Bumface

by Morris Gleitzman

  The door opened.

  A woman smiled down at Angus. ‘Hello,’ she said.

  Angus stared. If this was Rindi’s mum she was quite a bit older than he’d expected. And she wasn’t wearing Indian clothes, just a normal dress.

  ‘I’m a friend of Rindi’s,’ blurted out Angus louder than he’d meant to. ‘And I just want to say –’

  ‘A friend of Rindi’s,’ said the woman, looking delighted. ‘Come in, come in.’ She saw Leo and Imogen at the gate and beckoned to them. ‘Come in, all of you.’

  Angus didn’t know what to do. Leo was struggling to push the stroller down the path. Angus and the woman both went to help, and before Angus knew it they were wrestling the stroller into the house.

  A man came into the hallway. He was wearing the longest shirt Angus had ever seen. He peered at the bent wheel on the stroller. ‘That’s been in the wars,’ he said. ‘I’ll see if I can fix that for you.’

  ‘A friend of Rindi’s,’ the woman whispered to the man, still looking pleased. ‘From school.’

  ‘I’m not actually from Rindi’s school,’ said Angus. ‘I’ve come because I want to –’

  ‘Rindi,’ called the woman. ‘A friend is here.’

  Rindi appeared in a doorway. Angus could see she’d been crying. She stared at him, surprised.

  ‘A friend to cheer us up,’ said the woman.

  ‘Not to cheer you up,’ said Leo. ‘To tell you off.’

  ‘Go to bed,’ yelled Imogen.

  Rindi gave half a grin. ‘Angus and Leo and Imogen,’ she said. ‘My parents.’ Her face fell. ‘They think I can be cheered up.’

  Angus saw that Rindi’s dad, who was much older than any of his dads, was looking suddenly stern.

  ‘Forgive Rindi,’ he said. ‘She is unhappy because her life must change.’

  ‘We are all sad,’ said Rindi’s mum quietly. ‘Our daughter is to be married and we will miss her very, very much.’

  ‘That’s why I’ve come,’ said Angus. ‘To –’

  ‘We appreciate your concern,’ said Rindi’s dad. ‘But this is a family matter.’

  ‘No,’ yelled Rindi. ‘He’s my friend. I want him to understand why he won’t see me any more.’

  Angus couldn’t bear to look at her sad, tear-streaked face. He looked nervously at Imogen instead. She wasn’t used to yelling. Apart from her own.

  ‘Let’s sit down and talk,’ said Rindi’s mum to Angus. ‘Please have some tea and cake. Do you like cake?’

  ‘Not as much as me,’ said Leo.

  While Rindi’s mum poured lemonade for Leo and Imogen, and Rindi’s dad took the stroller out to his shed, Rindi got Angus to help her make the tea.

  She squeezed Angus’s arm. ‘Thanks for trying,’ she said.

  Angus watched her throw a handful of teabags into the pot without even counting them.

  ‘I haven’t finished yet,’ he said.

  Rindi’s dad came back in with the stroller. The wheel was straight and spinning perfectly. Angus thanked him and as they all went into the lounge Angus wondered if Rindi had two dads, a cruel one and this nice one.

  Once the tea was poured and Leo and Imogen had big mouthfuls of cake, Rindi’s mum looked at Rindi’s dad.

  He nodded.

  ‘We are sad,’ said Rindi’s mum, ‘but we are also excited because Rindi’s future husband Patel is arriving in Australia this evening to meet her. Usually this doesn’t happen, but because Rindi is Australian as well as Indian, and we know how hard this is for her, we’ve arranged it.’

  Angus glanced at Rindi. Her eyes were filling with tears again.

  ‘I have known Patel’s father for fifty-two years,’ said Rindi’s dad softly. ‘As a young man he saved my life in a flood. Many other things we shared. We dreamed that one day our two families would be joined through marriage. When Patel was born, I celebrated with his family and hoped that my first child would be a girl.’ Rindi’s father gave a small smile. ‘Rindi was eleven years arriving. She has always been stubborn.’

  Angus passed Rindi a serviette under the coffee table so she could mop up her tears.

  ‘Rindi’s not stubborn,’ said Leo. ‘She’s a pirate.’

  ‘Rindi sad,’ crooned Imogen. She threw a piece of cake and hit Rindi’s dad on the head.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Angus, horrified.

