One Would Think the Deep Read online

  Jono beamed at Sam as if he really were asking permission to hang out with him. Sam shrugged.

  The reality was that Jono was a terrible skater. He went full throttle but stacked constantly. His little brothers were better than he was. It didn’t seem to bother him. He jumped up each time and carried on. One of the brothers fell off and threw his skateboard; it flew up in the air and landed with a clatter.

  ‘No. If you’re going to be a little brat, you gotta go home,’ Jono said to him. ‘That’s my board, man. You can’t do that.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  Jono pointed to the ramp out of the car park. ‘You can go, buddy.’

  The kid pouted and Jono gave him a warning look. They skated for an hour before Jono told them it was time to go.

  ‘Hey, Sam, wanna come over? We got GoldenEye on Nintendo. You played it before?’

  Lorraine would not want him in the house. ‘Yeah, okay. Thanks.’

  10

  The black feeling shadowed Sam as he walked with Jono up the street. As they rounded a corner and headed up the hill he looked up and noticed two girls walking ahead of them. He didn’t have to see her face to recognise her; he knew her shape. She was wearing cargo pants, snug on her hips, striped singlet, hair in two little knots behind her ears.

  ‘Stassi! Gretchen!’ Jono called and they turned around. The other girl was tall and broad shouldered. She grinned at Jono and did a funny robot movement with her arms.

  ‘Hey Jon-o, how’s it go-ing,’ she said in a robot voice. She cracked up and glanced at Sam. ‘You know how everyone always asks the same questions? Cyborg-style?’ His failure to smile didn’t deter her; she dismissed him with a wave of her hand and turned back to Jono. ‘Who’s Mr Serious?’

  Sam was ultra aware of Speedo Girl who was standing a metre away from him. He didn’t know whether she was Stassi or Gretchen. He couldn’t look at her. This fact was one small glimmer, a tiny indicator that he had not lost all human feeling.

  ‘This is Sam. He’s Minty Booner’s cousin,’ Jono said.

  ‘Ohhh too cool then,’ the tall one said. ‘Figures. Doesn’t like robots.’

  ‘He’s alright.’

  ‘Stassi.’ She thrust her hand out. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  He smiled grimly and shook Stassi’s hand. Gretchen. Her name was Gretchen. Stassi watched him and laughed. ‘Oh yeah. You’re a cool one. We’re nerds, so feel free to ignore us. How old are you? You look, like thirty-two or something.’

  ‘Stass, don’t be weird,’ said Gretchen.

  ‘I’m just asking. Hey, Jono, you see The X-Files last night?’

  Jono’s brothers were kicking a can back and forth in the gutter. He jerked his head up the hill and told them to go home. They rolled their eyes and obeyed. ‘Yeah! How good was it!’

  Sam didn’t watch The X-Files. From the look on her face, neither did Gretchen. In his old life, Sam was good with girls: smooth, charming, he’d even made a few laugh. But he was only good with girls he was moderately attracted to. He wasn’t moderately attracted to Gretchen. He thought she was really cute when he’d seen her before, but now that she was in close proximity, the dial was in the red. He didn’t have to talk to her to know that. But the static had closed in. He remembered the ever expanding black hole within him, sucking in all life, all meaning. Did he even care about the cute girl with curly hair and dimples and a slither of bare skin between the bottom of her tank top and the waistband of her pants?

  ‘So … you live around here, Sam?’

  He looked at her but he couldn’t smile, he just stared. She had a nose piercing. He hadn’t seen that before. It looked so good it was ridiculous. He still hadn’t smiled. She kept her smile but it changed from friendly to confused and then went away altogether. Her cheeks flushed rosy pink, showing up the caramel freckles across her nose.

  ‘Living with Minty for a bit.’

  ‘Oh. Cool.’

  Silence.

  ‘You?’

  ‘Yeah! Yeah, I live here. Over near the beach. Didn’t I … haven’t I met you?’

  Now he was blushing.

  ‘You’re the guy that practically ripped your arm off and then got up and powered on.’ She craned her neck forward and peered at his elbow. ‘They reattached it? Did a good job. You can hardly tell. Did you need a blood transfusion?’

  ‘No. Luckily … how’s it going?’ he asked. Not great but not creepy.

  ‘Okay. Good. I mean, it’s holidays, so it’s hard not to be good in holidays, I guess. Unless you’re having a really bad holiday. That’s possible. You?’

