Published: 24 July 2017

McDonald was back in town and with Billings and Awen in tow was holding his usual bar room court. He had been working with his father on a large job that had only finished the previous day, keeping him away from company and grog for almost a month. Now he expected to be entertained.

“You’re quiet?” McDonald questioned Awen, realising his friend had hardly spoken a word for some time.

“You’re doing enough chatter for all of us.” Billings suggested.

“What’s it with you two?”

“I was thinking what I was going to do with the rest of my time; dad’s given me a couple of weeks paid leave while they clean up the timber yard.” Awen explained.

“That’s easy you can come out with the old man and me and do some real work.”

“I suppose I could, I’ll think about it, although I’ve only a few days remaining.”

“Hey what’s this I hear about you kicking around with Rol Bishop?”

“Who told you that?” Awen snapped as if he had been caught with his hand in the biscuit barrel.

“Billings reckons he saw the two of you in the street the other day and chatting as if you were long lost friends.” McDonald gave an all knowing smirk. Billings turned his head wishing he had kept his trap shut.

“I wasn’t kicking around with him; his aunt was getting some historic information about Alice and her family.” Awen answered giving Billings a mind your own business glance. “Besides he’s not a bad bloke, what have you go against him anyway?” He continued by placing the emphasis back onto McDonald, who gave a simple indifferent shrug and changed the subject.

“Well do you want to come out with dad and me or not?”

“As I said I’ll think about it.”

“I know your thinking, you have until Monday and we will be gone until the following Sunday.”

“Could be a problem there, as I said I’ve only a matter of days left and I doubt dad would give me more at present; want another beer?” Awen offered.

“Is the Pope Catholic? I heard about the fire.” McDonald answered and passed his empty glass to Awen who refused it.

“I’m not the barmaid.”

“I hear it was arson.”

“It appears so.” Awen went for the drinks.

“Why did you mention Bishop?” Billings growled once Awen was out of hearing.

“What’s the dif?”

“He’ll think I talk behind his back.

“So what’s it matter?”

“It doesn’t matter, sometimes McDonald you open your mouth before thinking.”

Awen returned with the drinks, “Ely believes it was Barry Fields who set the fire and tampered with his wheel hubs. About going with you, would you’re dad mind?”

“No he’d be glad of someone else to talk to for a change but you won’t get paid, it would be like a working holiday. Do you think it was Fields who started the fire?”

“Dunno but he’s not called Barry the Bastard for nothing.”

“He did set fire to the school dunny block back in year six.” Billings informed.

“How do you know that?” Awen asked somewhat surprised as the perpetrator had never been discovered.

“Tony Long told me.” Billings admitted.

“How would he know?”

“I guess because he was there at the time.”

“Did you hear Billings’ got a bird?” McDonald laughed. Billings gave him another ‘mind you own business,’ glare but remained silent.

“Get away with it, who?” Awen turned to Billings his eyes wide with surprise.

“It’s nothing serious; we’ve only been to the flicks a couple of times.” Billings protested.

“It’s Ronda Ashmore, her dad’s the butcher.” McDonald announced and gave Billings a friendly all known push at the shoulder.

“Not randy Ronda from Dove Street with the red hair?” Awen laughed.

“That’s her and I guess free meat.” McDonald confirmed.

“How come you didn’t tell me?” Awen demanded feeling somewhat excluded.

“There’s nothing to tell, besides she asked me out, she said being a leap year it was ladies choice.”

“I guess we know who is doing the leaping.” Awen laughed.

“He’s getting the meat but with a bird it’s never free, eventually you have to pay for it with expensive city restraints or a ring on her finger.” McDonald philosophised.

“It’s nothing like that!” Billings flushed red and finished his drink, “I don’t know about you two but some of us have to work in the morning.

“Suppose I should be off as well,” Awen concurred.

“You’re not working, so what’s the rush?”

“True but with the old man, time off means being on call and he wants me early tomorrow for a couple of hours, there’s a replacement load of four-by’s coming in and no one to stack them.” Awen finished his drink and stood to leave.

“Didn’t your old man just buy a fork lift?” McDonald asked.

“He did,”

“And who drives that?”

“I do,”

“You don’t have a licence.” McDonald suggested.

“It’s only around the yard and you don’t need a car licence to drive a fork lift, see ya.”

Halfway to the door McDonald called after him. “Bic don’t forget I have to know if you’re coming by Monday.”

