After (10 page)

He tossed the rifle cover onto the bonnet and walked towards a sheep alone by the fence. The sheep had its back to the ute. There were tufts of wool hanging off the barbed wire. I decided to follow. As I drew alongside Grandpa, the sheep staggered and turned. Its eyes were wild and it panted like a dog. The sheep’s left side looked wrong. Its left ear was missing and its wool hung down to the grass. So too did something pink and red. There was black stuff, all over the grass.

I recognised the smell—a sweet, metallic smell. Blood. And it wasn’t only wool hanging from the sheep’s body, it was skin and flesh.

‘Poor bloody thing,’ said Grandpa, loading the rifle.

‘Is that stuff ... is it—’

‘Intestines.’

Mine knotted. ‘What happened?’

‘A German shepherd, a foxie and a Labrador–Kelpie cross, that’s what happened.’

‘Wild dogs?’

Grandpa snorted. ‘Pets.’

‘Pets? No way. It must have been a fox.’

‘Foxes won’t attack a healthy, adult sheep. But a pack of dogs will. They’ll chase it down and maul the bloody thing. Those three dogs were hanging around Frewen’s last week and I saw the mongrels here on Monday. Called their owners, but did they do anything? Course not. The Darwells lost two pregnant ewes on Wednesday.’ Grandpa stepped towards the sheep.

‘What are you going to do?’ I squeaked.

‘Put it out of its misery.’

‘But ... wait...’

Grandpa stopped.

‘What about the vet? I could run back to the house and call one.’

Grandpa eyes were deep and sad like Mum’s. ‘Mate, see the blood? The guts? She’s dying. Killing her is the humane thing to do.’

‘But how do you know? You haven’t tried any—’

He placed his hand on my shoulder. ‘Callum, trust me. This is the only way. Wait for me in the ute.’

‘But...’ My legs felt heavy. ‘Can’t we...’

Grandpa shook his head. ‘The longer we talk, the more she suffers.’

I forced my legs to move. The sun had all but gone. A shot rang out. I spun around. Grandpa lay the rifle on the grass and grabbed the dead sheep by the back legs, dragging it towards the ute.

‘Can I help?’ I asked.

‘Take the back legs. I’ll take the front.’

I shuffled backwards, trying not to look at the damage the dogs had done. The warmth rising from the sheep and the smell of blood made me feel sick. By the time we reached the ute I was sure I was going to spew.

‘When I open the tray, we’ll lift her into the back,’ said Grandpa.

I swallowed and nodded. The sheep made a thud and a squelch when it landed. Grandpa closed the tray. ‘I’ll grab the rifle.’

I walked away from the ute, sucking in air.

‘Bit rough, mate, I know. Are you all right?’

I nodded. ‘Yeah.’ But I wasn’t. It wasn’t the mauled sheep that had made me feel sick, it was that smell. That revolting smell of blood.

Elbow out the open window like Grandpa, I stared across the paddocks, to the mountains in the distance. The wind was cold against my face. ‘What happens now?’

‘I’ll phone Ted—the local copper—and have a chat to him. But if I see those bloody mongrels around here again, I’ll deal with them myself.’

The evening shadows made everything hazy—except the tiny white thing in the paddock behind the tractor shed. There seemed to be a woolly lump beside it. ‘Grandpa, what’s that, over there?’ I pointed.

Grandpa slowed the car and leant forward, his chin sticking out over the steering wheel. A smile brightened his hard face.

‘That, Callum, is your first lamb for the season.’

When he stopped at the gate, I jumped out to open and shut it. Once I was back in the ute, Grandpa eased the ute past the ewes gathered near the shed. I could have crawled faster than he was driving.

In the light of the headlights, I could see the lamb next to its mother. Grandpa stopped the ute, but left the headlights on. ‘Coming?’

‘I guess.’

We just about tiptoed towards the ewe and lamb. The ewe bustled the lamb behind her, keeping her head low and her eyes on us. Grandpa stopped about three metres away. The lamb bleated pathetically. It wobbled around the back of its mother, legs looking too spindly to hold it upright. The lamb had gunky stuff on its back and was as wrinkly as my grandmother. Something pink hung from its belly.

‘That’s the umbilical cord,’ said Grandpa, looking at me. ‘It’ll dry out and drop off in a couple of days.’

‘Great.’ For the second time in about five minutes I felt like spewing.

