Tom Jones Saves the World

  and when she rode on the bike

  she held me tight

  and I’d want to ride forever

  just me and Helen

  through the countryside

  feeling the wind in our faces

  smelling the grass.

  I thought I’d never grow old, Tom,

  never,

  not with Helen beside me.”

  Chapter Six

  GOBBLEDEGOOK, AND THE HISTORY OF TOM’S FAMILY

  Cleo

  Tom and me—

  sorry,

  Tom and I are friends.

  He worked out

  why I’m called Cleo

  and he understands

  strange parents

  and he’s almost as fast as me

  on a bike

  and maybe this year

  school won’t be so bad

  without the mad scientists,

  also known as Mum and Dad.

  Gobbledegook

  “Dad, tell me about Grandpa Jones?”

  “Thomas, I do not wish

  to indulge in history

  which I find repugnant

  and exceedingly unpleasant.”

  “Okay, he was unpleasant at the funeral,

  but he is your Dad.”

  “Cease this aimless dialogue.

  Memory and emotion combined

  make for poor digestion, and

  I can smell your Mother’s cooking.”

  “How’s your bottle top collection, Dad?”

  “Bountiful in the extreme Thomas.

  It is a pleasure to behold.”

  Dead Parent Wish # 8 coming up.

  The history of Arnie and Grandpa Jones

  After dinner

  I wash the dishes.

  Barbara the belly dancer

  tells me about

  Dad and Grandpa Jones

  and how they haven’t

  spoken for years,

  apart from the drunken “hello”

  at Aunt Ella’s funeral.

  Mum says it makes her sad

  and she’s sure

  it makes Dad unhappy as well.

  I look out

  the kitchen window

  to the backyard

  and the camellias

  and I think

  Grandpa

  and me

  are both

  surrounded

  by walls

  we’d love to

  knock down.

  Thick shakes

  Years ago

  in our old town

  Dad would meet me

  after school on Friday

  and we’d walk

  to the milk bar.

  We’d both order the same—

  hamburger with the works

  and a vanilla thick shake

  with a triple scoop of ice-cream.

  We’d sit outside

  on the plastic chairs

  under the wattle trees

  and it would take me

  an hour to drink the shake

  it was so thick.

  Dad didn’t mind.

  He’d sit there

  undo his tie

  put his feet up on the fence

  and watch me slurp the shake.

  That was in our old town.

  Uncle Robert, the pop-star

  Ruth: We like Cleo’s friend, Tom.

  Robert: He has good manners.

  Ruth: He ate all the dinner I cooked last night.

  Robert: He even had a second helping.

  Ruth: He didn’t eat your banana and spinach cake.

  Robert: No one did. Not even the dog.

  Ruth: I’m glad Cleo has a friend.

  Robert: I’m her friend too.

  Ruth: Yes, but you’re very old, dear.

  I’m glad she has a friend her own age.

  Robert: They go to school together.

  Ruth: And they help each other with homework.

  Robert: He doesn’t say much about his parents.

  He keeps talking about his Grandpa.

  Ruth: It’s nice to see a boy interested in old people.

  Robert: I wonder if Tom was named after the singer,

  Tom Jones?

  Ruth: Who?

  Robert: Tom Jones. The singer. You know...

  “Why, why, why, Delilah,

  why, why, why, Delilah,

  I could see she was no good for me,

  Delilah.”

  Ruth: Oh please stop! You sing as badly as you cook!

  Chapter Seven

  CLEO, THE GENIUS

  Cleo’s bright idea # 2

  Yes, it’s Maths again.

  I look across at Tom,

  he smiles back.

  On the bus this morning

  he told me all about

  his Dad

  and his Grandpa,

  and how they don’t talk.

  All his Dad does is work

  and collect bottle tops.

  ...That’s it!

  Bottle tops!

  Tom, bottle tops, and Cleo the genius

  I walk around

  looking at the ground

  in search of bottle tops.

  I’ve walked into one tree

  and two rubbish bins so far!

  Luckily, no one saw me.

  All this week

  Cleo and I

  search the bushes

  near the bus stop

  and on Saturday

  we’re going to Murchison Creek

  to look for bottle tops

  instead of yabbies!

  Cleo’s new plan

  will work.

  I hope.

