Blue Vengeance (10 page)

 

Rain fell in the night, but it stopped before Danny rolled out of bed. Clouds still hung heavy in the sky. It was the kind of day when Cookie would have once said, “Let's play board games.”

He wondered if Janine liked to play games. She probably had loads of girlfriends that she hung around with on days like this, experimenting with hairdos and talking about girl stuff, like bras and Kotex. She didn't have much hair to work with, and it always looked about the same, and her breasts were small under her T-shirts. She wouldn't have to think too much about what size of brassiere to choose — likely the smallest one. Maybe she and her friends just hung around, like he used to do with Paul: walking around the neighbourhood, poking at things, inventing wild scenarios that would never come to be. He missed Paul, but not as much as he did before Janine entered his life.

He'd never noticed her with girlfriends, but they must exist. The only time he'd seen her with other people was the day they'd rescued Cookie. It was hard to imagine her in a dangerous pack of girls that stood around whispering and giggling, but it must happen. Who wouldn't want to hang around with Janine? You'd have to be mental. She said she read a lot, that that was what she did when she was on her own, but she must have friends, mustn't she?

When he went downstairs, Aunt Dot was in the kitchen with his mother. A new carton of Buckinghams sat on the table between them. It had already been opened.

“Hello, Danny dear,” Dot said.

He hadn't known she was coming and he didn't think his mum had either. She was at the table in her housecoat, trying to sit up straight, her hair flat against her scalp. They exchanged a glance, mother and son, united in their desire to get on with things in their own way.

“Hi, Auntie Dot,” said Danny. “Is Uncle Edwin here too?”

“Yes. He's outside skimming the seeds and whatnot off the pool. Are you using it, Danny?”

“Well…I lounged beside it yesterday.”

His mum lit a cigarette from the one she was ready to put out.

“How are you getting along?” said Dot. “Since no one ever answers the phone around here, I thought I better drive in and ask you in person.”

“Sorry. I answer it if I'm here.” Danny immediately regretted his words. He had ratted out his mother. He looked at her again, and this time it felt as though their shared bond was one of distrust.

“Morning, Daniel.” It was Edwin at the door.

With no thought, Danny ran to his uncle and threw his arms around his waist. Edwin brought with him the smell of the farm — manure and prairie grasses. To Danny's horror, he felt hot tears spill down his cheeks when Edwin's strong hand pressed against his back. He let go and made a beeline for the front hall, where he sat down on the telephone chair out of sight. His face burned with his baby-girl behaviour.

A chair scraped against the kitchen floor.

“I'm going to lie down,” his mum said.

“Oh no, you're not,” said Dot. “Barbara, we need to talk. For God's sake, Edwin, sit down.”

Danny had never heard her so upset. She wasn't one to take the Lord's name in vain. Another chair scraped, as Edwin sat.

Dot's voice eased up a little.

“You're not managing,” she said. “I'm going to stay for a while. Edwin, you'll have to get along without me. You can hire someone from town for a few days to help with the house chores and the milking.”

Danny heard his mum sigh, and when he poked his head around the corner, saw her head resting on the table from two feet out. Her back made a flat surface. You could have set teacups on it.

“You go, Edwin,” Dot said. “I'll borrow some of Barbara's clothes.”

Edwin's chair scraped again, and Danny returned to the kitchen in time to see him put his hat on.

“Can you two not get up without scraping your chairs along the floor and driving a person to distraction?” said Dot.

Edwin and Danny exchanged the tiniest of smiles. Neither of them wanted to get caught; it was no time for smiles.

Dot followed Edwin to their car. Danny went too, but stopped when he got to the shed. He had a few stones in his pocket to add to the ones on his shelf.

He could hear Dot's voice clearly. Her words were all about his mum snapping out of it and performing her duties as a mother to her remaining child.

Edwin spoke, but more quietly. Danny couldn't hear what he said. Probably not much — maybe
yes, no
, or
mm hmm
— whichever he thought fit in best.

“I've a mind to take that child home with us and leave Barbara to it. This is too much for Danny, Edwin. Surely you can see that.”

Again, Danny couldn't hear his uncle's words. He hoped he was arguing against Dot's idea. It wasn't possible for him to go and live with them. He wished he could relive the last several minutes and act in a more manly fashion.

“I don't know, Edwin. I just don't know.”

Even Dot's sighs were louder than Edwin's words.

It started to rain. Edwin got in the car and pulled away, and Dot marched back to the house. Danny waited a few minutes. He didn't want to go in, but the rain began to come down hard. He found Dot in the living room, straightening up the couch and surrounding area. His mother had disappeared into her bedroom.

