Other Brother Read online

  “Who?” I asked, turning the cap over and searching. There was a little name tag stitched on the inside along a seam. It read Sam Irvine.

  “Someone did give it to him,” I said. “Someone important.” And I told Nan what I knew about a man called Sam who had taught Bon to swim, who had given him his book of maps and inventions, and who had written that special message to Bon about writing and drawing his dreams. Sam, who Bon remembered so well and wanted to find, using one of his crazy inventions. “Is there any way we can find Sam Irvine?” I asked.

  Nan thought about it and nodded. “There may be. Anything can be possible using a computer. And,” she added with a sigh, “if I pick the right moment, I could try asking Renee. She may be able to help. What do you think?”

  “I think we should try to find him. I think it would make Bon very happy.”

  “Good morning, my dear,” Nan said suddenly and brightly, and there was a sleepy-eyed, hair-frizzed Bon at the kitchen doorway. I sensed that he had been there for a while, and had heard every word.

  CHAPTER 20

  I counted down the days till Saturday, till the moment I woke up under the darkness and warmth of my doona and heard the clock radio in my parents’ bedroom explode into talkative life. A fortnight of being grounded was over.

  I could hear Gina’s footsteps in the hallway as she thumped out to the lounge room TV and the early morning cartoons. I could hear Dad’s voice, doors opening and closing, and the waterfall crash of the bathroom shower that would properly wake him. Today was his soccer game, in the last season he said he might ever play. And today, Bon and I were allowed to ride our bikes again.

  Bon was awake. His arms stretched straight out from under the covers and then bent to rub his eyes. He looked up at the ceiling, and then across at me. When he smiled, I knew he’d also remembered that today meant no more being grounded.

  “Me and Bon,” I told Mum as we crunched mouthfuls of toast, “we’re going to ride to Dad’s game today.”

  “Pardon?”

  “We’re riding our bikes. We’ll meet you there.”

  In that instant her face had gone from calm to serious. “What makes you think you’re doing that?”

  “The fortnight’s over, Mum. We’re not grounded any more. A fortnight, you said. And today’s the day after a fortnight.”

  She glanced over at the calendar on the fridge door and saw that I was right. “Ah, yes,” she said slowly, stretching the words out like elastic.

  “We’ll be okay. We’ll go straight there.”

  “We promise,” Bon added.

  “I’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. We don’t want to be driven everywhere forever until we’re grown-ups.”

  “But we’re talking out of town, Kieran. It’s three kilometres. Bon might not have your experience when it comes to bike riding.”

  “Mum, it’s easy. There’s a bike path some of the way. You can drive back and make sure we’re okay.”

  Her look told me I’d gone a little too far. “I don’t want to check up on you,” she said. “I just want to know that you’ll get there safely. Will you be able to ride that far, Bon? ”

  Bon nodded happily. “I’ll be okay. I’m a better rider than I used to be.”

  I heard the clunk of Dad’s sports bag as he dropped it by the front door.

  “These two want to ride their bikes out to the oval,” she told him.

  Dad, whose head had probably been full of soccer match thoughts, looked a bit stunned at first. “Ride? Bikes?”

  “We’re not grounded as of today,” I reminded him.

  “Oh, yes,” he remembered. It came out as Ooooohhhh yeeeessssss, in the same elastic voice as Mum’s. He glanced at her for a moment, then said to us, “Trust. That’s what it’s going to be about from today: trust. No more nicking off by yourselves.” He looked at Bon. “Or yourself. You both show us you can do the right thing. You look out for each other from now on.”

  “We know,” I groaned. “Dad.”

  “You ride straight there,” Mum added. “No stopping at the shops, no sidetracking. Straight to the oval. Promise?”

  “We promise,” we chorused. It sounded funny, our voices saying the same thing at the same time. My parents were making it sound like we were about to go on a bike ride around the planet, instead of just down to the local oval.

  Mum always did the driving on game days. As she put her seatbelt on and clicked the car into gear, she told me, “I expect you there by ten o’clock. Don’t be late and do be careful.”