The ewe spun around. Something bloody and gross slipped out of her butt and splattered onto the grass.

‘What the...’

‘Afterbirth.’

I shuddered. ‘And that’s normal?’

‘Absolutely.’ Grandpa elbowed me. ‘We’ll make a country man out of you yet, Callum. Let’s get back to the house.’

I hesitated. ‘Grandpa—the lamb. What if the dogs come back?’

He frowned. ‘That’s why I need to call Ted now.’

At recess on Monday, I shoved Nan’s jam drops in my pocket and went to the back of the admin block where the rubbish bins were. I picked out the cleanest looking bin and started my new week as a garbo—only this time alone.

I trudged to the front fence, where Luke and I had started cleaning last week. Chip packets, plastic wrap and muesli wrappers lined the fence, some tangled through the wire. While I picked them up, I had the feeling I was being watched. I turned around to find Luke standing with his back against the corner of the admin building.

‘How you going, Luke?’ I said, holding the bin in front of me.

‘Good. What are you doing?’

‘Mrs Gray gave me another week of cleanup.’

He frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Because ... I was stupid.’

‘Do you mean cross?’

‘Yeah, Luke, cross and stupid.’

‘Are you still cross, Callum?’

‘Not with you, Luke.’

Crow-face Nugent swooped around the corner. ‘Callum Alexander, why are you loitering behind the school?’

‘I’m on clean-up,’ I said, lifting the bin to prove my point.

She smirked. ‘Yes, that’s right. For fighting Jack on the oval last week.’

Luke’s face darkened. ‘I’m on clean-up too.’

‘No, Luke. Callum is on clean-up,’ she said, as though she was talking to a kinder kid. ‘You go play.’

He shook his head. ‘No, if Callum’s cleaning up, so am I.’

Ms Nugent’s body twitched. ‘Very well then, if that’s what you want.’ She stalked off.

‘She’s right, Luke. This is my punishment, not yours,’ I said.

He shrugged and picked up a muesli bar wrapper at his feet. ‘I want to.’

I handed him the jam drops.

His eyes brightened. ‘Strawberry. Thanks.’

‘What’s that stink?’ said Frewen, strolling past my bench.

‘Smells like garbage,’ said Miffo.

‘Nah, it’s just the school garbo,’ said Frewen.

They sauntered to the oval with Klay and Matt, bellowing fake laughter.

‘Let’s clean up, Beetle,’ said Luke, skipping down the ramp, holding an apple and a bread roll.

I frowned. ‘Beetle?’

‘You know, Alexander Beetle. You’re Beetle.’ He stood in front of the bench, just about skipping on the spot. ‘It’s a nickname.’

‘Do you have a nickname, Luke?’ I asked, even though I knew the answer.

Luke nodded like crazy. ‘Benny. Let’s clean up.’

‘Calm down, Luke, you’re not even on detention. Anyway, I reckon we could eat lunch first.’

‘But—’

I patted the seat beside me. ‘Luke, take a load off and eat your roll.’

Luke looked at the seat, then at the bin.

‘Take a load off—sit down.’

‘Ahhh—take a load off.’

He sat beside me and balanced the apple on his knee.

‘So, where were you last week, Luke ... Benny?’ I asked. ‘Did you chuck a sickie?’

‘Went to Millington to see Roz.’

‘Roz your aunty or something?’

Luke shook his head. ‘Roz’s doing stuff about the accident.’

I thought hard before I asked. ‘Can you remember the accident, Luke?’

His eyes were wild, scared. I wished I hadn’t asked, but it was out there, lying at his feet like a discarded crust.

‘Not the accident. But I remember Will, playing footy with Jack and swimming at Jack’s house.’

I figured Will was his little brother. ‘Jack Frewen?’

‘Jackfrewen.’

‘And did you play footy for Winter Creek?’

‘Uh huh.’ He looked so sad. ‘For the Hawks.’

‘Do you miss footy, Luke?’

‘I don’t want to talk about that any more. Library today.’ He picked up the bin and walked away, head low.

While we cleaned up, I tried to think of something easy to talk to Luke about. ‘Do you live on a farm, Benny?’

He shook his head.

‘Not a farm. A house. With a horse for Ella. And chooks for me.’

‘How many chooks do you have?’

‘Five. Brown ones.’ Luke’s huge smile slipped into a frown. ‘Had seven before the fox came.’

