Published: 26 Dec 2016

Monday’s school day found Luke skipping out after the afternoon break. He had arranged to meet Esca around four but wished to return home to change into his street clothes before doing so. Violet was much surprised to see him early, asking if there had been a problem at school. To which he replied it was a free period. Quickly changing he headed towards the front door.

“Where are you going?” Violet asked before he had chance to sneak away.

“To the shop,”

“Good you can get a couple of things for me.” Luke agreed and was gone before his Aunt could question further. By the time he reached the shops school was out for the day.

Adjacent to Fred Jones’ Butcher shop was the town’s Travel Agency with a bench seat on the footpath close to its door, the very spot where the two had agreed to meet.

Being somewhat early Luke entered the Agency collecting a brochure on Travel to Thailand. Taking it to the bench he skipped through the pictures.

“Are you going somewhere Luke Campbell?” The voice came from Sarah Tully one of his fellow class mates as she passed by with Winifred Milton, a half cast girl friend and neighbour. They both giggled.

“I may be eh Sarah.” He answered closing the brochure with the scantly clothed Thai girl on its cover displaying a broad smile and a row of orchid flowers in her long black hair.

“Luke Campbell that’s pornography!” Sarah declared loudly pointing accusingly to the brochure’s cover, “Where did you get to after the afternoon break?” She asked.

“I had an errand to run for my Aunt.”

“Who are you waiting for?” Sarah enquired bringing both girls to giggle once more, for no other reason than girls of that age had tendency to giggle at anything relating to boys. As she did so Esca arrived from the opposing direction. Seeing the girls he was about to walk past but before he could do so Luke stood and offered Esca his hand.

“Esca Brody, how’s things I haven’t seen you since you left town.” Luke declared brightly as the girls watched on.

“You know Esca?” He asked of Sarah Tully. She did but didn’t answer. Both girls once again giggled and moved down the street, stopping some distance to turn.

“That should get the town’s tongue to wag.” Luke commented and waved to the girls. “Sarah has a mouth on her like the Great Australian Bight and as foul as rubbish tip.”

“I’ll say one thing about you Luke, you’re a good actor. Do you want to go for coffee?”

“Why not.”

“Ok I’ll shout you one at the Rose, by now that should be filled with your school mates and as you said, that should get the tongue’s wagging.”

“Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?” Luke asked pointedly.

“No but let’s do it anyway. As you said my little game is dumb and doesn’t prove a thing. I dare say most wouldn’t even take notice of us together.” Esca paused and gave a sigh of relief, “come on lets go to the Rose.”

It was the following day when Violet heard about her Nephew’s association with Esca Brody. The information came during her visit to her hair-dresser; always a hive of information and gossip. Sarah Tully had told her mother, who in turn told the neighbour Mrs. Evans and on until Violet came by the information. That night it came back to Luke.

“I don’t know why everyone is down on Esca, he’s a cool dude.” Luke protested.

“Cool maybe but you know what happened to his father, besides he’s much older than you.”

“Yes I do and do you know he left home because his father whipped him and he’s only fifteen months older.” Luke lowered the age gap by a number of months, using months instead of years, believing it would sound even less.

The fact that Esca’s father beat his son was unknown to Violet but it did not sway her from her mistrust of the Brody Family.

“Still Luke I would rather you didn’t associate with him.” Violet Hunter ended the conversation with the suggestion rather than a demand, realising it would be useless to insist further. Luke was too head-strong to be told and seeing he was now of age it would be futile to do so. That left her with a further predicament, should she should report the matter to his parents.

As for Luke the activity around his association game with Esca suited him, believing he could now visit or be seen with Esca whenever he wished but there would be one obstacle; staying over night at the Brody house. Doing so may wave the dog and not its tail. Still there would be occasions when he would use Tim Wilson as a perfect excuse.

Luke’s friendship with Esca did reach his parents, not through Violet but from a member of the woman’s guild, who had an unhealthy appetite for gossip. It was Luke’s mother who showed the greater concern, bringing Margaret to telephone her son the very day she was given the information.

