Tigers on the Beach Read online

  ‘Did anything happen while we were away?’ he asks.

  But Marika is fixated on the chocolate peanuts that remain in the charity box.

  ‘My cousin’s baby ate a chocolate peanut once,’ she says. ‘The poor thing was allergic. It practically exploded.’

  Grandma wanders back to her cabin. Xander shuts himself away to play with his various collections. There are plenty of chores at The Ponderosa to keep me preoccupied. It’s probably what I need at the moment.

  I help Nathan to pick up some of the rubbish that has been tossed onto the front lawn. This has started happening recently, and I wonder if Stanley Krongold is behind it. Maybe he’s trying to make The Ponderosa seem less valuable, so he can pick up a bargain?

  ‘Nathan, did you study psychology at university?’ I ask, as we pick up icy-pole wrappers and soft-drink cans.

  ‘For three years,’ says Nathan.

  ‘I guess you must know a lot about how people’s mind’s work.’

  ‘I don’t know anything at all.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘It was animal psychology. I can tell you how a fruit bat’s mind works, but I doubt you’d be interested.’

  ‘Nathan, can I ask you something?’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d be interested.’

  ‘Do you think it’s okay to laugh at bad things?’

  Nathan tosses a McDonald’s box into his garbage bag. ‘What sort of bad things?’

  ‘I don’t know. Say, a funeral?’

  ‘Someone laughed at my father’s funeral,’ says Nathan. ‘They played the wrong song. It was meant to be “Father” by Ian Dury but instead they played “Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll”, which was on the same CD.’

  I smile at this.

  ‘It may seem funny now,’ says Nathan, ‘but it wasn’t at the time.’

  ‘But someone laughed?’

  ‘The funeral director did. We made him give us a discount.’

  ‘But what if someone laughed at a funeral even though nothing funny happened?’

  ‘Chimpanzees would laugh,’ says Nathan. ‘They laugh when they are upset.’

  ‘I didn’t know that. I guess that means that the chimpanzees on the poster that I gave to Mum and Dad aren’t in a good mood.’

  ‘I never liked that poster,’ says Nathan.

  ‘Everyone else thinks it’s funny.’

  ‘They don’t know as much about chimpanzees as I do.’

  ‘Do human beings ever laugh when they’re upset?’

  ‘Well, since we’re descended from apes –’

  But I have lost Nathan’s attention. He has spotted Marika, who is wearing extra-tight jeans and really shouldn’t.

  ‘She is even more beautiful than an arctic fox,’ Nathan whispers.

  Tony Palin, the local petty crim, arrives on his bike. He’s fifteen, fat and fearless. Tony often boasts that he’s broken into the yacht club three times, though he’s never been caught. If you want cheap lifejackets, he’s your man.

  ‘Is your little brother around?’ he asks. ‘I’ve got something for him.’

  I frown. ‘Don’t sell him any of those magazines.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to.’

  ‘Then why do you want to see him?’

  ‘It’s a free country.’

  ‘If you sell him anything bad . . .’

  Tony Palin looks unconcerned. He sidles closer. ‘Do you want to buy some magazines?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘What’s the matter, don’t you like girls? I’ve got a magazine with German girls.’

  ‘I don’t want a magazine, I’ve got a girlfriend,’ I say.

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Sam.’

  ‘That figures.’ Tony looks at his watch. ‘Where’s your brother?’

  ‘Playing with his bugs.’

  ‘He’s pretty mental, isn’t he?’

  I feel like smashing Tony in the face, but my parents have taught me that violence should only be used as a last resort.

  ‘Be careful,’ I tell him.

  Tony realises he is on thin ice.

  ‘What were you guys doing on The Escarpment today?’ he asks.

  ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘Who was the girl with you?’

  ‘Sam.’

  ‘Wow.’ Tony looks impressed. ‘Have you done it with her yet?’

  There are strict rules about this. I know that Mum and Dad are happy for me to have a girlfriend. They like Sam. But we are too young to ‘do it’. My parents and I have talked it over. And when I look at all the teenage mums around I tend to agree with them. I don’t want to be a father at fifteen. I’m not even sure I want to be a father at fifty, if I end up having kids like Tony Palin.

