Don't Breathe a Word

by Marianne Musgrove

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. That was what I’d been. I jigged up and down, unable to sit still. What bizarre things might Grandpa be saying or doing? How did I get into this mess?

  ‘You can go if you want,’ whispered Mahesh. ‘I know you don’t want to be here.’

  ‘I do want to be here,’ I said. ‘It’s just …’

  ‘You don’t have to pretend.’

  ‘Shh,’ said Basanti. ‘I want to hear the ads.’

  I sighed, not knowing how to explain without giving the game away.

  One movie and a small bag of popcorn later, the final credits rolled. I took off like a cat with its tail on fire, trying not to think about the hurt look on Mahesh’s face.

  Grandpa and Lydia were in the foyer, waiting for me. Everything seemed normal. Maybe he was having a good day.

  ‘We’ve had a lovely time, haven’t we, Grandpa?’ said Lydia, handing him his crutches. ‘I’ll get the car and meet you two out front.’

  While we waited outside, my stomach growled like there was a wolf stuck in there. I spotted a bag of half-eaten chips on a bench. They looked so tasty. Okay, they didn’t look that tasty, but I was hungry. Let’s face it, I was starving. Bree’s money combined with ours had bought us some cornflakes, milk and toilet paper. That was all.

  I walked up to the bench and casually sat down. Was I really reduced to eating someone else’s leftovers? Yes, I decided. Yes, I was. I slid my hand over to the bag, glancing around to make sure no one was looking, then drew it towards me and gobbled down the chips.

  As I licked my fingers, I turned back to Grandpa. But where was he?

  Not again! I thought. Why couldn’t he stay in the same place for five minutes? I searched frantically, going back into the cinema and then running up and down the street. Lydia would be back with the car any second. I had to find him.

  I finally spotted him beside an ATM, saying something to a man carrying a donation tin. Grandpa put both crutches under one arm and shook hands heartily with him. The man beamed and scuttled away.

  I rushed up, panting. ‘Who was that?’

  ‘That’s Ralph,’ said Grandpa. ‘Or is it Felix? Anyway, he’s a volunteer. Collects money for, um, for orphans. Or perhaps it’s for people with bowel cancer. Or is it orphans with bowel cancer?’

  ‘You gave this Ralph person money?’ I said.

  ‘For … for the orphans,’ he said uncertainly. ‘I found my wallet, y’see, in me jacket pocket, of all places. Went to the ATM.’

  I took his wallet from him to see how much he’d given away. It was completely empty, except for a bank receipt showing a balance of $17.15. What on earth were we going to do now?

  ‘You idiot!’ said Tahlia. ‘You can’t just go to the movies because you’re bored!’

  ‘Excuse me!’ I exclaimed. ‘I wasn’t the one supposed to be at home today!’

  I reached up to re-hang my velvet curtains. I’d spent the last half hour listening to her rave on about ‘dance’ this, ‘costume’ that and ‘Sophie is an evil cow who must be stopped’ the other. When she finally stopped rabbiting on, and I told her about my day, did she congratulate me for finding Grandpa at the last minute? No. Did she thank me for my quick thinking? No again.

  ‘You’re very lucky Grandpa didn’t do anything too weird,’ she said. She was holding a packet of sprinkles which she tipped into her mouth. It was the last treat we had left.

  ‘Well, actually …’ I began.

  ‘Actually what?’ she said, mid-chew.

  ‘Grandpa gave all his money away to some guy collecting for charity,’ I said quickly, busying myself with the curtains.

  Sprinkles flew out of Tahlia’s mouth – a kind of shattered rainbow.

  ‘He did what?’ she cried. ‘You were meant to be keeping an eye on him! Not filing your nails or whatever you were doing. You are so unreliable!’

