That Stranger Next Door. Goldie Alexander

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СКАЧАТЬ propped his bike against the window and we went inside to Rock Around the Clock playing at top volume. A couple of St Margaret girls jived in one corner. In another, Julie Davis pashed on with a St James boy, his mates urging them on. Patrick yelled above the music, 'What kind?'

      I blinked. What did he mean? Then I realised he was asking which flavour?

      'Chocolate, please,' I mouthed.

      At the counter he ordered two milkshakes, waited for the ice cream, malt, milk and chocolate syrup to whiz together and paid. Meanwhile I settled at a booth furthest from the jukebox where we might be less conspicuous.

      More St Margaret girls and St James boys surged in. When Anne Smith and Denise Humphreys turned up, I felt myself redden. Please don't let them notice me. If they do, they're sure to say something embarrassing.

      Thankfully, all they did was look, whisper, giggle and turn away. But I knew next day I was in for a serious ragging.

      '…school.'

      I woke up. 'Uh, sorry, missed that.'

      'Just wondered how you get to school,' Patrick said.

      'Two trams. I live in Elwood.' I figured he also lived close enough to cycle. 'What about you?'

      'Ah, we're in Elsternwick.' He waved in the opposite direction. His fingers were long and slim, the nails bitten almost to the quick, the skin around them red and chapped. His gesture sent the milkshake flying. The glass was almost empty, so the drink didn't spread far. Mopping up acted as an icebreaker.

      'See,' he said with a laugh. 'You're not the only one who has accidents.'

      'Mostly I don't,' I protested.

      This made him laugh even more.

      By now we were relaxed enough to swap lives. 'You first,' I insisted. So he told me he was seventeen, in Form Five studying English, Literature, Modern History, Latin, German and French. He was a keen Aussie Rules and cricket player, and the eldest of four, the other three all sisters.

      'What are their names?'

      'There's Deidre, she's just turned fourteen. Mary, she's twelve, and Teresa is four.' Then he wryly added, 'For a good Catholic family, we're pretty small.'

      'Oh.' As I didn't know how respond to this, I asked, 'What does your dad do?'

      'He's a solicitor. Right now he's working for a politician.' He looked away, his face unexpectedly dark, as if this was something he didn't want to discuss.

      I changed the subject. 'What are you hoping to do after school?'

      He swirled the spilt milk into a circle. 'Father expects me to study law and go into his practice.'

      'Don't you want to?'

      'You have no idea how boring law can be,' he said dully.

      Perhaps that explained his doleful expression. 'Oh! What would you rather do?'

      His face brightened. 'I want to be an artist. Or if I'm not good enough, maybe I can get into photography, or movie making,' his voice trailed away. 'Anyway,' he quickly added, his blue eyes focussing on me. 'What about you?'

      'Medicine. I want to cure sick people.'

      He laughed. 'You sound very sure of yourself.'

      'That's because I am.'

      I might have sounded firm, but inside I quaked. What if I wasn't good enough to get a scholarship? What if Mamma was right and I was setting my goals too high?

      'What about your parents? What does your dad do?'

      'Oh, this and that,' I replied. I was sure he wouldn't want to keep seeing me if he knew I was Jewish and scholarship, plus my parents ran a milk bar.

      His gaze was so intent I felt my face grow hot. 'Come on, fess up. Anyway,' he carelessly added. 'The Howells live up the next street from me. Deidre is friendly with Kate so I got her to find out all about you.'

      I stared at him. 'What did Kate say?'

      He leaned back and grinned. 'Oh, that you're scholarship and frightfully clever at maths and science.'

      I laughed aloud. 'Bet she didn't tell you my parents run a milk bar.'

      He coughed. 'Actually, she did. Also,' he raised one eyebrow, 'that you're Jewish.'

      'So?' I turned defensive. 'That bother you?'

      His frown was puzzled. 'No. Should it?'

      I shrugged and shook my head. Why go into all that.

      'Bet she didn't tell you something else.'

      'Like what?'

      I laughed. This time the joke was on me. 'That I can't ride a bike. That's why I didn't let you dink me home. I wouldn't have been able to balance on it.'

      This was obviously news. 'How come?'

      'My mother is convinced that if I own a bike, that I'll have an accident and be killed.'

      'Really?' Those thick eyebrows rose. 'I can't believe anyone can be so old-fashioned.'

      He made this sound like we lived in the nineteenth century. Instinctively, I sprang to Mamma's defence. 'Only on some issues.' I searched for a way to explain my mother's convictions. 'Like she hates anyone calling me Ruthy; although lots outside our family do.'

      'Why?' he asked.

      I shrugged. 'She called me after her dead mother and therefore believes I should respect that name. Although sometimes my family calls me Ruthele.

      'As for not riding a bike,' I gave a giant sigh. 'You see, so many of our relatives died in the war, I guess she feels that she needs to be extra protective. All the same,' I murmured as a bevy of kids swirled past, 'I'd really like to know what riding one feels like.'

      'Well, I can understand that,' he said slowly. His face lit up. 'What if I teach you? You can learn on mine.'

      'Oh, that's very kind. But what if I damage it or something?'

      'I'm not being kind.' His face was serious. 'I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it.'

      'Would you teach me? I mean, really?'

      He nodded again.

      'That'd be great, only,' I hesitated, 'there's a problem. You see, I'm only supposed to be meeting Jewish boys.'

      Patrick looked puzzled, so I rushed to explain. 'My parents, would be angry if they thought I was having anything to do with a boy who was not Jewish.

      His face tightened as if a curtain had been pulled down. 'I'm only offering to teach you to ride a bike,' he coldly pointed out. 'It's not exactly a marriage proposal. Anyway,' his tone softened, 'you don't have to tell them, do you?'

      I giggled. If I sounded like a little СКАЧАТЬ