Happy as Larry (22 page)

‘Ah.'

‘I tried to explain it but I didn't do a very good job. She was crying when she left.'

Larry kicked the ball hard. Really sank his boot into it. If Guillermo hadn't ducked it would have slammed into his nose.

He stared at Larry in disbelief. ‘What?'

Larry shook his head, grabbed his bike and rode off while Guillermo was collecting the ball from the other end of the park.

Mary Holland answered the door and her face lit up when she realised it was Larry. There was genuine surprise in her eyes, as though she was expecting someone else. She invited him inside.

April appeared from the lounge room. ‘Oh,' she said. ‘It's just Larry. Hi Larry.'

‘Hello, April. Do I get a hug?' Larry asked.

She stumped into the hallway and gave him a half-hearted squeeze before slinking back to the television.

Mary rapped on Jemma's door. ‘Jemma?'

‘What?'

‘Larry's here.'

‘Who?'

‘Larry.'

‘She won't be long,' Mary said, heading for the kitchen.

Larry stood marooned in the hall for a minute that tasted like an hour. He'd almost run out of reasons to stay when Jemma's door burst open.

He had to look twice.

She wore a low-cut summer dress. Her face was made up – eye shadow, mascara, lipstick – and her nails were painted safety-jacket orange. Her hair was perfectly straight. She offered no greeting, just smiled seductively.

‘Sorry, Jemma, were you going out?'

‘No. Not really.'

‘You look . . .'

‘Yes?'

‘You look different.'

Jemma's eyes rolled.

‘You look . . . lovely.'

She smiled then, albeit briefly. ‘What can I do for you?'

‘Nothing. I just . . . I hadn't seen you for ages and I was wondering how you were.'

‘I'm good. Really good. You?'

‘Oh, I'm fine. Did you want to go for a ride or a walk or something?'

Jemma chuckled, and looked herself up and down. ‘Ah, no.'

‘Okay,' Larry said, stung. ‘What have you been doing? You haven't been to church for . . .'

‘I don't go to church any more.'

‘Really? Why not?'

‘I don't know. Just got bored with it, and Mum said I was old enough to make my own choice now. I chose not to go. Hey, you want to see my new phone?'

‘Sure.'

She vanished into her room and Larry noticed a shadow appear at the front door. A second later, knuckles were rapping on the glass.

‘I'll get it,' Jemma yelled, but April was already in the hallway. She yanked open the door to reveal a tall, pimply boy with spiky blond hair.

The boy smiled at April.

‘Jemma, it's Mark. Mark's here.'

‘I said I'd get it, April,' Jemma snarled, and grabbed the open door from her sister. ‘Hi, Mark, come in. Larry, this is Mark. Mark, this is my friend Larry.'

The boys shook hands. Mark's hand was sweaty, and limp like a skewered toadfish.

‘Larry is—' Jemma said.

‘Just leaving,' Larry interrupted. He kissed Jemma's perfumed cheek and stepped through the open door. ‘Nice to meet you, Mark. See you later, Jemma.'

‘Oh, okay. Byeeee.'

She'd closed the door before he'd made it to his bike. He pedalled home as fast as his wheels would carry him, took his length of rope from the shed and banged on his neighbour's front door. Larry could hear the faint sound of a hand sliding over wallpaper and he knew that Vince would be opening the door.

‘Feel like a run?' Larry asked.

‘Run? How about a shuffle?' Vince said with a smile. ‘I'll just grab my shoes.'

Larry ran hard that afternoon. Ran hard and talked even harder. He told Vince about Guillermo's insensitivity towards Jemma, the change in Jemma, about her boyfriend, and the story of Mal's youth.

‘My father sent a photo of me to his mother just after I was born, just like your daughter. I don't understand it. I don't understand any of it. Why doesn't my dad want anything to do with his own mother? Yes, she hurt him, but how can you turn your back on your family?'

Vince was quiet for twenty paces. ‘Some things are better left alone.'

‘That's exactly what he said! I don't believe it. That's like saying house plants do better if you don't water them, or pets are happiest if you don't feed them.'

Vince yanked on the rope.

Larry stopped.