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Rindi’s dad, brushing the crumbs off his shoulder. ‘Rindi used to do the same thing.’

  Angus looked at Rindi, hoping she’d smile. She didn’t.

  ‘If we lived in India,’ said Rindi’s mum, ‘this arranged marriage would be quite normal. But it wouldn’t happen until Rindi was sixteen or seventeen. Unfortunately we live here and Patel’s family and Rindi’s father think she’s becoming too Australian. They think if she stays here much longer she won’t be able to adjust to being an Indian wife.’

  ‘I am Australian,’ said Rindi through clenched teeth. ‘I’ve been here since I was three.’

  ‘She ignores my instructions,’ said Rindi’s dad quietly, ‘and stays out after school.’

  ‘That was my fault,’ said Angus. ‘She was meeting me. Well, she did once.’

  He looked pleadingly at Rindi’s dad.

  Rindi’s dad stared at the floor, not speaking.

  ‘Patel’s family want the wedding soon,’ said Rindi’s mum, her voice wavering. ‘And then Rindi will have to go and live with Patel’s family in India.’

  ‘But of course not have children,’ said Rindi’s dad. ‘Not for several years.’

  Rindi sat motionless, eyes closed. Angus wished he could go and put his arms round her.

  ‘Can she still watch “The Simpsons”?’ asked Leo.

  Nobody answered.

  ‘Eat my shorts,’ shrieked Imogen.

  Angus saw that Rindi’s mum was close to tears. After a struggle she managed to smile. ‘Patel is a wonderful young man,’ she said. ‘Listen to what he wrote to us.’ She took a letter and some photos out of an envelope.

  ‘I believe,’ she read, ‘that love can grow between a man and a woman until it is so strong that it will hold their children safe forever.’

  Rindi’s mum dabbed her eyes with a serviette and Angus felt his own eyes pricking. He blinked hard before Rindi noticed.

  Suddenly Angus was confused. He hated what they were doing to her and he’d do everything he could to stop them. He’d even throw cake himself if it would help. But when he looked at Rindi’s mum now, gazing with such concern at Rindi, he felt something else.

  He felt jealous.

  Stop it, he said to himself, this isn’t helping Rindi.

  To get his mind back on track, Angus looked at the photos of Patel. Angus had to admit he was handsome. Plus he had the look of a bloke who’d stick by his kids.

  Angus stared at the photos for a long time.

  ‘That’s a good girl,’ he heard Rindi’s mum say softly to her. ‘Dry your tears. See, your friend understands. You needn’t have worried.’

  Later, while Rindi’s mum was lying down with a headache and Rindi’s dad was playing snakes and ladders with Leo and Imogen, Angus helped Rindi wash up.

  He squeezed her arm.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve had an idea.’

  16

  Angus opened his eyes and peered through the darkness at his chest of drawers.

  No alarm clock.

  Angus sighed. Imogen must have put it in the washing machine again. He found his watch and held it up in the chink of light between the curtains.

  Ten twenty-five?

  It couldn’t be.

  Rindi and her parents and Patel were arriving at eleven and he hadn’t even told Mum they were coming yet.

  He’d meant to each time Imogen had woken him and Mum up with her teething, but each time he’d been too tired to get the words out.

  Angus struggled out of bed.

  I don’t know what’s more exhausting, Angus thought as he dragged his cl
othes on. Being woken up in the night by a teething kid or a horde of hungry mice.

  He remembered what Rindi’s mum had said about Patel. How he only needed four hours sleep a night because he did meditation. Boy, thought Angus wearily, that’d be useful.

  Angus checked that Imogen was still asleep and Leo was safely in front of the TV. Then he hurried into Mum’s room.

  Number Four wasn’t there. Good, it was all going to plan so far.

  ‘Mum,’ he whispered urgently. ‘Time to wake up’

  Sleepily she dragged the pillow off her head. ‘It’s Sunday,’ she said. ‘Go away.’

  ‘Mum,’ he said. ‘You’ve got to get up.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right,’ she groaned. ‘Mother’s Day. Tell you what. I’ll look at the prezzie then have a bit more sleep, OK?’

  Angus hesitated.

  ‘Well?’ she said, sitting up. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Um,’ he said, ‘it’s not here yet.’

