Julian Corkle is a Filthy Liar. D. Connell J.

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СКАЧАТЬ apologised after the bell went for playtime. She hadn’t meant to get me into trouble. ‘I was just trying to give you a look.’ I hadn’t refused when Paula offered to lend me her Cherish LP. I was a big fan of David Cassidy. He wore very tight trousers and had silky hair that stayed swished back even during vigorous dance moves.

      My big day was coming up but like every year Carmel was going to cheat me out of the attention that was rightfully mine. I was a year younger than her but had the misfortune of being born on the day after her birthday. This gave my special day a definite second-best status. Carmel called her birthday the main event. Mine was the repeat performance.

      On the morning of her tenth birthday, Carmel got a doll called Nancy. It was made of pony-coloured plastic and had movable limbs and long white synthetic hair. Nancy came with a vinyl make-up kit and an irresistible set of tiny pink hair curlers. I loved curlers and spent hours playing with the set my mother had received from her brother Norman. He’d also given her a portable hairdryer with a floral plastic cap. On the days when Mum had two hours to spare I was allowed to roller and set her hair.

      Carmel finished unwrapping the doll with impatience. When she saw what was inside, she said ‘Ugh’ and put it to one side. I swallowed a mouthful of breakfast cereal and reached for the box.

      ‘Hands off, fat boy.’

      ‘I just want to touch her hair. It’s so long and shiny.’

      ‘That’s enough, Julian!’ My father was giving me his don’t-you-start look.

      I felt tears building. Carmel poked her tongue out and made a chopper with her hand, a warning not to cross the invisible line between the doll and me. She moved on to the next present. It was a Nancy ‘Evening Fantasy’ outfit in a clear plastic tray. She let out another ‘Ugh’ and tossed it next to the doll. The urge to touch the little pink curlers was almost unbearable. Carmel sighed and felt the other presents through their wrappers. I knew she was looking for a cricket ball and I knew she wasn’t going to find one. At least her frustration was some sort of consolation.

      Carmel left her other presents unopened on the dinette divan and went back to her rice puffs. As Daddy’s girl, Carmel was entitled to be ungrateful. My father gave her an indulgent smile, pushed his chair back and stood up.

      It was now or never. It would be my birthday in less than twenty-four hours. I had to convince my parents to buy me something practical, a present I could actually use. I tugged Dad’s sleeve.

      ‘Dad, can I have a Nancy?’

      ‘No you cannot! Nancy dolls are for girls! You’re a boy and boys want Dinky toys.’

      My father’s response was too fierce and too loud. Carmel snorted into her cereal, sending a shower of rice puffs and milk over the Aussiemica tabletop.

      ‘Not me. I want a Nancy.’ The tears had started and my voice was shrill. I didn’t want junk. I wanted a doll.

      ‘You’re not getting one and that’s final.’

      Dad shoved his empty chair against the table and made a move for the door. I leaped off the divan and flattened myself on the floor face down. I started to kick and punch the lino, wailing.

      ‘Shut up, Julian.’ It was too much for my father. He hated displays, especially from boys.

      ‘It’s not fair. Carmel gets everything.’

      I reached out and grabbed Dad around an ankle. He straightened his leg and tried to shake me off. I held tight, crying into his trouser leg.

      ‘For God’s sake, get off and stop being a cry baby.’ He swiped me over the head with the Punter’s Gazette and shuffled toward the door, dragging his leg with me attached.

      ‘I want a Nancy, Dad. Please, please, please.’ The words came out in shrieks between sobs.

      Mum bent down and pulled me off. My father hurled himself out of the house and slammed the door behind him. I was still kicking and flailing my arms as Mum pulled me against her chest. I felt her turn her head toward Carmel.

      ‘Carmel, go wash your face.’

      ‘I’m not dirty, Mum. It’s my birthday.’ There was laughter in her voice. She’d been enjoying the main event.

      ‘Get out of this dinette right now, madam!’

      ‘It’s not fair. It’s my birthday!’ Carmel stormed out leaving Mum and me alone.

      Mum whispered in my ear. ‘Julian, there’ll be a nice surprise for you tomorrow. But you’ll have to be a good boy and wait till dinnertime.’

      My tears stopped abruptly. ‘What?’

      ‘Wait and see. It’s not going to be a stinky Dinky.’

      

      I woke the next morning to a box of Shelby’s chocolates on the end of the bed. Yes, it was my birthday! In our house, a double-layer box of soft centres and a roast-chicken dinner were standard birthday issue. Presents were a different matter. Their quality depended on who chose them and the mood they were in when choosing. If it was Mum, we tended to get one thing of value among junk she bought to please my father. If Dad bought them, we’d get stuff that was completely useless. I had a Meccano set, a rugby ball and several Dinky toys in the bottom of my wardrobe. I knew by now Carmel would have thrown Nancy on top of the manicure set and necklace-making kit she’d hidden at the bottom of hers.

      I knew exactly what went on inside everyone’s wardrobes. I monitored them on a regular basis, particularly my mother’s. She was the only one in the house with flair and quality fabric. I spent hours going through her drawers and trying things on. This could only be done when Dad wasn’t home. He didn’t think boys should like nice things and hit the roof if he saw me as much as finger the fabric of a dress my mother was wearing. I tried to explain that fashion designers earned a fortune but Dad didn’t want to know.

      Carmel’s wardrobe was dangerous territory for another reason. I only ventured into her room when she was a good kilometre from the premises. It wasn’t worth getting caught. She could punch extremely hard and thoroughly enjoyed practising her Cassius Clay Royale. John and I were forbidden to thump her back, especially below the belly button. This mysterious zone was for making babies. Carmel was only too aware that the same protection did not extend to our testicles.

      As soon as I opened the magnet collection, I knew Dad had chosen the presents. His self-satisfied smile told me everything I needed to know. He sat there every bit the happy sadist as I opened the Boy’s Own Annual, the cricket ball and the kit-set model of a German tank. Crap, crap, crap. The only thing I could use was the cricket ball. It would come in handy as a bargaining chip with Carmel. I said thank you through my teeth and turned to leave for school.

      ‘Hey, Stan McCabe, you’re not taking your cricket ball?’ Dad wore the crooked smile of an insane sports fanatic.

      ‘I wouldn’t want anyone to pinch it. Far too valuable.’ I spoke through a locked jaw.

      

      When I got home from school, my mother was shoving bread and mixed herbs into the rear end of a defrosted chicken.

      ‘Where is it?’

      ‘What СКАЧАТЬ