The Amazing Spencer Gray (4 page)

‘So, talk to me, Spence. You flew?'

‘I flew. This arvo.'

Leon breathed out heavily. ‘Details—
now.
And don't hold back. I can take it.'

Spencer tried, but there was no way to break it gently. ‘I wasn't disappointed, put it that way.'

‘No. How could you be.' Leon punched the pillow and then pretended to give Spencer a left-right to the jaw before falling back on the bed.

‘Did you get a turn on any of the controls—the throttle?'

‘Nah—it doesn't actually have a throttle, 'cos it doesn't have an engine, don't forget.'

‘Yeah ... right. Of course.'

‘Dinner!' Mum called from the kitchen. ‘Go wash your hands, kids.'

Spencer got up and pushed down his jeans so they covered his ankles. ‘Dad wants to take me over the
Stirling Ranges next time.'

‘Next time? Is this gunna be a regular gig, is it? What: Stirling Ranges this week, the moon the next?'

‘Boys, it's gnocchi! It's ready!'

‘Man, you get well looked after in this house,' Leon mumbled.

‘Do you wanna stay for dinner, Leon? I'm sure Mum wouldn't mind.'

‘Nah, no thanks. I'll reheat last night's gruel, it's okay.'

As they walked to the front door, Spencer said, ‘Did you get the twin flick missiles on the Falcon done?'

‘Yep. And the minifigs. Gotta get started on the interior now. It's got a detachable cockpit cover. Come by before school tomorrow and we can work on it if you want.'

‘Definitely,' said Spencer. ‘I'll see you at eight.'

‘You should skate over. Good practice, Spence. Bye Mrs Gray.'

‘See you, Leon. See you soon. Ask your mum if you can stay for dinner next time, okay? We can run you home afterwards.'

‘Oh, okay ... sounds good. Thanks.'

And Spencer turned towards the smells of dinner, part of him still flying over a patchwork earth, his ears
roaring with sky and silence, his skin almost fizzy with adrenalin from the day.

At dinner, Pippa was dark. Spencer looked to Mum for an explanation, and she just shook her head, indicating that silence was the best option.

‘I'm not hungry,' Pippa said, putting down her fork. ‘Can I get down?'

‘What's the matter, Pips?' Spencer couldn't help himself.

She rolled her eyes. ‘Nothing.'

‘Doesn't look like noth_____'

‘Spencer, just leave her.'

‘It's not
fair,
Mum! Why does
he
get to go flying with Dad? I've been wanting to go with Dad for
ages.
For
ever!'

‘It's an age thing, sis.'

‘Well, I'm old enough!'

‘Pippa, stop it,' Mum said, putting her hands flat on the table. ‘You know how this works. It's the rule. It's always been the rule. No, well, actually, the rule
used
to be thirteen, that's how old we said you'd have to be before you could go up with Dad, but you two hassled us so much we brought it back a year, to twelve. But it's twelve, and no earlier. You'll be allowed to go up in the
Drifter
when you're t-w-e-l-v-e. I know it doesn't seem fair now, but when you're older you'll see that it is. Now go and have your bath.'

‘I don't want to have a stupid bath!'

‘Well off to bed with you then!'

‘I don't want to go to BED YET!'

Mum stood up. ‘Pippa Gray, hop in the bath or shower right now before I chuck you in!'

When her eyes welled up, Spencer said, ‘Do you want me to take you, sis? We can put some lavender oil in the tub if you like.'

Pippa nodded her wet face. Mum started to clean up from dinner. Between the loud
chank chank
of plates, Spencer was sure he could hear her mumbling something about ‘the bloody
Drifter'.

They'd been to the Stirling Ranges before, a couple of times, in fact, even before they'd moved to Skippers Cove. Driven down from Perth for the weekend. Having climbed Bluff Knoll once, Dad of course raised the bar and led the way up the uneven rocky slopes of Mount Toolbrunup. It was more of a scramble than a walk, and Pippa ended up being piggybacked some of the way down. Mum had packed trail snacks—bags full of nuts, yoghurt-coated sultanas, soy crisps, dried apricots and mango strips—and they stopped often for breaks, slugging water and hoeing into trail-snack sustenance. Pippa reckoned those breaks were the highlight of the hike, but for Spencer it was that moment of standing at the peak, which was a tiny rocky point that only two or three people could perch on at once. He was knackered by the time they reached the top, and couldn't believe he'd actually have to do the whole walk again, downwards. But he took a long
moment, the wind making his eyes stream, to take in the incredible views from that high place. Below him, the circle of Stirling's peaks looked like a crowd of rocks pushing up the vast green felt of a pool table.

Towards the end of the climb, Mum had got a bit stressed about whether Pippa would make it and gave Dad a couple of teeth-gritting glares when Pips lay down on her back and sobbed that she wanted to go home. ‘You just push it too far sometimes, Rory,' Mum whispered hard. ‘She's still little.'

