by Rowena Mohr
The thing I feel most crap about is – well, it’s hard to say exactly what it is. It’s all tied up with so much other stuff that I don’t think I can separate it out – but maybe I could start with Sancho Panza.
Yeah, I know. After everything that’s happened, all that’s gone down, I want to talk about a dog. But you know why, don’t you? You can figure it out?
It’s funny, you know. I remember almost everything about Sancho Panza. It’s like half my brain shut down for a while there, so I only had enough storage space for half of what was going on – and my brain chose the dog. I can see him now, clear as day – his jaws wide open in a big dolphin grin and his eyes crazy with happiness at seeing me walk through the door. He would sit and watch me, tail thumping, laughing like a lunatic, for about three seconds. Then he wouldn’t be able to contain himself any longer, and he would leap in the air and run around in mad circles barking his head off.
Poor old Sancho Panza. I’ve still got that book – Don Quixote – about the mad knight who attacked windmills and his faithful squire, Sancho Panza. You said Sancho Panza was a good name for a dog because dogs are very faithful too, and – just like in the book – they don’t care if their owners are completely bonkers. But then Sancho Panza – our dog, not the guy in Don Quixote – got hit by a car and lost one of his back legs. He could still walk and everything, but he couldn’t run as fast and when he got excited and tried to run in circles, he’d lose his balance and fall over.
And then he got bone cancer from where his leg was amputated, and died.
I remember the day Dad and I took him to the vet hospital to have him put to sleep. Dad didn’t want me to come with him but I insisted. I didn’t think it was right that we only wanted to be with Sancho when he was healthy and happy and not when he was dying. Just as we walked into the waiting room, an old man came out of one of the surgeries carrying a little dog wrapped in a blanket. I think it was some kind of terrier too – maybe a Jack Russell? For a moment, he and Dad just stood there holding their dogs and looking at each other – and then I saw that the old man was crying. He shook his head as if he was trying to shake the tears out of his eyes. He looked down at me and then he walked out of the waiting room still holding his dead dog in his arms.
I think that’s when I first really understood that everything dies. All of us. Everything. And when I look back at that moment now it’s like I went into a state of shock. Maybe that’s why half my brain shut down? I could deal with the idea of Sancho Panza dying – just – but that was it. There wasn’t room for anything else.
I just thought of something. Our whole family is a bit like Sancho Panza. We get around okay, but there’s definitely no running in circles anymore.
The night before the fete, I couldn’t sleep at all.
Maybe it was the lack of sleep – or just because I wasn’t thinking straight – but I suddenly became utterly convinced that Danny had set me up. There I was, feeling guilty because of Plan D, but the whole time Danny was actually manipulating me to get what he wanted: Dad! Yeah, I know I sound like a complete fruit-loop, but I was convinced that’s what was going on.
And it didn’t help that I could see how Dad might prefer to spend time with Danny than with Nina and me. It made sense really when I thought about it. He didn’t have to feel guilty for a start. He could look at Danny and not immediately be reminded of everything that had happened. And maybe secretly he would have liked a boy – especially one who played the guitar and knew all the words to ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’.
None of which stopped me from being furious with both of them!
By the time Saturday morning came around I was calm and clear-eyed and extremely dangerous. I was also determined that nothing, least of all Danny Baldassarro, was going to stop me from putting Plan D into action.
Chapter 16
SATURDAY THE TWENTY-FIRST OF NOVEMBER, the day of the fete – or the ‘fateful’ day! I can’t believe I’m making jokes about it. But I guess it’s a bit like coming back from a war and no one at home knows what you’ve been through. You have to make jokes about how horrible it was, or you’d probably never get out of bed. Not that I’m seriously comparing the Motherwell High Twilight Fete to a war zone – although I think everyone would agree that the school quadrangle did look like something out of Saving Private Ryan by the end of the night.
Anyway, Saturday was a beautiful day. Not that I had much time to notice. Plan D was percolating away nicely on the back burner in my head, but I knew I had about a million things to take care of before I could put it into action.