  Two elderly holiday-makers, the Provans, walk down the driveway, hand in hand. They must be at least eighty and they have been staying with us ever since The Ponderosa opened for business.

  ‘Hello, dear,’ Mrs Provan says. ‘It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?’

  I love the Provans. If only all our guests could be like them.

  ‘Yes,’ I tell the Provans. ‘It certainly is.’

  Mr Provan knows that I like jokes. He seems to have an endless supply.

  ‘This may interest you, Adam,’ says Mr Provan. His wife walks ahead and waits at the front gate. She knows that her husband is about to tell me a joke. She also knows that he’d prefer she didn’t hear.

  ‘The Mayor of London and his wife are at a royal reception,’ says Mr Provan, quietly. ‘ “Oh dear,” the Lady Mayoress says. “I’ve just dropped the most dreadful silent fart. What should I do?” The Mayor tells her, “Get a new battery for your hearing aid.” ’

  I decide not to tell this joke to Sam.

  It’s late when Sam rings me. Xander is asleep. I leave the room so I can talk to Sam without my brother eaves-dropping. Wandering around the moonlit grounds of The Ponderosa, I listen as Sam tells me her news. Rehearsal tonight was fraught. Trisha the emo with the oboe has decided she is no longer in love with Rico the ensemble leader, because she has fallen in love with Jesus. She’s obviously a social climber. Oscar and Felix want to get married one day but the law won’t allow it and there are things in the bible about how it’s evil, so Oscar and Felix aren’t that impressed about Trisha’s new boyfriend. They are getting everyone they know to sign a petition about how stupid the law is and that same sexes should be allowed to marry each other. Sam reminds me that I said I’d teach her the sign language alphabet so that she can communicate with deaf people. I tell her I haven’t forgotten. Oscar, Felix and Sam are busking in Carlington Mall early tomorrow to raise money for Il Gattopardo Pazzo. Sam asks, would I like to help by handing out leaflets? I tell Sam that I would do anything for her, provided I can fit it into my very busy schedule as assistant manager. Finally, Sam apologises yet again for laughing at the ash scattering. I tell her not to worry. We shouldn’t dwell on the past, even if it was only ten hours ago.

  I desperately want to tell Sam that I love her, but the phrase just won’t come out. In the end, I panic and do something really stupid.

  ‘I heart you,’ I say.

  Sam is silent for a moment, then she says, ‘Sorry. I don’t talk in emoticons.’

  ‘It’s just something I heard on a TV show.’

  ‘Then watch better shows.’

  ‘I normally watch documentaries. I have quite adult tastes.’

  The bedroom is silent. I can hear Xander breathing slowly and deeply. Eager not to wake him up, I climb into my bed as quietly as possible. There is a strange popping noise, then another. I gasp. Something is in my bed. Xander, who was only pretending to be asleep, bursts out laughing. I throw the blanket off my bed. It’s too dark to see, but I can smell the sickly sweet aroma of bath beads. Xander has put Grandma’s bath beads in my bed. I switch on the light and see the burst capsules oozing goo onto the sheet. By now Xander is killing himself with laughter. My shorts have damp sticky patches that smell like
air freshener. This is too much. I yell at Xander about the various ways I will murder him. He just laughs harder. There is a hammering on the wall.

  ‘Some of us have to work tomorrow morning!’ Dad yells. ‘Stop making so much noise.’

  I protest, ‘But Xander –’

  ‘I don’t want to hear about Xander,’ says Dad. ‘I don’t want to hear one more word.’

  ‘Calm down,’ Mum says to Dad. ‘The guests might hear.’

  ‘What guests?’ says Dad. ‘Your mother is doing a very good job of frightening them away.’

  ‘Why do you always drag my mother into it?’ says Mum.

  ‘Because things were going perfectly well until she moved in.’

  ‘So, I suppose everything is her fault?’

  ‘Well, it certainly isn’t mine.’

  My parents have become completely unreasonable. It wasn’t Grandma who put the bath beads in my bed. Why are they arguing about her when they should be disciplining Xander instead? Since they refuse to be good, firm parents I will have to murder Xander myself, only during daylight hours so as not to wake up the guests. I pull the sheet from my bed and take off my sticky pants. I toss them both in the corner. I’m too tired to shower or look for fresh pyjamas. Tonight I will have to be a nudist and sleep in the raw.