“How are you really getting along, Danny?” Dot held a ratty-looking blanket in her arms.

“Fine, thanks.”

“Honestly?”

“Yes, honestly.” He smiled. He needed her to believe him.

“Are you hungry, dear?”

“A bit, I guess. I usually have cereal or toast about now.”

“Are you doing all your own meals, honey?”

“Yeah, pretty much. But it's not hard. I'm okay with it.”

“Are you making your mother's meals as well?”

“We had beans on toast yesterday.”

“Who prepared it?”

“Me.”

“Is your mother doing anything at all?”

He picked up an overflowing ashtray and started towards the kitchen.

“Oh my, oh my, oh my.” She followed along behind him, her arms full of bedding. “I'm just going to run down and throw a load in the washer.”

“Okay,” said Danny. “I'll have some cereal.”

“No, you won't. I'm going to make you a proper cooked breakfast.”

Danny stirred some Jiffy into a glass of milk while he waited for Dot.

“I could make you some hot cocoa,” she said when she came upstairs and saw what he had in front of him.

“I'm good with cold Jiffy, thanks.”

“We need laundry detergent,” Dot said. “I'll make a list.”

She found everything she needed to make fried eggs and pancakes. There was no syrup in the cupboard, but she made some out of sugar and water.

“You're doing a good job, Danny.”

“Thanks.”

She went to get her sister and force her to sit back down at the table. The pancakes tasted good, and Danny took a small amount of pleasure in watching his mum try to impress Dot with her eating, as though she did it all the time.

“We're going to give your hair a good scrub after breakfast,” Dot said.

“I…” Danny began, but when he looked up from his food, he realized she was talking to his mother.

He had a mum with dirty hair.

“What would you think about coming out to the farm for a while?” Dot said to Danny. “For the rest of the summer, say?”

“No, thanks.”

He spoke around a mouthful of pancake. Everything on his plate was drenched in syrup.

“I love pancakes,” he said.

Dot sat down. “We have them all the time out at the farm. The hired men are fond of them too.”

“I can't leave,” Danny said.

“Maybe we could talk your mum into coming too. That way you wouldn't have to worry about her.”

His mum's fork lingered halfway between her mouth and her plate for what seemed a very long time. A small piece of pancake rested on top of it.

“I can't go,” Danny said again. “I have swimming lessons, baseball, and summer fun club.”

His mum turned to stare at him now, but he didn't care. She'd have to be retarded to object to his lies.

He could come up with more if he needed to. Lying had become a necessity. Dot's idea was unacceptable.

“Well, we'll see,” said Dot.

“Thanks for breakfast, Auntie Dot. It was delicious. May I please be excused?”

“Certainly, dear.” Dot busied herself with the cleanup.

Danny went upstairs, where he sat in his chair and stared out at the rain. It was really coming down. He used to like the rain, but ever since Cookie's funeral it had felt like an enemy. This morning it was conspiring with Aunt Dot to take him away from his house and Janine and his plan. Not Russell. He knew they would allow him to take Russell with him. He reached down to pat the smooth clean head of his dog. She was only five years old; she probably had a good five or ten years left before she died.

He heard his mum and aunt in the bathroom. His mum let out a couple of
ow
s
. His aunt was, indeed, giving her head a good scrub.

 

Dot made salmon sandwiches for a late lunch. The three of them ate in silence around the kitchen table. Afterwards, Danny put on his baseball cap and a pullover and stuck his slingshot in his back pocket. The lace broke on his left sneaker. He retied it, using what remained. When he got home he could look for a new one, in secret, so Dot wouldn't make a major production out of it. It was still raining, but he couldn't wear a raincoat or take an umbrella. He could imagine the sneer on Paul's face if he saw him scurrying along underneath his mother's umbrella.

The clouds were so heavy that it was darker than dusk. He ran over to Janine's house. The lights turned on in the houses lent them an air of warmth and comfort. His mum hadn't been letting him switch on lights at home.

“It's summer, Danny,” she'd said from the couch, the back of her hand over her eyes. “We don't turn lights on in summer till night time.”

He hadn't heard that rule before. He suspected it was a new one. Not for the first time, he wondered if Miss Hartley was the wrong target.

As he'd left the house today, he'd stared into his mum's lengthened face at the kitchen table and turned on the light in the back landing, just for fun. When he got to the lane he heard Dot's voice shouting after him, something about rain gear, but he pretended not to hear.

By the time he got to Janine's, he was soaked. He stood on the stoop and peered through the kitchen window. She and her dad were sitting at the table. They drank from steaming mugs and moved their hands as though they were playing a game. He knocked on the door.

