Spud by John Van De Ruit Page B

Dad stood up and said it was just a couple of maids talking about bus times. Dad and I chatted about various intelligence techniques he’d learned in the army. (Dad was a deadly soldier and rose up all the way through the ranks to the level of private.) I asked him if his gun would still fire, considering that there were three pieces of it lying on the dining room table. Dad said it was the intimidation factor that was crucial when facing terrorists. He gave me a lecture on survival as he heated up a can of baked beans on a gas burner in the bushes. He reckons we’ll all have to learn to live off the land when the country goes up in smoke. After twenty minutes of trying to take the lid off the can with a butter knife and even his teeth, he gave up and stomped off to the kitchen to fetch the tin-opener.
    19:00   My mother’s book club cronies filed in, each trying to talk louder than the next. Mom had me serving drinks (a full-time job). Every time I entered with more drinks the room went quiet and then as I left the raucous conversations flared up again. (As if I didn’t know they were talking about their husbands and sex.)
    I entered the lounge for about the twelfth time carrying a tray of drinks when suddenly I was struck dumb by a sight so lovely, so… unreal, that I very nearly lost control of the tray. Standing before me was a mermaid (without a fishtail), a girl so beautiful that a sharp pang shot through my body and made my left leg go numb.
    ‘Johnny, this is Marge’s daughter Debbie.’ The introduction came from my mother, but her voice soundedmiles away. This creature with big green eyes, golden skin, and long wispy blonde hair smiled at me with perfectly shaped gleaming white teeth and said one word that nearly flattened me with its beauty.
    ‘Hi.’
    ‘Jean, I promised Debs a swim in your pool, if that’s all right,’ said Marge to my mother. My mother swung her hands wildly and whiskey sloshed over the side of her glass. ‘Of course. Johnny, get Debbie a towel and show her the pool.’ I gulped, trying desperately not to look at the creature standing opposite me. I could feel my cheeks flush and knew that my face was as red as a stop sign. Eventually, I mumbled something and the creature skipped off to my room to change. The thought of her taking her clothes off in my room made me feel weak. I remembered that my planes and trains underpants were lying on the floor in full view. I felt nauseous. I wished I had a video camera in my room to record the moment forever, just to prove it actually happened. (Besides I could probably make a fortune peddling the tape to Boggo.)
    I took ages to choose the right towel for Debbie and then I waited in the passage for her arrival in a complete state of terror. I didn’t have to wait long. She skipped past me, yanked the wrong towel from my hands and slipped through the back door and into the pool before I had time to move or think or even pinch myself.
    ‘Come on, Johnny, it’s warm,’ she giggled, and splashed me with water. I did the only thing a thirteen-year-old boy could do in such a situation and that was attempt a very macho Olympic dive. What followed was a catastrophic bellyflop (a groin flop would be more specific). I sank to the bottom of the pool where I let out a howling scream of agony bubbles. I took my time floating to the surface – and there she was. The Mermaid. Staring at me with her enormous green eyes. And then… laughter, the sound of angels. She waslaughing at me, but not with the cruel laughter of school. This laughter seemed beautiful and soft and warm, like the sound of a flute. Then I was laughing too, and the world was spinning and for once this wasn’t a dream. I would not suddenly wake up in a cramped little cubicle with a siren screeching in my ears. I was home.
Saturday 19th February
    06:00   Mom woke me up and said I had to search the garden for Dad.
    Found Dad sleeping in some shrubs at the bottom of the garden. Around