  ‘I’m having a bad holiday.’

  She nodded but didn’t ask. He liked that about her. ‘I’m not really an X-Files fan.’ She glanced at Jono and Stassi and scrunched up her nose.

  ‘Me neither.’ He should make a joke.

  ‘I just don’t care about sci-fi,’ she said. ‘You can’t say that to sci-fi people though, they think it means you are fundamentally flawed as a person. It’s like a religion that I’m not deep enough to want to understand. I’m a sci-fi heathen. I mean, I’m friends with Stassi and Jono, so obviously they have come to accept that I don’t like sci-fi …’ she caught herself and trailed off.

  ‘That’s generous of them.’ Almost a joke. Jono and Stassi had stopped talking. Stassi narrowed her eyes at Sam.

  ‘Don’t even think about it, punk,’ she said.

  Did she have no filter at all between her brain and her mouth?

  ‘What?’ It came out more aggressive than he intended.

  ‘Whoa! Sorry. Did I, like, ruin your vibe or something?’ She said ‘like, ruin your vibe’ in a mock-stoner voice. Girls this nerdy were usually shy. Shyness wasn’t a factor Stassi had to deal with.

  ‘Sam’s cool, Stass,’ said Jono. ‘Don’t worry.’

  ‘Oh, we know he’s cool. He’s Minty Booner’s cousin, aren’t you, Cool Sam?’

  ‘I’m mates with Minty, too,’ Jono protested.

  ‘You’re mates in that you’ve known him since primary school and he comes over whenever he wants to play Nintendo.’

  Gretchen didn’t say anything; she looked at the pavement.

  Stassi rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, okay. I’ll shut up, whatever. See you, Jono.’ She glared at Sam, held up two fingers, pointed them at her eyes then back at Sam. ‘I’m watching you.’ She spoke in a Russian accent. Gretchen laughed and pulled her away by the arm.

  ‘What’s her problem?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Well, she’s Stassi, so she’s got that to contend with.’

  *

  Jono’s house was up on the escarpment, a two-storey brick place nestled in a cul-de-sac among tall eucalypts. It was the kind of house people lived in on television. They had to step over piles of shoes all over the front porch. Sam followed Jono’s lead and took his off, adding them to the long line by the front door. The entrance hall was decorated in the country cottage style his mum had always hated, with apricot walls and fussy printed friezes lining the skirting boards. A formal family portrait that looked like a class photo hung on the wall.

  ‘I’ve got nine younger brothers,’ Jono said. ‘Mum and Dad are like, extreme Roman Catholics. Lucky the Pope isn’t into terrorism, ’cause Mum would totally blow herself up for Jesus Christ.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Jono led him into the kitchen where three boys of varying sizes were fighting over a Hacky Sack. They were shouting and one of them grabbed the other by the neck. Jono behaved as if it were nothing out of the ordinary, handed Sam a packet of chips and went down some narrow stairs into the underground rumpus room. It was windowless but cooler than upstairs.

  ‘We’ve got Foxtel. There’s like, ten channels. Channel V’s the best. They show sick stuff, hey.’

  Jono talked a lot, but he wasn’t tedious; he was someone who knew a freakish amount of information about obscure topics without being irritating. They played GoldenEye while above them the ceiling rattled with the thumping of feet. There was shout
ing and squealing and laughter. It was the kind of place that felt as if at any given time there was someone, somewhere, in a headlock. Sam liked being among the mayhem. There was something calming about it.

  ‘You listen to the radio last night? They played Pearl Jam’s Berlin gig from last year.’ Jono spoke in a rush like he was afraid he was going to run out of time before Sam decided he was boring and left.

  ‘Not really into Pearl Jam.’

  Jono stopped playing for a moment and gawked at Sam. ‘No way? Really? Shame. Don’t know if I can respect you anymore. Give it time. I reckon I can convert you. You hear No Code? Most underrated album ever. I’ll lend it to you. It’s not what you expect, in a good way. What about Alice in Chains? Dirt?’

  ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘C’mon, man! It’s good stuff.’

  ‘Most grungy music, I dunno, it’s so dramatic, you know? “Oh, life is so hard in Seattle with my record deal and my groupies.” Takes itself really seriously.’

