He wished then that Martin was with him, that they could just walk and talk, disappearing together. And if not Martin, then Luke. But they would never wag, they wouldn't have the guts. He was braver and tougher than them. He could call Demet, she could wag, they were slack at her school. But now even Demet probably wouldn?t wag, not in their final year, she?d become a swot, always studying, wanting to get into uni. Like Martin and Luke. It was just him, alone and disappearing, conquering the city.
If only Martin could have wagged; it would have been so good to be free in the city with Martin, just the two of them, walking side by side.
Thinking of Martin reminded him that he had to get that present for Emma's birthday.
For the longest time it pierced him right through his gut and into the heart to think of Emma. That was the price of failure, he told himself, having to let go of someone like Emma. Of course it was foolish, she was older than him, had already nearly finished university, but the four years wouldn't have mattered if he had won the gold, if he had been the best and the strongest. But he had failed her. So it would never be. He had nothing to offer, he knew that. She was perfect and he knew that he didn't deserve her. She belonged to the other Danny. She was a bird, flying high above him, while he was fixed, stuck to the ground. She belonged to the sky, not to the earth.
The city broke into sound and colour and smelclass="underline" the heavy pulsing beat of techno blaring from a two-dollar shop; the dull grey of the asphalt; the sharp smell of spice and grease from the noodle shops. Dan wasn't walking aimlessly anymore. Now he had a purpose.
He found the perfect gift for her in David Jones. It was a simple white porcelain plate with a blue finch etched on it. It was delicate, it was brittleness itself; he would be scared to hold it in his hands. Dan didn't even look at the price tag, he already knew he couldn't afford it. He didn't even look around to see whether anyone was watching him; he couldn't hesitate or show caution. No one called after him, no one ran to stop him. He crossed the tram tracks and headed into an arcade, his heart still pounding. The thrill of it was intoxicating. For a moment, one brief, blissful moment, he felt like the other Danny again.
He didn't take the train this time: in a rush to return, still elated from the theft, he risked the trams. He was running to catch a connecting tram when he bumped into two boys. They were not from his school, they were from another private school, with different stripes across their blazers. They were from the school that his school was always trying to beat, the school his school hated. Dan knew it was a Catholic school, and that for some reason part of hating them was because they were Catholic, though it didn't make much sense because there were Catholic boys at his own school, who were always getting teased about priests fucking them. As he ran past, Dan accidentally knocked his elbow into the hip of one of the boys, who stumbled, then turned and called out something that Dan couldn't quite catch. The tram had stopped but Dan ignored it. He knew what he had to do.
'What did you say?' he demanded.
'I said, watch where you're going, dickhead.'
The other boy nudged his mate, whispered something.
'I know you,' said the first boy. Then he grinned, mean and sly. 'You're that cry-baby, aren't you? That loser swimmer. But then you're all cry-babies at that faggot school you go to.'
Dan had to tell himself, Not now, had to quiet the scream in his head. He couldn?t do it now, out in the open. But it was a screaming in his head: I am going to kill you, cunt, I am going to tear you apart.
All he said was the name of the park and the time to meet there after school. The other boy was nervous now, both the other boys were, but Dan knew that neither of them could back down. Another tram pulled up and Dan went to catch it. 'Five o'clock,' he yelled again. 'I'll be there.' And he added, ecstatic, the word a thrill on his lips, 'Cunt.'
A woman threw him a look of hatred and contempt. He didn't care. He wasn't in uniform.
Except that, sitting in the tram, catching his breath, the word repeated endlessly in his head: cry-baby. That was what he was, and the punch of his failure floored him so violently that he could barely breathe. His skin was flame and his hands trembled and the blood throbbed so hard in his head that he couldn't see and the wretched memories came back, they would never leave him alone. He sat, burning, the shame so intense he thought he could burst into flames.
He thought he had got away with it but as he was about to sneak back into the school he heard his name barked out. He instantly recognised the hard consonants and chopped vowels.
He forced his face to go blank. He didn't want the man to know how much he hated him.
'Where have you been?' Coach was running across the road towards him. Dan couldn't help marvelling at how his enormous belly was so tight that it didn't shake. Was it possible for it all to be muscle?
The man was in his face, repeating the question. 'Where have you been?'
Nothing came to Dan. 'I was wagging.'
The man's shoulders slumped. 'Boy, this is your final year, your grades are not good. What are you doing?'
Dan's first thought was, What business is it of yours? Then, immediately following it: How do you know and why would you care?
'Danny, I want to talk to you.'
'Am I in trouble?'
'I said I want to talk to you.'
'Am I in trouble?' You failed me. I didn't fail, you failed me.
'You stupid boy, don't you know they are looking for any excuse to let you go?'
That's because I'm a failure, that's because I'm no good.
'Am I in trouble?' He was enjoying repeating the question, enjoying seeing how much it was annoying Coach. The man's face was purple now, he was showing teeth. That's what we are, thought Dan, two dogs who want to tear each other to pieces.
Then the man's face slackened, suddenly devoid of expression. 'Go. Go back.'
Does he want me to thank him for not reporting me? Dan wondered. I'm not going to fucking thank him. Dan put his hands in his pockets, felt the smooth cold surface of the saucer. 'OK, I'm going.'
'Danny.' The man stopped him. His words were all effort, as if he was ashamed of them. 'My offer stands. If you want me to train you again, I will. If you want to come around and talk to me, about anything, I am happy to help. You are always welcome in my home.'
The man was waiting. Eagerly. Like a dog hanging out for a bone.
Dan said quietly, purposefully, 'Mr Torma, you know those pizzas you always ordered for us? The ones you reckoned were so fantastic, the best in the world? They're no good, sir, they stink, sir, all us boys thought so. We lied to you. We really hated those pizzas.'
It had just come out of nowhere, from deep inside him, and it was exactly the right thing. How had he not thought of it before? The fat fool was gutted, as though Dan had kinghit him, he was blinking, speechless. Dan had wanted to yell at him, but this was better. Smarter. No swearing, no losing his temper. Just putting the fat fool in his place. The shame he'd felt on the tram, the disgrace of who he was, all of it disappeared; he wanted to roar with laughter as he ran along the side of the school grounds, scaled the fence into the ovals, ran down to the river and changed his clothes. He just made the bell for the start of English. Martin winked at him as he took his seat. Luke's face was pure relief.
It was a double period, two hours of English, and Dan was concentrating. Mr Gilbert was his teacher, and he had always liked the man; he sometimes thought Mr Gilbert was the only teacher who liked him in turn, who forgave Dan for constantly fucking up. They were studying Life of Galileo and though Dan didn't raise his hand or ask any questions, he enjoyed following the reading of the play. He found that the words calmed him. He knew that it was strange to get such stillness from the words, he should have been feeling outrage for what they did to a man who was the best and the smartest man of his time. What they did was unconscionable. It was the word that Mr Gilbert had used and it was exactly the right word. He thought that it was all fantasy, he knew that was not how words worked in the real world. He felt pity for poor Galileo, speaking the truth and then being forced to speak lies. Accepting ignominy, another one of Mr Gilbert's words. That was what happened to the best and the wisest. The world hated them and forced them into cowardice, forced them to lie.