  Cleo’s letter

  Dear Mum and Dad,

  Thanks very much for the mummified camel bone you sent. I’m sure everyone at school will be impressed. Did I tell you I’ve made a friend—his name is Tom, and he lives near Aunt Ruth and Uncle Robert. He goes to school with me, and we go fishing for yabbies on the weekend. Yesterday, the Principal, Mr Freeman, who’s a bit short-sighted, called out my name at Assembly, only he said, “Student of the Week is Leo Langins.” Everyone laughed.

  Can you do me a favour? While I really loved the camel-bone, if you should buy any Chinese beer, could you send the bottle tops to me? It’s for a school project. That would be great. Well, I’d better go. Aunt Ruth likes me to help Uncle Robert when he cooks. She says he needs all the help he can get.

  See you.

  love

  Cleo

  Long and loud

  Cleo is on one side

  of Murchison Creek,

  I’m on the other.

  We’re walking from Brady Lane

  down to the train line,

  searching for bottle tops.

  Every time Cleo finds one

  she does a little victory dance

  holding a bottle top over her head

  like a trophy.

  I can’t help but laugh.

  I see a shiny new Fosters top

  at my feet.

  I pick it up,

  call to Cleo,

  then I run a few steps

  and try a backward somersault,

  like I’ve seen the footballers

  do on TV,

  only the paddock is uneven

  and I lose my footing

  and land flat on my back

  halfway through the

  perfect somersault.

  Cleo calls my name,

  scrambles over the logs

  in Murchison Creek

  and runs to me.

  I hold the bottle top high

  as I lie here in the
long grass.

  Cleo falls beside me

  and we laugh

  long and loud,

  holding a stupid bottle top high.

  Tom’s bottle top collection

  One Tasmanian Hahn Beer top.

  Two Coopers tops.

  Four Fosters Light-Ice tops.

  Fifty-five Tooheys Blue tops. (Grandpa drinks Tooheys!)

  One bottle top so rusted we’re not sure it is a bottle top.

  Three Bundaberg Ginger Beer tops

  and yesterday

  Cleo gave me a plastic bag

  with

  Twenty-two Tsingtao tops from China!

  I was so excited I kissed her!

  Then we both just stood there

  outside the gates to Pacific Palms

  not knowing what to do next

  but luckily Cleo smiled

  and punched me on the arm,

  not hard.

  I punched her back.

  I think she likes me.

  Exclusive?

  Five thousand, six hundred and eighty-two metres!

  Over five and a half kilometres.

  That’s how long

  the wall is.

  Cleo and I

  stand outside Mr Smith’s office

  as he talks about

  his favourite subject.

  Two metres high.

  Over twenty-eight thousand stone bricks.

  And the gates

  are made of

  tubular steel

  with bronze letters

  PACIFIC PALMS

  in case we’ve forgotten

  where we live.

  Mr Smith shows us

  the closed-circuit cameras

  mounted on the wall.

  “No one gets in here

  without me seeing them.

  How’s that for safety?”

  He smiles proudly.

  “Just like a prison.”

  Cleo replies.

  “Not a prison, my girl.

  A suburb.

  A resort.

  An exclusive village.

  A community.”

  Chapter Eight

  BARBARA, TO THE RESCUE!

  Mercy Gardens calls

  “Hello.”

  “Hello, can I speak to

  a Mr Tom Jones please?”

  “Yeah, that’s me.”

  “Oh. My name’s Betty.

  I’m from Mercy Gardens Retirement Home.

  I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you.”

  “Grandpa!

  Is Grandpa all right?”

  “Well, yes. I mean Mr Jones has had a stroke,

  and been confined to bed.

  I was asked to contact you.

  I’m sure he’ll be okay.

  He just can’t walk for a while.”

  “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.

  Bye.”

  “Wait...”

  Grandpa

  I didn’t think the escape hatch

  would be so useful.

  I tell Mum I have to visit Cleo—

  a homework project I forgot.

  Then I run, as fast as I can,

  across the paddock,

  and over the rail bridge.

  The creek is a dark shadow below.

  The lady at the front desk

  says it isn’t visiting time

  but I ignore her

  and run up the stairs

  to Grandpa’s room.

  I make it inside

  before the Nurse sees me

  and I rush to Grandpa’s bed.