  Sam, Oscar and Felix are busking in the Carlington Mall today. Naturally, I have found time in my busy schedule to hand out leaflets about the concert that Il Gattopardo Pazzo will be giving on the weekend. They will be performing at The Prehistoric Festival at the Carlington Dinosaur Park, the one day of the year when people flock to the park to celebrate dinosaurs. Sam, Oscar and Felix are dressed in green, which is the colour that people traditionally wear to the festival. I don’t have any green clothes so Sam has lent me one of her T-shirts. It smells of cherry. I never want to give this T-shirt back.

  Before they start busking, the trio wants me to take a photo of them together. Sam holds her flute, Oscar nurses his horn and Felix pretends to play his clarinet. I take four photos. Every time I ask them to say cheese, Sam comes up with a gourmet cheese name, which gives Oscar and Felix the giggles.

  ‘Say cheese,’ I say.

  ‘Norwegian Jarlsberg,’ says Sam.

  The boys chuckle and I take a photo.

  ‘Say cheese,’ I say.

  ‘Camembert,’ says Sam.

  This time the boys really fall about laughing. I don’t get the joke. Sam explains that it’s something to do with Monty Python. I’m not really a big fan of Monty Python, though I like that scene in the movie where the fat man in the restaurant eats so much that he explodes.

  Oscar, Felix and Sam want to check the photos, to make sure they look good in them. I hand my camera to Sam, and she scrolls back. They seem pretty happy with my camera work. Then they all look startled.

  ‘What is it?’ I say.

  Sam holds out my phone. There is a photo of me asleep in the nude. Xander took a photo of me last night. You can see my willy. I wish it were bigger.

  ‘Cute,’ says Oscar. ‘Do you have many photos like that?’

  Is there any point in telling them about Xander and how I come to have such a photo? I figure there isn’t. I delete the photo, hoping like mad that Xander hasn’t already put it on the net. Sam can see I’m upset. She puts an arm around me and gives me a squeeze. Sam has now seen every single part of my naked body, even my little peen, and I haven’t seen any of hers. I haven’t even had the opportunity of counting the freckles on her back. Life is grossly unfair.

  The trio starts playing a selection of popular classics, especially arranged for French horn, clarinet and flute. I recognise the music from a car ad, a coffee ad, a pet-food ad and a toilet-paper ad. Oscar has put a green beanie on the footpath, into which he has already placed a couple of two-dollar coins, so that people who like the music might get the message and throw in more money. No one seems too keen on the music from the pet-food ad. But the music from the car ad is a real hit, and nearly a dozen people throw money into the green hat. We even get a five-dollar bill. Meanwhile, I hand out leaflets about the Prehistoric Festival. If ever you pass someone who is handing out leaflets, always take one. It doesn’t do you any harm, you’re not saving trees because the leaflets have already been printed, and you don’t hurt the feelings of the poor guy who’s been roped into handing them out.

  The trio is really cooking. Sam looks intense and sexy as she pipes the high notes of a tune that I think might be from The Lion King. She sees me watching and smiles. I smile back. With renewed vigour I hand out my leaflets. Even a baby in a pusher gets a leaflet. Come to the Carlington Prehistoric Festival! Hear the strains of Il Gattopardo Pazzo!

  The theft happens so quickly that I’m still humming ‘Hakuna Matata’ when the robber is five doors away, clutching the green hat full of money. People call out but no one really tries to stop him. That’s understandable. He might be carrying a weapon. But I don’t think of this when I chase after him. All I know is that I’m not letting him get away. He’s wearing a grey jacket. He’s average height, age, everything. If he stood perfectly still he might even have more chance of eluding me, he blends in so well. But he ducks down a narrow walkway between two shops. By the time I reach the walkway’s entrance, I see him disappearing into the car park. I’ll have to be quicker if I’m going to catch him. A car nearly runs into me as I charge into the car park. I’m distracted for just long enough to lose track of the thief. There are parked cars everywhere. The thief may even be sitting in one of them, knowing he’s outfoxed me.

