A sharp drilling sound ripped through his reverie. He switched off the stereo, tore down the corridor and opened the door. Wilco was standing there, looking sheepish, holding a full sports bag in one hand, his mother standing behind him.
'Hi, Danny,' he muttered. He'd had his head shaved, with a number one razor, just like Danny had. It made him look older.
'Hi, mate. Hi, Mrs Wilkinson.' He returned the kiss Wilco's mum planted on his cheek. He liked Mrs Wilkinson. She had a lean, narrow face with deep furrows in her cheeks and forehead. Her hair was thinning, grey and messy, and her teeth protruded a little. But she looked like a real mum and was always kind.
She peered down the corridor. 'Is Mr Torma here?'
'He's picking up pizza.' Danny stood to one side to let Wilco and his mother in. He was enjoying pretending it was his house, that he was welcoming guests to his home. He led them through to the kitchen.
'Oooh,' said Mrs Wilkinson, rubbing her hands, 'these old houses are so cold. Where's the heating?'
Danny was put out, he didn't want to hear the house criticised. He switched on the small white radiator on the wall behind the kitchen table.
'Good God,' Mrs Wilkinson exclaimed, going over to examine the heater. 'I haven't seen one of these since I was a girl.' She pulled her coat tighter around her body. 'That will take ages to heat up.' She smiled at Danny. 'Sweetheart, you'll freeze. Go and grab a jumper.'
'I'm alright.' And he was, he was fine in this house.
Mrs Wilkinson pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. 'I don't think anything has been done to this house for over thirty years. But it is a gorgeous little terrace, and in wonderful condition. It would cost a fortune to buy now.'
Danny warmed to her again. 'Would you like a glass of water?'
'You're right at home here, aren't you, darling?'
Danny blushed. Wilco gave him a sly grin, then turned to his mother. 'You can go.'
'I'm going to wait till Mr Torma returns, John, and then I'll go. And don't use that tone of voice with me. I always think you're bloody channelling your father when you speak like that.' She turned back to Danny. 'And yes, darling, I will have some water. Thank you.'
Danny poured water for her and another glass for Wilco. He didn't look at the boy as he handed him the glass. He knew Wilco's parents had recently divorced. He could bet that Wilco was furious at his mother, that he just wanted her to get the hell out of there. Then they heard the front door opening, and Coach's steps coming up the corridor. Danny looked over at Wilco and saw the boy's relief.
Every time Coach returned with pizzas from the Macedonian shop at the end of the street, he would roar proudly, Boys, these are the best pizzas you will ever have! He said it every time. Every time.
There were four large pizzas, one with a base of roasted eggplant topped with a layer of wafer-thin slices of potato: that was Danny's favourite. Another was covered with yogurt and mint-flavoured mince. There was a hot salami pizza, and a vegetarian one with anchovies. The boys and the man ate them ravenously. They were the best pizzas Danny had ever had.
After they'd finished eating, Danny and Wilco listened to Frank. Of course, it was all about swimming, all about the Australian Championships; of course it was, that was all that mattered, all that any of them could think about.
'You have to listen to everything I say,' he kept repeating, and they both nodded emphatically that they would.
He pointed to Danny. 'You can do it, you can win the two hundred metre butterfly, if you stay focused. If you work, it is yours.' He then pointed to Wilco. 'And the two hundred freestyle is yours if you want it. You want it?'
'Yes!' Wilco almost shouted it, pumping his fist.
'Good,' said Frank. 'Then it's yours.'
Danny wanted Coach to say something to him about the one hundred freestyle. They were his, the one hundred freestyle and the two hundred butterfly, they were both his. But Frank didn't say it.
'I'm going to win the one hundred freestyle as well,' Danny exploded. 'I'm going to win them both.'
'Yeah.' Wilco punched the air again. 'Go, Barracuda!'
But Frank was sour. 'What did I say?'
Danny didn't know what he meant.
'You promised me that you would listen to exactly everything I said. Focus on the two hundred butterfly, Kelly. That's your race.'
Danny opened his mouth then took one look at Frank's face and shut it. But he said to himself, I am going to win them both, I'm going to prove to you that I can win them both. He settled back on the sofa. He didn't hear the other boy and the man talking, he was thinking of returning home the hero, thinking of the two medals, and qualifying for the Pan Pacific Games. He was going to prove to the Coach that he could win them both.
They played a few quick rounds of gin rummy, not poker, insisted Coach, I don?t want you getting overexcited?and then he announced that it was time for bed.
?One more game?? implored Danny.
?No. We wake at four-thirty for training and then it is straight to the airport. No. It is time for bed.?
That was when Wilco asked, 'Can I sleep in the front bedroom tonight?'
Frank pointed to Danny. 'Kelly is in the front room and you have the spare room. I will sleep here on the sofa.'
Wilco bit his lip. 'Why does Danny always get the front room? I'm a year older, I'm in Year Twelve. I think I should have it.'
Danny was frantically trying to think of what to say. That he was there first, that it was his room, that it would always be his room, because he deserved it: he was the strongest, the fastest, the best. He tried to form words, but before he could speak.
The two boys stood side by side at the small bathroom sink, brushing their teeth. The room was freezing and it took an age for the tap to run warm. Wilco spat out the toothpaste, then washed his face and behind his ears. He rinsed one more time, spat, then looked at himself in the mirror. 'Mum reckons this haircut makes me look like a hooligan.'
Danny spat into the sink, ran the tap to wash it away. 'I think your mum is really nice.' He didn't know why he said that, except that it was true, Mrs Wilkinson was nice.
Wilco turned and leaned against the sink. His right eyebrow was half-cocked, as if he was sizing Danny up. 'You know, Kelly, that shit we used to say about your mum?' His next words came out in a rush. 'It was just dumb stupid kid shit, you know that, don't you? We all reckon your mum is tops, she's beautiful and really really cool. You know that? It was just dumb shit we were going on with.'
Danny pushed Wilco out of the way to rinse his toothbrush. He didn't want to be reminded of that time, of that lewd, ugly centrefold. It was a shock how the thought of it still scalded him.
He splashed water on his face, turned off the tap. 'Yeah, I know,' he answered.
Wilco surprised Danny again, tapping him on the forehead, not hard, just three soft taps. 'Goodnight, Shorty.'
This time Danny didn't mind the nickname. He knew that Wilco didn't mean any harm by it at all.
But how he wished it could be Martin and Danny, Taylor and Kelly.