Spud - Learning to Fly (25 page)

5:15 I thought we were going fishing. Firstly, it was still dark. Dad definitely had that manic look in his eye, and the manner in which he shook me awake and spilled coffee all over my bedside table led me to believe that the man was in an excitable mood.

‘Low tide at 5:56!’ Dad informed me at top volume as the station wagon roared to life. It was still dark and chilly outside and I desperately attempted to return to my dream about the naked woman with the long creamy neck that I was chasing down on horseback. It was such a good dream that my nuts were aching like I’d really been horse riding all night. Not exactly sure how that happens but at 5:45 in the morning I didn’t really care.

It was only when we reached Umdloti beach that I realised my father hadn’t packed any fishing rods. Dad leapt out of the car, creaked open the boot and pulled out a large pair of gumboots. He then struggled to squeeze them onto his feet and grew red in the face and instantly bad tempered. After a poor attempt at stepping into a wetsuit, he gave up and placed an old pair of goggles and a snorkel on top of his head. He then pulled his yellow rose pruning gloves over his hands and ordered me to lock the car and follow him.

‘Um … Dad, what exactly are you doing?’ I asked, watching him struggle through the soft sand in his gumboots.

‘We’re catching seafood,’ he said. ‘I’ll be buggered if I have to pay an arm and a leg for mussels and crayfish.’

‘Don’t you need a licence for catching stuff like that?’ I asked.

‘That’s why we’re doing it at sunrise on a Sunday morning,’ replied Dad as he stuffed a Checkers packet into his swimming costume. He then charged forward and crashed headfirst into the sea. After the briefest of thumbs ups, he sank below the surface and became a dark crocodilian shape lurking under the water with a luminous orange periscope attached to its head.

My job description was holding Dad’s towel, holding the car keys, and on a more general level, holding the fort. A few fishermen stood with their big rods at the far end of the beach where the waves crashed into the rocks. Otherwise the place was completely deserted.

I followed the huge orange sun as it lit up the sea with shimmering prisms of silver light. The sun made me feel drowsy again and as I basked in its warmth, I felt my eyelids grow heavy and my mind become hypnotised by the rhythmical sound of waves crashing onto seashells.

When I woke again it was bright and sweltering and the beach was littered with people. Small kids were playing nearby with a beach ball and it must have been their screams that woke me from my exhilarating dream of running for South Africa at the Barcelona Olympics. Thankfully, I hadn’t reached the actual running part, because I sense from that point onwards it may well have turned into a horrible nightmare.

Interesting discovery. Somebody had drawn a giant heart around me while I was sleeping. It certainly hadn’t been there when I first sat down. The heart was beautifully drawn and the indentation in the sand where I’d been sleeping lay perfectly where a heart’s heart would be.

I scanned the beach. Could a shy but beautiful girl be sending me a message of love? Could it be the pretty girls in bikinis tanning near the lifeguard perch? I stood up and stripped off my jersey and shirt and then sat down again. I scanned the beach again to see if anybody was watching me now. Only the elderly couple in tanning chairs shifted their heads momentarily before turning their attention back to their newspapers.

After summoning up some courage I strolled up to the group of girls and spread my towel no more than five paces behind them. This was a brilliant plan because they were all facing forward towards the sea and I could keep an eye on them while pretending to gaze at the ocean myself.

One of the girls turned around and stared directly at me, although her expression was at best neutral and at worst ‘Get lost!’ I kept my head down and soon they returned to gossiping about a girl called Janine who had fallen pregnant but didn’t know who the father was. I noticed the brunette with sunglasses throwing me the odd glance. I tried to smile at her but my mouth wouldn’t open.

Then the brunette with sunglasses asked her friend to rub suntan lotion on her back. The friend was happy to oblige and in my opinion seemed to cross the line of friendship with her excessive rubbing and near groping. I wondered if the brunette might in fact be doing all this intentionally. Perhaps this was her next move? If it was, then I had to make
my
next move … Now that I was sitting just a few paces behind them, there was very little I could do besides starting a conversation.

I waited for the girl to stop talking to her friend and then I blurted out, ‘Sorry, what’s the time?’

‘Excuse me?’ said the girl.

‘Sorry,’ I said again, ‘I just wanted to know if you had the time on you?’

‘Just after ten-thirty,’ she replied.

‘Thanks,’ I said and grinned like a hyena.

‘Pleasure,’ she said and smiled back.

