The Keeper (3 page)

6

Dev's suggesting living in the caravan park. If he's disappointed at not being invited home he doesn't show it. Besides, he seems like the type who wouldn't want to impose or make a fuss. In the end I think of the boat. The boatshed is down by the old jetty – not a long walk from the house. It's always locked but I know where Gran keeps the key. Grandad had closed in a small room at the back of the shed in the days when he'd come down from their property for a fishing weekend here.

‘It's just a trailer sailer,' I warn as the galvanised doors creak open. Dev walks in, past the tractor and admires the boat for a moment.
Sea Wolf
, Grandad had called it and the name curls along the hull in flowing blue letters.

‘So this is why you wanted someone who could handle a boat.'

‘It's mine.' I hate the way I sound like a little kid but I need some equal footing. I mean, is this man in my employ exactly or do we have an agreement? And am I the boss since it's my idea? I still haven't worked it all out. ‘Well, sort of. It was Grandad's.' Dev's still looking the
Sea Wolf
over so I'm caught unawares by his next question.

‘What about your parents?'

I turn away to stare out at the shifting grey-green expanse through the shed doors. I hardly know him so he can't expect me to talk about stuff – even if I
have
asked him to be a pretend dad. ‘I don't have any,' is all I end up saying and Dev drops the subject too.

The moment passes, I help him in with his bag and helmet. He doesn't have much gear and what he's got is all black – bag, helmet, clothes, same as his hair (most of it), even the goatee on his face. Although the goatee has a few more silver streaks than his plait. Dev strips off his jacket before wheeling the bike in. And just in the space of those seconds I know it's the start of something. Dev's a strange one, as Gran would say if she could see him, but the hope's there that we'll share something she'd never understand, a mateship that's male, something I've always yearned for and not realised it until this very moment.

It's not until I'm back home, in my room, that I start wondering about a few things – like his name. What sort of name is Dev Eagle? I didn't think about it when I was with him – he tends to take over a fair bit of the space in your head – but what could Dev be short for anyway? Devon? Devril?
Devil?
And Eagle? Is it real? And when he took his coat off, I remember now – those tatts! The two eagles on his biceps – one striking for the kill, the other one devouring its prey.

Could you just imagine Gran's reaction! She's no religious freak but she sure has a healthy belief in God and a fear of the devil. So what happens now? What do I think I'm going to do with a secret dad, one I can't show off and introduce – one who's a biker with the name of the devil?

7

Having a secret dad does one thing right away. Takes my mind off things at school. The problem stuff doesn't seem half as bad. It's much easier to ignore Shawn Houser's smart remarks when I'm planning what to do with Dev later. I don't score any better with Ms Colby though.

‘Joel Billings! Try and focus on what's going on in the present, if you don't mind.' She always talks in such long sentences. By the time she gets to the end of it I've forgotten the beginning which is a problem since her favourite torment is to ask me to repeat what she's said. I never can, of course, and she gets this battle gleam in her eyes like she's pleased I've failed. ‘Weren't listening, were we?' She can almost sound sugar-sweet at that point but I know it's just the bait in the berley cage. If I stay quiet, wondering what response she wants, she'll get me for disobedience. Mostly I can't help myself and erupt at the injustice of it all, since either way I can't win. Then I'm sent to the focus room for causing a disruption in class.

On the day before break-up I'm afraid I lose it enough to call her a stupid cow, with an extra word or two stuffed in between. What's the use of waiting quietly for her to slaughter me? Seeing her eyes nearly burst out onto the expanse of her heaving chest is worth the detention. Even Shawn Houser's eyes pop. Yep. The rest of the afternoon in the focus room with no distractions is def-in-ite-ly worth it.

This time I tell Dev about it. Dev doesn't stick up for the teachers like Gran is inclined to do. He doesn't say much at all, but for once I feel as if someone has listened without putting their two cents' worth in. Maybe Dev even cares for he waits until I've said everything; that is, until I suddenly think of something else.

‘I must show you all my fishing holes. Tomorrow it'll be holidays and we can spend all the time together.' Dev grins through the shadow on his face, and I can tell he wants our arrangement to work too.

‘You want to come and wet a line?' I think it's safe enough taking Dev down the jetty at dusk. Most people are at home having tea unless they're tourists or fishermen. Besides, if Dev is seen, people will just think I'm passing the time of day with him, like I did with Zoe that time. It's obvious that Dev hasn't fished off a jetty in a while though. I have to remind him which baits do best for which fish and how to rig the line for jetty fishing. At least it's not as bad as fishing with Zoe. She knows fat zero.

