Christos Tsiolkas - Barracuda

Dan scrubbed at his face, at his shirtfront. He screwed the tea towel into a knot. John sat down beside him. The two men were breathing in unison.

‘Do you own your own home, Danny?’

The question was so unexpected that it made Dan laugh. He shook his head.

It was as if Dan had never broken down, as if that had happened in another time, in another space, away from the world.

‘You married, Danny, you got kids?’

Dan opened his mouth, then quickly shut it. He just shook his head.

John proudly flashed the thin gold ring on his left hand. ‘I am. My wife’s name is Dora. We’ve got a beautiful little boy, Troy, and we’re trying for another. Best thing that can happen to you, mate, having kids. That gives you perspective, shows you what really matters in this world.’

‘I’m not going to have kids.’ Dan straightened up, surprised how weight had returned to him, how he felt anchored to the ground once again. He turned to John. ‘Why me?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Why did Coach leave me this house?’

John waggled a finger. ‘Hey, mate, don’t get too greedy. He left part of his estate to you, a third. The estate is divided between three parties. Initially it was four, yourself, a man called Ronald Crane, another man, Joseph Hanna, and the fourth share to the descendants of his two sisters and brother back in Hungary. But Hanna is dead, and the will specifies that if one of the parties is deceased then their share is returned to the others.’ John shrugged. ‘There’s some money, of course, some super, some stocks and bonds, but not much, the GFC took care of that, but whatever money there is goes to his family back in Europe. They probably deserve it, poor bastards.’

He leaned over to tap the wooden bedhead three times. ‘We’re lucky here, Danny, this country just sails on, impervious to the shit that the rest of the world is drowning in. Jesus, no wonder any bastard who gets on a boat wants to come here.’

Dan didn’t want to hear it. He wanted answers. ‘But why would he leave it to me?’

‘Mate, I don’t know, I can only guess. The only things you have in common with the other two are that you were all scholarship boys, and you were all trained by him. Crane was a student of his in the early eighties, Hanna was there after us.’ John sounded tired. ‘Hanna offed himself, got in a bad way, I think, from talking to his family, drugs maybe, who the fuck knows? They’re a big Leb family, out in Westmeadows. I feel gutted for them, what they’ve been through. They didn’t have much, and I think Joseph was their great white hope.’

John was shaking his head. ‘Can you imagine being a Lebo Mussie having to deal with the pricks at that place? You ever heard of him?’

‘No.’

‘Thought you might have, he was a bit of a wunderkind for a while there in the pool and then he got into the Commonwealth Games and fucked it up, just didn’t have what it takes.’ His voice trailed off and he lowered his head.

He thinks he’s offended me, thought Dan, he thinks he’s hurt me. But Dan was thinking about a Lebo kid, a Muslim at that school, what they would have thought of him, how he would have needed to be the strongest, the fastest, the best, just to survive, just to walk that corridor every morning, to hold his head high.

‘I used to call it Cunts College.’

John’s head tilted up. ‘What?’

‘Our school. I used to call it Cunts College.’

John collapsed into hysterical laughter, then pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his eyes and blow his nose. He sat up straight. ‘Crane’s got a family, he’s doing sports medicine, he’s alright. The money will be useful. He’s up in Brisbane, wanted to be here for the service but one of his boys got sick.’

John tentatively raised his hand, then placed it gently on Dan’s shoulder. ‘Torma thinks he failed you all, for what it’s worth, that’s my theory. He wanted to train a world champion, but he never managed that.’ John’s hand slipped off Dan’s shoulder, and the two men were once again sitting apart.

‘And you? Don’t you get anything? I mean, it sounds like you were the closest to him of any of us.’

John’s smile was rueful. ‘Yeah, I ask myself that too. He always said that he hated lawyers, that we were scum, maybe that’s why, maybe he thinks I’ve got enough.’ John’s voice lightened; he threw up his hands in an exaggerated shrug. Like a boy, thought Dan, you could see the boy in him still.

‘And he’s right, we’re doing OK, me and Dora, we don’t need the money. It’s because I wasn’t a good enough swimmer, simple as that. That’s what mattered to the old man, being good enough. I guess you and Crane and Hanna were golden boys.’ John’s eyes were now teasing, his tone mocking. ‘You do know that, don’t you, Kelly? You and Taylor and Wilco, you were fucking golden boys.’

He rose, looked down at Dan. ‘I should get going. Come on, I’ll drive you home.’

‘I think I want to stay.’

But John was shaking his head. ‘I’m not sure if I can let you, mate. Officially I’m the executor of this estate and I don’t feel comfortable giving you the keys yet. Sorry, it sounds officious, I know, but that’s me with my legal hat on.’

‘That’s alright, I understand.’

John took one last lingering look around the room. He seemed to be about to speak, but his mouth stayed closed.

‘What were you going to say?’

‘I was going to say I’ll miss the old bastard, but that’s not exactly true. In the last few years I’d come by, every six months or so, more out of duty than anything. I owed him. He protected me from some of those bullies we went to school with. But he was a lonely old bugger, by the end all he wanted to talk about was being a boy in Hungary, even started talking to me in Hungarian from time to time. He was a sad old man. I wish I could say I’m going to miss him but it wouldn’t be true. To be honest, mate, him being gone is a bit of a relief.’ John was drumming his fingers on the old bureau. ‘Men like that, they’re not much use, are they?’

Dan couldn’t remember anything about Morello, the boy’s smile, his adolescent body, one word they had exchanged, even though they had been in the same team, had showered naked together every day, had swum together; he couldn’t recall the boy’s form or face or body at all.

‘OK, mate,’ said Dan, getting up and putting on his jacket.

‘Let’s get going.’

John dropped him off. The last thing Dan said to him, just as he was getting out of the car, after they’d shaken hands in farewell, was, ‘John, you’re a good man.’

John gave a short chuckle. ‘No, mate,’ he answered. ‘No, I’m not. I’m just a fat suburban lawyer. I’m just a soft bastard doing all the right things. I’ve even enrolled Troy at Cunts College, that’s how much I go with the flow.’

The night was so cold that Dan had to sit for ages in front of his small heater with his suit jacket on, with it buttoned to the collar. He sat in front of the heater, staring into the orange electric glow, the rain splattering and beating against the shingles of the roof. He sat and dreamed about what money could do. He imagined a house, two rooms, a short walk from the station and the shops. That was what money could do. He thought of going back to Japan, going to China, really reconnecting with Luke; he could travel anywhere, he could learn about different worlds. He imagined a brand-new car, and travel, and bricks and mortar. In the pit of his stomach was a glow, he could feel it, a tiny flame that began in the centre of himself and spread and flickered and warmed his blood. Dan took off his clothes and put on trackpants and a jumper, but even in that midwinter chill he didn’t think he needed them. The glow he felt inside himself would keep him warm. This was what money could do, this was how it could protect you.