Pizza Cake Page 2

  Mum and Dad didn’t look like they were too upset by that.

  Not as upset as they were by the sudden thought Mum had.

  ‘We should have recorded that segment,’ Mum wailed.

  I didn’t mind we hadn’t, because I knew I’d never forget it.

  Specially the last shot of Ms Fosdyke smiling, her kind eyes shining and her expertly-whitened teeth gleaming. I know about that stuff because Dad’s best friend is a tiler.

  On the screen you couldn’t see who she was smiling at.

  She was smiling at me.

  Thanks, Ms Fosdyke.

  Whatever they pay you in the future, you’re worth every cent.

  Pizza Cake

  The changing room looks like a battlefield. Not one of those battlefields you see in old war photos.

  A cricket battlefield.

  Glenn can hardly bear to look. He forces himself to. This is his team and they’re in pain. Most of them are either slumped on the benches groaning, or lying on the floor thinking about groaning.

  It’ll be his turn in about ten minutes.

  ‘That bowler should be banned,’ mutters Daisy Taylor, one of the openers. She’s holding a damp bunched-up towel to her forehead.

  ‘There should be a law against people in year six bowling that fast,’ says Stefano Priori, batsman number three, hugging his bruised arm. ‘Bowling that fast isn’t natural. I reckon that kid’s mum gives him steroids. And I bet he’s got one of those exercise machines from daytime TV.’

  The rest of the Dudley Park Primary School team murmur their agreement from the floor.

  Outside on the oval there’s another explosion of cheering. Glenn sighs. More delight from the St Catherine’s Primary School parents and players. Another wicket down. And probably another Dudley Park batsman down too.

  Only numbers eight, nine and ten to go, thinks Glenn nervously. And then it’s my turn.

  ‘Come on, Dougal,’ he says. ‘You’re number eight.’

  Dougal McCoy stands up, his pads only half-buckled, flaps across the changing room and locks himself in the toilet.

  ‘Dougal,’ groans Glenn. ‘You can’t do that now.’

  Mr Leung comes in with his arm round Desiree Walsh’s shoulders. Desiree, number seven, is limping. And crying.

  ‘She’ll be OK,’ says Mr Leung. ‘She fell on her wicket.’

  ‘I was pushed,’ sobs Desiree. ‘By the ball.’

  Glenn gives Desiree a sympathetic look and a damp bunched-up towel.

  Easy for teachers to talk about being OK, thinks Glenn. Teachers don’t have cricket balls hurtling towards them at four hundred kilometres an hour.

  ‘Mr Leung,’ he says out loud. ‘I think we should declare.’

  Mr Leung stares at Glenn, speechless for a second. But only a second.

  ‘Dudley Primary does not declare,’ says Mr Leung. ‘Specially not at six for thirteen.’

  Glenn wants to remind Mr Leung that cricket is meant to be fun rather than life-threatening. But Mr Leung is already asking who’s batting next.

  There’s a silence.

  Dougal’s plaintive voice comes from behind the toilet door.

  ‘I’ve got the squirts.’

  Mr Leung frowns.

  ‘Somebody has to go in next,’ he says.

  He looks around the changing room. So does Glenn.

  Ralph Watson (number nine) is hiding behind the swimming floaties. Mia Katsiannis (number ten) is pretending she’s already batted and has been knocked unconscious.

  ‘I’ll bat next,’ says Glenn.

  He starts buckling his pads on.

  If somebody has to go in, he thinks grimly, it might as well be me. At least I’ve got something the others haven’t.

  Mr Leung gives him a not-very-encouraging look. Glenn knows what Mr Leung is thinking. Glenn Gershwin, number eleven, worst batsman in the team. Won’t even last one ball.

  ‘Go on then,’ says Mr Leung. ‘Get it over with.’

  As Glenn leaves the changing room, he sees the team are all watching him. A couple (numbers nine and ten) are giving him grateful looks. Most of the others are staring at him as if he’s mad.

  ‘Just try and get your bat behind the ball,’ says Mr Leung.

  Thank you Mr Leung, thinks Glenn as he heads towards the smirking St Catherine’s parents and players. I wouldn’t have thought of that.

  Glenn takes his time walking to the middle of the oval, partly to give his hands a chance to stop shaking and partly so he can finish chewing.

  He reaches the wicket, swallows, takes guard with his bat, and squints down the pitch at the bowler.

