stopped mopping the concrete floor to scratch thoughtfully at his earlobe. His skinny dreadlocks, stiff with sweat, grazed the neckline of his scruffy T-shirt, which proclaimed in faded red letters: Every drip counts . “What about your Ma, dude? Could she stay with you for a couple of weeks?”
I shook my head.
Ma had left for a trip to Hawaii twelve months earlier with her latest catch, Dwayne, a weedy little man with a huge voice and an even bigger bank account. After Hawaii, they’d decided to keep going. Probably partying somewhere in Europe as we spoke. Anyway, even if available, my mother wouldn’t come within ball chucking distance of, in her words, dirty smelly greyhounds . Her horrified shriek, “ Greyhound trainer! ” expressed with the same revulsion as if I’d said, “ Prostitute! ” when I told her what I intended doing with the money Dad left me in his will, still rang in my ears. As for Dwayne, her pint-sized lover, he’d be less protection than Tater. Blow on the guy and he’d drift off into space—never to be seen or heard of again.
Jake wasn’t done yet. “Any brothers or sisters you can call on?”
That question earned another negative head shake.
Elizabeth, my only sibling, had run away from home at sixteen. Couldn’t stand Mum’s constant nagging. Before Dad’s death, he had always been the one to smooth things over between Mum and Liz, but after he died, my sixteen-year-old sister refused to stick around. It was as though Mum took all her frustrations out on Liz, continually pecking away like a bird at a worm. So the day after Dad’s funeral, the worm turned. Liz packed her bags, entrusted me with her favorite ruby necklace as a keepsake and caught a northbound bus out of our lives.
Now, at twenty-one, Liz lived in a hippy commune somewhere in outback Queensland. Well that’s where her last postcard came from—almost six months ago. Liz shifted around so much I had to rely on her infrequent correspondence to keep up with her whereabouts. However, the letters I’d posted off since then had been returned with not known at this address scrawled across the front, so God knows where she lived now.
Jake squeezed the water out of his mop and leaned on the handle, evidently still endeavoring to come up with a suitable candidate. “What about cousins? Grandparents? Uncles?”
At each suggestion I shook my head. They were either dead, living in another state, or ostracized by Ma .
“No worries, man,” Jake declared, his pigeon-sized chest visibly swelling. “Just leave it to me. I’ll sort it.”
I bit my lip to stop from laughing out loud. “No offence, Jake, but you’re skinnier than I am. One half-hearted punch and you’d be out for the count.”
“I don’t mean me , man. You know I’m not into physical stuff. I’m a peacefulprotester.” He paused then nodded thoughtfully. “No…I have someone else in mind.”
My grin quickly faded. “Who?”
“As I said, leave it to me.”
Somehow that didn’t make me breathe any easier.
With six greyhounds straining on the ends of their leads, I made my way toward the 200 meter galloping runs at the rear of the property. Or should I say, flew to the back runs like a kite attached to six strings, my feet barely touching the ground. Once there, I let each bouncing, barking, let-me-at-’em canine into a separate sandy run and left them to gallop up and down in a competitive effort to outdo each other, thereby maintaining racing fitness.
Leads dangling around my neck, I hurried across to the emptying yards. The greyhounds in these much smaller yards were now due for their twenty-minute walk to nowhere on the treadmill inside the kennel-house.
There were dogs to bathe, dogs to treat with different electrical appliances, dogs to check for injuries, dogs whose toenails needed clipping, dogs to visit the vet, dogs that needed a special cuddle…
It was almost three o’clock in the afternoon before I found time to ring Ben and
I shook my head.
Ma had left for a trip to Hawaii twelve months earlier with her latest catch, Dwayne, a weedy little man with a huge voice and an even bigger bank account. After Hawaii, they’d decided to keep going. Probably partying somewhere in Europe as we spoke. Anyway, even if available, my mother wouldn’t come within ball chucking distance of, in her words, dirty smelly greyhounds . Her horrified shriek, “ Greyhound trainer! ” expressed with the same revulsion as if I’d said, “ Prostitute! ” when I told her what I intended doing with the money Dad left me in his will, still rang in my ears. As for Dwayne, her pint-sized lover, he’d be less protection than Tater. Blow on the guy and he’d drift off into space—never to be seen or heard of again.
Jake wasn’t done yet. “Any brothers or sisters you can call on?”
That question earned another negative head shake.
Elizabeth, my only sibling, had run away from home at sixteen. Couldn’t stand Mum’s constant nagging. Before Dad’s death, he had always been the one to smooth things over between Mum and Liz, but after he died, my sixteen-year-old sister refused to stick around. It was as though Mum took all her frustrations out on Liz, continually pecking away like a bird at a worm. So the day after Dad’s funeral, the worm turned. Liz packed her bags, entrusted me with her favorite ruby necklace as a keepsake and caught a northbound bus out of our lives.
Now, at twenty-one, Liz lived in a hippy commune somewhere in outback Queensland. Well that’s where her last postcard came from—almost six months ago. Liz shifted around so much I had to rely on her infrequent correspondence to keep up with her whereabouts. However, the letters I’d posted off since then had been returned with not known at this address scrawled across the front, so God knows where she lived now.
Jake squeezed the water out of his mop and leaned on the handle, evidently still endeavoring to come up with a suitable candidate. “What about cousins? Grandparents? Uncles?”
At each suggestion I shook my head. They were either dead, living in another state, or ostracized by Ma .
“No worries, man,” Jake declared, his pigeon-sized chest visibly swelling. “Just leave it to me. I’ll sort it.”
I bit my lip to stop from laughing out loud. “No offence, Jake, but you’re skinnier than I am. One half-hearted punch and you’d be out for the count.”
“I don’t mean me , man. You know I’m not into physical stuff. I’m a peacefulprotester.” He paused then nodded thoughtfully. “No…I have someone else in mind.”
My grin quickly faded. “Who?”
“As I said, leave it to me.”
Somehow that didn’t make me breathe any easier.
With six greyhounds straining on the ends of their leads, I made my way toward the 200 meter galloping runs at the rear of the property. Or should I say, flew to the back runs like a kite attached to six strings, my feet barely touching the ground. Once there, I let each bouncing, barking, let-me-at-’em canine into a separate sandy run and left them to gallop up and down in a competitive effort to outdo each other, thereby maintaining racing fitness.
Leads dangling around my neck, I hurried across to the emptying yards. The greyhounds in these much smaller yards were now due for their twenty-minute walk to nowhere on the treadmill inside the kennel-house.
There were dogs to bathe, dogs to treat with different electrical appliances, dogs to check for injuries, dogs whose toenails needed clipping, dogs to visit the vet, dogs that needed a special cuddle…
It was almost three o’clock in the afternoon before I found time to ring Ben and
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