and Aaron left the billabong around five o’clock. Rick stayed till the sun set, mulling things over and absorbing the sense of peace the billabong gave him. He hadn’t told the others what he had planned. They’d only try to talk him out of it.
Finding the ice-cream man wouldn’t be a problem. For the past two afternoons the freak had trawled Rick’s street – two, three, even four, times. There were a lot of families on Drover Street, so the ice-cream man had no trouble getting customers. All Rick had to do was sit and wait for him to come.
Rick made his way through the scrub, arms up to protect his face from low branches, eyes straining to keep the track in sight. He wasn’t worried about getting lost. Easily visible through the trees, the houses of Mountain View were lighting up one by one.
He didn’t see or hear the ice-cream man on his walk home, but he could sense the freak’s presence. A frangipani-scented breeze ruffled his hair, drying the sweat on his neck and making his skin prickle. He wondered what state he’d find his mother in.
Rick let himself into the house and made his way through to the kitchen, briefly registering his mother’s prone form on the couch as he passed the lounge room. The kitchen was as he’d left it: empty cereal bowl and cup in the sink. He tried to remember when his mother had last eaten and couldn’t. How long could a person go without food? Rick was sure he’d learnt that at school last year – or maybe it was on TV – but for now at least the information was lost.
He took a tray of sausages and a carton of eggs out of the fridge. The food he’d picked up on the way home from school on Monday wouldn’t last long. His mother was out of cash, so he’d have to find out where she’d hidden her card. She hadn’t trusted him with it since he’d taken it off her in a desperate attempt to stop her drinking.
After Rick finished eating, he retrieved his mother’s plate from the microwave where it had been warming and took it in to her. ‘I’ve made you some dinner, Mum,’ he said, moving the empty bottle and placing the meal on the coffee table. He shook her shoulder.
‘C’mon, you’ve gotta eat something.’
His mother groaned and opened her eyes.
‘Whassamatter?’
‘Food. See?’ He picked up the plate and held it in front of her bleary eyes.
She made a retching sound and pushed it away.
‘Juss leave me lone, Ricky.’
Rick slammed the plate on the table. ‘Okay, I’ll leave ya alone. I’ll leave ya alone forever if that’s what ya want!’
He stormed from the room and into the hall, lashing out at anything that got in his way. Why didn’t his mother just kill herself and get it over with? At least then he wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore; wouldn’t have to be always trying so hard to hold the tatters of their lives together – the lives his father had wrecked when he’d driven out of the driveway for the last time.
Rick stopped before his father’s model room door, chest heaving. It was all his friggin’ dad’s fault! He kicked the door as hard as he could, then kicked it again and again until the latch popped and the door crashed open. Rick strode into the room and swung his arm in a wide arc, clearing the first shelf he reached. He swept his arm along the next, and the next, until his father’s entire collection of model planes littered the wooden floor.
‘Stop it! Stop it!’ His mother staggered into the room, eyes and hair wild.
Rick watched her come, his breath rasping down his throat, pounding into his lungs like a fist. Nothing felt real. He glanced around the room as though for the first time, not believing what he saw. The mess resembled the world’s worst air massacre.
‘I . . . I . . .’ he began.
‘Look what you’ve done!’ his mother screeched.
‘Get out! Get out of my sight!’ She tottered over to the work table and fell against it, head bowed.
With the sound of his mother’s hacking sobs loud in
Finding the ice-cream man wouldn’t be a problem. For the past two afternoons the freak had trawled Rick’s street – two, three, even four, times. There were a lot of families on Drover Street, so the ice-cream man had no trouble getting customers. All Rick had to do was sit and wait for him to come.
Rick made his way through the scrub, arms up to protect his face from low branches, eyes straining to keep the track in sight. He wasn’t worried about getting lost. Easily visible through the trees, the houses of Mountain View were lighting up one by one.
He didn’t see or hear the ice-cream man on his walk home, but he could sense the freak’s presence. A frangipani-scented breeze ruffled his hair, drying the sweat on his neck and making his skin prickle. He wondered what state he’d find his mother in.
Rick let himself into the house and made his way through to the kitchen, briefly registering his mother’s prone form on the couch as he passed the lounge room. The kitchen was as he’d left it: empty cereal bowl and cup in the sink. He tried to remember when his mother had last eaten and couldn’t. How long could a person go without food? Rick was sure he’d learnt that at school last year – or maybe it was on TV – but for now at least the information was lost.
He took a tray of sausages and a carton of eggs out of the fridge. The food he’d picked up on the way home from school on Monday wouldn’t last long. His mother was out of cash, so he’d have to find out where she’d hidden her card. She hadn’t trusted him with it since he’d taken it off her in a desperate attempt to stop her drinking.
After Rick finished eating, he retrieved his mother’s plate from the microwave where it had been warming and took it in to her. ‘I’ve made you some dinner, Mum,’ he said, moving the empty bottle and placing the meal on the coffee table. He shook her shoulder.
‘C’mon, you’ve gotta eat something.’
His mother groaned and opened her eyes.
‘Whassamatter?’
‘Food. See?’ He picked up the plate and held it in front of her bleary eyes.
She made a retching sound and pushed it away.
‘Juss leave me lone, Ricky.’
Rick slammed the plate on the table. ‘Okay, I’ll leave ya alone. I’ll leave ya alone forever if that’s what ya want!’
He stormed from the room and into the hall, lashing out at anything that got in his way. Why didn’t his mother just kill herself and get it over with? At least then he wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore; wouldn’t have to be always trying so hard to hold the tatters of their lives together – the lives his father had wrecked when he’d driven out of the driveway for the last time.
Rick stopped before his father’s model room door, chest heaving. It was all his friggin’ dad’s fault! He kicked the door as hard as he could, then kicked it again and again until the latch popped and the door crashed open. Rick strode into the room and swung his arm in a wide arc, clearing the first shelf he reached. He swept his arm along the next, and the next, until his father’s entire collection of model planes littered the wooden floor.
‘Stop it! Stop it!’ His mother staggered into the room, eyes and hair wild.
Rick watched her come, his breath rasping down his throat, pounding into his lungs like a fist. Nothing felt real. He glanced around the room as though for the first time, not believing what he saw. The mess resembled the world’s worst air massacre.
‘I . . . I . . .’ he began.
‘Look what you’ve done!’ his mother screeched.
‘Get out! Get out of my sight!’ She tottered over to the work table and fell against it, head bowed.
With the sound of his mother’s hacking sobs loud in
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