I wish the chat could have gone on but there wasn’t much to say after she had given me the time. If I was closer I could have said something smooth like, ‘That’s a beautiful watch. Is it waterproof?’

I began thinking that perhaps this is how so many strangers end up having sex. It has always seemed so impossible, but suddenly I can imagine how it could happen. Even possibly to me – on a beach, with a topless brunette.

I was planning my next move when I caught sight of him. It was like a figure from a nightmare. With gumboots squelching loudly, goggles on his head and a ghastly protruding lump in his costume, which had to be his hidden packet of seafood. He staggered nearer. It was too late to run. There was nowhere to hide, besides burying myself in the sand, but it was too late for even that because my father had already seen me. I prayed that he wouldn’t say or do something embarrassing but with the girls already pointing and giggling at the strange frogman marching up the beach, I knew all chances of a dignified outcome were gone.

Twenty paces, nineteen, eighteen … Dad approached in slow motion. My toes curled inwards, as did my fingers. If he kept up his current line my father would practically walk straight over the girls to reach me. What a blunder. There’s enough humiliation in my life as it is, there’s really no need to commit suicide.

Like a very slow and deadly missile he approached. I could see the whites of his eyes, which I’ve learned over time is never a good sign. The girls were all watching my approaching father, suppressing their sniggers and trying not to appear obvious. But they were.

Dad was so close now that I could hear the heavy thump and squelch of gumboot on sand. I didn’t know where to look or what to do. He was only a few feet from the girls now.

And then he shouted, ‘I’ve got crabs!’

And pointed triumphantly at the great deformed lump in his costume.

I didn’t look up again. My face was burning with shame as I heard the loud laughter and shrill giggling from the gossiping girls in their bikinis. One of the girls said, ‘That is … so gross!’ And they all laughed again. I turned and hurriedly followed my father up the beach, relieved that the girls could no longer see my face and hopefully never would again.

The pub is in crisis! The Swedish pool tables arrived by boat this morning. The good news is that they apparently look fantastic. The bad news is that they only work on Swedish currency. It seems that the only way to shoot the balls out of the bottom of the machine is to place a Swedish krona in the slot. There’s also been a mutiny against the pub’s name – Frank’s Bar and Grill, Snooker and Darts. Dad says the name won’t work because there are no snooker tables, no dartboards, and all the food is deep fried in oil.

Dad and Uncle Aubrey (small foreign investor) are gunning for the name Franky’s.

Just as well Dad isn’t hanging around the house, because Mom is livid that he’s invited Amber to the pub opening on Saturday without asking her first. My mother thundered up and down the passage shouting, ‘I won’t set foot into that place if
that
woman is there!’

Wombat has also refused to attend the grand opening because she says the pub’s in a common area and she’s worried about being gang raped.

The tension is building. In just four days I’ll be off to Wrexham to ply my trade as a real actor in an epic Shakespearian play. Mom drove me to the La Lucia Mall to shop for the strange and mysterious things on the Wrexham ‘To Bring’ list.

Not sure what the obsession with white and cream is. Mom says it’s probably about encouraging a feeling of purity and cleanliness. If that’s the case I’m not sure why they are allowing Boggo and Fatty in. Mom reckons private girls’ schools promote general snootiness, bitchiness, slutty behaviour and Prog leaning tendencies. Should be an interesting term …

I did a complete afternoon run through of my lines with my mother. I’m officially word perfect – and feeling extremely confident about that first rehearsal with the entire cast. Mom said the high-pitched girl’s voice, which I use to play the character of Thisby in the play within the play sequence, is hilarious and she ended up nearly weeping with laughter. I know she’s my mom and all, but she hasn’t laughed since Christmas last year so this must be taken as a positive sign.

Dad has finally won the battle and the pub will now be called FRANKY’S. The deal was sealed after the dartboards failed to arrive by 3pm.

The official opening of FRANKY’S. (The first ever pub owned by a South African Milton!)

19:00 For once I was glad Marge was in the car because Mom was clearly nervous. She kept saying, ‘I hope he doesn’t make a complete bloody fool out of himself.’ Marge tried to persuade Mom to be more supportive, but Mom just shook her head and chewed away at her lips.

19:20 Driving along Umbilo Road and Mom was clearly expecting the worst. She stared out grimly at the dilapidated buildings and kept shaking her head in dismay.

19:25 I noticed a large number of cars lining the street near the pub and a crowd of people chatting away happily at the entrance. In my extremely limited experience of pubs and clubs, this is always a good sign. We parked on the pavement and quickly made our way towards the pink neon sign that read: