'Good morning, young man,' the old woman said cheerfully, in a thick accent but very precise English. 'Do you have a moment for us to talk to you about the coming of the Lord?'
They were God-botherers. The cheap acrylic cardigans and the determined defensive politeness were a dead giveaway. Probably Joeys. The Mormons were always men in white shirts and thin black ties. Jehovah's Witnesses were usually women.
Danny looked past them. Why wasn't he here yet? They were going to be late.
He would have liked to slam the door in their faces. But he knew he couldn't, his mother wouldn't allow it. 'Don't let them in,' she had counselled all her children since they were toddlers. 'Don't let them in, don't listen to their God-bothering, but be polite to them. You must always ask them if they'd like a drink.'
He was surly as he asked, 'Would you like some water?'
The young woman nodded gratefully. 'Thank you, that's very kind.'
The old woman started to walk inside but he raised a hand in warning. 'Please stay here.'
His mother stopped her sewing and took off her earphones.
'They're Joeys,' he said. 'I think they're your lot.'
His mother attempted to flick his behind with her measuring tape. But she was laughing. 'I am not a Joey anymore,' she said.
'I haven't been one for a long time, mister.'
Danny had two glasses of water. 'I didn't mean that,' he called. 'I think they're Greeks.'
The old woman took three small sips and handed back the glass. The young woman gulped down all of hers.
'Have you heard about the Lord?' the old woman began. 'Have you heard about Jesus Christ?'
'Yes,' answered Danny shortly, 'I have and I'm not interested.'
He kicked shut the door behind him and fell back onto the couch, trying to concentrate on the sitcom.
He couldn't sit still. He heard a car, he was sure he could hear a car parking outside. This time it had to be him.
'Mum, he's here.'
She couldn't hear him. He rushed into the kitchen, pressed the stop button on the Walkman.
'He's here.'
'Well, go and invite him in.'
It was the first time Frank Torma had been to Danny's house, the first time the Coach had seen where Danny lived.
Danny was speechless when he opened the door. The Coach was wearing a shirt, a red one that was too snug for his balloon belly; patches of white singlet were visible where the shirt was gaping between the buttons. He was wearing a red shirt and black trousers and held a small box wrapped in white paper. Danny had never seen the Coach in civvies, never out of trackpants. All he could think to do was reach out to accept the gift.
Coach wouldn't let him have it. 'It's not for you,' he said, but there was a lightness to his voice showing he wasn't annoyed. 'Well, Mr Kelly,' he continued, 'are you going to let me in?'
Regan was sitting up straight now, and she nodded to the Coach as Danny introduced them. His mother stepped forward, holding out her hand in greeting, and Coach took it but he also leaned in and kissed her, first on one cheek, then the other. Danny could see that his mother was surprised by the first kiss but that she readily accepted the second.
The Coach handed her the wrapped parcel. 'These are some pisk'ta and some kr'mes,' he said diffidently, a little embarrassed. 'They are Hungarian sweets.'
Danny's mother was delighted. She gave the Coach another two quick pecks on his cheeks and he blushed. He seemed taller somehow, larger now that he was in Danny's house. He seemed too big for their small living room.
'Are you ready, Danny?'
'I've just got to pack his suit and we're done. Please take a seat,' insisted Danny's mother. 'And can I please get you a drink?'
Can I please get you a drink? She was trying too hard, being fake.
Coach shook his head. 'Thank you but no. The other boy will be arriving at my house in just under an hour. We must be off as soon as we can.'
Wilco. The other boy was Wilco. Now it was Wilco and Kelly, they were the only ones left. Scooter had started VCE and made the decision he would never be a champion. He was no longer training. And Fraser was at the Australian Institute of Sport, and Morello, well, he had always been useless, he hadn't come close to qualifying. Nor had Taylor. It was Wilco and Kelly going to Brisbane.
Oh, how he wished it could still be Taylor and Kelly. That was what it should be.
His mother returned with the small black suitcase she had bought especially for the occasion. She was about to hand it to her son but Frank Torma took it from her.
'Thank you so much for coming and picking up Danny. I know it is very much out of your way.'
'It is not a problem at all, Mrs Kelly.'
'Please call me Stephanie. Mrs Kelly makes me sound very old.'
Now she sounded like his mum again. There was an uncomfortable moment of silence, and then the Coach said quickly, 'And yes, please, please call me Frank.'
His mother came up to Danny, rested her head on his shoulder. 'Oh baby, I wish I could be there.' She smiled up at the Coach. 'He looks so handsome in his suit, he's going to be the most handsome boy in that opening ceremony.'
Danny pulled away from her, mortified. 'Just shut up, Mum, don't say a word.'
Then the Coach did something unexpected. The Coach winked at him and smiled back at his mother. 'Yes, I am sure he will be.'
Danny had to get out of the house right now. He swiftly kissed his mother goodbye and then leaned down to give Regan an awkward squeeze, told her to tell Theo that there would be another medal for his collection when he got back from camp.
The strength of Regan's responding hug took him by surprise. 'Good luck, mate,' she whispered.
She felt lumpy, she was getting fat.
As they walked to the car, he turned to the Coach and said, politely, carefully, 'Thank you, Mr Torma, for picking me up.'
Did he sound fake?
'It's OK,' said Frank. 'As I said to your mother, I am happy to do so.'
As soon as the Coach opened the door, Danny rushed past him and straight into the front bedroom, straight to his room. It was really the Coach's bedroom, but when the squad were staying over it was always Danny's room. He placed his suitcase on the bed and looked around to make sure nothing had changed since the last time. There was the double bed, the wardrobe with the thin mirrored panel down one side, and the white chest of drawers next to the bed, on top of which sat the one photograph in the room, the one of Coach's elderly parents, the stern, sad-looking couple. As always, the Coach had vacuumed and dusted the room, had changed the bedding, in preparation for the boy's visit; it was tidy and immaculately clean. Danny pushed his suitcase aside and lay down on the bed, dangling his feet over the edge so his sneakers wouldn't dirty the blanket. He stared up at the high ceiling, a sea of pressed iron panels painted white, except for the central plaster rosette in the middle of which hung the red cubed lamp. Danny couldn't touch the ceiling, even standing on the bed; he tried every time: it was that high. There was space in Frank Torma's house; he wouldn't ever feel trapped in that house.
It wasn't huge or ostentatious like the Taylors' house, the other boys' houses. There was space but it wasn't extravagant, you didn't get lost in it.
He heard his name being called. Danny smoothed the creased blanket and rushed down to the kitchen.
The Coach had ordered pizzas and told Danny to wait for Wilco while he went to pick them up. As soon as Coach was gone, Danny opened the fridge and found a salami. He cut five thick slices off it and gobbled them up hungrily. He wandered into the lounge room, flicked through the scattering of CDs. He was sure that the last time he was there Beethoven's Fifth Symphony was the disc in the player. He turned on the stereo, pressed a button and the CD holder slid out. He read the black lettering on the silver face of the disc. Again, it was Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. Danny didn't know if this meant the Coach listened to it all the time or that the Coach hadn't listened to music since the last time Danny was there. They'd watched television, movies, eaten pizza and played cards at Coach's house. But they'd never listened to music.