  Who is big.

  Very big.

  Stefano’s right, thinks Glenn. That kid’s mum is giving him something. Steroids, vitamins, organic beef, something.

  The bowler takes a very long run-up.

  Glenn takes a very deep breath.

  He tells himself to remember Grandad.

  Be brave, he thinks. Don’t step back. Don’t try to get out of the way of the ball.

  The ball hurtles out of the bowler’s hand. Sally Pung (number six) turns away at the other end as if she can’t bear to look.

  Glenn takes a step forward. The ball thunders into the centre of his bat. Shock waves shudder up his arms.

  The ball rolls along the pitch back towards the bowler, who looks stunned that Glenn isn’t on the ground, bleeding.

  Cheers erupt from the Dudley Park parents.

  Glenn starts breathing again.

  That wasn’t so bad.

  The next ball is even faster. Glenn takes a bigger step forward. The ball snicks off the edge of the bat. Glenn closes his eyes, waiting for delighted yells from the fielders after he’s been caught. But the only delighted yells come from the Dudley parents.

  Glenn turns and sees the ball rolling over the boundary line.

  Four runs.

  The bowler is glaring so hard his eyebrows look like they’re joined. He turns and walks back for an even longer run-up.

  Glenn smiles to himself. Thanks to Grandad, this isn’t so hard after all.

  ‘Pizza cake,’ he whispers to himself.

  After the match, as Glenn is walking home, Dougal catches him up.

  ‘You were amazing,’ says Dougal. ‘Seventeen not out. Top scorer. Amazing.’

  Dougal is bouncing with excitement, despite the lump on his forehead.

  Glenn glances at Dougal’s shining eyes, concerned. He hopes it’s just enthusiasm rather than concussion.

  ‘You were amazing too,’ says Glenn. ‘Mine were mostly lucky runs. Your four runs were great.’

  ‘They weren’t really runs,’ says Dougal. ‘They’re called leg byes when the ball bounces off your head and goes to the boundary.’

  ‘They’re still runs,’ says Glenn. ‘We wouldn’t have won without them.’

  ‘We wouldn’t have won without your amazing fielding,’ says Dougal. ‘Nine catches. How brave were you, fielding so close to their batsmen.’

  ‘It’s called silly point,’ says Glenn, starting to feel a bit embarrassed by Dougal’s praise.

  ‘I’d call it fearless point,’ says Dougal. ‘You totally messed with their minds, standing less than a metre away from them.’

  Glenn doesn’t say anything.

  He wants to change the subject before Dougal starts asking how he manages to be so brave. But before he can, Dougal’s face drops.

  ‘I wish I was as brave as you,’ says Dougal.

  ‘You were very brave,’ says Glenn. ‘After you dropped those four catches, you didn’t cry or go home or anything. You stayed on the pitch and stopped the ball several times with your body.’

  ‘I was trying to duck,’ mutters Dougal, rubbing his ribs. ‘I wasn’t as brave as you.’

  ‘Hey, it’s the weekend tomorrow,’ says Glenn, changing the subject. ‘Doing anything good?’

  Dougal looks even gloomier.

  ‘Tomorrow morning,’ he says, ‘I’ve got to do the
scariest thing in my life.’

  Glenn looks at him.

  He wonders what the scariest thing in Dougal’s life could be. Going round to the big bowler’s place and demanding money for medical treatment?

  Probably not.

  ‘My nan died on Tuesday,’ says Dougal. ‘Her funeral’s tomorrow morning. I’ve got to stand up in front of everybody in a big church and talk about her.’

  ‘That’s tough,’ says Glenn. ‘It’s hard to get words out when you’re feeling really sad.’

  ‘It’s not the sad words that’s worrying me,’ says Dougal. ‘It’s the huge crowd I have to say them to.’

  Glenn nods. He understands about public speaking. He had to introduce a visiting author on stage once in front of the whole school, and it was the scariest experience of his life.

  Or it would have been without his secret weapon.

  ‘I loved Nan and I want to do a good job,’ Dougal is saying. ‘But hundreds of people will be looking at me and I’ll probably panic and I won’t be able to speak and if they start laughing I might try to run outside but I’ll probably pick the wrong door and get wedged behind the christening font and they’ll have to get the fire brigade to rescue me and I’ll be on the national news and everyone at school will be laughing too.’