“Sure I’ll see ya and Billing’s say hello to randy Ronda for me.”

“Aw get fucked Bic.”

Passing the town hall Awen glanced at its tower clock. Too early to return home as his mother would still be up and ready with her usual criticism about his drinking, so feeling the effects of half a dozen pots of grog he decided to walk it off, or suffer the consequences of an overprotective mother. Instead he walked to the beach.

Stumbling onto the sand he burped as the cool air intensified the effects of the alcohol. “I think you’ve overdone it this time.” He admitted loudly as he righted himself.

“Do you often talk to yourself?” The voice came from the shadows at the top of the beach not more than a handful of yards away. Awen jumped at the sound, soon realising it to be the voice of Roland Bishop.

“Oh it’s you Bishop, what are you doing down here hiding in the dark?”

“That’s the truth of it I’m hiding, or keeping away from dad when he’s had a skin full.”

Rather than fall down Awen seated himself beside Bishop, breathing deeply in an attempt to neutralise a wave of biliousness. It appeared to work and his stomach settled. “I didn’t know your old man was violent?” Awen asked, keeping his head tucked between his knees as the biliousness passed over.

“He’s not so much violent but picks and when he’s like that, nothing is good enough for him.”

“Huh my old man goes silent and won’t talk. Come to think of it these days he’s never home to talk anyway.”

“I would rather that.” Bishop admitted.

“We haven’t seen you at the pub for quite some time.”

“Na I was never a drinker and there’s no point going on my own.” Bishop admitted.

“You could always drink with us; you and McDonald were once mates.”

“I would never say mates.” Bishop became quiet, picking up handfuls of dry sand he allowed the grains to fall from his grasp like sand through an hour glass one hand to the other then back again. On the occasion he almost spoke then backed away.

Eventually Awen broke the silence. “Well you know Billings and he’s mostly alright, he’s a little like you, likes to be in the background and let everything happen around him.”

“I wouldn’t fit in,” Bishop mumbled, “unlike you I’m not good at conversation.”

“You were in the debating team in grade eight?” Awen recollected.

“Only for a while, I give it up I found it too stressful,” Bishop laughed, “I could never think of anything to debate, only smart answers that didn’t impress Miss. Hopetoun.”

“I don’t know about debating but I have a system when it comes to conversation.” Awen explained.

“What would that be?”

“Simple, most people like talking about themselves so I ask a question, wind them up and let them go. I do need to use a well placed word of humour, or show interest now and then but in general it works and they think you’re tops.”

“As simple as that, I haven’t even noticed.”

“As simple as that, mind you it doesn’t always work.” Awen assured.

“I’ll have to give it a go.” Bishop concluded.

“Anyway what is it between you and McDonald?”

“It goes back.” Bishop softly answered.

“Yes I know all about your little game of tug the sausage but it must be more than that?”

Bishop refrained from answering, instead he offered a question. “There is something I’ve always wanted to ask you.” He paused but before he could continue Awen blocked him.

“Best you leave it unasked, once it’s out you know you can’t recant no matter what the outcome happens to be.” Awen paused and stood from the conversation, dusting the sand from his trousers he continued. “I should be going, I’ll tell you what Rol, visit me at Alices whenever you like and maybe one day you can ask your question.”

On reaching the jetty Awen turned. Bishop was still brooding quietly in the shadows, where he would remain until he perceived it safe to return home and his father had bedded down to sleep off the grog. ‘Funny bugger,’ Awen thought, ‘quite cute but I don’t know if I want to become involved with him,’ another thought, ‘I don’t know suppose I’ll have to admit it to myself eventually, maybe like Sam and Ashe we could.’ Shaking his head Awen killed the thought with a frightening shudder, if his secret was leaked how could he face his family or friends?

True a small part of Awen believed all would be fine, he would get by but the thought of his mother disowning him was always paramount. As for his father, Awen felt by his dismissive attitude he had already done so, discovering a gay son within his brood would only ad to his grown burden of disappointment. Margaret would have tears of disbelief, more than likely arrange weekly psychiatrical appointments; even agree to electric shock treatment. Reg would silently withdraw to his study and secret supply of scotch. What about his friends? McDonald would place his back to the wall in fear of violation and Billings, what would Billings think? That was a mystery, more than likely he’d go along with McDonald. Awen released a gentle laugh, he could see them both, backs to the wall while screaming faggot. What of Sam? Would his uncle protect his nephew’s lack of virtue or duck for cover? He hoped Sam would be protective but with Sam’s own leanings, possibly he may wish to keep his distance, silent support and nothing more. ‘I love you kid but you were the one who was indiscrete, so I guess you’re on your own.’ To Awen that would be most damning of all. Believing, of his friends and family, possibly Ashe alone would nurse his damaged reputation.

