Happy as Larry Read Online Free Page B

gets a lot of guidance in life.’
    Denise agreed, and the other woman held out her hand. Denise shook it, then realised she’d been offering to dispose of the tissue.
    They laughed again.
    â€˜Denise Rainbow.’
    â€˜Mary Holland.’
    â€˜I think I’ve seen you at church.’
    Mary nodded and looked at her shoes. Her face coloured and Denise realised that Mary Holland was probably the shyest person she’d ever met. They settled beside each other on the park bench and, while the conversation contained moments of silence to begin with, the women gradually found a gentle rapport. Denise told Mary about her Mal’s Saturday deliveries and Mary explained that her husband – Christopher – worked all week driving a truck for Villea City Council. She said he was entitled to his rest on Saturday mornings.
    And when do you rest? Denise wondered.
    She’d seen Mary’s husband from a distance at church, but they’d never made eye contact, let alone met. His body bulged flabbily against the seams of his ironed white shirt. Even with his hair shower-wet and neatly parted he still seemed grubby. Perhaps it was the full, wiry beard.
    Denise guessed that the demarcation of roles on gender grounds was sharply defined in the Holland household. It got her thinking.
    That afternoon, when Mal came home, Denise told him of her plan. From then on, when her boys went fishing on Sunday mornings, she’d lie in bed. She’d skip the nine o’clock service and go to the one with the sermon at eleven instead. Mal thought it was a great idea, but the mention of the fishing ritual sent him scurrying mysteriously out the front door.
    â€˜I’ll be back,’ he called.
    He returned twenty minutes later, smiling and cradling a plastic fishbowl. Inside the bowl, inside a drum-tight plastic bag, an orange-and-white fishdarted nervously about. Mal stooped and let the boy look inside.
    â€˜Fishy!’ Larry squealed.
    â€˜Yes, Larry, your fi sh. Pet fish. You’ve got to feed him and look after him. Give him a name. What do you want to call him?’
    Larry panted with excitement, his body shaking.
    Denise rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘Isn’t he beautiful? What are you going to call him? He’s orange and white . . . look!’
    â€˜Got him from Stan,’ Mal whispered to his wife, arranging the bowl on the end of the breakfast bar. ‘Netted it with a strainer in his front pond. They’re breeding. There are hundreds in there.’
    â€˜Hundred,’ Larry said.
    â€˜Yes, hundreds.’
    â€˜No, Hundred. That’s his name. Hundred.’
    Denise snorted and looked at Mal.
    Mal smiled. ‘Why not? It’s a good name, Larry. Hundred it is.’
    When Mal got up on Sunday morning, Larry’s pyjama sleeves were dripping and Hundred was gulping at the air from the wet floorboards. Mal scooped him up and explained that Hundred had to stay in the water or he would die.
    â€˜Like a toadie.’
    â€˜Yes. Like a toadie down the jetty.’
    Mal dropped Hundred back into his bowl and hoped for the best. They ate breakfast and dressed as quietly as they could, loaded up their gear and set off for the long jetty at four-year-old kilometres per hour. They met Vince, as they often did on Sundays, on the way home from his morning jog. His cheeks were coloured but he hadn’t raised a sweat.
    â€˜Finse! Finse! I got a fish! Hundred. I got a fish.’
    Vince hoisted the boy onto his hip. ‘You got a fish? How can that be? You’re only just going down to the jetty now. How can you already have a fish?’
    Larry rubbed the grey stubble on the old man’s cheek. ‘No, silly, it’s a fi sh, Finse. A fish in a bowl.’
    â€˜Ah, a goldfish.’
    â€˜No, he’s orange and his name is Hundred.’
    The old man kissed the boy’s brow and lowered him to the pavement. ‘I’ll have to come and meet this