  He wanted to ask Jono if Gretchen had a boyfriend. That was wrong, wasn’t it? If you had been at your mum’s funeral the day before?

  ‘Man, I wish I lived in Seattle,’ Jono said ‘Imagine just walking down the street, going to a club and seeing Mudhoney or someone. Soundgarden playing at your local. Here it’s some Abba cover band. Sad.’

  ‘I don’t know Mudhoney’s stuff.’

  ‘What?! They are seminal. Seminal. Really important to the evolution of the Seattle scene. The Melvins?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘I miss Nirvana.’

  ‘Nirvana is grunge! You said you didn’t like that stuff!’

  ‘Yeah, but they’re different.’

  ‘Ohhhh, you’re one of those guys. Hendrix too, yeah? Jim Morrison? The thing about Nirvana is, Kurt Cobain, he hasn’t made any mistakes. Wasn’t around long enough.’

  ‘Shooting himself in the head wasn’t a mistake?’

  ‘Ha, good one. I mean musically. He went straight into the canon of musician saints. It’s so easy to idolise him, put his face on a T-shirt, he can do no wrong. Like Lennon. The dead can do no wrong. We automatically idolise them. Rose-coloured-glasses and all that.’

  Jono obviously didn’t know Sam had been at his mum’s funeral the day before. Sam couldn’t speak. He reloaded his gun and kicked a door down.

  ‘Are you going into year twelve? Archer Point High?’ Jono asked.

  The plan was physics, chemistry, three-unit maths. A science undergrad, then further studies in meteorology. The plan belonged to someone else, the person who had a home and a mother. It now seemed laughable.

  ‘Don’t know. Can’t really be stuffed with school anymore. Not much point.’

  ‘I wanna do journalism. Gonna be a music journalist. Gotta get the HSC for that.’

  ‘So you know Gretchen from school?’

  ‘Yeah, man. She’s super cool. I mean, I’ve known Stassi forever, Gretchen only came last year. Oh hey, you gotta do something for me. Get Minty to come to this gig in a few months, Shihad and Tumbleweed at the Archer Point Tavern. It’s not all ages, though. I need Minty to get me in.’

  ‘Minty can get you in?’

  ‘That guy can do anything round here. He’s the golden ticket. And he’s got like, no fear. This one time, he rode a skateboard down the roof of someone’s house into the swimming pool. No joke. I saw it. You always have a good time with Minty. I mean, he’s mental but he’s not boring.’

  When Sam was growing up, his family gathered for dinner at Nana Hudson’s every Saturday night. After, Sam and Minty would watch Hey Hey It’s Saturday while the adults talked. Often, when murmurs of home time began, Minty would close his eyes and pretend to be asleep. Sam would copy him and they would listen as Nana told their mothers not to wake them, that they could stay over. They would be carried into the spare room and Minty was always genuinely asleep by the time Nana had tucked them in to the big bed. He would sleep deeper than Sam ever did. As if he couldn’t sleep anywhere else and he had to catch up. There was usually a damp patch under Minty in the morning, though Sam always pretended not to notice.

  Minty had clung to Sam when they were little kids. Always needing to be with him, never wanting to leave and concocting endless adventurous plans to keep Sam hooked. Sam didn’t really get it – Minty had a mum of his own, and a brother. And a dad – one of those powerful mythical creatures that eluded Sam.

  *

  Minty was in the garage when Sam got home. He had it set up with weights and a session plan in Shane’s sloppy handwriting was tacked to the wall. Minty sat up from the bench press, eyebrows raised. ‘Sammy! Where you been, brah? Hidin’ from Mum, ay? Good idea.’

  ‘Skated for a bit. Went up to Jono’s.’

  ‘Sweet. He’s a good guy, ay.’

  ‘No surf?’

  ‘Nah, flat as, all up and down.’

  ‘El Niño’s gonna deliver in the winter.’

  ‘I’m amped, brah. Bring it. Patience, that’s the name of the game. Shane doesn’t mind ’cause it gets me in here. He’s always at me about workin’ out. Nah, he’s got a point, ay. Everyone underestimates strength, fitness. It’s important, though.’ Minty stood up and motioned for Sam to give the bench a go. He adjusted the weights and lowered the bar down for Sam to hold it above his chest. Sam was bone and sinew, not much else. Minty laughed at him as he tried to push the weight up.

  ‘If you’re fit you can paddle harder, kick harder, match the wave’s speed. If your core’s strong, you can do more with a wave, like. And when you go under you last longer on your breath, less likely to drown. Not an issue so much in tame swell, but once you hit the big waves, you can be underwater for up to four, five minutes before you get up.’

  ‘I don’t catch big waves.’

  ‘What I’m saying is, if you’ve got confidence in your body, in what it can do, then you won’t freak out in the water.’

  ‘I don’t freak out in the water.’

  Minty grinned. ‘Everyone freaks out sometimes. Unless you’re a psychopath without normal human feelings. Are you a psychopath without normal human feelings?’

  ‘I didn’t cry much at Mum’s funeral.’

  ‘Brah, that wasn’t a funeral. That was like an infomercial or some shit.’

  Minty was strong now, it was undeniable. He had built armour for himself.

  11

  The week before school was supposed to start, Minty drove Sam and Lorraine up to Sydney to pack up Sam’s home. They took everything out of the back of the van so there’d be room for stuff. Sam was grateful to have Minty there because he broke the tension between Sam and Lorraine. She’d been colder with Sam since the fight with Shane; it was barely perceptible but she didn’t make eye contact with him and she pressed her lips into a grimace whenever he spoke to her. Sam wondered how long she would stay dirty with him. If the silence between her and his mum was anything to go by, it was likely to be a long time. Minty was, of course, oblivious to the tension and drove in his usual relaxed state, singing along to the radio and chatting to Lorraine. Sam sat on the floor in the back and focused on the road rolling away out the back window. The plan was for Minty to drop him off at the half-pipe where he would meet Luke. They would go skate at the old haunts. Minty said it would be therapeutic. Minty and Lorraine would drive the van back south and Sam would get the last train back. It would get him home just in time for Lorraine’s curfew.

  *

  It seemed disrespectful to his mother to pack up the apartment. The finality of it was horrible, like his life was an unaddressed package shoved in a postbox. Sam went into the 7-Eleven below the flat to get some empty cardboard boxes. The door buzzed as he walked in. It was so brightly lit inside that Sam pulled down his sunglasses from the top of his head. Music played loudly, Cliff Richard was ‘Wired for Sound’. Ricky, the manager, brightened when he saw Sam.

  ‘Sam! Good to see you. Where have you been? Holiday? I haven’t seen you since Christmas.’

  Sam paused and took a deep breat
h. Ricky watched him expectantly.

  ‘Mum’s sick, we have to move. Do you have some boxes?’

  ‘Oh no! What’s wrong? Moving? Where?’

  ‘Not sure yet. Do you have anything we can use to pack things in?’

  Ricky was the kind of guy who smiled no matter what the conversation was about.

  ‘Yes! Yes! Here, I’ll get them for you.’

  He went into the storeroom and came out with a stack of flattened cardboard. Sam took them and smiled.

  ‘Thanks. See you.’

  ‘You come and say goodbye! And your mum! Tell her to come say goodbye!’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll come back before we go.’

  Sam left knowing he wouldn’t.

  *

  Up in the apartment they went from room to room putting things in boxes. Sam was emptying his shelves when Lorraine came in.

  ‘Look, love, you can bring three boxes, but that’s all I got room for.’

  Sam looked down at the stuff at his feet: books, clothes, CDs, posters. He opened his mouth to plead his case but she had gone back into his mum’s room. She came back a few moments later with an armful of his mum’s textbooks.

  ‘These yours?’

  ‘No. Mum’s. She was at uni. Just started medicine.’

  Lorraine looked down at the stack of books and took a deep breath. ‘I can’t take ’em with us.’

  ‘They’re expensive books.’

  ‘I know, but … We don’t need ’em, love.’

  Sam gave a small nod and returned to trying to sort his own things.

  Lorraine went around with Post-it notes and labelled all the furniture ‘keep’, ‘sell’ or ‘dump’ – the formica table they had found on the side of the road, the set of bentwood dining chairs his mum had bought at a garage sale, the tattered couch covered in a rug she had knitted. I can knit a square or a rectangle, anything other than that and I’m stuffed. Lorraine moved through the apartment silently sticking on notes. Sam tried to remember the very last night he had spent there, the last twenty-four hours of his life as it once was with his mum. As soon as he remembered that soft, safe feeling he wished he couldn’t.