We loaded up the car with all the sound gear and went to pick up Meko. By the time we got to school, half the stalls were already up. Of course, there was no sign of Melissa and Shania, so Meko and I had to lug all the boxes of CDs from the Home Ec storeroom and start unpacking and pricing them all.
Honestly, I’ve never seen so much crap – and this was the good stuff! Mr McGregor and I had already been through the donations and thrown out all the Chartbustin’ Eighties compilation CDs and warped Gloria Gaynor records that looked like relief maps of the Swiss Alps. I’d wanted to throw out the Celine Dion and Billy Ray Cyrus albums as well, but Mr McGregor wouldn’t let me. The second-hand music stall promised to be a real winner – not! Especially with the charming and customer-friendly Melissa and Shania in charge – if they ever turned up.
The first crack in my assassin-cool façade appeared about one o’clock in the afternoon, when I realised that I’d left the running order for the Urban Tribes fashion show, as well as Toto’s Emerald City mocktail jacket – complete with green sequinned bowtie – at home. Kravitz and Goss still hadn’t bothered to show up, and Meko and I were struggling to sort about five thousand CDs into ‘crap’, ‘less-crap’ and ‘something someone might actually buy’.
We hadn’t even started setting up for the fashion show yet. Kanisha was all alone with a bunch of Goths and Ravers who hated each other. Nor had I got around to telling Meko that I wasn’t actually going to be there, because at exactly the same time as they were stalking down the catwalk, I planned to be stalking Jet Lucas.
All of which meant that I was in real danger of missing Jet’s sound-check altogether and Plan D would not make it to first base.
As if attempting to compensate for all the school functions and PFA meetings he had missed, Dad had volunteered to help build the stage and set up the sound system before he went off to burn sausages for the sausage sizzle. I found him in the middle of moving rostra from the Auditorium, holding one end of a giant black box while Danny Baldassarro grappled with the other. Danny gave me one of his lopsided grins when he saw me, as if everything was sweet and he wasn’t really trying to emotionally kidnap my father. I ignored him and went straight to Dad.
‘Dad, you have to drive me home. Now!’
The box must have been pretty heavy. Dad’s face was bright red and parts of it looked like they were about to burst.
‘Oh hi, sweetheart. All ready for the big night?’
Seriously, I sometimes think he comes from another planet.
‘Actually, no. Melissa and Shania haven’t turned up yet; Meko’s still sorting Rihanna from Radiohead; the Urban Tribes Fashion Show is promising to turn into a race riot; and I’ve left Toto’s stupid dinner jacket at home. And,’ I added, trying not to let Danny hear what I was saying, ‘Jet Lucas is going to be here for his sound-check in less than two hours and you haven’t set up the sound system yet.’
Danny’s head suddenly popped up from the other side of the box.
‘Don’t worry, Lu. We’ll be ready. It sounds like you’ve got enough to do.’ A big innocent smile hid his totally black heart. I knew what he was thinking – no, not just thinking, planning – and he wasn’t going to get away with it.
‘Yeah, thanks.’ I turned back to Dad. ‘But I need to go home now.’
Dad’s face had turned from red to purple. ‘Um, right now’s kind of not convenient, Luie …’
&nbs
p; For the first time that day I noticed there was something strange going on with my body. I was tingling all over, very slightly, as if my arms and legs and torso were made of high-tension wire. I felt like I might snap apart, or suddenly launch myself off into space. Nothing happened, though. Not then, anyway.
I simply turned around and walked towards where Dad’s station wagon was parked by the Admin building. The keys were still in the ignition.
Remember how you used to tell me that you regretted not getting your licence the minute you turned eighteen? How you never felt truly independent or grown-up until you could go wherever you wanted, whenever you wanted?
