weight of two people. He and Rose had sat on that bench in Gran Nancy’s yard. It was where they talked about their lives, about Charlie. They spent a lot of time in that chair, particularly towards the end.

John let the exhaustion and loneliness stir around in him for another hour or so. He did that until the fridge was out of beer, and it was time to try again for some sleep.

Originally published in Kindling II (Writer’s Edit Press)