Chapter 5: Moving Out, Moving in

Study group on Friday was cruisy. Robyn was excited by the news of my upcoming move to Grandma’s, and the implications of that relocation for our love life. The other girls and Aapi seemed pretty relaxed with each other and there was a little subtle flirting. Nobody provided an answer to the moments problem Robyn had posed on Monday, but Alison suggested that cutting off Walter’s dick and sticking it in his mouth would help him lie level, and we should do that before we needed to start cutting off his toes.

And she seemed like such a nice girl!

Aapi reminded us that Pauline hadn’t given us her two minute biography, and then made a show of introducing her like an emcee.

“Ladies and gentlemen - this afternoon, I offer you a treat - a unique experience – two minutes of intimate engagement with the history and current circumstances of – Pauline Miles!” He bowed and gestured. Pauline giggled.

“Thank you! Thank you! It is a pleasure and privilege to be addressing such an august gathering this afternoon.” She grinned broadly. “I particularly look forward to an intimate engagement.” I glanced at Alison. She was smiling. Pauline went on.

“Dad is a Physiotherapist, and works at Middlemore Hospital. Mum was nursing when they met, and went back to it when us kids started school. She works in a family practice in Remuera. Our family is nominally Catholic, but I only have one sibling. Kevin is eighteen months older, but he had polio when he was young and missed a year so he’s also in the fourth form, but he goes to St Pauls. That’s about the limit of the family’s commitment to the church. I think they pressured Mum and Dad to send me to St Margarets, but they knew I’d get a better education at Girls High and they ignored them - thank God!” She grinned. “I’m into drama, and I go to the AYD group on Wednesdays and Saturdays.” Alison interrupted.

“What’s AYD?”

“Sorry - Auckland Youth Drama.” Pauline paused and then went on.

“I haven’t got a boyfriend, but I was interested and horny long before I got my period. The attractive guys at drama all seem to be gay. I think the tutor wants to fuck me, but he’s twenty four, and I’m not keen on the complications. That’s about it!”

Aapi led us through an overview of the Periodic Table that was illuminating, though far ahead of the Form IV syllabus, and Mrs Thomas lingered for a while when she brought us a snack. All good. We talked about Sunday.

Pauline had an audition for an upcoming AYD production, Alison had an unspecified family commitment on Sunday morning, while Aapi had been told quite firmly that church was important, so we all agreed that Sunday was ‘off’. Robyn gave me a nudge and whispered that if the study group was ‘off’, perhaps something else might be ‘on’.

We had planned to move me to the Kerrs in the weekend, but there wasn’t much to move, and so very soon after I got home, we squeezed the three of us, two suitcases and a couple of butter boxes into our car. Mum was a bit sad and reflective – her ‘baby’ was leaving home. Well sort of. Dad was both grumpy and guilty about his grumpiness. His mother-in-law was moving in, she would need full time nursing, and his wife’s energy and attention was going to be spread. He judged himself and withdrew into moody silence.

Of course at the time, I understood very little of this, and in my adolescent selfishness, cared less. The move put me one step closer to independent adulthood, with a room in Frank’s house, condoms, shove ups, and a temporary girlfriend to use them with. I kept my excitement and satisfaction under control, and was suitably serious when Mum emphasised that she and Dad were still my parents and expected me to ‘behave’ and to keep my grades up.

We all ate a late dinner together, but didn’t talk much about Grandma Henley. Her surgery had been successful, but in those days, a broken hip meant months in a cast. Most of the conversation revolved around Frank’s plans for the house. I think most of the family still had reservations about the wisdom of buying a small, old, run-down house next to the railway, and I understood why Frank had kept his intentions secret until the sale was complete. He had also felt some concern that Grandma and Grandpa Kerr might be offended about him moving out after all they had done for him over the years, but from the dinner conversation, I guessed that they were actually pleased to see him finally ‘launched’. They made a couple of indirect references to ‘settling down’, and to their desire for more grandkids.

Grandpa took me to cricket on Saturday. Mr Smythe had a surprise.