  Dad leaned across from the other seat and said, “Locomotives are going to kick some backsides today! How could you miss that?” And he winked, adding, “See you at the game, boys.”

  Gina was not impressed. “Why can’t I ride my bike too? It isn’t fair.”

  “When you’re older,” Mum reassured her.

  “I am older,” Gina grumbled. “I used to be five and now I’m six.”

  As the car backed out of the driveway, I could still hear my sister from the back seat: “It isn’t fair. I’m getting older all the time. ”

  “All right,” I murmured as our car turned the corner at the end of our street. They’d be at the oval in a matter of minutes, in time to watch the minor grade game and for Dad to get together with his team, discuss strategies and do warm-ups.

  But I didn’t want to race there just to keep Mum calm. I decided to take it easy and enjoy my first and biggest bike ride in ages. Besides, I had Bon to think of as well. In the first moments, he was a bit awkward on his purple bike, wobbling a little, still getting used to gears and brakes. I let him go a short way by himself, and then caught up so that I was leading, with him close behind.

  We cycled lazily. There was the gentle downhill slope from our house to the corner, and then the flat surface of Sheridan Street ahead. It was a cold morning, good for bike riding and, later on, good for cheering and jumping up and down at a footy game. Our breath came out in little puffs of mist. The shops were beginning to open now, and cars were parked along the roadside. There were a few people about. Everything felt safe and familiar.

  As we left the shops behind, I could hear a choir of voices across the rooftops. “That’s the reserve team game starting,” I told Bon. “We’ve got ages yet.”

  We came to Mountford Road, a place of workshops and factories. At this edge of town were the auto wreckers and a long straight stretch of road that passed paddocks of cows and horses. It was where the bike path began.

  Mum and Dad and Gina would be there by now. I could picture their car journey in my head: by Mountford Road, Dad would have gone quiet, concentrating on the game to be played. Mum would be saying something about the weather or the friends she’d meet. And in the back seat, Gina would be staring out of the window and possibly still complaining. As Mum drove into the car park, Dad would be taking his earring out and putting it in the tray beside the handbrake. With the car stopped and switched off, Gina would reach forwards and hug Dad around the neck saying, “Go, Dad. You’ll win, I know you will!” Then he and Mum would lean across and kiss each other, and Mum would say, “Have a good game, good luck. We’re there for you.”

  Dad would pick up his sports bag to stride off to the change rooms and –

  My quiet thoughts were interrupted by a chorus of cheers that drifted to us from the direction of the sportsground, and I guessed that someone had just scored a goal. The bike path swung away to one side of the road and passed under low trees and alongside a paddock where cows grazed in the distance. There was a little bridge over a creek, where Bon slowed his bike to gaze at the ripple of water that washed over stones and a blackened log. I could hear the click and rattle of his bike as he caught up to me again, and quickly, we glanced at each other. I could tell he was enjoying himself. It didn’t take any conversation to know that.

  We came to the sports oval and the meandering rows of parked cars. Someone had the fundraiser food stall going, and the smell of onions, bacon and pancakes drifted throu
gh the air to us. We came to the boundary fence and began to walk our bikes.

  It didn’t take long to find Mum and Gina in the sideline crowd.

  “Good ride?” Mum asked.

  “It was great,” I said cheerfully. “I’ve missed bike riding heaps.”

  “Me too,” added Bon, and immediately looked embarrassed.

  Gina pouted. “I wish I could ride my bike to the footy like the boys were allowed to.”

  “I’m hungry,” Bon announced.

  Mum gave us some money each and we laid our bikes on the grass behind where she and Gina had set up their folding chairs, and set off towards the food stall. My dad’s game would start in a little while, and I could see him now sitting with his teammates under a shade awning down at the end of the sideline, too far away for me to catch his attention with a wave. I thought of walking over to say hello and good luck. Had he meant what he’d said in the park that early morning? I just didn’t want to think of today as being one of the last times Dad would jog onto a field with his team. We wouldn’t be able to cheer him from the sidelines any more, and I knew the thought of him coaching one of the junior teams would take a long time for me to get used to.