‘Too bad.’

‘I like to draw them.’

‘The chooks?’ I asked.

‘Oh, what?’ Luke tutted and picked up an uneaten sandwich still wrapped in cling wrap. He shook his head and dumped it in the bin.

‘We have brown chooks at home,’ I said. ‘In Melbourne.’

‘Beetle’s got brown chooks?’

‘Yep, two of them.’

‘Want to see my chooks?’

‘I guess. One day.’

‘Good. I like jam drops,’ he said. ‘But not fruit cake.’

Grandpa’s knife scraped the plate. Nan’s wedding ring chinked against her wine glass. They avoided looking at each other. It had been like this since I returned home from school.

I cut a wedge from the cottage pie. ‘Grandpa, did you hear what happened to those dogs?’

Grandpa nodded and wiped his mouth with a napkin. ‘Got what they deserved.’

I frowned.

‘Paul Frewen shot one mongrel today—it was ripping into one of his rams. Ted impounded the German shepherd and terrier. They’re on death row.’

‘Oh...’ I shook my head. ‘I still can’t believe pets would do that.’

‘Yeah—put a few together and...’

‘How was school, Callum?’ asked Nan.

‘Okay, I guess.’ Okay because, after missing those sitters on the weekend Frewen was too busy practising his kicking for goal to bother me. Even though he left me alone, he still bugged me. Why was he such a pain to Luke if they’d been friends? ‘Benny loves your jam drops, Nan.’

Nan’s lips tightened. ‘His name is Luke.’

‘Yep, but I call him Benny,’ I said, holding her gaze.

Nan looked away first. Her breath out was loud.

‘Benny and I talked about footy today.’ I said.

Grandpa placed his knife and fork on his plate. ‘Can he remember playing footy?’

‘Suppose so. He said he played footy with the Hawks, and swam with Jack Frewen. Were they friends?’

Nan cleared her throat. ‘Callum, I thought we made it clear—’

‘Yes, they were friends, Callum,’ said Grandpa ignoring her. ‘Luke ... Benny was one of those kids everyone loved. A sensational footy player. Best junior I’ve seen.’

‘Better than Frewen?’ I asked.

‘What is the point of this?’ said Nan.

‘Luke won everything,’ said Grandpa as though Nan hadn’t spoken. ‘Club and league best and fairest. Picked for representative sides. He’d have played AFL, not a doubt in my mind.’

Nan stood and snatched her plate. ‘Well, he can’t play footy now and he’s not a lovely kid any more.’

‘Are you serious?’ I stood up.

Nan stepped back, her eyes huge.

‘Callum—’

‘No Grandpa, that sucks. He’s still a good kid. And how does anyone know he can’t play footy any more?’

My grandmother leant towards me, her face twisted with hate. ‘How dare you—’

‘You know what, I’m over—’

‘Callum!’ Grandpa’s voice echoed around the room.

‘I just wanted to talk about Luke, that’s all,’ I said, stung by Grandpa’s anger.

‘Talk? That would make a nice change from your grunting,’ said Nan, all puffed up and red.

My grunting? I sat straight in the chair.

‘Stop it! You two are worse than tom cats,’ said Grandpa.

Nan huffed, stood and stormed to the sink.

‘Callum, Luke has a brain injury.’ Grandpa rubbed his forehead. ‘He’s clumsy and, well, it’s hard for us and for his family, to see him as he is, knowing what he could have been and how it happened.’

‘Yeah, but—’

‘No more buts, Callum. By all means be Luke’s friend, but respect other people’s feelings. Understand?’ Grandpa’s face was starting to turn red. ‘Leave things well enough alone.’

Something thick churned in my chest. I had to get out of there before I exploded.

‘I need to go to the toilet.’

I’d only just stepped out of the kitchen when Nan snarled at Grandpa. ‘Trouble, Jim. That boy is trouble. And it’s only going to get worse.’

Instead of continuing down the hall, I raced outside to the chook yard. I punched and kicked the chicken wire and yelled into the starless sky.

My bench became our bench. Sometimes Luke met me there, after working with his aide Sheree. Other times he ate his lunch with me.

As soon as I took the last bite of my lunch, Luke would leap to his feet and grab the bin. We’d wander around behind the classrooms and toilet block, picking up sandwich bags, orange peel, half-eaten fruit, even an empty deodorant can once, talking about Luke’s chooks, favourite dessert—chocolate mousse—or Ella’s horse, Daisy.