At first she spoke of school, then of his decisions for the end of that school year, to which Luke declared he would stay on in town. Besides as his father had not yet found work, joining them would place extra burden on their finances. It was then Margaret all but demanded he come to the coast once school finished, adding Violet wasn’t well therefore he could not stay with his aunt indefinitely.

“I’ll find work and a room or something in town.” Luke declared with confidence.

“Luke there isn’t any work, the town’s dying.” Margaret pleaded.

“I’ll go on the dole.”

“Where will you stay?” Margaret asked her voice frustrated across the telephone line.

“I’ll find somewhere; I’ll squat in one of the empty houses if I have to.”

“Promise me you won’t stay with Esca Brody.”

“How could I the Brody house is for sale anyway.” Luke answered without giving his word. It satisfied Margaret to a degree, believing she had done as much possible to convince her son. He was now eighteen and could do what he wished and knowing Luke he would. Besides if nothing else he had inherited her stubbornness.

“Alright love but telephone me more often.”

“I will I promise.” Luke concluded and at his mother’s request handed the receiver to Violet.

Luke returned to the kitchen allowing the sisters to speak freely but not too distant, so he could listen in on the conversation. He heard his name mentioned a number of times and reference to hospital. Violet finished her conversation rejoining Luke in the kitchen.

“Would you like a cup of tea love?” She asked, filling the kettle without waiting for a reply “It wasn’t me who told your mother.” Violet continued.

“I realise that, mum told me it was Mrs. Stanford from the woman’s guild but it doesn’t matter.” Luke shrugged away the ordeal, he no longer cared. He was going to visit Esca whenever he wished and no one was going to prevent him from doing so.

“Margaret did appear somewhat upset.” Violet said.

“Mum said you’re not well.” Luke asked, without responding to how his mother felt.

“Did she?” Violet placed three teaspoons of tea leaves into the pot and added water, “one for each person and once for the pot.” She declared as she had done so many times before. Violet poured the tea, added more sugar than was good for her, over stirred her cup before tapping the spoon gently against its rim, four, five six times then again. She was deep in thought. Would she advise Luke of her problem or pass it off as nothing. Coming to the conclusion it was as good a time as any to confide in her Nephew. She did so.

“It’s nothing to be concerned about Luke, just a little procedure,” Violet paused, “women’s problems, you know but it can wait until later in the year when you have finished school and you return to live with your parents.”

Luke didn’t respond.

“I noticed Brett Fraser hanging around with the Jones boy and that lot from the Estate across town. They look like trouble; I do hope you’re not associating with them.” Violet declared, not wishing to divulge further on her own problems.

“Na they are mostly two years below, besides Jones is too much like his old man and I wouldn’t go near his shop if you didn’t ask me to shop there.”

“Fred’s a nice man.”His Aunt interrupted. To Violet they were all nice men and upstanding citizens. Fred and his smooth greeting, lecherous smile and twitching moustache, Bill Fraser with his bogus shop assistant’s persona they were all nice men as long as they had their way, and they usually did.

Luke had seen the two boys with a group of Estate lads hanging around the park the previous day. He thought then it was unusual to see either Brett Fraser or Dennis Jones associating with undesirables such as Miles Hutton and his lot, knowing their father’s bios towards anyone from the Estate, thinking scum mixed with scum and if there was trouble in town it was generally credited to those from the Estate.

At the park Miles Hutton, the eldest of the Estate boys had dared Jones to climb onto the shade sail over the playground, from where he was running one side to the other, causing the sail to strain almost beyond its capacity. He thought of talking to Jones but as he passed Brett Fraser commenced to give him cheek, again encouraged by Hutton. Luke laughed and continued on his way, deciding in this instance caution was the best action. Besides it was too close to the Brody house and he didn’t want Esca involved in the situation, especially with the Fraser boy and his father.