  ‘That’s good,’ she said, flopping back down. ‘Wake me up when it arrives.’

  ‘Mum,’ said Angus, shaking her. ‘I’ve invited some people over.’

  ‘What?’ she yelled, sitting up again. This time she reached over to the bedside table and switched on the lamp. Angus saw she had makeup smeared all over her face, and her hair looked like Sidney the bear’s after he’d been in the clothes dryer.

  Not so good.

  If Patel saw her looking like that he almost certainly wouldn’t fall in love with her and want to be the father of her future babies.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Angus said to Mum. ‘They won’t be here for half an hour. You’ve got time to get ready.’

  ‘Another lamington, Patel?’ asked Mum.

  ‘Not for me, thank you Marlene,’ said Patel. ‘They give me wind.’

  ‘Patel suffers from stress,’ said Rindi’s dad to Mum, ‘because although he’s only twenty-two he’s got a very responsible job.’

  Rindi’s mum and dad both smiled proudly.

  Angus looked at Rindi and wondered why she was chewing her lamington with her mouth open. Then he realised it was so Patel wouldn’t find her attractive.

  ‘What do you do, Patel?’ asked Mum.

  ‘Computer salesman,’ said Patel.

  Angus swapped a look with Rindi. Mum and Patel were talking direct. This was good.

  ‘Probably,’ said Angus, ‘the best computer salesman in India.’

  Patel beamed with pleasure. ‘I wouldn’t quite say that,’ he murmured, smoothing down his silk tie.

  ‘One of the best,’ murmured Rindi’s dad.

  Angus glanced at Mum to see if she was impressed that Patel was wearing a suit even though it was Sunday morning. She wasn’t even looking at him. She was scraping soggy rusk off her track pants.

  ‘Would you like anything else to eat?’ Angus asked the guests, hoping Imogen wouldn’t throw any more rusks and put Patel off his appetite.

  ‘No thanks,’ said Rindi’s mum and dad.

  ‘I’d rather like another fried egg,’ said Patel.

  ‘Coming right up,’ said Angus, handing him the platter and feeling very glad he’d decided to have a bit of a fry-up to show Patel how good Australian food was. A bloke wouldn’t be tempted to move to a different country and start a family if he didn’t like the food.

  ‘Bacon?’ asked Angus, offering him the other platter. ‘Sausage? Fish cake?’

  ‘Just the egg, thank you,’ said Patel. ‘Is this the salt shaker?’

  ‘That,’ said Angus, ‘is Mum’s Logie award. She got it for being the most popular actress in the whole of Australia in a television series or serial.’

  Rindi’s mum and dad looked impressed.

  ‘How wonderful,’ said Patel, looking at Mum admiringly.

  ‘She’s probably the most popular actress Australia’s ever had,’ said Rindi through a mouthful of lamington.

  Mum pretended to be embarrassed. ‘You’re very sweet,’ she said to Rindi. ‘But I don’t know why Angus put it on the table.’ She turned to Angus. ‘I like your new friend,’ she said, winking at Rindi’s mum and dad.

  She could mean Patel, thought Angus hopefully. It’s possible.

  He handed Patel the salt and pepper shakers. ‘The Prime Minister gave Mum those,’ he said.

  Patel looked impressed.

  ‘He didn’t really,’ said Mum. ‘I went to a charity lunch at his place and pinched them.’

  Patel put them down. Rindi’s mum and dad looked uncomfortable.

  ‘Guess what, Mum,’ said Angus hurriedly. ‘Patel only needs four hours sleep a night.’

  ‘Gee,’ said Mum. She turned to Rindi. ‘How do you feel about getting married so young, love?’ she asked.

  Rindi looked down at the floor. Angus could see she was suddenly close to tears. Mum, he thought wearily, you’re not helping.

  ‘We pray she’ll get used to the idea,’ said Rindi’s dad.

  ‘Eventually,’ said Rindi’s mum quietly.

  ‘In India,’ said Patel, ‘arranged marriages are quite common. We believe two people will have a stronger marriage if their families work together to help them find love. We think arranged marriages are better than what happens here in Australia. People falling in love and out of love. Having two or three or more marriages. And children from each. Terrible.’

  Patel, thought Angus hopelessly, you’re not helping either.

  Mum was frowning at Patel. Angus saw Patel look away uncomfortably.

  They weren’t two people who were falling in love.

