Black's Creek (9 page)

‘Y
ou feeling better, Tommy?' asked Dad, next morning over breakfast. ‘That's one hell of a bump you got. That head of yours must've made some hole in the door.'

‘It doesn't hurt. I'm fine.' The throbbing black-and-blue bump on my forehead was the size of a baby's fist. It hurt like hell.

Despite brushing my teeth fifty million times and showering twice, I could still taste Armstrong's filthy presence in my mouth and on my skin. My stomach heaved again at the thought of his touch and filthy lips. I couldn't tell Dad about the encounter with Armstrong, after denying I had been to his trailer. It would open up a very nasty can of worms. I'd have to tell him about Brent, about the gun and the plan. Horseshoe would be dragged into it also. There'd be hell to pay.

‘I warned you not to be stuffing your face before we went to the movies,' Mom said, full of her usual sympathy. ‘Would you listen? No, of course not. Vomiting all over the place. It was embarrassing, having to haul you home last night, with all those people holding their noses. And to add insult to injury, the movie had only just begun.'

I was about to say something stupid to Mom, but Dad came to my rescue in the nick of time.

‘The movie's no big deal. I can get more tickets, Helen. And as for some of those people holding their noses? I could name two or three of those nose-holders who I've had to put in the slammer overnight, for urinating and vomiting in the street. Don't get me started about those pure, upstanding citizens.'

We went back to finishing our breakfast. I was hoping that was the end of the discussion about last night. Of course, Mom had other ideas.

‘You're not
up
to something, are you?' she said, looking at me suspiciously.

‘What's that supposed to mean? Why would I be up to something?'

‘I don't know. I can't quite put my finger on it, but you've been behaving differently of late.'

Mom was right. I
had
been behaving differently, ever since meeting Devlin.

Dad smiled. ‘Men can't win, Tommy. Even when we're
not
up to something, we're up to something. You'll discover that as you get older.'

‘Just make sure you're
not
up to something,' said Mom, tightening her eyes as she watched me leave the table and head out the door.

A few hours later, I was sitting on my old rusted swing in the front garden, reading
The Flash
. Dad had just left for work. Mom was in the kitchen, making some kind of stew. Mom's stew never looked good, but always managed to taste delicious.

‘Not think you're a bit old to be on a baby swing?' said a voice behind me.

It took a few seconds for me to take in the fact that Devlin was standing right there, smiling, dressed in her usual denims.

‘Devlin … I … you said you couldn't see me for a week.' I tried to conceal
The Flash
, while slowly slipping down off the swing. I didn't know which was the most embarrassing: getting caught on my old swing or being seen reading the comic book.

‘Not glad to see me, Tommy?' she said in a teasing tone.

‘Of course I am, but … how did you find out where I lived?'

‘The sheriff's house. You told me your pa was the sheriff. Remember? Everyone in town knows where the sheriff lives. Why? Is there a problem, me being here?'

‘A problem? Why … why would there be a problem?' I said, thinking about the problem making stew inside at this moment.

‘I brought you something to see.'

It was then that I noticed the large satchel resting at her feet. She bent down, and retrieved something from it. A small canvas.

‘Well? What do you think?' she asked.

It was a drawing of someone, buck-naked, and that someone was me. Had to be, despite its strangeness and distorted lumpiness.

‘You hate it,' Devlin accused, looking disappointed.

‘It's me, isn't it?'

Devlin nodded. ‘Yes. Perhaps not the way you see yourself, but the way I see you.'

The more I looked at it, the more the body parts, the facial expression, came together in my head. It really was me, or some part of me, hidden until now.

‘It's … it's brilliant, Devlin. Brilliant …'

She smiled. It was a smile filled with pride and something else. I wanted to think it was love. It was the first time I detected a hint of vulnerability behind her tough exterior.

‘Don't get too carried away,' she said. ‘I made you a lot bigger than you actually are.'

‘Bigger?'

She laughed at the expression on my face. Then she pointed at my larger-than-life penis on canvas.

‘Very funny,' I said.

‘You can keep it, if you like.'

‘Keep it? You really mean that?'

‘I don't usually give away my drawings, but … well, you can have this one.'

‘It's the best gift I've ever been given. I wish I could give you something in return, some sort of payment for it.'

‘You can let me on your swing, for starters,' she said, quickly making herself comfortable on the swing's uncomfortable wooden seat. ‘Well? Aren't you gonna push me?'

I carefully put the drawing down, rushed behind her, and began pushing.

‘Harder! Higher!' she shouted, each time my palms pushed against the small of her back. ‘
Harderrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
!'

She was laughing uncontrollably. I was grinning like a clown. Then I saw Mom, watching through the window. She wasn't grinning at my clowning around. I prayed to God she wouldn't come out and embarrass me in front of Devlin.

After about fifteen minutes, Devlin slowed the swinging down and jumped off.

‘Tommy … look, I really like you – a lot. You know that, don't you?'