  He’s asleep.

  He looks really pale

  and as he sleeps

  his top lip quivers

  like he’s trying to talk

  but no words are coming out.

  I sit on the chair

  and I hold Grandpa’s hand.

  He grunts, still asleep,

  and his top lip stops trembling.

  Tom’s dream

  Grandpa is young

  and clean-shaven.

  He’s wearing a leather jacket

  and black pants.

  He’s sitting on a motorbike

  revving it real loud.

  Dad comes outside

  hands over his ears

  saying,

  “Quiet that deafening cacophony!”

  I stand on the footpath

  near Grandpa’s bike.

  Grandpa keeps smiling.

  Dad says,

  “Thomas, I forbid you

  to entertain the notion

  of travelling on such a machine.”

  I turn and jump on

  the back of Grandpa’s motorbike.

  Grandpa revs full-throttle

  and we race down Cherrywood Avenue

  without looking back.

  Slow and steady

  I wake

  still holding Grandpa’s hand.

  His eyes are open

  and they seem to be smiling.

  Can eyes smile?

  I know he can’t talk

  so I just say

  “Hi, Grandpa.”

  His eyes smile again

  then he goes back to sleep

  while I sit here

  watching him breathe

  slow,

  slow and steady.

  Barbara to the rescue

  I must have dozed off again

  and I wake

  with Mum’s hand on my shoulder.

  She’s standing beside a nurse.

  I look at Grandpa,

  he’s sleeping.

  I whisper to Mum

  that I’m not leaving,

  not until morning

  when he wakes

  and I can tell him

  that I have to go home.

  I tell Mum

  I’m not going to let Grandpa

  wake up alone.

  Mum looks at the nurse

  who nods

  and says

  “It’s okay, I’ll keep an eye on them both.”

  Mum leans down

  and kisses me

  and she says,

  “I told Dad you were at Cleo’s.

  I’ll say I let you stay there

  for the night, okay?”

  As Mum and the nurse leave the room

  I realise

  I may have to take back some of

  my Dead Parent Wishes!

  Two secrets

  It’s brilliant sunshine

  with magpies calling

  in the fir trees as I walk

  through the gates of Mercy Gardens

  on the way home.

  Grandpa was sitting up in bed

  when I left, and he winked

  as I waved goodbye

  and closed the door.

  I walk home, slowly,

  making sure I arrive after

  Dad has left for work.

  Mum is sitting at the kitchen table.

  Over breakfast

  I tell her

  all about my visits to Grandpa

  and how nice he is

  when he isn’t drunk

  and how he’s giving up drinking

  and my visits are helping him.

  I need Mum

  to understand that.

  I have to keep visiting him

  and she can’t tell Dad

  because

  Arnold wouldn’t understand.

  Arnold only understands

  big words, and figures, and bottle tops.

  Mum says that isn’t true,

  but I plead with her

  not to tell him.

  I promise I’ll get all my homework done

  and all my household jobs finished

  if only she’ll let me keep visiting Grandpa.

  She nods “yes”,

  and I hug her,
tight,

  and I say she’s a great Mum,

  and

  she’s a great belly dancer too.

  She blushes beetroot-red

  and we both laugh

  at our two secrets.

  Tom

  The nurse says

  it may take a few days

  before Grandpa can talk again.

  She says he’s recovering well.

  She says I’m a good grandson

  to visit him so often.

  I don’t know what to say.

  I’ve been visiting Grandpa

  every afternoon this week.

  I only stay a while.

  I have to be home before Dad.

  Grandpa sits up in bed

  and I tell him

  about Mum’s belly dancing

  and how Cleo and I

  are really good friends

  and when he gets better

  we have a plan

  to make him popular with Dad.

  Grandpa looks a little confused

  and I’m kind of glad

  he can’t talk

  because at least

  he can’t say “no”

  to our plan!

  Whose letter?

  Cleo and I

  are working on her computer.

  We’re writing a letter to Dad,

  only it’s not going to be signed

  by me, or Cleo.

  It’s going to be from Grandpa.

  This is what we’ve written so far.

  Dear Arnold,

  I hope you don’t mind me writing to you

  but I thought I’d better say something about

  all the bottle tops I’ve included in this package.

  Your son, Tom, told me about your collection when I spoke