“Danny,” said Janine. “Come on in.”

They were playing Monopoly. She gave him a towel and dry clothes — a green T-shirt that he'd seen her wear, and jeans that must have been hers as well — and sent him to the bathroom to dry off. He left his underwear on even though it was damp. He didn't think his ass, balls, and especially his dick should touch Janine's clothes directly. The T-shirt had an iron-on picture of the Rolling Stones on it, and the jeans had beads woven in somehow to cover one of the back pockets. He wouldn't be able to go out on the street in these clothes, and nothing fit, but they weren't too bad.

“We've just started, Danny,” Jake said, “if you'd like to pick a man and jump in. Jan's running your clothes through the wringer to give them a head start.”

Danny chose the milk bottle. He and Cookie had always fought over it. He was amazed that neither Janine nor her dad had chosen it. Janine had the thimble, Jake the shoe. He smiled at Jake, who winked back at him.

In a couple of hours the sun came out. The game could have gone all day, but they packed it in and declared Janine the winner. She had bought Boardwalk and Park Place on her first two swings around the board and never looked back.

Danny pegged his clothes to the line in the yard and set his sneakers out to dry. He and Janine sat on old cushions on the stoop with their legs stretched out in front of them. The eaves dripped and the leaves sparkled in the sunlight.

Janine's sandals were crisscrosses of red, yellow, and blue.

“Your toenails are red,” Danny said.

“Yeah.”

“I've never noticed your toes before.”

“Probably because my toenails have never been a colour before.” Janine tilted her head to the side as she studied her feet. “My dad said I could paint either my fingers or my toes, so I picked my toes.”

“Why just one or the other?”

“I don't know. I guess he didn't want me overdoing it.”

“That makes sense.”

They admired the willow tree, its branches drooping with the wet, and discussed the slingshot Danny would carve some day soon.

“Do you kids want some Johnny cake?” Jake spoke through the screen.

By the time they had eaten their fill and helped to clean up the kitchen Danny's clothes were dry enough to put on.

“Let's go out,” said Janine.

She went to get her slingshot, and Danny tied on his damp shoes. They started walking. A cool wind had come up, and already the gravel in the lane had dried under the sun.

“People have seen us together,” Danny said. “If you're the one to do it, they'll suspect that you're doin' my dirty work for me.”

“Danny, no one knows how much you hate Hardass. Or do they? Have you been announcing it to everyone?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, stop worrying then. You only think that people will suspect you because you suspect you. No one else does.”

Danny tried to step outside of himself to look at things from a different angle, but he couldn't manage it.

“We could ease up on hanging around together if that would make you feel better,” said Janine.

Danny sat down on a curb on Lyndale Drive and looked off towards the river.

“I don't wanna ease up on it,” he said.

She sat down beside him. “Let me think about it some more.”

They watched the occasional car drive by. Danny recognized Mr. and Mrs. Carter in their beige Plymouth, with Paul in the back seat. Mr. Carter smiled and honked his horn, and Mrs. Carter waved gaily. Paul stared straight ahead.

“There's an example right there,” Danny said, “of people seein' us.”

“Yeah, but they're not seeing us in relation to Hardass.”

She stood up. “Oh, man. I've got a great idea.”

“What?”

“We can pretend you're teaching me. We can practise in the school grounds, not give a hoot who sees us.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And I can get her by supposed accident, like we planned, and come clean right from the start.”

Get her
. He still wasn't sure Janine knew how far he needed it to go. She was winning him over, though, to the idea of her being the one to do it, and that wasn't all good. There were good parts to it, a letting go of sorts for one, but it might not be a good thing to let go of. A sick feeling, a familiar one, lay heavy in his gut. He couldn't remember when he'd felt it before. It might have had something to do with Cookie, or not. It was about him not being good enough. Not slingshot wise, he was good enough that way. Person wise. If he let Janine do it for him, it meant he wasn't a good enough person — he wasn't doing his best. He wanted to lie down on the road and succumb to the leaden weight that dragged him down.

“You'll be looked down upon forever,” he said.

“No I won't. It'll be an accident, like when I put my cousin's eye out.”

“Second cousin.”

“Whatever.”

Did she not get that a real accident and a fake one differed from one another? That she might feel different after the fake one than she did after the real one? Did she not have those types of thoughts?

She was so cheerful that he started to think perhaps it was a good idea — never mind her lack of thoughts — and then no it wasn't, and then yes it was. He felt as if his head was full of butter that had melted and then turned hard again.

“Come on,” Janine said. “I want you to meet someone.”