I’ve always remembered that, and I always promised myself that I’d learn to drive as soon as I legally could. I got my learners the day after I turned sixteen, but the problem is that you need someone to teach you. Trying to get half an hour alone with Dad was like trying to get an audience with the Dalai Lama and as a result I’d had two – count them, two – whole driving lessons. Actually, they weren’t even driving lessons. They were more like emergency evacuation procedures. Procedure Number One consisted of me backing the car out of the garage and driving halfway down the street in total desperation one morning when we were running about half an hour late for school. Procedure Number Two was when I drove Dad to the doctor’s after he accidentally sprayed fly-spray in his eyes when he was trying to fix a blocked nozzle. Just as well Dad’s car is an automatic!
I had managed to get the station wagon onto the main drive of the school without hitting anything – and nothing hitting me – when I saw Danny Baldassarro sprinting across the quadrangle towards me. Part of me contemplated running him down. Now that I think about it, that might have been a less painful option for everyone involved, but I wasn’t quite that psychotic yet.
Danny ran panting up to the car window.
‘Lu, what are you doing?’
‘What does it look like?’ I snapped. ‘I’m going home to get the stuff I forgot.’
‘But you can’t drive.’
‘Of course I can. Go away. This is none of your business.’ I tentatively pressed the accelerator and the car kangaroo-hopped forward. I hit the brake.
‘Get out of the car, Lu. Don’t be stupid.’
The high-tension wires came to life again and began to zing and hum, and for a moment I forgot all about Danny as I sat with my hands on the steering wheel, marvelling quietly at their strange rhythm.
‘Luisa?’ Danny interrupted my trance.
‘Forget it,’ I said, and tore off down the driveway on two wheels into High Street. I didn’t even look back to see if Danny was okay.
There was a lot of traffic for a Saturday afternoon and I decided to take it nice and slow so I could get used to the feel of the car. But then I looked in the rear-vision mirror. Behind me, an old guy in a van gesticulated at me in a way that suggested he was not happy. Behind him was a very long line of cars jostling out on either side, trying to see what was causing the hold-up. I pumped the accelerator, but nothing happened. And that’s when I saw that I still had the park brake on.
I took the park brake off and sped up and everybody was happy, except I overshot the turn-off into Kurrajong Avenue and practically wiped out another car turning right into High Street. Fortunately, the driver managed to swerve up onto the footpath to avoid me, and I got back to our house okay.
It was strange being home alone in the middle of the day – so quiet and peaceful, except for the snip, snip, snip of Mr Pirelli cutting his lawn with a pair of scissors. For a second, I wondered what would happen if I didn’t go back to the fete. What if, for the first time in my life, I just let go? Would everything fall apart if I wasn’t there holding it together? Probably – but would it really matter?
Edith and Tiahna could make green cordial without me; Meko and Kanisha would be fine – even without the running order; Melissa and Shania would eventually turn up – maybe; and Danny knew enough to mix Jet Lucas’s sound without me. Except that the instant Jet Lucas came into my head, my brain switched back into psycho-mode. I grabbed the stuff I’d forgotten and got back in the car.
I reached the High Street intersection feeling pretty pleased with myself. I had the running order and the doggy jacket. I hadn’t had a major accident and it looked like I might even get back in time to finish organising everything before Jet’s sound-check. I was sitting at the lights, humming the tune of ‘Angel Without Wings’, when it dawned on me that the friendly little orange light that had been flashing at me since I left school wasn’t simply saying, ‘Hi there, your engine’s on.’ It was actually saying, ‘Hey, stupid, you’re just about to run out of petrol.’
No problem: there was a petrol station just past the intersection. Big problem: no money.
I scrabbled under the seats and found three dollars twenty in change, and carefully pumped three dollars twenty worth of petrol into the tank. When I went to pay, I considered asking the guy behind the counter if that was enough to get me to Motherwell High, but he was already looking at me funny, so I didn’t bother. I was heading back to the car when I saw the police van turn into the servo.
Naturally, I panicked! The cop probably hadn’t even noticed me, but I soon fixed that. I sprinted back to the car and took off with a screech of rubber, only just avoiding the fuel tanker that was turning in.