  ‘Me? Unreliable?’ I imagined taking her head and squishing it like a mulberry. I turned around and drew my hands into fists. ‘First of all, I have never filed my nails in all my life, as if you didn’t know. Second of all, I’m the one who worries about money and food and what will happen when the holidays end. I’m the one who does all the work around here while you’re off gallivanting around. I don’t know what gallivanting is, but maybe I’d like to try it some time. I might be really good at it. But no, you’re always hogging all the gallivanting time. You go to your precious dancing, see your precious friends, wear your precious contact lenses. You are so … so –’ But before I could find the right word to describe what Tahlia so was, Grandpa’s voice rang out from the lounge room.

  ‘Help!’ he called. ‘I’ve had a bit of an accident. Meredith! Come quick!’

  Icleaned up Grandpa by myself. It was just one of many problems I had to handle alone. The money thing was another. I realised that I, Mackenzie Elizabeth, the superior Carew sister, was going to have to solve it.

  That night, as I ate my share of the cornflakes, I came up with a plan. Tomorrow, Grandpa and I were going to the bank. Yes, it meant going out in public and yes, Grandpa might be seen, but I had no other choice. According to the receipt I found, there was less than twenty dollars in his account. ATMs only let you take out lots of twenty so Grandpa would have to go into the bank in person to get his money out. $17.15 wouldn’t buy much, but it was better than nothing. All I had to do was make sure no one caught us, Tahlia included. Luckily for me, she had an urgent sequin sewing appointment at Bree’s the next morning.

  Convincing Grandpa to get in the wheelchair was my next problem. He kept sitting down then getting out of it. He said he felt silly being wheeled around like a weakling.

  ‘You keep stuffing your ankle by overdoing it,’ I said.

  ‘But I don’t like riding in that thingamybob.’

  ‘Grandpa, please.’

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘C’mon, Grandpa.’

  ‘I said, I don’t want to.’

  ‘Just get in the chair!’ I burst out.

  Grandpa hung his head like a naughty school boy. I couldn’t believe I’d just yelled at him. Who was I turning into?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to yell.’

  ‘That’s okay, love,’ said Grandpa. ‘I’ll get in.’

  Eggins Avenue was on a slope, lined with jacarandas. I pushed hard, in need of a good run to clear my head. We flew down the hill at top speed. It was daylight, which was a good thing. He was less likely to do something weird. Less likely, but not one hundred per cent unlikely.

  I checked my watch. So long as nothing major went wrong, we’d be back in under an hour. Unfortunately, my plans had a way of going pear-shaped.

  As I wheeled him up to the entrance, Grandpa spotted the ATM. He wanted to know why he couldn’t withdraw five hundred dollars from it like he always did. I explained that he didn’t have that much left in his account, but he couldn’t get what I was on about.

  ‘The machine’s broken,’ I said at last.

  Grandpa reached into his knapsack and pulled out a spanner. ‘I’ll fix it in no time,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Save the bank some money.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ I said, taking the spanner away from him.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because, um, because the government doesn’t allow it,’ I blurted out.

  ‘The government!’ he said scornfully.

  It was usually a bad move to mention the government around Grandpa. He seriously hated politicians and would rave on about them for ages. It was the only thing that put him in a bad mood. It did the trick, however. He forgot about the ATM and I pushed him into the bank.

  It took ages to be served. I checked out the place to make sure no one we knew was there. ‘Hurry up,’ I muttered. ‘Hurry, hurry, hurry.’

  Finally, a teller was free; a woman who had plucked out her eyebrows and drawn them back on. ‘How can I help you, sir?’ she asked.

  ‘I’d like to withdraw five hundred dollars,’ said Grandpa, ha
nding over his card.

  ‘He means seventeen dollars,’ I said. ‘Not five hundred.’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ said Grandpa.

  ‘Remember?’ I said. ‘You’ve only got seventeen dollars in your account.’

  ‘Seventeen dollars?’ said Grandpa. He swivelled around in the wheelchair to face me. ‘What are you talking about? I’ve got far more than that.’

  ‘I can check for you,’ said No Eyebrow woman. She tapped on the computer. ‘The young lady is right,’ she said. ‘You have seventeen dollars and fifteen cents available. Withdrawing your money over the counter will incur a four-dollar fee as well. That means you can only withdraw thirteen dollars and fifteen cents. By the looks of things, your next payment is due on Thursday, three days from now.’