The Estate as it was locally known was a small public housing development for those who could not afford premium rent. There were eleven houses in all, paced beyond the sports ground in a dusty dry part of town, close to a small Aboriginal encampment. These dwellings were mainly occupied by unemployed people, who in general had no respect for anything or anyone, while their children and there were many, had the attitude and manners of a pack of scavenging hyenas.

Miles Hutton, the group’s ring leader, was the same age as Luke and also in his final year at school. How he reached that year was a mystery as he had not passed previous years examinations. It was most probably considered astute to pass him through school as quickly as possible, rather than keep him down to become a distraction to those students who wished to better themselves. The others in his gang of around four, sometimes more, were mostly younger and impressionable, who hung on his every word, while doing his bidding. As for the Jones and Fraser lads, they were both somewhat gullible and allowed more freedom than most, as both parents were more interest in the creation of wealth rather than parental control, making them prime candidates to be influenced by Hutton.

It was Saturday afternoon, warm for the time of year and had been raining most of the week. With the rain at an end and sunshine in abundance, Hutton gathered three of his group with the intention of taking a swim at the Two Mile, as he had been bared from the local pool. In the lad’s defence, his crime could have been handled by reprimand, instead Harry Ballinger the pool’s manager, barred the lad for the rest of the season.

With the rain the water level at the Two Mile would be high but not dangerous to anyone who could swim. As Hutton’s group mounted their bicycles and headed out of town they were met by a lad equal in age as Hutton but somewhat of nervous and reserved character. Stephen Joliffe was small for his age, considered feminine with his long straight brown hair, fair complexion soft eyes fixed sadly below extremely long lashes and in possess of a most sensitive nature. The lad tended to follow Hutton around as if he were his pet puppy even when Hutton told him to piss off, being Hutton’s way of showing authority more so than wishing the lad to depart his company.

Trish Joliffe, Stephen’s mother was divorced. A poor but energetic woman who hardly made end’s meet; taking in washing for anyone too lazy or busy to do their own. Still the country life and hard work suited the woman, who had recently left the city in the hope that small town existence would make bringing up a child on her own less difficult. Unfortunately she had not bargained for the likes of Hutton and his group of country terrorists, who in no time undid any attempt to give her son the best chances in life.

“Where are you going?” Joliffe asked while feeling a need to impress, bringing his bicycle to a skidding stand close to Hutton, showering him with road side gravel.

“Does you mummy know you’re out?” Hutton asked cynically, creating much humour within his gang of three.

“Yea,” Joliffe answered nervously, his head lowered away from Hutton’s menacing scowl.

“Were going swimming at the Two Mile but girls aren’t allowed.” Hutton mockingly declared.

“Can I come?” Joliffe begged, his degree of excitement rising within the level of his youthful voice. Hutton didn’t answer, which Joliffe believed to be agreement, or at worse toleration towards his presence, as long as he became background to their conversation and their often childish larrikinism,

Joliffe quickly fell in behind the four, barely keeping up with them as they sped laughing and cursing along the road, while hanging on to every spoken word, giving him the warmth of acceptance.

At the Two Mile Hutton stood on the flat rocky surface beside the pool, eyeing the flow of the water and with the sound of the waterfall roaring in his ears his need to impress invited him to enter. Not being strong swimmers, even with Hutton’s persistence, his gang would not risk their youthful lives for his entertainment.

“What do you think?” Hutton asked without receiving an answer, while his wary band stood far back from the water’s edge, as Hutton had the tendency to push even if his friends were clothed, being the practice that had him expelled from the town’s pool.

“Who’s coming in?” Hutton importuned. Still no one answered.

“You’re a pack of girls.” Hutton commencing to undress growled. As his shirt fell to the rocky surface he paused. “If I’m to be starkers, so are you lot, I’m not having you pack of sissies staring at me naked.” He barked. They obeyed as if in slow motion, hesitating at their underwear but under strict instruction were soon as naked as Hutton himself. All except Joliffe who had removed his shirt before standing puzzled and frightened to one side.