  Oh well, thought Angus sadly. It was worth a try.

  ‘It’s a shame that Gavin my darling fiancé’s not here,’ said Mum, still frowning at Patel. ‘He loves discussing social issues.’

  Angus stared at Mum.

  Fiancé?

  ‘We’re not officially engaged yet,’ said Mum to Rindi’s parents. She glanced at Angus.

  ‘You may be interested to hear,’ said Rindi’s dad, ‘that our own marriage was arranged. And twenty-six years later we are still happy, aren’t we my dear?’

  He looked at Rindi’s mum, who smiled and nodded.

  Angus had a wild idea. If things didn’t work out between Mum and Number Four, perhaps Rindi’s parents could help arrange a marriage for Mum. Find her a bloke who would stick around and help look after Leo and Imogen.

  And me, thought Angus.

  He felt a pang of longing and was tempted to ask Rindi’s parents right away.

  Then he remembered that this wasn’t helping Rindi.

  Mum had turned to her again. ‘How do you feel about living in India?’ she asked.

  Angus could see Rindi was even closer to tears than before.

  ‘My parents have a large and luxurious house,’ said Patel. ‘My mother will soon turn Rindi into a grown-up young woman. Then I will take her to art galleries and classical concerts and political meetings. My friends will be very impressed by her. I will be very proud.’

  Angus wanted to leap across the table and give Patel a good shake. ‘She’s just a kid,’ he wanted to scream.

  But he didn’t. Suddenly he realised it wasn’t Patel’s fault. Patel had probably been told since he was a kid that he was going to marry Rindi. And you couldn’t blame him for liking her.

  Angus looked Patel straight in the eye.

  ‘Will you be playing pirates much?’ he asked.

  There was a stunned silence. Then all the adults laughed, including Mum.

  Angus jumped to his feet. He grabbed Rindi’s hand. ‘Excuse us,’ he said, steering her towards the door, ‘Rindi’s going to help me with some homework.’

  In Angus’s room, Rindi threw herself on the bed.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Angus. ‘That was hopeless.’

  ‘You tried,’ said Rindi. ‘I’ll always be grateful for that.’

  ‘I haven’t finished yet,’ said Angus.

  Rindi blew her nose on his bedspread and sat up.

  Angus looked at her. She was brave but
was she brave enough?

  ‘He’s pretty concerned about what his friends are going to think of you,’ he said.

  ‘You can say that again,’ said Rindi, scowling.

  Angus told her his new plan.

  17

  There were no ropes hanging from the ceiling of the school corridor, so Angus had to do his pirate raid on foot.

  I bet professional pirates do a lot of work on foot, he thought as he crept towards the pegs. On desert islands, for example, and in shopping centres and walking the plank.

  Angus ducked low as he passed the classroom door. He could hear Ms Lowry’s voice inside. ‘Today’s police visit,’ she was saying, ‘will be at eleven.’

  Angus wondered if professional pirates ever felt fear. Probably not. But then professional pirates probably only did one bad thing at a time. I bet they’d be shaking like me, thought Angus, if they had to steal, lie and be late for school all on the same day.

  Further down the corridor the staffroom door opened.

  Angus flattened himself against the wall under the bags. Mr Nash came out of the staffroom reading a sheet of paper.

  Please don’t come this way, begged Angus silently. A girl’s life will be ruined if you do.

  Mr Nash went into the staff toilet.

  Thank you, said Angus to Mr Nash’s bladder.

  With trembling hands, Angus lifted Russell Hinch’s bag off its peg and unzipped it. He felt around inside. The bag was almost full. He could feel supermarket trolley wheels and car badges and bits of public phones. And right down the bottom at the back, another zip.

  A secret pocket.

  Angus opened the zip and squeezed his fingers inside.

  There it was. Angus could feel its square plastic body and dangling keyring.

  The Tamagotchi.

  ‘Crime is up,’ said the sergeant, ‘in every Australian city.’

  He wrote ‘crime up’ on the blackboard.

  Never mind crime up, thought Angus, what about hand up? Surely an experienced Police School Visits Officer could see when a kid desperately wanted to say something?

  Angus put his aching right arm down and his left one up.

  Ms Lowry waved at him to put it down. He ignored her.

  ‘Theft is up,’ said the sergeant, ‘more than any other crime.’