  ‘Thirteen dollars!’ said Grandpa.

  ‘Thirteen dollars!’ I said. Things were worse than I thought.

  ‘Check it again,’ Grandpa demanded. He muttered darkly about certain people taking his money without his permission.

  ‘You gave the rest away to that charity collector man, remember?’

  Grandpa looked at me suspiciously. ‘What man?’

  ‘The man outside the cinema yesterday.’ I turned around to see if anyone was watching. Grandpa was making quite a racket. ‘Can’t we just take the thirteen dollars and get out of here?’

  ‘I demand to see the manager,’ said Grandpa. ‘What kind of a country do we live in where honest citizens get their money stolen from under their noses?’

  Of course, Mahesh’s mum chose that very moment to come in through the automatic doors. Was this woman stalking us? I stood with my back facing the door, trying to hide Grandpa from her. Unfortunately, he spotted her and waved her over.

  ‘Hello, my dear Neelu,’ he called. ‘I’m having a bit of trouble. I’ve just asked to speak to the manager.’

  ‘Goodness,’ she said. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Just a misunderstanding,’ I said. ‘Grandpa thought he had more money in his account than he actually does.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Grandpa. ‘It’s been stolen.’

  ‘Stolen!’ said Mrs B.

  ‘I think the government may be behind it,’ said Grandpa, ‘although Kenzie believes it may have been a man pretending to be a charity worker.’

  Mrs B. frowned. Was this because she was concerned or because his story didn’t make any sense?

  The teller was speaking to the manager. He looked like he was about to come over. The longer we stayed, the more unlikely Grandpa’s story was becoming. I had to do something. Think, Kenzie, think.

  ‘I left the iron on!’ I cried.

  ‘The iron?’ said Mrs B.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I was, um, ironing.’ I looked down at my creased shorts. ‘Yeah, I was ironing stuff and then I answered the phone and forgot about it. I might have left it lying face down. We’d better run home, Grandpa.’

  Mrs B. got her car keys out of her purse. ‘I’ll drive you,’ she said. ‘It will be much quicker.’

  ‘Wait, no, that’s …’ I said, but she had already wheeled Grandpa around and they were halfway out the door.

  Instead of getting rid of her, I’d made it all worse!

  As soon as Mrs B. pulled up outside our house, I raced inside, supposedly to turn off the iron.

  ‘All okay?’ asked Mrs B. when I got back to the car.

  ‘Yep,’ I replied, wondering if her supersonic hearing could pick up my supersonic lying.

  ‘I hope you can sort things out with the bank,’ said Mrs B.

  ‘It’s most likely a case of identity theft,’ said Grandpa.

  ‘It happens,’ said Mrs B., nodding in a concerned way. ‘My cousin had three thousand dollars charged to her credit card. All the bills were from Thailand. Problem was, she’d never been to Thailand.’

  They both shook their heads.

  ‘Tell you what,’ said Mrs B. ‘Why don’t you come around for lunch? I’ll make us some sandwiches. You too, Mackenzie. I’m sure Mahesh would love to see you. He talks about you all the time.’

  ‘He does?’ It was probably to say how rude and unfriendly I was. I got into the car, and we drove the short distance down the hill.

  After Mrs B. showed us inside, she suggested Mahesh take me to his room. I knew I should stay with Grandpa but if I refused, Mahesh would hate me forever. Mrs B. and Grandpa looked at me, waiting for me to go. It was the cinema all over again.

  I thought about how at home I was like an adult, making decisions about what to eat and when to do the washing, but outside of home, I was still a kid with no say about anything. It didn’t seem fair.

  ‘Off you trot,’ said Mrs B.

  I decided I’d just go for a few minutes, then make an excuse and come straight back. I hoped it would be okay. I hoped so much, I made myself believe it.

  Mahesh’s room had a bunk bed with a desk underneath. The desk was covered with drawings. ‘Are these yours?’ I asked.