“You too,” Hutton growled at the lad, forcing him to follow, soon Joliffe was standing as naked as the others with his hands nervously covering his undeveloped crotch.

Stephen Joliffe had been late reaching puberty and unlike the others his privates were much undersized, which brought them to join Hutton in laughter.

“I told you he was a girl.” Hutton cruelly teased, taking the lad to the verge of tears, he fought them back, lowering his eyes away from the laughter. Soon their attention was averted by Hutton’s dive into the cold water. Joliffe felt relief forgetting the gang’s cruelty towards his undersized state, while sitting some distant from the others, his body turned away from their view. His eyes fixed upon his clothes and his thoughts on dressing and departing company.

Hutton more dog-paddled than swam across the pool, lifted himself out of the water on the opposite side before diving once more to surface beside the waterfall. He paused for some time under the tumbling water. The flow across his body excited him. It didn’t matter he was more developed than the others and was most proud of the fact. Flaccid or erect he was always willing to display himself. No one was watching. He called.

“Hey who wants to suck on this?” He waved his member under the flow of water.

No one answered, only Joliffe chanced to glance towards him. Smiling with embarrassment he once again turned from Hutton’s strutting.

Leaving the water Hutton lay himself back down on the warm surface of the granite rock.

“Hey Joliffe, you’re a bit of a girl, do you want to do me a favour?” He suggested cruelly. The lad remained silent. Hutton glanced across at his friends. Only his closest mate, Rob Turner appeared to show excitement from Hutton’s display.

“Hey Turner, had a root lately?” Hutton asked.

“Nope,” Turner answered categorically bringing the other’s to concentrate on sex. Or to the point, sex they weren’t having and never had.

“What about you Joliffe, do you pull your dick?”

Joliffe remained silent, the sex talk embarrassed him. It also inwardly excited him. He had no interest in girls and had to turn from the sight of Hutton’s nakedness not to become aroused himself. Why, was an unknown quality but he was developing a liking for boys without known what it meant.

“Want to suck my cock?” Hutton crudely asked.

“Fuck off.” Was all Joliffe could reply before standing to dress. With on leg into his underpants, Hutton was upon him, pinning him face down to the warm surface of the rock and spreading wide his legs, lined behind Hutton were the others, all displaying their intention.

Stephen Joliffe arrived home after dark, sneaking in the back, to hide away from the world behind his closed bedroom door. His mother was out delivering washing but had left a note advising his meal was in the oven and promising she would not be late.

On her return she found the meal untouched and her son sobbing in his room. After many attempts to discover his dilemma she decided all she could do was comfort her son. Later that night and before bed Stephen appeared to improve although remaining somewhat despondent and far from his usual happy self, declaring he would not return to school the following day.

After three days of Stephen’s refusal to return to school his mother visited his school attempting to discover if the problem lay there. Eventually and after a home visit from one of his teachers, Stephen did return to school but his depression remained. Trish Joliffe being Catholic, even if somewhat lax, decided to talk to the priest, maybe her son would be prepared to divulge his problem to a man of God.

Father Muller agreed to talk to the lad, planning a meeting for later that week. At first Stephen was somewhat apprehensive but eventually agreed, making his own way for his meeting with Muller, as his mother was much too busy. She had a number of business shirts to be washed and pressed and couldn’t afford to loose what little work she had found.

Father Miller invited the lad into his study, with its impressive leather chair, heavy wooden desk and row after row of books. Mostly religious but occasionally a paper back would be tucked away within the neat order of the man’s religion. Behind the black leather chair a large simple wooden cross clung proudly to the wall, while the tidy desk top contained a number of loose pages; a sermon on neighbourly love, guarded over by a small statue in alabaster of Mary touching her bleeding heart while standing in a grotto, donated by one of the senior ladies of the church committee, in an attempt to be closer to god by bribing his priest.