  Dougal stops and holds onto a fence for a moment. Glenn isn’t sure if Dougal is out of breath or dizzy with fear. Probably both.

  Poor bloke.

  For a moment Glenn is tempted to tell Dougal his secret. The secret of being brave. But what if Dougal thinks it’s stupid? What if he laughs or scoffs? And what if, after that, the secret doesn’t work any more?

  What then?

  ‘I’ll never be as brave as you,’ says Dougal sadly. ‘When you were fielding at fearless point, you weren’t wearing extra padding or anything. You were completely unprotected.’

  ‘Not completely,’ says Glenn. ‘I did have some protection.’

  What am I doing? he thinks. I’m telling Dougal my secret.

  ‘The plastic thing over your goolies?’ says Dougal. ‘That doesn’t count. Everyone has that. I had two on when I was batting.’

  Glenn shakes his head.

  ‘My protection was in my back pocket,’ he says.

  Dougal stares at him for a moment, puzzled.

  ‘Bandaids?’ says Dougal.

  Glenn shakes his head again.

  Tell him, he says to himself. Dougal’s your friend. He needs your help.

  ‘Pizza,’ says Glenn.

  Dougal stares at the old photo of Grandad, amazed.

  ‘Your grandfather climbed into that castle with his bare hands?’ he says. ‘While Nazis were shooting at him? And when he got inside he took them all prisoner? On his own?’

  Glenn nods.

  ‘Amazing,’ says Dougal.

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ whispers Glenn. ‘For some reason Mum doesn’t like me looking at Grandad’s photo album.’

  He glances at his bedroom door. It’s tightly shut, so with a bit of luck no noise is leaking out.

  Dougal turns the page in the album.

  ‘Wow,’ he whispers. ‘Is that a Nazi tank?’

  Glenn nods again.

  ‘Grandad invented a way of capturing tanks by jumping onto them from trees,’ he says. ‘It was so successful, all the resistance fighters in Czechoslovakia started using it.’

  Dougal’s eyes are shining as he stares at the faded photo.

  ‘Your grandad was a war hero,’ he says.

  ‘Yes,’ says Glenn quietly. ‘He was.’

  ‘No wonder you’re so brave,’ says Dougal. ‘When you were little, he probably gave you bravery lessons.’

  ‘Sort of,’ says Glenn.

  Dougal turns to the next page and stares again.

  ‘Is that your grandad up that mountain?’ he says.

  ‘When he first came to Australia after the war,’ says Glenn, ‘he went to work on a big dam in the Snowy Mountains. But because he was so brave, he spent a fair bit of time rescuing mountain climbers.’

  ‘That looks like a goat he’s carrying on his back,’ says Dougal.

  ‘And goats,’ says Glenn.

  Dougal turns the page. His eyes go even wider. Glen sees that Dougal has found the photo of Grandad swimming through rough seas towards a damaged passenger boat with a rope in his mouth.

  ‘He was a volunteer in the State Emergency Service all his life,’ says Glenn. ‘Well, not quite all his life. They made him resign when he was seventy-six.’

  ‘I wish I had somebody that brave in my family,’ says Dougal wistfully. He frowns. ‘Except I don’t understand, what’s all this got to do with pizza?’

  ‘When Grandad was very old,’ says Glenn, ‘me and him used to look at his photos together. I used to ask him how he did all these incredibly brave things. He used to just shrug and say pizza cake.’

  ‘Huh?’ says Dougal.

  ‘I couldn’t ever get him to explain exactly what he meant,’ says Glenn. ‘But after he died, I worked it out.’

  ‘Pizza cake?’ says Dougal.

  ‘Pizza cake,’ says Glenn.

  ‘What’s pizza cake?’ says Dougal.

  ‘Glenn, my man,’ says Rick.

  Glenn waits as usual while Rick wipes the flour off his hands, glances at the pizza oven to make sure nothing’s burning, and gives him a high-five.

  ‘You’re early,’ says Rick.

  Then he sees Dougal and hesitates.

  ‘It’s OK,’ says Glenn. ‘Dougal’s in on the secret.’

  Rick looks surprised, then shrugs.

  ‘Your call,’ he says. ‘You know my motto. What happens in the pizza shop stays in the pizza shop. I’m a pizza guy, not a social worker. Or a dentist. Your friends and your teeth are your business.’

  While he’s talking he grabs several lumps of pizza dough, twirls them till they’re flat, and lays them out on the pizza board.