I ducked down a side street, hoping desperately that the cop would get stuck behind the tanker and I’d have time to get away. Wishful thinking! I could already hear the police siren wailing behind me. I chucked a right at the next corner, wiping out a very tasteful kerbside planting of native grasses, and nearly eliminated the entire under-five population of the street, playing on their trikes on the footpath.
It’s funny – I don’t know whether it was fear or panic or that I’m a naturally gifted driver, but suddenly I was driving like Lewis Hamilton. I seriously should have crashed about five times, but it was as if my inner petrol-head just took over. I was calm, focused and driving as if my life depended on it.
Up ahead I could see Motherwell Road – six lanes of traffic and a tramline running down the middle. Disaster! I chucked another right into a narrow street full of old brick warehouses and factories and then, without really thinking, turned left into an even narrower alley between two of the factories. It was a dead end. Huge rusting gates blocked the road and a six-foot chain link fence staggered off on either side. Behind the fence was a collection of open-ended sheds connected by rusty iron rails.
For a second I thought I was cactus, but then I saw that part of the fence had been pulled down. I screamed through the gap as fast as I could and pulled up, tyres squealing, inside one of the sheds. Against one of the walls was a rickety wooden office. I pulled the car in behind it. I sat there, the running order and stupid doggy jacket clutched to my chest, ready to make a run for it at the first sign of blue flashing lights. But nothing happened. The police siren faded slowly into the distance and my pulse rate dropped back to hyper-speed.
By the time I got back to school, with several successful crimes under my belt, I was feeling like Lara Croft and ready to kick some uncooperative Kravitz and Goss arse. First, though, I had to get the car back to where Dad expected it to be and hope like hell he hadn’t noticed it was missing.
There was a slight problem with this plan. As I jumped the car over the kerb and slotted it neatly in against the wall of the Admin building, Danny Baldassarro appeared around the side of the stage where he’d obviously been waiting for me. I scrambled out of the car and went on the attack before he could say anything.
‘Stay out of it, Danny. Like I said, it’s none of your business.’
‘Of course it’s my business. I’ve just spent the last half-hour showing Pete every stupid stall at this fete so he wouldn’t realise you’d taken the car.’
‘Stop. Calling. Him. Pete,’ I hissed between gritted teeth.
We squared off at each other like a couple of cowboys at a shoot-out waiting to see who was going
to make the next move.
‘What,’ Danny said finally, ‘did you think you were doing? You could have killed yourself.’
‘You and my dad could play happy families all you want, then. I thought you’d like that.’
Danny stared at me for a second as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
‘Lu,’ he said, and held out his hands like he was begging me for something. ‘What’s going on? Why are you acting so crazy?’
‘Why do you care?’ I replied sarcastically.
Danny shook his head and said softly, ‘I’m beginning to wonder.’
By the time I got back to the CD stall, Melissa and Shania had, amazingly, shown up. They weren’t actually working, of course. Shania was leaning against one of the stall supports smoking. Melissa lounged in the only chair with her feet on the table, yelling at Meko to hurry up unpacking the rest of the boxes.
I soon put an end to that. I grabbed the box Meko was carrying, and dumped it in Melissa’s lap so that a shower of bad CDs cascaded onto the ground around her. Melissa was so surprised she just sat there holding the half-empty box and staring at me with her mouth hanging open.
‘Two things,’ I snarled. ‘One – Meko is not your slave! Get off your skinny butt and do some work. Two – if you ever call me “Loser” again, I will personally take said skinny butt and staple it to a wall!’
For once in her life, Melissa couldn’t think of anything smart to say. But I knew I didn’t have long before she recovered the power of speech and disembowelled me verbally – and quite possibly literally. Fortunately for me and my bowels, Shania began to laugh, her perfect little pearly teeth glinting in the sun. And maybe Melissa secretly hated those teeth as much as I did, because she turned her death-ray glare on Shania and, standing up, practically threw the box of CDs at her. Shania only had one hand free, because she still had her fag in the other, and since I doubt she’d ever attended a PE class, her hand-eye coordination wasn’t really up to it and the CDs joined their friends on the ground.