“Pad up now Kerr. I’m putting you in next.”

“Yessir. Thank you sir!”

Some of the team had their own personal gear, but the only bit I had that was mine was my box, so I put that in and sorted through the team gear bag for some suitable pads and batting gloves and a bat that felt comfortable. Then having ‘padded up”, I sat on the pavilion steps and watched the pair who had been ‘not out’ at the end of the previous Saturday’s play walking out to continue their innings. Chick Farrell was not out on seventeen.

In our grade of cricket, the playing area is never covered, and the rain during the week had softened the top half inch or so of the turf. This made batting much more difficult than it had been the previous week. When the surface is softened by rain, the ball makes a small ‘dent’ in the turf every time it lands, and it is not very long before the area in line with the stumps where most balls land becomes uneven, and so does the bounce of the ball and its change of direction as it bounces. I looked forward to bowling on it, but in the meantime, our side were faced with the problem of coping with the conditions, making the thirty runs required to overtake our opponents first innings score, and building a substantial lead fast enough to have time to bowl the other side out to win the match. Quite an ask!

Mr Smythe watched our batsmen for a few minutes, then came over to me.

“You’re not on trial at this stage Kerr. You’re in the team, so you don’t have to be worried about failing with the bat. I want you to bat aggressively. Go for it! Conditions are pretty difficult out there, so you might not survive too long. If they bowl anything loose, don’t piss about - smack it!” I nodded. “Good luck lad!”

I needed it. When Chick was eventually undone by the uneven bounce and lofted the ball to be caught in the outfield, we were still five runs behind. I took guard to face a medium pacer. His first ball came at me at about 50mph, well up to me and on the line of my off stump. I pushed forward defensively, and it seamed away off the pitch. I missed it, and it missed my stumps. Good! The next one was a gift. The bowler’s control wasn’t that good, and it was wide of the stumps and overpitched so I could reach it before it hit the turf and did anything unexpected. I played an aggressive shot, and although my timing was less than perfect, I hit it well enough to send it between the fellow fielding at ‘cover point’ (sometimes referred to as ‘foreskin’), and the guy at ‘extra cover’ (similarly labelled ‘condom’). A boundary! Four runs!

And so it went. I missed some, played some defensively, and dispatched a few bad balls to the boundary. It couldn’t last of course, and it didn’t. Eventually I missed one that moved sharply off the pitch, and didn’t even need to look around. The rattle as the ball crashed into my stumps and sent the bails flying told me all I needed to know, and I started the long walk back to the pavilion, bowled for twenty six.

I got a ‘Well done’ from Jack Gavin, and Mr Smythe seemed pleased too.

We were all out for just over two hundred, and the other side started their second innings ninety four runs behind with three and a half hours left to play. Our quick bowlers did well again. By the time our innings was finished, the softish surface of the pitch was worn and uneven, and provided a bowler kept good control of line and length, it was difficult for even a talented batsman to survive for long, let alone make lots of runs, I really wanted to bowl on that surface. Any bowler would!

When I finally got my chance, our victory was almost certain. There was still nearly an hour to play, and the opposition were seven wickets down and still three runs short of our first innings total. I bowled a couple of bad balls which were duly dispatched to the boundary, and a couple of very good ones, one of which took a wicket. I bowled three overs (18 balls), and took one wicket for twelve runs. We were left with the task of scoring twenty six for victory, with fifteen minutes of play remaining, and despite our opponent’s efforts to slow the game down and bowl and field defensively, we did that with the loss of a single wicket and three minutes to spare. A good day!

Grandpa took me to the milk bar again on the way home. I guessed he had something to say, but had no idea what it was. We licked our ice-creams in slightly uncomfortable silence. Eventually, he bit the bullet.

“You’ve moved out from home and you’re nearly fifteen, and you’ve been accepted by a team of older guys, so it’s clear that you’re growing up fast. You’re onto your second girlfriend.” He paused. I had no idea where this was going, so I just nodded, and he drew a breath and went on. “But now you’re under our roof, and I feel a certain responsibility.” I nodded again.