2
Where most fathers would have been only too proud to have a son who played sports at a professional level, Ian Cooper was the opposite. He had tolerated Ben’s early sporting endeavours but never supported him once he reached high school age, instead demanding he hit the books. Ben had spent many hours pondering the strangeness of his father’s aversion to a sporting career but had come up empty. After all, his father had once had those same dreams himself, so you’d think he’d be able to understand where Ben was coming from. And most Aussies loved their sport, so the whole thing was hard to comprehend. He’d tried to find any option that would allow him to play more than just a casual game, but nothing he’d said or done had met with any level of success. No, it was all about studying and getting good grades.
As Ben stared at his father through the kitchen window, he couldn’t help but wonder how he’d ended up trying so hard to please a man who showed no real emotion for his son at all. As he watched, his dad brought the mower to a stop and reached over to empty the catcher. He pulled it from the back of the machine and stood, wiping sweat from his brow. He wandered across the yard to tip the contents of the catcher onto the compost heap before taking a detour to the outside table, where he’d left a beer sitting under the shade of the umbrella. That was more like the dad he knew: a beer not far away at all times. In fact, he was surprised to see his father mowing at all, as it was usually a chore he left for Ben. Ben might have left home, but he was still expected to help around the house. If Ben was honest with himself, although his father’s demands pissed him off—after all, he was a grown man with his own apartment—he knew he would keep “doing the right thing.”
Ben was the reason they had a compost heap. His mum had expressed an interest one day, so Ben had built the compost the following weekend. Peggy, his mum, only had to mention something for Ben to do his best to make her dreams come true. He knew he was compensating for the treatment she got from his father, but he also knew of all the sacrifices she had made for the family, and he figured it was a small price for him to pay. If his labour and a few jobs madeherhappy, then he was only too willing to provide that gift, even if it meant his father thought he’d gotten his way.
Ben downed the last of his water and placed the empty glass in the dishwasher. The smell of the freshly mowed lawn drifted in the open sliding door, tempting him to venture into the back garden. There was something about the smell of newly cut grass that reminded him of long and happy days spent outside in summer. He stepped onto the deck and quickly moved towards the back of the yard, skirting around his father as he did so.
His dad didn’t even look up from the strip of lawn in front of the mower, straining to push the mower along the final few rows. The loud droning of the engine also ensured he didn’t hear Ben passing, all of which was good to Ben, who didn’t want to draw attention to himself.
Passing behind the jasmine-laden trellis, where the sweet smell of the delicate flowers blended with the more robust scent of grass, Ben paused and looked up at the tree in front of him. Nestled in its spreading branches was a tree house, still sturdy after all these years. Of course, if it was up to Ian Cooper to build one, his son would never have had a tree house. Luckily for Ben, it was already there when they’d bought the house. He’d often wondered about the previous owners and the child lucky enough to have their parents build a fantasy getaway up amongst the leaves.
He tested the bottom rung, then started up. The ladder groaned as he climbed. It wasn’t that high off the ground really, but it still gave a good view over the backyard and of the house. When he was a boy, the tree house had seemed so very high in the sky and felt a million miles from anywhere. He could escape from the harsh reality of his family life and lose himself in the world of make-believe.
Once at the top, he ducked into the doorway. There was an old multicoloured rug on the floor, faded from years of use, and a folded navy blanket on the flimsy wooden shelf attached to the far wall. Ben shook the blanket outside the door, watching dust motes dance in the sun before he laid it out on the floor. He stretched himself out on the scratchy fabric, appreciating the additional layer over the hard floorboards. He lay on his back, hands behind his head, and stared out the small, curtain-less window, watching the bright blue sky and the small wispy clouds drifting slowly by.
Surrounded by the familiar sights and smells, his breathing slowed, and he allowed himself to drift off and remember the good times.
* * *
They’d listenedto his parents arguing for what seemed like the millionth time.
Spence had come for a sleepover, and they were hanging out in his room watching a movie. But the shouting and slamming of doors was making things decidedly uncomfortable and definitely distracting from the car chase on the television screen.
Ben flinched as a door slammed, his father’s voice booming through the wall but his words indistinct.Fuck.He turned to face Spence.“I’m sorry about Dad. I mean, you know, about the…” His voice faded, and he motioned towards the door with his hand.
Spence gave a small smile and shrugged. “It’s okay, no need to apologise. It doesn’t worry me, apart from seeing you get so upset. I know how much you hate seeing your mum hurting.”
Spence didn’t know the half of it.Thank god.Ben knew Spence was referring to the tears and sadness that seemed to plague his mum. What Spence didn’t know was that the emotional hurt was often accompanied by physical pain. Ben shuddered, remembering just how bad things sometimes got. His dad was not averse to shoving and pushing and occasionally getting his message across with his fists.
As the noise from downstairs started to escalate and the shouting increased, they looked at one another, and by unspoken agreement, decided to hightail it out of there.
Grabbing the bag of chips and a couple of blankets, they sneaked out the back door and ran as fast as they could across the lawn. They tripped over each other to climb the ladder and finally fell through the door of the tree house in a tangled heap. Ben laughed, able to forget the tension inside the house for a moment. Having somewhere to come with Spence… this place… it was his refuge.
“I’m so glad we have the tree house—”
“It’s a fort,” interrupted Spence as he clambered to his feet. He always insisted that a tree house was for little kids, and therefore, the structure was a fort. It just happened to be in a tree.
“Yeah, right.” Ben smiled, his grin unseen in the dim light as he picked up the bundle of blankets. “I’m glad we have the fort.”
They spread the blankets over the brightly coloured rug that covered the bare floorboards before stretching out beside one another and staring at the ceiling. It was dark outside the small window and would have been even darker inside the fort too, if not for the moonlight. There was a torch in the box under the window, but they didn’t bother trying to make light. Instead Ben relied on the moonlight that allowed him to make out the silhouette of Spence lying beside him. The only sounds were the scraping of the tree branches as they gently moved along the outside timber walls and the faint shouting from the house, which carried across the yard in the quiet of the night.
Ben eventually broke the silence. “I wonder why the neighbours never say anything. I mean, they must hear what goes on.” Even now as they listened, they heard the unmistakable sound of something breaking. Something glass or ceramic from the sound of it. “They never even ask how we are. You know Mrs Addington next door? She stops and talks to me and Maddy but only to say hello, and she won’t even look at Mum. She sort of nods and hurries towards her car or house. You know what they say about nosy neighbours? Well, we don’t seem to have any around here.” His voice started to waver as the emotions caught up with him. “You’d think they would at least care about Mum and Maddy.”
Ben continued to stare at the ceiling, trying not to cry. Trying to be brave, strong. But sometimes, it was just so hard being the strong one. As a tear finally slid down his cheek, he felt Spencer’s hand tentatively reach for his own. Spence fumbled a bit in the dark but finally gripped Ben’s fingers in a way that communicated he understood how Ben felt.
As they lay there in the dark, Spence gripping Ben’s hand like he was never going to let go, Ben finally felt able to take a breath without crying. He didn’t have to be the strong one, because Spence was making it all right for him to just be himself.
* * *
A hoarse shoutinterrupted his daydream and ripped his thoughts back to the present.
“Boy! Your mother said you were up in that goddamned tree house. Get your arse down here and give me a hand!”
Ben poked his head out the door as the tirade continued.
“There are chores to be done, and your mother needs a hand with lunch. So get your lazy butt moving. You can put away the mower and then help me by getting the barbeque ready.” His dad turned and headed back towards the house.