  I’ve let down Sam and Oscar and Felix. I realise it wasn’t my job to guard the money, but I should have been more watchful. Just as I’m about to head back to the mall, someone jumps in front of me. It’s the guy in the grey jacket. I see now that he’s a teenager, not much older than I am. And I wonder if maybe he really does have a weapon because he looks as though he’s about to attack me.

  ‘Want your money back?’ he snarls.

  The guy is crazy. He reaches into his pocket.

  ‘Want your money back, you little shit?’

  Does he have a knife? A gun? If I wait to find out I could be a dead man. I leap at him and we fall to the asphalt. He growls like an animal. I see a flash of metal, the weapon that he was carrying in his pocket. He wields it in his right hand. He’s going to stab me. But someone grabs his arm. I look up to see Felix, wresting the knife from his grasp.

  ‘The money,’ says Felix.

  The guy spits at him.

  ‘Give us back the money,’ says Felix. ‘I’m keeping the knife.’

  The guy stands. He throws a handful of money on the ground, then heads off in the direction of the railway line at the bottom of the car park.

  ‘Let’s go back,’ says Felix. He pockets the knife.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say.

  ‘No problem.’

  I have just had my life saved by a boy who wants to marry another boy and can play ‘Hakuna Matata’ on the clarinet. That doesn’t happen every day.

  Sam and Oscar are waiting in the mall, guarding the instruments.

  ‘We’re fine,’ says Felix. ‘We got the money back.’

  When we count it we realise it is less than forty dollars. The knife that Felix took is probably worth more.

  Sam gives me a proper kiss this time. There are no estate agents around to interrupt us, just a lot of shoppers who are probably surprised at such a passionate display of affection so early in the morning. They’re probably even more surprised when Oscar and Felix do exactly the same thing.

  ‘I love you, Adam Cartwright,’ says Sam.

  ‘I love you, Sam Koenigsberger,’ I say.

  Things return to normal fairly quickly. The trio plays another set. This time Oscar’s French-horn case is used to collect the money, since we never recovered the green beanie. I hand out more leaflets. By lunchtime, the trio has made more than a hundred dollars. I am Sam’s hero. I say that Felix is the real hero, but he denies it. He wants me to
have the glory. Once again, I understand why Oscar wants to marry him. But I am apparently not gay and I want to spend the rest of the day with Sam, but I have to return to The Ponderosa. I don’t want Dad to think I’m dodging my responsibilities. He’s in a bad enough mood as it is.

  I arrive at The Ponderosa to see two of our remaining guests – a middle-aged couple – in the yard talking with Nathan. They’ve found two little speckled eggs and want to know which bird laid them.

  ‘The eggs were laid by a sooty tern,’ says Nathan. ‘Why did you take them?’

  ‘We thought they looked pretty,’ says the woman.

  ‘And did you think that the mother might be upset to have her children stolen?’

  ‘The nest was on the ground,’ the man says.

  ‘It wasn’t up a tree or anything,’ the woman says, as though the mother bird is to blame for leaving her eggs exposed.

  ‘Sooty terns often make their nests on the ground,’ says Nathan. ‘Please put the eggs back.’

  ‘We’d rather keep them,’ the woman says. ‘They’ll look nice on the mantelpiece, when we blow their insides out.’

  ‘How would you like it if I stole your children, blew their insides out then stuck them on the mantelpiece?’

  ‘We don’t have children,’ says the woman.

  ‘Lucky for you.’

  ‘You’re very rude,’ says the man. ‘I don’t think we’ll be coming here again.’

  The couple saunters off. Unsmiling, Nathan acknowledges me.

  ‘Hello, Adam.’

  ‘Are you crazy?’ I say. ‘We’re losing guests every day. Can’t you be nice to them? Don’t you care about The Ponderosa?’

  ‘You didn’t help me with possum duty this morning,’ Nathan replies.

  ‘I had to help my girlfriend.’

  ‘Then apparently you don’t care about The Ponderosa either.’

  Chastened, I go to the office to see if I can do anything to help out. Two more guests – the mother and father whose children thought Grandma might be a witch – are having a heated conversation with my parents. Even though they are angry, they still look like wide-eyed tarsiers from Borneo.