A dull light became visible on the ocean to the south of Bradshaw, that of a returning fishing boat. Was it the Sea Wind, if so should he wait and discover if Sam went home or took his walk along the beach towards Ashe’s bungalow?

The boat was still some distance out to sea and it was well past midnight. Previously he had heard the town hall clock strike twelve and that could have been half an hour hence. If it was the Sea Wind it would be another hour before the crew finished unloading, much too late to hang around on a whim, besides was it proper to spy. Ashe had already seen him during his previous following of Sam and being found close by on one occasion could be incidental, twice could be perceived as stalking.

“I wonder what they get up to in bed.” Awen quietly questioned as he turned into his home street.

“Tug the sausage?”

“Maybe you don’t want to know.” He laughed while attempting to relate heterosexual intercourse to the masculine form.

“Bum-jumping!” he declared softly while entering through the yard gate. The neighbour’s dog commenced to bark.

“Quiet you mongrel!” Awen released in a loud whisper. The animal recognised the command and giving one final protest returned to its bed under the verandah.

“Yes bum-jumping, that’s what we called it back in primary school but we never really believed anyone did it.”

“I wonder who is jumping who?”

“I guess it would have to be Sam on Ashe. Then again they both appear to be somewhat passive,” once again he laughed.

“Ouch!”

“I bet it hurts.” He entered into a dark of the house and crept quietly to his bedroom.

Before drifting into the night Awen once again thought of his interpretation of anal sex. His hand reached low finding a willing member and with that thought he managed satisfaction but still couldn’t perceive anal sex with Bishop. What if Rol wished to dominate? Awen gave a shudder as sleep removed his thoughts. He definitely wasn’t ready for such a transaction and more so having seen what Bishop was packing while at the pub urinal.

Early Monday morning and blocking the doorway of Louis’ Café Awen made his promised meeting with McDonald.

“So you’re not coming bush with us?” McDonald was disappointed but wouldn’t allow his mood to show, it wouldn’t be manly to do so.

“I can’t really, not this time anyhow, my birthday is on Saturday and mum may be throwing me a surprise party.”

“But it’s alright for not inviting me to your party.”

“You won’t be here and surprise parties are just that. It wouldn’t be a surprise if I knew who was coming.” Awen explained attempting to convince himself his mother would renege on her negative decision.

“Well I don’t know about you’re mother’s intention but she hasn’t as yet invited me or Billings. Some party without the most important guests.”

As McDonald spoke a spotty face lad attempted to push pass, “Hey kid can’t you see I’m trying to conduct a conversation here.” McDonald growled impatiently at the kid and blocked his entry.

“I’m trying to get past.” The kid protested but couldn’t force his way through.

“Have you ever heard of please or excuse me Billy Watson.”

“Sorry Rodney, may I pass?” Watson pleaded.

“Besides why aren’t you at school?”

“Correction day,” The kid explained, impatiently waiting to enter.

“Go on.” McDonald ordered giving the lad a shove through the doorway.

“Sorry Rodney,” Awen teased, knowing his friend hated to be called so. Rod was fine, or McDonald but never Rodney. McDonald ignored his friend’s emphasis.

“Correction day what’s that?” McDonald turned to his friend, “Hey Bic what’s this correction day?”

“Something new, it came when grade eight entered into high school.” Awen explained.

“Bloody correction day, what next?”

“I believe grade seven is going into high school next year.” Awen furthered.

“Oh well I can’t blame you for not wanting to miss your birthday, you’re not twenty every day.” McDonald sighed.

“It’s yours in a couple of months.” Awen recollected attempting to lighten his friend’s disappointment.

“Yes but the difference being, dad is having a party for me that I know about and I get to invite who I want and it will be wall to wall sheilas,” grinning conceitedly he continued, “and maybe, just maybe, I may invite you.” They both laughed and moved away from the café doorway as a group of school age girls approached.

“Correction day girls?” McDonald asked teasingly as they passed.

“Hello Rodney,” The leading girl with long blond hair and infectious smile greeted, while her friends gave McDonald the once over, or twice measuring him for imaginary entries to their diaries; something to brag about, someone to dream of, to talk in whispers, behind guarding hands during recession or lunch breaks. They all giggled and moved on.

