‘He’s not a wild kid; he’s your country cousin. He’s just turned eleven and he wants to come and visit.’
Elton thumbed some digits on his iPhone and Adele watched him. ‘He sounds like a very bright little boy,’ she said. ‘Lots of questions, very curious about everything. He said he wants to visit the State Library. He asked if he could come down during the school holidays. To see what city life is like,’ she added, studying her son. ‘I was thinking, maybe at the end of the month.’
‘Okay with me. As long as he can take care of himself. Has he ever caught a tram or a train?’
‘Probably not, but you could show him.’
‘Is that necessary? Let’s talk about it, Mum.’
But of course they didn’t, at least not right then. They put their cups in the sink and both retired once more to their rooms. Elton had to return to World of Warcraft; the mission was not yet complete. In this realm he was known to others as the Dark Knight, a class of man who would stop at nothing to eliminate the diabolical evil, who would gladly sacrifice his compatriots to destroy the enemy. His empty soul knew nothing but vengeance.
Later, Elton visited other worlds, other quests. But his life wasn’t all games: he was also very much attuned to political and social concerns. A Facebook link to some atrocity in Iran or Iraq always prompted him to press the Like button. And many of those he followed on Twitter offered anything up to 140 characters on important social shifts. Every night was a long night for Elton, but that was his usual routine; he worked by night and slept a fair portion of the day, just as his mother did.
IT WAS A BRIGHT sunny day, though Elton didn’t know it. He was sitting in the dark watching a live feed from Toronto. Australian singer Jordie Lane was playing at The Planet and Elton streamed it onto one of his monitors. On another PC, he saw that Lane was asking for requests on Facebook. Elton wasn’t especially interested in the singer’s brand of down-home music but he did like the idea of a national profile. So he typed a request on Lane’s Facebook page and moments later the singer announced in real time that Elton Bright of Melbourne would like to hear ‘The Publican’s Daughter’. Elton smiled and switched off the live feed.
Just then the front doorbell rang and Elton’s body went as rigid as a shop mannequin. He listened for his mother.
‘Elton, can you get it?’
Reluctantly, he lumbered down the stairs just as the doorbell rang a second time. Through the spyhole he saw a young man about his own age, standing casually, thumbs in pockets. Elton stayed perfectly still, and it wasn’t until the bell sounded again that he removed the safety chain and opened the door. On second inspection, he decided that the guy was a little older, perhaps even into his twenties.
‘Hi. I was wondering if you want your old bike.’
Elton eyed his visitor suspiciously. ‘I don’t have an old bike.’
‘Whose is it then? The one up the side of the shed. I live next door and saw it when I trimmed the hedge. It’s a mess, rusty and everything … I thought you might want to part with it.’
Elton tried to think. Perhaps there was a bike; he recalled some angular object being unloaded with their other junk from the old house. The removalists must have shoved it up the side. It was probably his father’s.
‘What do you want with some random bike? Like, why don’t you get one off eBay? Be in better nick than ours.’
The older boy shrugged. ‘I just thought, if you don’t want it I could clean it up, pump the tyres and –’
‘Twenty bucks.’
‘Twenty bucks?’
‘Ten then.’
A motorbike blattered past and James paused.
‘Okay, ten bucks. Can … can I take it now?’
Elton hesitated before backing away from the door. He called to his mother. ‘We got a neighbour. Wants to buy our old bike.’
Adele came out of the kitchen drying her hands and introduced herself.
‘James Warner,’ the boy volunteered. He glanced at Elton, who was avoiding eye contact. The two were not at all alike. Elton was tall, thin and pale with red hair chopped by his own mother and waxed into soft spikes, while James looked solid and well-muscled. He stood with legs spread and his black hair, long and unwashed, fell about casually, a parody of his general demeanour. Adele broke the silence.
‘James, this is Elton, I suppose he didn’t introduce himself.’
Elton nodded and James addressed Adele. ‘He said he’d sell me his bike.’
‘Sell it?’ she laughed. ‘You should just take it.’
Elton shrugged. ‘He said he’d give me twenty bucks.’
‘Twenty? You said ten.’
‘Whatever.’
Adele suggested they go sort it out and Elton led the way into the backyard, his shoulders slumped as though the sky weighed heavily. James entered the narrow space between the wall and the fence and dragged out the bicycle. He went down on his knees and spun a pedal. Elton watched with accomplished vapidity.
‘Needs a bit of work,’ James declared, jolting Elton back to consciousness. ‘The tyres might be buggered. The seat’s wrecked.’
‘Don’t take it then; I don’t give a flying fuck.’
James pushed the bike towards the door. He could use it, he said, though he didn’t have the money with him. Elton told him to shove it through the letterbox later. He held the front door to let his neighbour out, and it surprised him to see the older boy lift the frame and carry it under one arm. He closed the door as soon as James stepped onto the footpath.
AN HOUR LATER Elton was assaulted a second time: the doorbell rang again. His mother had already left for work so the young man, once more, had no other option but to answer it himself.
‘Hi, I brought your money,’ James said, fishing into his pockets. ‘And I was wondering if you ever had a stack-hat to go with it?’ It was raining lightly and Elton could scarcely believe that his neighbour was standing there, apparently unaware of it.
‘A helmet,’ James added.
Elton thought he could visualise one stuffed in some tight corner, another thrifty preserve of his mother’s.
‘Ten bucks?’
‘That’s what I paid for the whole bike.’
‘Take it or leave it.’
James nodded, the beads of light rain sitting on his shoulders. ‘Do you want me to come back?’
The possibility of another visit stirred Elton to action. ‘I’ll go have a look, okay?’ He was about to shut the door but thought the better of it. ‘You might as well come in,’ he said, ‘out of the storm.’
‘It’s