‘She is not
that
little, Suzie. Would you rather they were at home playing on their DSs?'

‘Of course not!' she yelled at him, on the side of that mountain.

Mum was silent all the way down after that, but her silence spoke her thoughts loud and clear.

Afterwards, at the local caravan park, they had long hot showers, and lit a fire in one of the old-fashioned barbecues not far from the cabin they were staying in for the night. Dad cooked some snaggers and put them into buns with t-sauce. In appreciative, tired silence, they wolfed them down, and all went back for seconds. Then Mum pulled out a bag of marshmallows and Spencer and Pippa scooted off for sticks.

‘Get a longer stick, Pips,' Spencer said, ‘So you don't burn your fingers.'

She looked over at his, threw hers on the ground, and scuttled off to get another.

‘You guys were awesome today,' Mum said, pushing three pink marshmallows onto her stick.

‘You really make us proud. Not all kids of your age could do what you two did today.' She flamed up her marshmallows, and Spencer wasn't sure whether she'd got smoke in her eye or if she was crying a bit.

Dad gathered Pippa into him and said, ‘I couldn't think of
any
way I'd rather spend my weekend.'

Mum kept her head down, taking another three pinks and threading them onto her stick.

‘Mum, we wouldn't mind some of those pink marshmallows either, you know.'

She looked down at her stick, ‘Oh, goodness, of course—sorry, kids.'

Dad opened a bottle of red wine, poured some into two plastic cups and handed one to Mum.

‘Cheers, guys,' he said, raising his cup.

‘Where's our drink?' asked Pippa.

‘Rummage around in the esky, love,' Mum said, sniffing lightly. ‘You'll find some apple juice.'

‘Yummo!' Pippa said, leaping up.

Mum murmured, ‘Marshmallows and wine—the perfect way to celebrate.'

And around the campfire the four of them clacked their plastic cups in celebration.

‘Orright everyone, listen up,' Mr Petrich called. The kids shuffled into a scattergram group in the middle of the school oval. ‘We've got the cross-country in half an hour, for those of you willing to give it a go.'

There was 360-degree groaning and Leon pulled his cap right down so his eyes were covered.

‘Mate, you can't block it out, you know,' whispered Charlie through his hair.

‘Boys!' Mr Petrich pointed at the three of them. ‘You three will all be running, I take it?'

Spencer and Charlie nodded.

‘Leon?'

‘Sir?'

‘Don't “sir” me, Leon Wilkes, just pull your hat up and pay attention, okay? I'll be looking to you today for a personal best.'

Spencer's torso rocked with silent laughter as Mr Petrich described the course.

‘Shut up,' Leon muttered.

‘A personal best, mate, you got that?'

Sunscreen was passed around and kids sucked down last drinks before moving towards the start of the course. Five or six kids headed back to the classroom for private study instead; the cross-country wasn't compulsory.

Spencer really enjoyed the run, mainly because it didn't involve sprinting, and it got them out of normal school grounds, into a bushy reserve that backed onto the school. Running around and around and around and around and around the oval till he couldn't breathe just bored him. He loved the surprise elements that a cross-country offered: logs across the path, uneven ground, branches at eye-level.

‘All right everyone. On your marks. Set. GO!'

Mr Petrich really got into the athletics season. Towards the end of races he could be heard shouting himself hoarse at his students. Apparently he'd been a pretty good runner in his day. The kids thought he was a bit of a legend 'cos he drove a lime-green Charger with black GT stripes. He actually
drove
it as his car—to work, to the shops, wherever. It was awesome to see it in the staff carpark, in between the white Camrys and the banana-coloured Getzes. Spencer's dad used to call micro cars
like Getzes ‘lunch boxes' when he got stuck behind them on the freeway, and would overtake, mumbling grumpily about being able to go faster on a ride-on lawnmower.

Spencer watched his feet now as they landed strongly after each stride. He leapt over fallen branches and crunched over sticks. He could see Charlie just up ahead, and he didn't need to look back to know that, taking his own sweet time, very near the back of the group was Leon. Priceless.

‘Pick it up, Spencer,' Mr Petrich yelled from the first of two drink stops. ‘Stay close to the leaders.'

Spencer pushed harder against the ground. He adjusted his breathing, and pulled air in through his nose. He could finish in the top five if he paced himself; if he pushed himself.

He imagined he was in the
Drifter,
ascending. The pain in Spencer's legs was just thermal power; it wasn't pain at all. He thought of all the flights he and Dad had done in the last few months, joyrides around Skippers Cove, taking in the views, flying the blue-yellow divide of the coast before swinging back and lining up the tarmac. He was almost getting used to it, the feeling. But you didn't get tired of it, ever.

He was tired now; tired, but fired up too. Run, Spencer, run!

‘Second in the cross-country?' Dad's eyes widened and he turned to Spencer.

‘Yup.'

‘Well done, Spence. That's an excellent effort.'

‘It's fantastic,' Mum said.

‘He didn't come first though,' Pippa piped up.

‘Pippa!'

‘It's all right, Mum. She's right, I wasn't first. That's cool.' He turned to his little sister. ‘You'll be doing your first cross-country in a couple of years, Pips. We'll see how you go, hey?'

‘I'll come first.'

‘Well, congratulations in advance.'

‘Okay, you lot, that's enough. Listen, I'm off to tennis in a minute, so can I leave you with dinner?'

‘Absolutely,' said Dad. ‘My talents as a cook are well documented. As you know.'

‘But rather less well practised,' Mum said. ‘As I also know.'

Mum's three-stripe Adidas legs and tennis racquet moved quickly towards the door. ‘Bye!' she called out, not turning to look back.

Once Pippa had finished her dinner and asked to be excused, Spencer said, ‘When can we go out in the
Drifter
next, Dad?'

‘You're really enjoying the flying, aren't you?'

‘Oh, yeah, it's awesome. Some nights when I'm trying to get to sleep I just can't get it out of my mind—that feeling. Going into clouds. And then out the other side. Even the pre-flight safety check stuff is awesome.'

‘You might be hooked, champ.'

Spencer nodded and grinned. ‘So, when?'

‘Well ... I'd been wondering about the Stirlings, hadn't I? The views are incredible.'

‘Sounds great. Soon?'

‘I'll talk to Mum. Maybe this weekend?'

‘I'm there, Dad. Let's do it.'

‘You're a chip off the old block, you are, Spence.' Dad smiled. ‘Okay. I'll see what I can do.'

Spencer keyed
non-motorised fixed-wing glider
into Google and hit search. He and Pippa shared a computer that was set up on a desk near the kitchen. Mum and Dad were really strict about The Computer Rules: he and Pips were allowed to use it for study and emailing, but weren't allowed to go onto Facebook or any other social networking sites,
or
be on the computer for longer than an hour at a time.

Wikipedia was first in line and Spencer clicked on the link:

Just reading about it sent a rush through him. It sounded so cool when he read it like that. He could barely believe he—Spencer Gray—had done it.

Bring on the Stirling Ranges, Dad. Bring 'em on.

Mum plopped things into the cooler bag for them: two muesli bars, two apples, their water bottles, a packet of Jatz, half a packet of Scotch Fingers (Dad's all-time faves; he'd eaten the other half of the packet the day before), and two rounds of ham and cheese sandwiches.

‘Thanks Mum,' Spencer smiled. ‘You're a deadset champion.'

‘Can't have my boys getting hungry up in the clouds, can I?'

Dad came in, holding some maps and his fleece jacket.

‘What time do you think you'll be back?' Mum asked.

Dad tied a second jacket, his waterproof one, in a knot around his waist. ‘Well, we're lined up to take off at_____' he looked at his watch, ‘_____11.30, which is when the thermals will get going properly. I guess we'll try to make the most of it and stay up in the air for a bit ... We'll probably be back at the hangar about 2.30 or 3, I
reckon. So I guess that means we'll be back in time for ... a gourmet four-course dinner!'

Mum choked on her cuppa.

‘Dad!' Pippa reached over to him and smacked his bum. ‘You are
rude.'

‘Just kidding. Do you want me to pick something up on my way home? A couple of pizzas from Milano's, maybe?'

‘Pizzas, yay, yay, yes yes yes!' Pips twirled around the kitchen.

‘Whoa, child!' Mum reached out, trying to stop a family photo getting knocked off the hall-of-fame table. ‘Pips, calm down! Sounds like a yes, chaps. Just make sure one of those pizzas is a capricciosa.'

‘And we need a Hawaiian,' Spencer said.

‘Yeah!' roared Pippa.

‘For goodness sake!' Dad raised his eyebrows at Mum. ‘Is this normal behaviour, do you think, love?'

‘Sadly, I think it is.'

‘Yeah, Dad,' Spencer said, ‘Pips and I are so normal. Well, I am.'

‘I am! I'm normal too!'

‘Okay, okay, you two. Can you men get outta here before you upset us girls any more? We have things to do, don't we, Pips?'

Pippa smiled. ‘Yep. We have a plan.'

‘Why, what are you doing?' Spencer asked.

‘Wouldn't you like to know?'

‘We're going for hot chocolate and gingerbread men at Indie's,' Pips said happily.

‘Aww, I love it there!'

‘And you love it in the air, too, so off you go!' Mum said, trying not to sound exasperated.

‘Got your jacket, Spence?' Dad said.

‘Yep—my wind-resistant one, just in case you accidentally inflate the emergency slide mid-flight.'

‘Right, and you'd get sucked out to the moon, buddy. Emergency slide? It's a glider, Spence, not an A380!'

‘Don't forget your food,' Mum lifted up the esky bag.

‘No. Now, that'd be a problem,' Dad said. ‘Starving up in the sky. You can't eat clouds.'

And with that, and some last kisses, they were gone.