‘I used a lure when I went fishing.' Dev's concentrating on getting the gents on his hook. I've already cast my line. I wonder how Dev can do that – be fixing his rig yet still talk about serious things. I can only concentrate on what's happening here and now. Even that's difficult; if something else comes into my head, I'm off with it like it's a horse bolting, dragging me with it. But fishing keeps the horses at bay longer than anything else.

‘Aren't you going to sharpen your hook?' Look at that rig of Dev's. How's he going to catch anything with that? ‘They're never sharp enough out of the box. It makes a big difference.'

Dev chuckles. It's a nice sound, down in his throat and you know you're included. ‘What you don't know about fishing, mate.'

‘Grandad told me heaps. He was a real old salt.'

Dev takes the sharpening stone I'm handing over and I show him how to tell if the hook's sharp enough. ‘Scrape it across your thumbnail. If it catches, it's okay.'

‘It must have been hard when your grandad died.' It's a statement, flat and uninviting and I know it's like that on purpose, to be taken up if I want to or not. I choose to ignore it.

‘I catch Gran heaps of fish. I could be a big game fisherman, even now.' I watch Dev's face. It doesn't flicker, nor does his eye cock up like most people's do when I say things that are difficult to believe. I just can't help it sometimes. There are moments when I think I
can
do anything. It's not all just to impress. But when people don't think much of you, you have to say
something
to let them know you deserve space on the planet. It's not until later that I remember I'm just Joel Billings, the uncontrollable idiot, and what a useless jerk I am.

Dev stands and there's the zing of his line going out, the plop as the sinker hits the water. Dev can remember how to cast at least. He glances down at me as if I only just spoke.

‘Then we should have a go one day, eh?' He means offshore fishing, and I drop my line in, happy to be taken seriously for once.

The tommies are on the bite tonight – we catch two dozen between us and a gar.

8

The first week gallops by – a week of heaven. Dev's still a secret. I haven't told Mei even and I've kept away from Zoe. She looks like she'd catch on to stuff real quick. Mei's the only one I feel bad about.

‘Why don't you bring her?' Dev's managed to draw out the reason for my bad mood.

‘You don't mind?'

‘It's your idea I'm a secret, remember.'

On Wednesday Mei comes fishing. But unfortunately it's ‘never-put-a-foot-wrong' Mei who gets me into trouble. Her face when she first sees Dev is like one of those weird open-mouthed paintings on Gran's calendar. You'd think I have a dragon cooped up in the shed; but Mei's a good mate. If she has any questions she swallows them quick-smart.

We're still at the boatshed, getting tackle together, counting hooks for the tackle box; Mei's standing in the open doorway, staring out to sea, when it happens.

‘Hey! Pigface. What'cha doin' there?'

My face suddenly freezes into carved rock.
Shawn Houser and Prescott.
Taking the mickey out of Mei again. I drop the box of hooks and head out there but Dev's a step ahead.

‘Don't even think about it.' His hand's tight on my wrist. It's the worst thing to do.

Suddenly I can't think. I swing round, my other arm flailing, rocketing for Dev's face. ‘You can't boss me around.' It sounds like a cross between a hiss and a growl. It scares even me. Dev ducks, blocks my punch and turns me, writhing, to face him. When he thinks I can listen, he speaks.

‘What's this all about?'

But it's too soon. ‘Get off! You can't hold me.' My words come out like a cat spatting before a fight, wild and scared, and I wrench free as Dev loosens his hold. I bolt outside but it's too late; Shawn Houser and Prescott are gone.

Mei turns back to Dev and makes a rare comment. ‘It's not good to cross him.'

She's surprising sometimes – doesn't say much (not like me talking all the time, even in my head) but when she does . . . I don't hear what Dev answers and I come back in with a face like a squall, just daring Dev to make a comment. I'm sure to have blown it now. But what comes isn't what I expect.

‘Why fight, Joel?'

‘I have to.' The words sound uncertain. Why doesn't he just tell me off? I can handle being told off, harsh words. I know people don't like me. I'm used to it; but not this quiet ‘why fight?' like he actually cares how I feel about it. ‘They're all after me. Or Mei.'

‘What gives you that idea?'
What gives you that idea?
What's he on about? Either you know people are after you or you don't.

‘They are. Believe me.' I try a little smirk. Maybe he's joking.

‘If
you
think they are, they will be.' Dev sits; he doesn't smile. I can see there's no joke. ‘Everything starts up here.' And he points to his head. ‘Fighting has to start up here too. There's more fighting done up here than with these' – he shows me his fists – ‘and if you can win the battle up here you won't have to use these.' Weird. How can you fight without touching someone? Besides . . .

‘I want to.'