I nodded. This was music to my ears. She had never professed any feelings towards me before. It had all been one-way street, until this declaration.

‘I've already told you, Devlin, how I feel about you. It's more than like. A lot more. I … I love you. I really do'

‘That's what makes this so hard.'

‘Makes what so hard?'

‘I won't be able to see you for some time.'

‘Some time? How long is some time?

‘Long.'

‘What?' An invisible fist punched me in the gut. Hard. ‘Why, what's wrong?'

‘It's Ma. She's become very … unwell. A lot sicker than usual …'

Her voice trailed off. There was a mysterious edge to it, a lot she didn't want to tell me. She looked away, embarrassed.

But her embarrassment meant little to me. I didn't care about a sick mother. What about me? If I didn't get to see Devlin, I'd be the one ending up sick. To hell with her mother.

‘How long, Devlin, before I see you again?' I tried to calm my voice, but I couldn't. Panic was evident. ‘I could help you with your mom, if you like, and –'

‘No!' she screamed, so loud I jumped. ‘No … this … this is something I have to deal with alone. Don't get all mushy with me. I don't like it.'

‘Is that why you gave me the drawing? As a pay-off?'

For a split second, I thought she was going to slap my face. Instead, she turned to go.

I quickly grabbed her arm. ‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean that.'

‘I warned you about saying sorry to me.' She pushed me angrily away.

‘Please don't go.' I sounded desperate. I
was
desperate. ‘I'll do whatever you ask, Devlin, just don't leave me wondering when I can see you again. I can't bear it.'

She looked at me as if I were a scraggy mutt that had once been a cute puppy, but had now overstayed its welcome, shitting everywhere in the house.

‘I've got to go,' was all she said, as she quickly walked off.

I just stood, watching her getting smaller and smaller in the distance, like an exclamation mark slowly becoming a period. Then the period vanished …

That same evening at dinner, Mom kept glancing at me strangely. Dad looked uncomfortable. I didn't know what the hell was going on, but knowing Mom, I could guarantee it wouldn't be long before she let me know.

‘I think your father has something he wants to ask you,' Mom said, looking at me from across the table. Her face was more serious that usual, which was saying something.

Dad looked even more uncomfortable now, as if he'd just been ambushed by the best ambusher in the business.

‘Yes … well … look, Son … your mother … what I mean is … is there something you need to discuss with us? Something you need to tell us?'

My mind was racing, struggling to think what the hell I had done, but before I could come up with something, Mom cut in.

‘We – your father and I – are not narrow-minded, even though at times you might think so. No, far from it …' She looked to Dad again for support.

‘Far from it,' he said, nodding vigorously in agreement.

‘Do you want to tell us about it?' Mom said, looking me straight in the eyes.

‘About
what
? I don't know what you're talking about. Honest I don't.'

‘I see. So, that's the way you want to play it?'

‘Play what? What is it you
think
I've done?' I was becoming exasperated.

Mom left the table, and went into the living room. I looked across at Dad. He pretended to be eating his meal.

‘What's this all about, Dad?'

But before he could answer, Mom's footsteps came towards us.

‘I discovered
this
about an hour ago while cleaning your room,' said Mom, face as red as Rudolph's nose. She placed something on the table. ‘Well? What do you have to say about it?'

Shit! It was Devlin's drawing.

‘I …' My throat went dry. I could feel the blood draining from my face.

‘A naked man?' Mom shook her head. ‘I can't believe you're doing this to us.'

‘I'm not doing anything! It's only a drawing.'

‘Look, your father and I know young people your age go through different stages, until you mature. Young people like to … well, they like to … experiment.' Mom looked at Dad. ‘Isn't that right, Frank?'

Dad sighed. ‘What your mother is trying to say, is that we know your hormones are driving you nuts at the minute, and experimenting probably helps to control them. Sex can be confusing at your age.'

I was cringing inside, my face rapidly going from white to deep scarlet. ‘Dad, this is embarrassing. I know all about the birds and bees, and all that crap.'

‘Watch your mouth,
Mister
,' Mom said, speaking with the confidence of someone who never had to repeat herself. ‘And don't interrupt your father when he's talking. This is for your own good.'

‘What's for my own good?'

Dad was starting to look flustered. ‘Tommy, what we're saying is that sometimes growing up can be confusing and complex, and sex is all part of growing up. That's all we're saying.' He looked over at Mom. It was her turn to carry the ball.

‘Before you try to lie your way out of this,' Mom said, glaring at me. ‘I saw the way you were … behaving with that boy, this afternoon.'

‘Boy? What boy?'

‘What boy, he says!' Mom rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘The one you were pushing on the swing.
That
boy. What was that all about, giggling and laughing for all the neighbours to hear and see? I saw him hand you that drawing. I want the truth, and I want it now. What's going on between the two of you?'

‘The truth, Tommy. We want the truth,' Dad said, voice soft and controlled. ‘A lie is like a boomerang. It always comes back to you, hits you on the back of the neck. Your mother and I are not here to judge, just to help.'