Vince had his hands on his hips. He puffed and stared at the ground. ‘Things aren't that simple, Larry.'

‘Well, it doesn't take a scientist to write a letter. You don't have to go to university to work out how to say sorry. How much more simple does it need to be?'

‘Sorry won't fix these things, Larry. They've grown over years. They have deep roots.'

‘Not straight away, no. Probably not, but it's a good place to start.'

‘Hannah knows where we live. When she's ready, she'll come.'

‘What if you're dead? What if she's waiting for you and Muriel?'

‘I don't know where she lives.'

‘Have you even looked?'

Vince was smiling and shaking his head. ‘Larry Rainbow . . . saviour of the world.'

Larry felt steam rising through his veins. Vince's attitude needled him. For the first time in his life he could see through the piles of rubbish the adults had shoved into the corners of their lives, and for the first time he felt his opinion didn't count.

He was just a kid.

He tugged the rope and Vince's arm flopped. Vince opened and closed his mouth, his countenance suddenly sour. ‘I'm sorry if that offended you, Larry. One day you'll understand.'

They jogged home in silence and Vince thanked Larry but there was no colour in his voice.

I'LL BE
BLOWED

T
HE FOLLOWING
W
EDNESDAY
, when Denise was at film club, Larry and his father did the dishes. Again the conversation turned to Larry's grandmother.

‘I know Mum's mum died when she was little. I know her father died in a car accident, and your father did, too,' Larry said.

‘It's not going to happen, Larry.'

‘What?'

‘I'm not going to wake up one morning with a screaming desire to see my mother.'

Larry squirmed inside. Hearing his father's words, so black and white, made him feel powerful and a bit cruel. He'd found his father's raw nerve and he'd unashamedly poked it.

But it wasn't really about Mal. When Larry asked about his grandmother, it was his own search for meaning. He was reading the subtitles of his life but not fast enough to fully understand what was going on, and he needed an explanation.

‘Sorry, Dad.'

Mal sighed. ‘That's okay, Larry. I'm sorry, too.'

Mal drained the sink and stole the teatowel to dry his hands.

‘What was her name?' Larry asked.

Mal rolled his eyes. ‘Shorelle. Shorelle Rainbow.'

And before his mother and father got home from work the following evening, he'd found her. Well, her telephone number, anyway. It really was as simple as an internet search of the White Pages. There were only three listings for Rainbow in South Australia and only one S. Rainbow, and the listing was in North Adelaide. He messed up dialling the number twice before finally getting his fingers, eyes and brain to co-operate.

It rang.

‘Hello?' croaked an elderly woman.

‘Hello, I . . . I was wondering if this was the right number for Shorelle Rainbow.'

‘Yes, this is the right number.'

‘I . . . I . . .' Larry's mind stalled.

‘Who is this?'

‘It's Larry.'

‘I'm afraid Mrs Rainbow passed away in February.'

There was a gentle frankness to the woman's voice, as if Larry had asked for a particular sweet and the shopkeeper had told him that they were out of stock.

‘Is there something I can help you with?'

Larry was silent as understanding washed over him.

‘Hello?' the woman asked.

‘Did you know her?'

‘Why, of course. We shared the same house for the best part of fifteen years. What did you say your name was? You're not from the Department, are you?'

‘No, I'm Larry. Larry Rainbow. I'm her grandson.'

‘Is that right?'

Larry thought he could hear the old woman smiling. ‘Yes.'

‘Malcolm's boy?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well, I'll be blowed.'

They talked then. They talked and talked until Larry ran out of questions and Amy Turner said she had to go. Less than a minute after he hung up, Denise came through the front door.

Larry was watching the television with his shoeless feet up on the couch. His heart was racing.

Denise looked at him suspiciously. ‘What are you smiling about?'

‘Nothing. I'm not smiling.'

‘What have you been up to?'

Larry showed her the palms of his hands. ‘Nothing!'

Unconvinced, Denise instructed him to peel the potatoes for dinner.

There was nothing casual or coincidental about Larry's conversation with Vince after dinner that night.

‘You want to run now?' Vince asked, and turned his face towards the sky. ‘It's almost dark.'

‘What difference does that make to you?'