Dev watches me for a moment. He's fiddling with the end of his goatee and I get this feeling like I do when I get two out of ten for tables. Ms Colby thinks I don't care, but just when I think I can do them the numbers escape through some hole at the base of my skull. Dev's glancing up at the cupboard where Grandad kept his tackle and stands again. ‘Maybe we should play some footy first. C'mon, I'll give you both a game.' He reaches for the ball that's always been on top of the cupboard as long as I can remember. It's never been touched, not since . . .

‘That's Grandad's.' Dev pauses. It's funny how he does that – gives me space, time to disagree if I want.

‘Can we use it?' No pressure. You decide, Joel.

Suddenly I can remember Grandad kicking the ball, throwing me a toss, telling me to mark it, mark it high. In between riding horses Grandad had liked his footy.

‘Yeah.' I grin. The storm's passed, the sun's shining again on the tropical island. ‘Yeah, we can.'

Footy on the beach is fun. It doesn't hurt as much, thumping into the sand, marking the ball. Even Mei who isn't into football doesn't get the ball wet. Afterwards we go fishing from the beach further up, using Grandad's long rods and floats. Something relaxing about sitting on the sand, watching the waves roll in over the line. It doesn't matter that we catch nothing.

‘By the way, Mei,' Dev's re-baiting, ‘next time someone calls you Pigface, smile and say thanks.'

If I was a wolf my tail would bristle. Dev's supposed to be on our side. ‘Why should she do a stupid thing like that?'

‘Because, Joel, bullies find it very difficult hammering someone when they don't get the reaction they want. A pigface is a very beautiful wildflower. Those boys are too dumb to know that, but you aren't.' He turns back to his rig. ‘It's actually a very good name for you, Mei.'

Mei's smile is tentative, about the first one she's given Dev all day. I can just imagine Dev tapping his head, saying, ‘It's up here. Here's where it counts.' Well, I can't help it. Shawn Houser really pisses me off – just by breathing. Nothing's going to stop me beating the innards out of him next time I have a chance. Not even Dev.

9

‘Where have you been? I've been looking for you all day.' Words are in my throat, rising up – ‘
I've been to London to visit the Queen
' – but I gulp them down in time. Gran's all right really. ‘I've hardly seen you these holidays.'

‘I've just been fishing, Gran.' We're in the kitchen. Familiar home territory. Zoe's there again. Then the calm shatters.

‘Mr Houser told me in the shop that you'd been seen with a man. You and Mei.' Zoe's frowning, just like Gran. My hand in the cupboard stops reaching for the enamel plate. I knock a glass by mistake. ‘A man?' I find the plate, draw it out. ‘Who said?'

‘Apparently, his son Shawn told him.'

I make a disparaging sound, try to make it convincing and scornful. ‘Shawn? He wouldn't know his own shadow if he puked on it.'

Gran cuts in. ‘I hope it's not true. You see, Joel, it's very important that you're careful about strangers. Especially now. You mustn't talk to anyone you don't know.' I tell you she's weird about the stranger bit. She goes on and on. ‘Can you promise me you won't talk to someone you don't know?'

I try to think. I already know Dev, right? He's not a stranger any more. ‘I guess so.'

Something unties inside Gran and she sits down at last, smiling. ‘I've been telling Zoe all about you.' I check Zoe's face. She's smiling too. How come? People don't smile when they know all about me, they look kind of worried. I stare at Gran, annoyed. What is she playing at? And it gets worse. She's ignoring my stare, acting all bright. ‘Zoe says she's read about someone like you.'

But she goes too far. Something goes
snap
inside my head.

‘You mean, who gets into trouble all the time?'

‘Yes, but—'

‘Can't think straight, can't do sums . . .'

Why is Gran doing this? She's my ally. She's always stuck up for me before.

‘But it wasn't his fault, Joel.' Zoe comes over then. ‘The doctor gave him medication and he
could
think about what he wanted and stop—'

But I don't wait to hear any more. They're ganging up on me. It's not fair. ‘I don't want any stupid medicine!' I run to my room, bang the door as loud as I can and lock it. I send a few well-chosen words out through the keyhole. That'll keep them at bay.

The problem is I can't stay in a locked room for long. After a light year of Sundays, I carefully turn the key back. No need to let them think they've won. I turn the door handle, give the door a little lift where it catches, then stick my head out into the passage, just as I hear Gran say to Zoe, ‘It's not good for the boy. When are you going to tell him?' And Zoe's muffled sniffing. They must still be talking about doctors so I make a noise on the way to the bathroom that would make an erupting volcano sound like a delicate
pop.
You should see the look on their faces! It shuts them up at least.