Dreamboat Dad Read Online Free Page A

Sometimes Mum and
I would go and soak in Falls, relishing the bitter cold air as we sweated in
the wet heat. Henry and Barney had built a shelter so bathers could change
and keep clothes dry. They were war mates and Henry was very protective
of him: no kid dared tease Barney.
    I'd walk into the sitting room or kitchen to Henry laughing or talking
to my sisters, my entrance causing a sudden, awkward silence. Mata just
stared straight ahead and would talk about anything to fill the silence. Wiki
looked down and said nothing, a bit like the child who closes his eyes to
make people disappear. Manu too young to understand. Boy, I hated those
times.
    He was gone before we went to school; my family knew I relaxed and
became my cheeky self then: I loved to play tricks on my sisters, or if I
was feeling thoughtful I liked to be buried in a book and say nothing till
we walked to school.
    Chud waited for me every school day and weekend mornings too.
Often he'd have the marks of a beating but we learned not to say anything.
Chud liked the talk to be about anything but himself and his terrible father
and mother. If my sisters went to school with their pals, Chud and I did
sometimes share what he went through at home, but not too much. We'd
rather talk about what we'd do by way of revenge when we grew up, the
versions of accidentally on purpose throwing them into a boiling pool,
poisoning their food with a special plant old Merita would tell us where
to find in the forest up on Totara Hill, how to prepare it. Mostly we were
just boys living in our childhood.
    As for bullying, no one, not even boys much older, dared touch Chud
as he had a nasty temper and would use anything as a weapon to defend
himself. He let others know that no one could touch me either.
    School was different. Chud had no interest but I found it exciting and
challenging and the teachers liked me in their classes. I took books home
from the library. Not that I was a bookworm, I just liked words and what
the imagination could do. Chud loved nothing better than throwing and
kicking a rugby ball; he tackled young tree trunks, tackled me from behind
if we were walking on grass, crawled all over me like a laughing big cat
and would tell me, one day I'll be a rugby star.
    The evenings were ours, to gather round the radio or play cards or
games. We could be ourselves as we knew Henry's pattern to drink with
his boss and their mates after work, often go to a party that didn't finish till
after we were in bed. Rarely was Mum invited out socially with him.
    At our make-believe parties in the sitting room Mum would dance
to different songs, teach us steps to the waltz, the jitterbug, tango. Mata
would warn, better not let Dad catch you teaching us dance steps from the
war. Meaning learned from a certain American. We all sang along to the
songs played regularly on the radio. Mata had a great memory for lyrics
and she could sing. Like her father. My family encouraged my singing too;
I could imitate well once my voice got a bit older. Mum promised puberty
would bring the best change. I couldn't wait. Nor could I wait for other
kinds of change: even thought of running away from home.
    Maybe Henry would get ill and die. Yet the thought made me sad,
sometimes overwhelmingly so. Maybe I loved him, even though he never
loved me back.
    Two, three times a year Henry would come home with a mission: my
mother. Punish her for the crime of bringing me into this world and, I
later figured, the act that led to it. Something about sex that gets to men.
All men, according to Merita. Not that the old lady called it that, she
called it the business.
    He'd bring it up, in front of us if we happened to be there. Asking did
she miss him. Not saying who. We knew. We'd try and melt away at first
opportunity but feared getting his attention, especially me, Mrs Sinner's
living piece of damning evidence resident in the victim's home.
    Our mother had her pattern of reaction too: she would sigh and look
away,