“Trish Campbell, how is Jane, I haven’t seen her around town lately.” McDonald enquired more to dissociate himself from the childish school girl chatter than out of interest for her older sibling.

“She’s gone to the city.” Trish answered while her gathering entered past. She quickly joined them without further comment.

Returning to their conversation, Awen became quite serious, “You’ve made me think, probably the olds aren’t going to give me a party, if they were I should think you would know about it,” even more seriously he continued; “or do you know and aren’t saying eh McDonald.”

“Nope haven’t heard from any of your lot for yonks, but I did see Donna in that new dress shop the other day.”

“What were you doing in a dress shop?”

“I wasn’t in the shop dum-dum Donna was, I was walking past. I blew her a kiss and she told me to pull my head in.”

“Maybe I should come with you.”

“It’s your call but don’t expect a party if you do and I can’t stand around gabbing all day, dad is waiting for me to give him a hand loading the truck.”

The meeting with McDonald gave Awen material for thought. He still believed on the off chance his mother may consider his frequent hints and arrange a surprise party, even if only a small gathering of his closest friends. If so Margaret would need to discover who to invite, canvassing help from either Sam or Elyan. He realised if he were to approach Sam it would prove fruitless, as Sam was good at keeping mum but Elyan was different, he would find it impossible not to let something slip hinting he knew something, taking great pleasure in ruining any element of surprise. Possibly Billings may know and be less secretive than McDonald and seeing he would be in town for the day Billings would be the best approach.

Billings work was with his family’s grocery store and being almost lunch time Awen found his friend returning from The Corner Café with a package of fish and chips wrapped in yesterday’s news.

“Hey Bic where are you off to?” Billings called from distance.

“I’ve come to see you.” Awen answered as he approached.

“Did your old man give you the day off?”

“Two weeks actually because of the fire but half the time he calls me in to clean up or do odd jobs.”

“That’s what McDonald was going on about the other night at the pub. I wondered how you were going to juggle work and going bush with him.” Billings entered into the store, inviting Awen to the lunching area while he finished his meal. “Want some chips?” He offered.

“Na, you know it’s my birthday on the weekend and I was wondering if mum had spoken to you about a party.”

“I know it’s you’re birthday, you’ve said so enough but haven’t heard a thing about any party.”

“Are you sure, you’re not just saying that?”

“You know me I couldn’t keep a secret if my life depended on it.”

“Oh well, maybe I should have gone with McDonald.” Awen sighed as Billings’ father entered the room. He pointed towards the wall clock.

“Kevin your break ended ten minutes ago and you haven’t finished that display and there are boxes left where customers have to walk.”

“More like three minutes dad, I am about to do it now.” Billings glanced at the clock as he binned the chip paper.

“Then hop to it or I’ll dock you half an hour.” Smiling broadly the store keeper turned to Awen, “No work today Mr. Pen?”

“I have a few days because of the fire at the mill.” Awen once again explained.

“Bad business indeed – give Reg my regards.” Pausing sympathetically to rub his chin he repeated his condolences and without further comment returned to the shop while remembering his own experience, although not as unpleasant as loosing half a yard of good timber, it was stressing. Someone had set fire to a dumping of used cardboard boxes behind the store and if not for the close proximity of the fire station he would have lost his store. Oddly even then a very young Barry Fields was considered somehow responsible.

With his father gone Billings’ laughed, “You know he never does dock me time but likes to show he is the boss. Want to give me a hand with the display?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’ll see you at the pub Saturday night.”

“No make it Friday eh, best I keep Saturday free in case mum does have something planned.” With that Awen departed, still none the wiser about his elusive celebration party. ‘Doesn’t really matter,’ he thought giving a disassociating shrug of the shoulders, ‘I guess parties are kids stuff anyway.’ But id did matter and Awen dwelt on his coming celebration throughout the following week.

Saturday morning found Awen out of his bed earlier than usual, making a pot of tea when his mother joined him in the kitchen. “You’re up early,” she commented and took over the tea making. “You always make it too strong.” She complained.

“I thought you liked it strong?”

“Strong coffee weak tea, you should know that by now.” Margaret corrected.

“Is dad home?” Awen asked.

“No but he left an envelope for you on the dining room table,” Margaret paused, planting a most indifferent kiss to his forehead, “happy birthday love.”

Giving her a disapproving glance, Awen unconsciously wiped away the kiss. “Thanks but,”

“I have your present upstairs, I’ll get it directly.”

“I thought.” Awen interrupted.

“What did you think dear?” Margaret turned her attention to breakfast.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Hey it’s the birthday boy.” Elyan called through the kitchen door. Entering he gave his brother a slap on the back. “So you’re no longer a teenager eh.” The aroma of frying bacon brought Elyan to the pan, “That smells great mum.”

“Both of you sit yourselves down and it won’t be long.”

Awen was first to the table where he discovered the envelope left by his father.

“What you got there?” Elyan asked.

“It’s from dad.”

“Probably telling ya you’re sacked.”

Awen read aloud the pencil scribbled message on the envelope, “happy birthday son.” Opening the envelope he discovered a number of notes and more than he would earn in a month.

“Lucky boy,” Elyan elated flashing a greenish glance. He had already spent his last pay and could do with a hand out and usually his brother was an easy target.

“I’ll bank it.” Awen answered as if to deny Elyan’s expected quest for a non redeemable loan.

Margaret served breakfast and with it her present. Awen could feel softness through the immaculately arranged wrapping, ‘more clothes,’ he thought and smiled. “Thanks mum.”

“It’s only clothing, I know how quickly you go through your jeans.” Margaret apologised taking away even the smallest element of surprise.

“Thanks,” Awen repeated as Sam came down for breakfast.

“The birthday boy,” Sam made light and handed Awen a small package.

Awen’s eyes widened, as of all it was Sam’s thought that brought the greatest cheer. He quickly opened his present discovering it to be a wrist watch. “I remembered you lost yours while fishing out on Bradshaw a few months back.” Sam explained.

“I did, how did you know that?”

“Your mate McDonald told me.”

Awen quickly strapped the watch to his wrist and flashed it towards Elyan for approval without receiving any. Then as he did so towards Margaret he realised his indiscretion, quickly pulling his arm away from display. “Sorry for loosing your Christmas present mum.” He apologised while attempting to appear rueful through his enthusiasm.

“That’s quite alright love; Sam had already approached me with his intentions,” Margaret softly answered, “So my little boy is twenty, how does it feel?” Margaret added.

“Then I guess he’ll have to stop acting like a big kid.” Elyan interjected.

“Ely aren’t you late for work!” Margaret snapped.

“It doesn’t feel any different I guess.” And it didn’t, no bells, no whistles no rush of hormones and most lacking of all – no announcement of a birthday party.

With breakfast over, so was Awen’s birthday celebration. Elyan had been asked to work a Saturday shift and true to form was running late, while Sam needed to join the Sea Wind for their next fishing trip. Once Sam and Elyan had departed, Awen helped with the dishes, listning to Margaret complain how much time cleaning after four grown men consumed.

Once Margaret would laugh about her housework but the years of infidelity and neglect by Reg now lay heavy on her heart and it was the boys who received her darkness.

“Why don’t you take a holiday?” Awen suggested as the last of the breakfast dishes were put away.

“Take a holiday? I wouldn’t have time to take a holiday with you lot. The three of you are like baby birds, sitting around the meal table with your mouths wide, almost too lazy to feed yourselves.” Margaret snapped her answer and removed the used tea towel for washing from where Awen had hung it to dry.

“That’s clean I only got it from the drawer a minute ago.” Awen protested.

“It looks dirty to me.”

“I’m sure Ely and I could look after ourselves, besides Sam out fishing most of the time and dad’s hardly ever here.” Awen bit his lip. Why did he mention his father’s incessant absence? The words had hardly left his lips when Margaret’s expression soured but she held her displeasure.

“Besides Awen where would I take this holiday you suggest?”

“Why not visit that friend of yours, what was her name.” Awen attempted to recall, “you know Thelma something, she moved down the coast, the two of you used to be as thick as thieves.”

“Thelma Anderson.” Margaret released a light smile of memory.

“That’s her, why don’t you give Thelma a call and arrange something.”

“I may do that one of these days.” Margaret concluded but Awen knew she wouldn’t.

It was a most disappointing day and not working his usual Saturday shift left Awen with too much time to think. Late morning he visited the mill just before the half day knockoff siren sounded, wishing to thank his father for the money but Reg had been called away on urgent business in the town. Being Saturday and his usual workmates still absent because of the fire, others enjoying their weekend, Awen found he was somewhat ignored by the other men, as the boss’ son they gave him curtesy but little more.

