Read Online The Whole of My World by Nicole Hayes - Free Book Online Page A

in an enormous circle, never choosing the same path twice, and always moving, like he’s scared to stand still.
    He used to walk when Mum was alive, but not like now. Sometimes he’ll be gone for hours, returning with his cheeks pink from the cold air, the cuffs of his pants damp from the golf course or the grassy knolls at the back of the drainpipes.
    I don’t mind walking with Dad on a Saturday. I’m scared of dogs, and there’s a particularly aggro Doberman that patrols the top end of the Finkler Reserve that Dad has rescued me from more than once. Plus, today’s game is a big one. The Falcons are playing the Panthers at Valley Park and Dad said he’d take me.
    It’s a game we used to always watch as a family. We’d circle it on the fixture every year and make sure the day was set aside for the footy. But we haven’t done it since the accident, so I’m surprised Dad’s offered to come. He doesn’t even barrack for Glenthorn. He doesn’t barrack for anyone.
    This is the weird thing about my dad: although he loves football, he doesn’t follow a single team. He just wants to see a great game, fair umpiring and a high level of skill. Other than that, he doesn’t give a toss. It’s possible he’s the only football fan in the whole of Victoria who doesn’t have a team. Even people who hate football – in Melbourne, anyway – have a team. It’s like a rule. The moment you’re born in this city, or even if you move here, you have to choose a team to barrack for. You don’t really even get to choose. It’s handed down to you, like property or, if you barrack for Carringbush, a hereditary disease. No choice, no argument, no debate. If you’re born into a Glenthorn family, you become a Glenthorn supporter. Warriors breed Warriors, Panthers breed Panthers. That’s why I’ve always felt sorry for Angels supporters – years of losing with no hope of success, but still they show up every week. Because that’s what you do.
    Marriage is the only thing that can mess with the system. We didn’t have that problem, though, because Dad isn’t normal. He let Mum win without putting up a fight. Still, once it was decided, he wouldn’t let me bail on the Falcons even if they sucked. He says no matter how bad your team plays, no matter how many grand finals you lose or wooden spoons you win, you don’t give up on them because ‘You don’t change teams mid-season.’ But what he means is: you don’t change teams ever .
    Thank God Mum gave me the Falcons.
    We make it most of the way through Finkler Road and are just about to pass the Christies’ house when we run into Josh on his way back from school. I try to ignore my pounding heart and remind myself it’s just Josh . No one special. It’s not like I haven’t seen him lately – we’ve gone running together twice since I saw him at the station three weeks ago, and he’s called a few times, too. So this should not be a big deal. But still my hands are clammy and there’s a lump the size of a golf ball in my throat.
    I can see the purple and blue stripes of the Glenvalley High footy jumper under his tracksuit, which means he’s come straight from their game. He still has a smear of dirt on his face where he’s pushed the hair out of his eyes with muddied hands. Josh plays for the Raiders too – Saturdays are the school team, Sundays are the Raiders. Our whole family used to spend every Sunday throughout the footy season watching the Raiders; the Browns and the McGuires almost part of the furniture at the club. But Dad and I haven’t been back since the accident, not even to watch Josh play. You’d think Josh would be sick of it – the same people, the same clubs, the same coaches, but there’s no such thing as too much footy in Josh’s world. Probably in my world, too, if I could still