Vince raised his eyebrows. ‘Okay, okay. Give me a minute.'

There was nothing casual about it, but Larry couldn't find the words until they were on the long, flat straight of the breakwater.

‘I found out about my grandmother tonight.'

‘Really? How did you do that?'

‘Just looked her up on the internet. Found her phone number in less than five minutes.'

‘And?'

‘She's dead.'

Vince tutted. ‘I'm sorry, Larry. I guess that wasn't what you wanted to hear.'

Larry shrugged in the darkness. ‘I don't know. She only died in February. She had my picture in a frame in her lounge. She told her friend Amy that I was the reason she stopped drinking.'

They jogged on, their shadows stretching and contracting under the streetlights.

‘Good for you,' Vince eventually said.

It startled Larry. The wind was howling in the trees and he'd moved on to thoughts about the hurricanes in America.

KNELT
BESIDE IT

I
T WAS
N
OVEMBER
when Vince changed his mind. He clumped up the front steps early on a Saturday morning, way too early. Mal was up and making breakfast. He had to wake Larry.

‘Vince's here. Are you up for a run?'

Larry dressed in a blur and met the old man in the lounge.

‘Your shirt is on back to front,' Mal said to the boy.

Larry shrugged. ‘You don't mind, do you, Vince?'

Vince laughed aloud. ‘Not at all. You can wear a dress for all I care.'

They'd barely made it out the gate before Vince was tugging at the rope. He felt Larry's head and bent low to whisper. He was like a little kid with a secret. A secret he just had to tell. ‘I found my daughter.'

‘You did?'

‘Well, not me directly, one of the lasses at the library found her on the computer.'

‘She was
on
the computer?'

‘Don't get smart,' Vince said, grinning. ‘She's living in Darwin.'

‘And?'

‘And . . . that's all. I have her address. I thought I might write her a letter.'

Larry told Vince that a letter was a good idea, but the thought of waiting for mail to get to Darwin made him pull his own hair.

‘You could call her.'

‘I could,' Vince said.

But he didn't.

Frenzied knocking woke Mal before dawn on Christmas morning, 2004. Dressed in his underwear, with a frightened pulse in his temples, he opened the door to find a tearstained Muriel Hammersmith in her nightie.

She couldn't speak, but she didn't have to.

Mal knew.

He hurdled the low fence between the two houses and found his way through the open front door into the Hammersmiths' bedroom.

The covers had been thrown back. One leg of the old man's pyjamas had ridden over his calf.

‘Vince?'

Mal smoothed the pyjama leg into place. Vince's skin was cold and stiff. Mal thought momentarily about trying to revive him, rolling him on his back and giving him mouth-to-mouth, but then he realised there was no point. He drew the covers to Vince's shoulder.

Muriel stood in the doorway. Denise, wide-eyed and rumpled, appeared behind her in a dressing-gown.

Mal shook his head.

Muriel covered her face with her hand but made no sound until Denise touched her arm. They folded together in a disarmingly gentle embrace, and Muriel sobbed into her neighbour's shoulder.

Denise led Muriel into the kitchen. Mal found the phone in the hall and called the ambulance. He was still giving out details when Larry arrived. He wore his red silk boxer shorts and a white singlet. There was no expression on his face, but his eyes were bright with understanding. He looked at his father, then walked into the bedroom.

‘Larry? Larry!'

Mal finished the call and found his son kneeling by the head of the bed, his fingers resting lightly on Vince's cheek. His eyes were dry and they asked no questions.

Larry knew death. He knew death and he knelt beside it, fearless. He didn't say a thing to Vince's body, just stroked his cheek until the ambulance arrived, then left.

The funeral directors arrived just before ten. Muriel thanked Denise and sent her and Malcolm home. It wasn't until they got home that they remembered it was Christmas Day. Larry sat on his bunk, dressed. With raw hearts, they exchanged gifts and struggled to find a gram of cheer among the loss.

Vince was dead. Mal had surrendered to the bombshell and found himself numb and mute. He remembered the wounded clown and the magic he'd brought into their lives. Vince may have been old, but he was a gentle man and a gentleman, and he'd even managed to die with grace.