Was it sulking or the results of disappointment? It wasn’t clear but Awen skipped the evening meal at home, instead called Bishop to ascertain if he had had a better birthday. Bishop had not, his father had been laid off at his work and wasn’t in any state to acknowledge his son’s special day.

“Where are you?” Bishop asked.

“I’m over at Alice’s, do you want to come over and maybe we can at have a celebratory drink to end an otherwise disappointing day?” Awen offered.

“Suppose I could, anything to get out of here with dad on the warpath.”

“Have you had dinner?” Awen asked.

“I had some fish and chips earlier but I guess that was more a late lunch. When would you like me to turn up?” Bishop appeared eager to be away from his house.

“Give me an hour; I have a couple of things to do here first.”

While tidying Elyan’s mess that he and Sarah had promised to act upon, Awen had the notion to talk with Bert but how does one conjure the dead for conversation. ‘I suppose just call his name.’ He thought.

“Maybe whistle,” he nervously laughed.

Awen gave a shrilled whistle, “no I suppose that wasn’t funny.”

“Bert,” He called loudly.

“Hey are you here Bert?”

“Bert,” he repeated once more feeling somewhat ridiculous for doing so. As he spoke he felt a presence in the room, turning he found the image of Bert close by.

“Shit!” Awen cursed taking fright from the sudden appearance.

“Again I frightened you?” Bert softly spoke.

“No it isn’t that, only I feel ridiculous and as I said I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Then if I don’t exist who are you talking with?”

“That is strange; your voice is coming from inside my head and not your image.” As he spoke Awen became distracted and the disappointment of the day took precedence. “It’s my birthday.” He declared with much pride.

“What date is it?” Bert asked.

“It’s the third of September.”

“Therefore it would also be mine.” Bert answered without the slightest sign of emotion or celebration.

“How old were you on your last birthday?” Awen asked.

“I was twenty and that was also my last day alive.”

The humour and surprise drained from Awen’s tone. How could it be right for anyone to die so young and on such a special day, he burst into tears.

“It matters not.” Bert softly answered and disappeared from the dull space of the living room.

“Don’t go.” Awen choked away his tears but for now Bert was gone and Bishop was at the door.

“Bert where is your grave?” Awen whispered before attending to Bishop’s request to enter but there was only silence within the room.

“Are you alright?” Bishop asked, noticing Awen’s state of distress.

“Sure it’s only a bout of hay fever – come in.”

“I’ve never noticed it before.”

“It comes and goes; what ya got there?” Awen nodded towards a wrapping of brown paper Bishop clung tightly to in his hand.

“I thought we may need a little Scottish courage.”

“Glenfiddich?” Awen asked.

“Na, don’t get too excited it’s only black label, it’s all I can afford on a trainee clerk’s wage.”

“I don’t usually drink scotch but seeing it’s a special occasion.”

Bishop handed the bottle to Awen as his eyes adjusted to the dullness of the living room. To save, Awen had lit only the minimum of lighting, a side lamp with a low wattage. “It’s so dark in here a fellow could trip and break a leg or something.” Bishop commented.

“Hang on I’ll turn on the overhead.”

“No matter it will match how I feel.” Bishop attempted to laugh; instead he released a distressed sigh.

“Is your dad at it again?” Awen asked while supplying two glass tumblers.

“He’s not taking loosing his job very well and has been at me for most of the day.” Accepting a double Bishop relaxed into the closest chair. “It isn’t that he’s violent, it’s his mood and his constant arguing; it wears you down.” Bishop paused, “new watch?” He asked noticing its glint in the weak light.

“Sam gave it to me.” Awen held out his wrist for Bishop to examine.

“I like Sam,” Bishop disclosed, “everyone thought him to be your brother.”

“Na he’s my mother’s brother, my uncle, it’s a long story and mum had to bring him up as one of her own.”

“It must be weird having an uncle who isn’t all that much older?”

“Suppose I’ve known it since I can remember so it feels natural, besides you know Warren Copeland up in Luck Street, he has an uncle who is just a baby.”

“Still all my uncles are ancient and dad’s lot are grumpy old men – and one,” Bishop paused his sentence.

“One what?” Awen asked noting the infliction his friend placed on his unfinished statement.

“Well I’m sure you’ve heard stories about uncles.”

“Want some music?” Awen asked jumping up from his seat and approaching a small two in one cabinet of radio and gramophone. “What do you like?”

“You pick something.”

“Let’s see what’s here.” Firstly there was a stack of old crooners belonging to Alice; he passed over them to a smaller stack of forty-five’s. “There isn’t much – Elvis Presley?” He suggested without receiving agreement. He continued. “The Shadows, Buddy Holly, maybe,” again he paused, “I don’t know how this got in with mine it must be Donna’s. Peter Paul and Mary?”

“Whatever; has Donna had the kid yet?” Bishop asked without showing enthusiasm for Awen’s choice, or to be accurate, lack of choice.

“Soon I should think, probably next week, by her size everyone reckons she’s having twins; how about Bob Dylan?”

“A bit gloomy isn’t he?”

Awen tossed the single aside and collected another, “Cole Joy?”

“That will do a little country eh.”

Awen started the music and rejoined Bishop, “What did you get for your birthday?”

“Mum gave me clothes and dad gave me an argument.” Bishop laughed as he commenced to come away from his gloom. Awen joined in the humour.

“That’s what I got, except for the argument; mum gave me two pairs of jeans and dad gave me money.”

“What about Ely?” Bishop asked.

“Ely wouldn’t give you the flue without expecting something in return.”

“Yet you gave him your aunt’s car.”

“Suppose seeing I got the house and don’t drive, it had to go to someone.”

“Should have given it to Sam.” Bishop suggested.

“I thought of doing so but Sam doesn’t drive either,” Awen reached for the scotch, “another?”

“Why not?”

“I got my licence last year.” Bishop said and accepted his refill.

“I went for mine but failed, probably have another go soon.” Awen’s failure rested ashamedly on his lips. Most of his class had passed on their first attempt but Awen had chosen to learn in his neighbour’s old vehicle with its touchy accelerator and faulty hand break. After kangarooing the vehicle along the main street and stalling it outside of Munroe’s drapery, it was suggested he should park and have Mr. Bent collect his vehicle before it was deemed unroadworthy. “Is your dad violent towards you or your mother?” Awen asked while placing aside further thoughts on his failure to obtain his drivers licence.

“Only verbally, he’s never actually struck anyone, I don’t reckon he’d have the bottle, mum’s bigger than he is,” Bishop paused and wryly continued, “or at least she carries more weight.”

“I suppose that’s some relief.”

“Sometimes I wish he would do so and get it over with, instead of the continuous bickering.” Bishop swallowed his drink and accepted a refill.

“Didn’t he used to work in timber?” Awen asked.

“In his younger days he was a logger until he broke his wrist and lost a couple of fingers.” Bishop explained.

“Does he drink on the job?”

“No but does a little more than he should on the weekends.”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll speak to dad and see if there is any work at the mill.”

“I’d appreciate you doing so. Getting him back to work would get him off my back and off the grog.” Bishop became comfortable with the proposition and placed his father’s dilemma aside. “I thought you were going bush with McDonald this weekend?” Bishop asked as the alcohol commenced to have effect.

“I was half expecting my folk to throw a party, I should have gone.”

Awen was watching Bishop as he subliminally gazed along the passage towards the open door leading to Bert’s room. “Have you someone staying?” Bishop asked.

“No why?”

“I thought I saw a light go out in the end room.”

“No there’s no one else here.” To satisfy Bishop’s curiosity Awen went to Bert’s room discovering it in darkness. He peered inside but there was only the weak glow from a close by street light shining through the open curtains. Returning he closed the door. “No one there, must have been the light from the post in the street outside, it flickers on the occasion.”

“It must have been.” Bishop agreed.

“Want another scotch; we may as well finish the bottle.” Awen offered while checking the contents in disbelief they had consumed so much.

“Why not but any more and I’ll have to sleep it off here on the couch.”

Bishop sat nursing his almost empty glass, lifting his head he gave a smile. “Do you remember me saying there was a question I wished to put to you and you said maybe some other time?”

“I do.” Awen answered without again warning his friend not to ask.

“Do you think this could be the right time?”

“Could be but can I ask you one first?” Bishop didn’t answer but his silence was itself considered permission. “You have asked me on a number of occasions what McDonald had said.”

“Well what has he said?” Bishop curiously asked.

“Absolutely nothing, in truth he refuses any association with you or about you but I did hear something from another source.”

“And what would that something be?” Now Bishop was most curious.

“Only that story about you with another boy in the scrub by the jetty.” Awen forwarded with a deep conceited smirk.

“I think we’ve already had this conversation.”

“True, what were these two young fellows actually doing?” Awen continued.

“Not al lot, mostly seeing who could stretch their dicks the longest.”

“Maybe that’s why McDonald avoids you, he still remembers.” Awen suggested.

Bishop made light of the situation, “it was only a couple of kids discovering their willies were for more than peeing while wondering why they became stiff at a stroke.”

“Most probably true but my question is; are you still playing with dicks?”

“You don’t muck around do you?” Bishop flushed scarlet.

“I wouldn’t be so forward if I were sober.” Awen bravely admitted.

“And if I were I wouldn’t answer and oddly my question to you would be, as I’ve never seen you with a girlfriend since school, do you also play?”

Awen thought for a while, smiled, before carefully choosing his words, “I haven’t but have often wondered what it would be like to do so.”

“That I can’t truthfully answer as since the occasional episode with McDonald it’s all been wishful, I’ve never found anyone interested.” Bishop became serious, “I followed you around enough during our last year at school but you didn’t even realise I was there.”

“Both you and Vivienne,”

“What do you mean?” Bishop appeared confused.

“Vivienne Couch said the same and I didn’t know that either of you were anything but being friendly.”

“I can’t answer for Vivienne but I certainly was more than interested.

“So McDonald returned for a second go?” Awen commenced to giggle.

“Well more like three and if I remember correctly I believe four and always at his suggestion, then he stopped and wouldn’t even talk to me.”

“I think I’m ready for a strong cup of coffee.” Awen admitted feeling the effects of the alcohol prickle across his cheeks while numbness commenced to envelope his tongue.

“You better make that two.” Bishop concurred.

From the kitchen Awen watched as Bishop sat quietly in Alice’s chair. ‘He does look worse for wear but kinda cute.’ He thought.

‘I wonder?’ Awen poured the coffee, adding two heaped teaspoon’s of sugar into each, ‘maybe,’ he thought, possibly the time was right, besides both his and Bishop’s intoxicated condition was advanced enough to lower their inhibitions, then with the morning and again sober, they could declare lack of memory or blame the alcohol. Returning with the coffee he smiled.

What?” Bishop requested quizzically.

“Na it doesn’t matter; it probably wouldn’t work anyway.” Awen returned to his seat and watched Bishop through the steam from his coffee. He took a sip; it still had the consistency of mud. Eventually he spoke.

“I was thinking.”

“Yea?”

“You said that you were too drunk to walk home.”

“True.”

Then stay the night.”

“The couch doesn’t seem too comfortable.” Bishop gave the aging springs a shove, they hardly recoiled.

“There’s a problem, Alice’s room is full of junk and I don’t let anyone use Bert’s room; that only leaves my bed – it’s a double.” Awen excused while relieved he had replaced the old single iron bed he had been using.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Both lads become quiet, the thought of what next had taken their words. There was now a void where imagination was born, as if standing on the apex of a tall mountain and expecting to see all but seeing nothing. Eventually Awen committed, he simply said, “I suppose,” followed by “well;” and stood to lead the way. He staggered and giggled.

“I guess,” Bishop mimicked the gesture and followed, also releasing a nervous titter. Awen turned on his bedroom light to stand motionless, his back towards his friend, perplexed how to make the next move.

“Nice bed.” Bishop commented feeling he must say something or die from nervous tension.

“It’s only a bed.” Awen answered with equal tension, finding saying so was enough to break their building anxiety.

“I suppose it is; what next?” Bishop remained rigid, almost unable to breathe.

“Strip I guess and get into the nice bed.” Awen laughed as he felt sexual anticipation flow through his body towards his crotch.

“I don’t really know what to do.” Bishop admitted and unbuttoned his shirt to display a smooth youthful chest. The sight inspired Awen to continue.

“Neither do I; I guess we’ll think of something.” He paused and once again laughed, “I suppose we could see who can stretch their willies the longest.”

Awen was first to strip, eventually both stood innocently at arm’s length facing each other under the vulgarity of yellow electric light and wanting in the most rudimentary of purpose. It was true both lacked experience but it was equally correct nature would avail, as their intention was most definitely stiffly showing.

“Left or right side, I’m usually to the left.” Awen suggested.

“I have a single bed and there’s no left of right, just a middle,” Bishop whispered as if the world outside those four ancient wooden walls would hear. Awen turned out the light.

“Then you have the right.”

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