  There were plenty of the usual familiar faces in the crowd around us – people I recognised from town and people who had visited our house for parties and barbecues. And there were the unfamiliar faces and voices of strangers, a lot of them wearing the colours of the opposing team.

  We bought a warm breakfast snack each. I was finished in a couple of mouthfuls, and then had to wait in silence for Bon to finish.

  “Let’s climb the hill,” he said, his mouth still half-full.

  “What?”

  “The hill. I know where the path is. Have you ever climbed it before?”

  “Sure I have. But –” I looked anxiously at my watch. “I want to be here when Dad’s game starts.”

  “There’s enough time to walk up the path and then come down again,” Bon replied.

  “But today’s important,” I reminded him. “This might be one of Dad’s last games, and I don’t want to miss anything.”

  “The hill’s important, too.” Bon said.

  I squinted at him. “Important? What are you talking about?”

  “It just is. We can be quick.”

  “Okay,” I agreed reluctantly “But I have to talk to Dad first. Wait over at the fence.” I zigzagged through the crowd to where the team sat under the shade canopy. Ant was telling a joke. Split Pin was doing knee bends and stretches. Dad had already done some warm-ups and was sitting quietly, his face glazed with perspiration. He didn’t notice me wandering over until I tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Hey, mate,” he said, ruffling my hair. “You made it. You didn’t lose Bon, did you?”

  “No, he’s here.”

  “It’ll do him good to get out a bit, ride a bike like you can. So make sure you guys don’t get yourselves grounded again, eh? Next thing we know, we’ll have him kicking a ball around! What d’you reckon?”

  “Yeah,” I said, a little amused by the thought. “That’d be good. Dad?”

  “Yes, mate?”

  “Good luck. Have a good game.”

  He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “I will. We will. It’s our game today.” He paused and then added, “Go on, you’d better get back to your mum. I need my cheer squad, all four of you.”

  Four? I immediately wondered, but then it dawned on me. Of course he’d included Bon.

  I climbed back under the sideline fence. In just those few moments, more people had crowded along the edges of the field. I looked across to where Mum and Gina were, and then to where I could see Bon waiting at the fence beside the car park. He waved a hand and then set off towards where the path to the lookout began. I ran to catch up.

  “Bon, we have to be quick. I don’t want to be late for Dad’s game.”

  “It’s okay; we won’t be long.”

  “It’s a steep climb,” I warned.

  “I know,” he replied, leaving the last patch of grass and heading to where the path began to snake through the undergrowth.

  I followed him. The lookout was simply a clearing and a large rock on the bushy hill behind the football ground, but I knew the whole town could be seen. The first few minutes of walking and climbing were the hardest – the track was steep and dusty, and there were empty cans and scraps of rubbish on the ground along the way. Not quite at the top of the hill was a gap in the trees where the boulder sat, large and round. Climbing up onto it the wrong way meant broken fingernails and scraped skin. My forehead was sweaty and I gulped air, but the climb had seemed like nothing to Bon, and I was surprised by his burst of energy. While I squatted down for a moment to catch my breath and wipe my face across my sleeve, Bon found his way up onto the boulder. He stood uneasily and a bit off balance before sitting himself down.

  “Have you been up on top here before?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Ages ago. With Mason and Lucas.”

  “Oh,” he said.

  I climbed up onto the boulder and sat down as well. “Look, there’s the whole town,” I remarked, waving an arm at the coloured roofs of the Sheridan Street shops, the lines of streets and the boxy houses scattered like sprinkles on a cake. “And that big silver and red roof – that’s Rural Engineering, where Dad works.”

  “You can see the road out of town,” Bon said. “It loops from north to south and joins the highway there.” He pointed and traced a finger from left to right. “And there.”

  I tried to find the view he was seeing. And there it was – the ribbons of road and tiny moving traffic, and beyond that, green farm hills and bushy mountains as far as the western horizon. My eyes settled on the highway that vanished into valleys and rode over hills.

