Thorne took them around the block, proudly telling them how his sons had worn out the tracks which wound through the property and down to the creek and beyond when they had been growing up. All three boys were grown up and married now with children of their own he told them. Too busy to visit much but they usually all made it for Christmas. Peter had been too engrossed in taking photographs of the block with his Polaroid camera to notice the slight touch of sadness in Mr Thorne's voice when he told them this, but Hope had picked up on it and her heart went out to him.
After they had finished the tour, Peter making them wait while he went back to a few spots to take more photos, they had been invited, well told really, to have afternoon tea with the elderly couple.
'I know Mrs T has already got it waiting. She will want to size you both up if you are to be our new neighbours and she wont take no for an answer. She already has once today. The last couple said they had to rush off to see another plot so they couldn't stay. Can't say as I was bothered though. He seemed alright but she was full of herself. Ha ha- wouldn't walk down the track in case she got her skirt torn. Now I ask you what sort of woman wears a cashmere skirt to see a bush block? Matching coat and hat too! Thought she was Jackie Kennedy- ha!'
So they had stayed for afternoon tea, which turned out to be beer for the two men and gin and tonics for the women. The home made scones and fruit cake were more in keeping with the occasion not to mention delicious. Mrs T or 'Beryl love', as she told them to call her, was just as friendly and easy going as her husband George.
By the time they left they had been given a full history of the block from when Mr and Mrs T had bought it before the war as a large 3 acre plot till the present day when they were selling the plot Hope and Peter had just viewed, and two smaller roadside plots on the other side of their house to keep them 'comfortable' now that George was retired. They also knew that they needn't worry that their views would be spoiled. Mr and Mrs T would be keeping the larger part of their block, 'until the grave pet', and the rest of the valley was a council reserve so it would never be built out.
'Ooh I say love, I do enjoy a nice drop of wine'.
Mr's T popped herself into a chair next to Hope bringing her back to the present.
Four
As the old red rattler creaked and lurched slowly away from the station Ben stood in the open doorway of the carriage, staring blankly at the sharp, grey pebbles which lined the sides of the tracks, watching the distinct, singular pieces beginning to blur into one continuous silver streak as the train picked up speed.
The wind blew from all directions now whipping his long black fringe across his face and pushing the still infrequent drops of rain into the carriage vestibule where they splashed heavily leaving large splatter formations on the floor. Thunder rumbled ominously outside and the smell of ozone and gum leaves blew in with the wind.
The last carriage was, as usual, almost empty. There were a few old ladies sitting with their shopping bags filling the seats, some in pairs the others alone. The ones in pairs were commenting on the weather, all hoping the storm wouldn't break before they got home. Will thought there wasn't much chance of that. Looking ahead at the long curving line of the red train Will could see other kids hanging arms out of the windows, legs dangling from the open doors and the occasional head hung way too far out.
He looked back inside and through the window at the front of the carriage and into the next one. Lesley James was in there laughing at something one of her girlfriends was saying and managing at the same time to keep her gaze fixed on Michael Cleary, who was unaware of her hungry stare as he called something out to his mates who were busy occupying themselves in pinning some boy against the carriage walls. God they were such creeps.
Ben suddenly felt sorry for Leslie. He had known her nearly all his life, they had even been boyfriend and girlfriend for a short time back in primary school. She had been so different then. Quiet and shy and embarrassed by the constant attention that all the boys paid to her. Will remembered how pretty she had seemed to him then. She was still pretty. She had a great body and looks to match. It was a pity that she looked so slutty now with her too short skirt and plastered on make-up.
She had changed so much in high school, but then we all have he thought. It struck him that Lesley and he had somehow swapped roles since primary school. Him going from the popular, confident boy who every kid wanted as his friend to a quiet, attention avoiding teenager who nobody seemed to care about, except the girls, who he didn't want to know, and Lesley taking the opposite route, only she wanted the boys to notice her.
His feelings confused him. He had so many confused feelings lately. He had known for a long time that he liked other boys, maybe he had always known, but he still noticed things about girls. He wasn't naive or blind enough to see that the girls found him attractive and his ego still enjoyed this. He had always been a 'pretty boy' and he had grown up hearing this time and time again from his parents friends, from his gran and more recently from the other boys at school, only they said it in a way that was meant to make him feel inferior and somehow as though he lacked in their attributes.
He was confused about his father too. How he should be feeling but how he couldn't. How he had loved him but yet how he had hated him so much recently. How he had shut his father out without ever giving him an explanation. Confused about how this and not the horrible way his father had died was what was eating him up the most. Confused as to whether or not he should tell his mum the truth. He knew she had been upset about the unexplained change in his relationship with his father. She had never questioned him over it and he knew she never would. She had never pried or badgered him about anything, always trusting him to tell her what he was thinking or feeling if he needed to.
He was confused about is feelings towards his mother. He worshiped his mother and always had. She was so beautiful, so different from the other kids mums, someone he had always been proud of yet at the same time, or at least recently, he had also felt a kind of contempt towards her. That was why he had struggled so desperately with his conscience over whether or not to tell her the truth. Now it was too late, he knew. Now it would be like having his father die all over again and he couldn't do that to her.
He knew that when he got home his mum would be too drunk and too pilled to function. He knew it would be just like every other day since his father had died. He also knew that he would walk in the door and want to hold her close and tell her everything would be alright. He knew that he wouldn't. He knew that he would just wonder why the hell she was wasting all her sorrow on yet another weak man. Someone who had taken her trust and her loyalty for granted and then left her to pick up the pieces. Like his Grandfather had, like his Uncle had and now like his father had.
He knew that when he got off the train he would hope that Michael Cleary wouldn't yell out some insult at him. He knew that he also hoped that maybe he would. He knew that he hated him. He knew also that he was in love with him.
Five
Mrs T sipped her wine slowly and Hope tried to do the same. Lighting a cigarette to help fill in the gaps between sips.
'Ooh it's a nice drop I'll say'. The old lady commented. 'Now I've only popped over to see if you need anything done and to tell you that George has gone up to the shop and he's going to wait for the train to arrive and give Ben a lift back down. Can't have the boy caught in this storm. I say! It's going to be a big one love.'
'Thanks Mrs T. You are both so good to me. I'm sorry, I know I don't deserve it. I mean look at me. I'm not fit for company. I'm not fit for Ben to see....' her words trailed away in empty silence.