Being with Luke was easy. For the first time in ages, I was with someone who wasn’t prickling with unasked questions. If Luke did have a question, he just blurted it out. ‘You like strawberry ice-cream?’ ‘You like my sister Ella?’ ‘Where’s your mum?’

Everything he asked was simple and best of all, he wasn’t trying to unearth stuff I wanted to keep buried. The only pressure Luke put on me was to eat fast so we could pick up rubbish.

He stopped copying what I did, but still repeated everything I said.

When Frewen was late to Info Tech and ended up with the dodgy computer, he stood behind Luke, kicking his chair. After a few moments, Luke dismissed Frewen with a wave of his hand. ‘Take a load off, Frewen.’

I stared at my screen and tried not to laugh.

Frewen huffed off, face blank, and tried the kicking thing on Klay. Klay swapped computers.

On Friday afternoon, Mr Agar slammed shut the book he’d been reading and lowered his feet from the desk. While we’d been slaving over the pulmonary system questions in the PE text, he’d been reading a football stats book. ‘That’ll do for today,’ he said.

‘About time,’ whined Frewen, tossing his books into the drawer beneath his table. ‘PE stands for physical education. What was physical about that?’

Mr Agar smiled. ‘You’ll be grateful for the rest tomorrow. That conserved energy might be the difference between you guys and The Ranges.’

In the seat in front of Frewen, Grace shook her head. ‘Is that all you guys think about? Footy?’

Mr Agar raised his hands as though surrendering. ‘The Ranges has been undefeated for the last two seasons, Grace, so, yes, it’s all I think about.’

‘My cousin plays for The Ranges,’ said Shelley, smiling at Frewen. ‘He reckons they’ll smash you. Easy.’

‘Yeah, right,’ said Frewen.

Klay kicked the back of Shelley’s chair. The bell clanged outside the window.

‘That’s it for today. Remember, I want those English chapters on my desk first thing Monday morning. Chairs up, everyone. See you Monday, if I don’t see you at the footy tomorrow.’

I waited with my backpack on my lap until everybody had put their chairs on their tables and left.

‘You going to the football, Beetle?’ asked Luke, waiting behind me.

‘Guess so. You going to watch Ella?’ I asked, walking from the class and down the ramp with him.

‘Yes. Tonight we’re going to Millington to buy me new shoes. And Ella jeans.’

‘Cool. What sort of shoes are you getting, Benny?’

Something thumped my left shoulder. I stumbled forward.

‘What did you call him?’

Frewen was red in the face. Miffo and Klay stood either side of him, arms folded.

‘Ease up, Frewen,’ I said, as I adjusted my bag.

I whispered to Luke, nudging him forward. ‘Keep walking, Benny.’

Benny had to jog to keep up with me. ‘Jack’s angry, Beetle.’

‘He’s always angry.’

Ella stood by the bus shelter. ‘Hurry up, Luke. Dad’s here,’ she called, waving.

Luke glanced over his shoulder. I didn’t need to look to know Frewen was behind us.

Ella marched over. ‘Come on, Luke.’

‘But...’ Luke looked from Ella to me.

Frewen stormed around us and blocked our path. Behind him, Miffo held Frewen’s bag.

Ella scowled at them and guided Benny towards their red wagon parked on the street.

‘See ya, Benny,’ I said.

‘His name is Luke,’ said Frewen, shoving me with his open hand.

This time I was ready for him. ‘What’s it to you?’

Frewen’s face twisted with hate. ‘Benny’s dead.’

‘You’d better hope he didn’t hear that,’ I said, gripping the strap of my backpack.

Frewen stepped forward, the toes of his runners touching mine. ‘Call him that again and I’ll smash your head in. Benny wasn’t a retard.’

Not hitting him was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

‘Benny isn’t the retard, Frewen. You are.’ I leant closer. ‘Why don’t you go home, Frewen, so you’re not too tired for tomorrow?’ I turned and strolled to my bike.

‘This isn’t over, Alexander,’ he yelled. ‘You’re no better than your mother. No wonder Woosher dumped her.’

The word slammed into my back, stopping me dead. I wanted to run back and thump him. But I knew ignoring him would hurt him more. Tim was climbing onto his black racer when I reached the bike rack.

‘What was that all about?’ Tim asked.

I shrugged. ‘Who knows?’