  ‘What do you fancy?’ he says.

  ‘Same as last week, please,’ says Glenn. ‘Marshmallows, Maltesers, Mars Bars, strawberry jam and peanut butter. And on top, jelly snakes, licorice bullets, sour sucks, chocolate sultanas, dried pineapple and sugar frosties.’

  ‘You’re the boss,’ says Rick.

  Glenn hands Rick the usual supermarket bag. Rick pulls out the ingredients and starts putting them onto the pizza bases.

  ‘Wow,’ breathes Dougal. ‘Amazing.’

  ‘It’s an art,’ says Glenn.

  ‘Not many people realise that,’ says Rick.

  When the pizza bases are covered, Rick stacks them one on top of the other, adds the jelly snakes, licorice bullets, sour sucks, chocolate sultanas, dried apricots and sugar frosties, and then the final ingredient.

  ‘Is that cheese?’ says Dougal doubtfully.

  ‘Unsalted,’ says Rick. ‘It’s delicious. Trust us.’

  He puts the pizza cake into the oven.

  ‘Eight minutes,’ he says. ‘Have a seat.’

  While Glenn and Dougal wait, and Rick serves other customers, Dougal bombards Glenn with questions. Glenn doesn’t mind. He was expecting it.

  ‘How can you afford one of those every week?’ says Dougal.

  ‘Pocket money,’ says Glenn. ‘Plus I do weekend jobs for rellies.’

  ‘And you just carry it around with you?’ says Dougal. ‘Doesn’t it go mouldy?’

  ‘Sugar’s a preservative,’ says Glenn. ‘After the pizza cake’s cooled, we cut it into slices and wrap them in plastic. I always have a slice with me in case I need it.’

  ‘And,’ says Dougal, ‘when you want to be brave you just eat some?’

  Glenn nods.

  ‘Amazing,’ says Dougal. ‘How does it actually work, scientifically?’

  This is the question Glenn was hoping Dougal wouldn’t ask.

  ‘I don’t actually know, scientifically,’ says Glenn. ‘I just know it works. It used to work for Grandad and it works for me.’

  ‘Such as yesterday at cricket,’ s
ays Dougal.

  ‘Any time I need to be brave,’ says Glenn. ‘Like last weekend at a family barbie when I knew aunties would be kissing me after they’d been eating garlic. And the week before that when I had to go up onto the school roof to get my bag. Or when I have to go to the dentist. Or my cousin’s school musical. Or change our neighbour’s baby’s nappy.’

  Glenn pauses for breath. Dougal is starting to look more hopeful than Glenn has seen him look for ages.

  ‘Remember when they made me introduce the visiting author in assembly?’ says Glenn. ‘I had some pizza cake just before I went on stage and I was fine.’

  ‘I remember,’ says Dougal. ‘We couldn’t believe you did it. So it works with public speaking too?’

  ‘Definitely,’ says Glenn. ‘Have a few bites before you go to your gran’s funeral tomorrow morning and you’ll be fine.’

  Dougal stares at the pizza oven, eyes shining.

  ‘Thank you,’ he says to Glenn. ‘You’ve saved my life.’

  Glenn opens his eyes.

  He blinks a few times. He’s in bed and it’s morning. He can tell it’s morning because Mum is standing in his doorway telling him to get up.

  ‘It’s Saturday,’ mumbles Glenn.

  ‘I know it’s Saturday,’ says Mum. ‘That’s why I want you to tidy your room. So I can vacuum.’

  Glenn groans.

  Mum starts picking things up off his floor.

  Go away, Mum, pleads Glenn silently. I don’t need reminding how to tidy a room.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ he mumbles.

  Mum stops picking things up.

  But not, Glenn sees, because of what he just said. Because she’s staring at something in her hand.

  Grandad’s photo album.

  ‘Glenn,’ sighs Mum. ‘You know I don’t like you looking at this.’

  ‘I know,’ says Glenn. ‘Sorry. But they’re only photos.’

  ‘They’re more than photos,’ says Mum. ‘They’re the silly trophies of a reckless man who caused a lot of worry to the people who loved him.’

  Glenn hates it when Mum talks about Grandad like this. He was a brave hero. And her dad.

  ‘All my childhood it was the same,’ says Mum. ‘He used to come home battered and bruised, one crazy escapade after another. Every time he left the house, we thought we’d never see him again.’