  I blinked and stared hard at Bon. “You have been up here before.”

  Bon was twirling the end of his plait around his index finger and staring into space. After a pause, he answered, “Yes. With Julia.”

  “When?”

  Bon sighed. “On a Saturday once. It was a game day.” He pointed down the slope. “Just like today. I saw you with Gina and your parents, and I saw your dad score a goal. Julia had her bike, and was teaching me how to ride it. We took turns, all the way out of town.”

  “How did you and Julia know about the track up here?”

  “From kids at school. We climbed up here and looked around. We talked.” Bon let go of his plait and looked at me. It was different from his usual sideways gaze. Without waiting for the question I was bound to ask next, he continued. “We talked about what it would be like to leave. To go away and travel by ourselves.”

  “Where to?” And I could have added, How?

  “Everywhere. Jungles, rivers, snowfields, deserts. Other countries, all the places we’d seen in books and on documentaries. We looked at the atlas maps in the library at school as well.” He paused, and then added dreamily, “I like maps.”

  “But you’re still a kid,” I told him. “So’s Julia. How would you do all that by yourselves?”

  “We used our imaginations.” Bon’s voice strayed, just for a moment, back into being odd and precise. “We knew we could really travel together one day. Once we’re adults.”

  I thought about that for a moment. Feeling brave, I said, “I miss her. She was clever; she was nice; she was different. I just wish she hadn’t gone.”

  A breeze started above our heads and made the leaves in the trees sway and clatter. Something made me start to think of this bush as Julia’s hiding place, or a place that somehow hid her. I wondered where she now was.

  “Why did you want us to climb up here?” I asked. “It’s like there’s a special reason. Please tell me, Bon.”

  Bon was silent long enough for me to think of another time that was only weeks ago, but now seemed as distant as photos in an album. I knew I had treated him badly. I knew I had thought of him as being strange, unlikeable and weak.

  His hand held my shoulder tig
htly and I was surprised at the strength and confidence in his voice as well. He took a deep breath. “Like I told you – we talked about … stuff, about each other and about our families. And the way we felt. We were friends.” He paused. “I know you liked her. I know you wanted to be friends with her, too.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “About Julia leaving. She was your best friend.”

  “I’d never had a best friend before,” Bon replied. “And my first best friend was a girl.” He leaned on the word first, as though he was going to announce second as well. Except he didn’t. He simply smiled at me.

  “Do you know where Julia is now?” I asked, sensing that Bon did know.

  “Her dad works on a fishing boat, way down on the south coast. So that’s where Julia is – with him at home, or waiting for him to come home from work.”

  How do you know? I was about to ask, but a sudden noise of cheering and clapping echoed up through the bush. I checked my watch and knew that Dad’s team had jogged onto the field, that the game was about to begin.

  “Bon, we need to go back,” I said, feeling worried, but guessing that our time up here was not quite over. Because now I knew almost everything Bon knew. And he had become, by a process I didn’t yet completely understand, something more than my cousin. For a moment, I tried to imagine that I was up here on the hill by myself, that Bon was not beside me, and had never arrived in our town. In this other short imagining, I was still trying to be best friends with Mason and Lucas. I was still trying to be popular. But now I could see that I had been quite alone. I turned to Bon, looked into his eyes and tried to read his thoughts a little, thinking of that time at my dad’s birthday party.

  We’re brothers, we are.

  That moment had never left me, the year that Bon and I had turned nine. Now, in the year that we had both turned eleven, I caught the fragrances of shampoo in his hair and laundry soap in his clothes. They were the smells of Nan’s house and ours, of our family.

  “Before we go back, there’s something I have to show you.” Bon leaned to one side and pulled something from his back pocket. “It was in Nan’s letterbox yesterday afternoon when I got home from school. I saved it for today. For up here, where it’s like you can nearly see the whole world,” he told me. “It’s to both of us. You’ll feel happy. I felt happy when I got it. There’s an address on it that we can write back to.”