A chair was offered and accepted, with the black robed priest seated quite close to the lad on the corner of his desk. Miller was a man in his fifties, his face deeply lined; his lips turned upwards at the corner giving him a permanent pious smile. The priest cleared his throat and took a deep breath. Child psychology was not his strength. He liked children; even a little too much but how they actually ticked was a mystery. Miller had been raised in a strict Catholic home as an only child. From the cradle God and Jesus were his only friends, with his parents God’s disciples. It was their business to thrash religion into the lad, which his father did with relish while quoting horrendous passages of doom from the bible.

Again Miller cleared his throat. He spoke.

“Stephen isn’t it?”

The lad nodded affirmatively.

“How old are you Stephen?” Miller asked.

“Seventeen, I am almost eighteen.”

Miller nodded his head and smiled. The lad appeared younger, shy and most vulnerable.

“Your mother tells me you don’t want to return to school.”

Stephen again nodded. The priest’s voice was soothing even melodious but came to the lad from beyond, as if from that large cross behind the Priest’s head.

Stephen Joliffe was not a religious lad. There had been the occasional visit to Sunday-School which he visioned more as social outings rather than religious instruction, while accepting the Bible fables more as fairy tales than as fact. Yet he was impressionable enough to be comforted by this man in black, hovering over him like some enormous crow. He began to sob.

Oddly Stephen’s distress didn’t sway Miller into empathy. It was his duty to comfort the lad, which he would attempt but would not enjoy the experience. His life was easiest while standing before his dwindling congregation, sprouting forth the love of God and the damnation of man’s soul. The Priest continued.

“Did something happen at school?” Miller asked his voice soft and beckoning, bringing the lad to feel somewhat trusting towards the Priest.

“No.”

“I’ve seen you with those boys from the estate.” Miller asked. He knew Hutton from having him help around the church, giving the lad a small amount of money for his work.

“Did they hurt you?”

Stephen didn’t answer; his gaze fell from the row of books with their fastidious order, from the Christian Cross and its promise, to the plush carpet below his feet. Did this man know his secret?

Miller immediately realised he was close to the truth. He had witness that same reaction in boys many times before and he knew Hutton well.

“What did Miles Hutton do to you?” Miller asked, his imagination now driving him into sexual deviancy as he peered down upon the innocence of the lad.

“He touched me.” Joliffe softly declared, his gaze remaining within the deep red swirl in the carpet’s pattern. His thoughts back on the warm rocky surface of the Two Mile.

It had not been the deed that shocked Joliffe but the pain and roughness of them all. At that instant Hutton had transformed from hero to hell, taking away the lad’s idolisation and his youthful passion.

“Where did they touch you?” Miller asked, leaning forward from his advantage, gently pressing his finger onto the material directly above Joliffe’s hidden privacy. The lad flinched from the priest’s contact but the finger remained.

If the incident at the Two Mile hurt the lad, the visit to Miller became his nightmare, throwing him into permanent silence on the matter. The priest’s insistence he told no one rang in his head. There had been no need to give such advice as the lad would never again confide in anyone, while adding mistrust to his non-belief in religion.

Fortune was forthcoming as no sooner had Stephen arrived home from his incident with Miller, his mother returned, her face beaming with excitement, momentarily removing his despondency.

“Good news love!” She cried from the front door, approaching her son, joyfully wrapping her arms around his confused body.

“We’re leaving town, I have a job and a house in Ravenswood!” She laughed then commenced to cry. Stephen in disbelief remained silent, as the thick dark cloud that pondered over him commenced to lift.

Miles Hutton hadn’t even noticed the disappearance of Joliffe. The strength of the perpendicular pronoun, ‘I,’ was much too strong in him to brood over the lad’s departure, besides there were others just as pliable to his nature. As for the incident at the Two Mile, it had become lost from Hutton’s thoughts, except during his occasional and private visit to Father Miller.

Gary would appreciate your thoughts on his story. Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net

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