The Never Boys (12 page)

The ute almost hit Dean. He'd jumped from the darkness, waving for the General to stop.

‘Fire!'

‘Where?'

‘The shearing shed. Zara and I — we were just mucking around —'

‘What have you stinking kids done now?'

‘It was an accident! You've gotta believe me —'

‘Get in! I'll deal with you later.'

She belted through the front gates, then flung the ute away. An orange glow died inside the shed —

‘Zara!
Zara!'

She flicked the switch —

‘SURPRISE!'

— only to be greeted by whistles, cheers and party poppers. ‘HAPPY FIFTIETH!'

The shock took as long to untangle as the
streamers. She stood dumbfounded as guests hugged and kissed her and the band struck up a song.

‘No doubt you're both to blame for this,' she said as a coldie was slipped into her hand.

‘You didn't think you were going to spend it in front of the TV, did you?' Zara said, suddenly there beside Dean.

‘And are those my baby photos on the walls for the world to see?'

‘I thought I'd get in and embarrass you first before my eighteenth.'

‘
If
you live to see eighteen.' She growled a smile, hugged Zara then kissed her on the forehead. ‘Thank you. It's wonderful.'

‘Happy fiftieth.'

They disappeared into the background as hundreds of friends, relatives and balloons fought for space under the corrugated roof humming with small talk. Guests moved in and out of the shed with the last spring breeze, while older teenage boys smuggled beers into the holding yards for their mates. Others stood deep in the paddocks listening to car stereos while the headlights of latecomers tracked the dirt road. Dean wouldn't have been surprised if whole towns were inside. There were so many people: farmers, bankers, aunts, cousins,
shearers, rouseabouts, art students and school students. It had to be one of the biggest parties of the year — just as Zara had planned.

The crowd cheered again as the band chose a chart-topper for its next cover song. Zara didn't have time to enjoy it, though. One of the ladies took it upon herself to warn her that the food was running low.

‘Dean, do you mind giving me a hand?'

Oven racks shuddered as more trays of spring rolls, prawn toast and spinach triangles were lifted out and rushed to the sheds. Corn chip packs were popped, dips peeled and guests pointed to the drawer with the spare bottle openers. When the pair met back at the sink, they collapsed.

‘Now I remember why you should never throw a party yourself,' she said, sculling a glass of water. ‘You never get to enjoy it.'

‘Did you see your mum singing?' he said, sitting on the benchtop.

‘See?
Hear
, don't you mean! And I thought she'd shot all the feral cats!' Another gulp. ‘How good is it, though? The old girl's actually being human for once.'

‘Wait till she sees her next credit card bill.'

‘Hopefully she'll still have a hangover and we'll have left the country by then.'

‘Where to this time?'

‘How about Morocco? Or somewhere more exotic? Like Peru?'

‘I spun Denmark this week.'

‘You? What were you doing at the ruins?'

(Waiting for you.)

‘Practising. I take my guitar there sometimes. It's got great acoustics.'

‘I still haven't heard you play. You'll have to invite me along one time.'

‘Definitely.'

She walked past him, turned on the backyard spotlight and watched, cross-armed, a couple of stickybeaks close the door to the hothouse. Dean thought it was funny. In charge of the party, she looked and sounded exactly like her mother.

‘Zara? Are you inside? We need more ice, dear.'

She pushed the stress up her forehead and over her head.

‘I'll do it,' he offered and jumped down. She waved him away, but he insisted.

‘Cheers. And mate, thanks. For everything.'

Then unexpectedly, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

Lugging a bag of ice, he almost yelled with delight as he stepped off the veranda. She'd kissed him! She'd kissed him!

All day he'd felt something special was going to happen. They'd spent hours together, laughing and joking away the stress while preparing for this party. A secret glance here, a brush of a hand there — all hints to affection deeper than friendship. That was why he was finally going to ask her out — tonight.

He wasn't taking any chances, either. Earlier, with a mat of men's magazines across the bathroom floor and the stereo blasting, he'd preened the right look: expensive cologne, baby boy curls, beaded necklace, mouthwash, breath freshener, zit cream, crisp shirt, light jacket, Calvin Kleins, dressy pants and immaculate shoes. Zara wolf-whistled the moment she saw his transformation. ‘Girls will be fighting all night to dance with you.'

Splitting open the ice bag and tipping it into an Esky, he was mobbed by a couple of his old rousie mates. They were keen to learn about his new life at Michelangelo's. What did he do? (Pick grapes. Rewire trellises. Work in the tasting room. Pack orders. Stocktake. Help the chief winemaker.) Was it hard? (Any job that got in the way of the weekend was hard.) Was it better than working as a rousie? (Look fellas, no black fingernails.) Were there any hot chicks there? (Plenty. But they only liked guys with class.) That riled them with a dozen comebacks and an equal number
of laughs. He slapped them on the shoulder and went back to the kitchen. But Zara was gone.

He tried the shed, again without success, then the front gates. A knot of shearers caught his eye first. The three men were watching a leaving car. ‘What's going on, guys?'

Tonkin looked round at the others then said matter-of-factly, ‘Hayden was just here.'

Dean stiffened. ‘What did he want?'

‘To gatecrash your party. We told him that wasn't a good idea.'

A bloodrush of fear and hate returned, but he was safe. Ever since the brawl, the young shearer had been banned from the Kaeslers'. Zara refused even to talk to him. She'd seen the bruises on Dean's chest, lips and face. No way was that just boys being boys.

‘Appreciate it,' he answered.

A light came from the stables, so he searched there next.

He stopped as soon as he heard a girl's voice. It was Michelle's. She was brushing Jiffy's flanks in long firm strokes that caused his skin to snap back with each pass. Unaware she had company, she kissed the old horse on the nose, then turned her own cheek and waited for a whiskery reply. Jiffy swung his head, obviously having played this game before, but
missed when she deliberately took a step back. With a hot bruff, he moved forward and planted one on her laughing cheek.

‘Who's your date?'

Michelle started. ‘Dean! How long have you been there?'

‘Long enough for the engagement!'

The brush hurtled at his spine as she chased him round the feeding area. He was spared a shovel of manure when he surrendered by the pepper trees.

‘You win! You win!'

‘Not yet,' she sang, menacing him with the raised shovel. She jabbed it at him one more time, then put it away and returned to Jiffy. The sorrel horse drank from the long trough. ‘At least you get kissed,' she said, patting him. ‘Unlike some guys I know.'

Dean grinned. How little did she know.

‘Hey, have you seen Zar?'

‘Not for the last hour. Why?'

‘No reason. I just wanted to see how she's going.'

Satisfied, Jiffy sauntered away. Dean figured he should keep moving too. ‘Hey,' he added. ‘Where are the rest of your horses?'

Michelle stopped as she was about to grab the brush, before heading towards the stables proper. ‘We had to sell them.'

‘Why? What happened?'

‘They became too expensive.'

She didn't elaborate and he didn't push. Stretched between the doorway, he watched as Michelle curved her thumb over the pommel of the last saddle.

‘Hey, what do you say?' he said. ‘When you're finished here, we'll take a sneak look at the General's birthday cake? It's not as good as lemon and mango gelati but I reckon it'd be a close second.'

‘What flavour is it?' she asked, stepping away.

‘Chocolate.'

‘I'm there.'

He continued his search and didn't have to look far. Zara found him by the creek bridge.

‘Quick!' she said, grabbing his arm.

‘What's wrong?'

‘Mrs Fletcher. First it was the food, then the ice, then the chicken wings. Now the music's too loud. I swear, she's stalking me.'

‘How about if we hide up there?'

‘Yes. Anything! Before she catches us.'

They climbed the large water tank and sat scouting the party. Even from this height they could hear the band and the high-pitched laughing.

‘So are the rumours true? The General's finally agreed to take you on a holiday?'

‘Some holiday,' Zara groaned.

‘I thought you'd be excited.'

‘Uluru, Alice Springs, Darwin, then Broome for four weeks? Boring. I've seen them on TV a million times before.'

‘Where did you want to go?'

‘Portugal. Germany. Russia. Anywhere but Australia.'

A balloon burst with screams outside the shed.

He stretched nervously. ‘Zara —?'

‘Mmm?'

‘We're good friends, aren't we?'

‘The best.'

‘I can talk to you about anything, right?'

‘Yeah. Sure.'

A deep breath.

‘I've been thinking — y'know — about my two months here and how much fun they've been. A lot of that fun's been with you. I was wondering — er, well I kinda want to know if —'

She placed her hand on his knee. The touch was reassuring; even calming. ‘Hold that thought for a sec,' she said. Then, standing, she yelled, ‘Hey! Up here! — No, wait. I'll come down!'

Bewildered, Dean watched as she abandoned him for a group of friends who had just arrived. She
ran down the hill, hugged her mates, then gasped as a straggler stepped forward. ‘What are you doing here?'

‘Meeting all my new neighbours,' the guy in green answered.

‘You're kidding!'

‘Nope. Mum couldn't stand the cold any more, so she asked for a transfer back here.'

‘That's fantastic!'

She almost leapt on the boy to hug him. She rocked him side-to-side until another friend joked that she was crushing him.

‘Dean! Dean! Come here. I want you to meet a friend of mine — Dean, this is Stephen.'

The two boys squeezed hands, offered curt hellos.

‘We used to go to school together,' Stephen explained.

‘Rouseabout and cellar hand,' he answered.

Zara pushed back her hair, suddenly flustered. ‘Tell me you're staying for the party.'

‘I wouldn't be anywhere else,' Stephen said.

‘Come with me. I've got to show everyone you're back.'

‘Actually,' he resisted, ‘we wanted to know if you're interested in joining us for a bit of herbal remedy.'

‘Now?'

‘Yeah, now.'

‘Who's going?'

‘We all are.'

‘Mum'll get suspicious if we head to the ruins while the party's on.'

‘That's the thing. We were hoping we could use the shearers' quarters?' His voice rose towards the end; a half-hearted attempt to make an assumption sound like a question.

‘Sure. Why not. You cool with that, Dean?'

‘Me?'

‘It'll only be for a little while. We'll stay in the kitchen.'

‘Closer to the munchies,' another friend quipped.

Dean glanced at Stephen, then Zara, who smiled with please-don't-embarrass-me eyes.

‘Yeah — sure.'

‘All right.'

The group laughed, then started for the creek. Zara paused when she realised that Dean wasn't following. ‘C'mon.'

He glanced at her, hoping she'd stay with him. ‘Maybe next time.'

‘See you a bit later then, okay?'

Gaze grounded, he nodded, already forgotten as they headed for the quarters. A snort of wind pushed
him back to the shed. Nerd. Freak. Geek. He could still hear the echoes of his own school mates.

‘Was that Stephen Dyson with Zara?' Michelle asked, intercepting him. She'd come to check out the birthday cake no doubt.

‘Yeah. It was.'

‘Where are they going?'

‘To smoke a joint. You can still catch them if you want.'

Her tone softened. ‘Are — Are you going?'

‘No, I'm four equal sides.'

‘Four —?'

‘Square. I'm square.'

 

Even when the band stopped for a break, Dean didn't move. He stayed fast to the shed wall, greased over by the stares of passing guests. His imagination was red-hot about what Zara and her new best friend Stephen Dyson were doing up in
his
quarters. That hug was more than a welcome home.

‘This cake — it's delicious.'

Maybe they were just getting stoned.

‘You sure you don't want any? There are only a few pieces left. I can get you a plate.'

And maybe they were just friends.

‘Everyone loves the cherries.'

Just friends like Zara and himself, right?

‘And the rat poison. Yummo. It gives the cake that extra bit of flavour.'

He breathed. ‘We couldn't find the arsenic,' he said, weary of Michelle's pestering.

‘Hey, he talks!'

‘Michelle,
please
—'

‘C'mon, Dean, it's a party. Enjoy yourself. Don't stand around here all night. Let's dance —'

‘I don't want to dance.'

‘Then talk to your friends. Everyone's asking if you're all right —'

‘I'm tired, that's all.'