  Mahesh shrugged. I was obviously still in his bad books for running out of the cinema. I picked up a drawing of an underworld kingdom with mermaids and mermen and amazing-looking sea creatures. The outline was done in black pen, filled in with blue and green watercolour paints.

  ‘Did you copy this?’ I said.

  ‘Of course not!’ said Mahesh.

  Oops! Wrong thing to say. Mahesh walked over to the ladder and climbed up onto his bed.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean …’

  ‘I never copy,’ said Mahesh.

  ‘It’s just that it’s so good, that’s all,’ I said. ‘That mermaid with the pitchfork would make a great tattoo.’

  ‘It’s not a pitchfork. It’s a trident.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry.’

  He was quiet for a second, then I heard him shuffle over. ‘Bring up the pencil case and I’ll draw you a tattoo.’

  On the top bunk, I extended my arm like I was about to get an injection. Mahesh turned on his reading lamp so he could see better. As he began to draw, he stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. My arm got sweaty where his hand was resting but I didn’t want to say anything in case I broke his concentration.

  ‘Great mermaid!’ I said, once he’d finished. ‘You’re really good at this stuff.’

  He nodded like he knew it was true, but not in an up-himself kind of way. Some people just know they’re good at things.

  I wished I could show him something that was just as cool. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my lucky doorknob. Mahesh held it up to the window. Light shone through the glass and onto my skin so that it looked like the mermaid was swimming in a rainbow. I wiggled my arm to make her glide through the multi-coloured waves.

  ‘Where did you get it?’ he said. ‘It’s excellent.’

  I told him about Mum and the park. ‘It was lying in the grass,’ I said. ‘Mum said I was lucky to find something so beautiful, so from that day on, it became my lucky doorknob.’

  I could tell Mahesh wanted to know what had happened to my parents. I waited for him to ask, but he seemed to know that I didn’t want him to.

  Mahesh held up the doorknob to the window again. Outside in the backyard, Vijay and Basanti were hanging upside down from the Hills hoist.

  ‘No stunts!’ called Mrs B.

  ‘Do you want to go to the mini-mart and get some lollies?’ asked Mahesh.

  If I went, Grandpa would be left alone. And then there was the matter of not having any money. I was silent so long, Mahesh said, ‘Fine. You obviously don’t want to. If you’re embarrassed to be seen with me, you should just say. Is it because I was dressed like a kitten? I mean, panther?’

  ‘What? No, of course not. It’s just …’ The secret inside me was growing every day. It wanted to come out. I wanted so much to let it out. And there was Mahesh, looking at me, waiting.

  ‘I can’t tell you why,’ I began, ‘but there’s a reason I can’t go to the shops and there’s a reason I ran out of the cinema. It’s got nothin
g to do with you. It’s just that there’s … personal stuff I have to deal with. Please don’t ask me to explain because I’m sworn to secrecy.’

  ‘You’re sworn to secrecy?’ said Mahesh.

  ‘I took a sacred vow.’ I pointed at my lucky doorknob. ‘On that. Once you’ve sworn on the lucky doorknob, you can never go back on your word.’

  Mahesh tossed the doorknob in the air and caught it. ‘If you’re sworn to secrecy,’ he said, ‘then that’s that.’

  ‘Really?’ I said. ‘You don’t want to know? Not even a hint?’

  ‘Of course I want to know,’ he said, ‘but you vowed on your lucky doorknob.’ He put it back in my hand.

  Maybe I would have spilled the beans anyway. I’ll never know because at that very moment there was a loud crackle, followed by a shout, and then the reading lamp went out.

  ‘You could’ve been killed!’ I said.

  Grandpa hung his head, looking sheepish. (Not sure why they call it sheepish. It wasn’t like Grandpa had grown a fluffy little lamb’s tail.)

  ‘It was my fault,’ said Mrs B., getting Grandpa a glass of water. ‘I mentioned a problem I was having with our microwave, and since Lyle knows so much about them … I should have unplugged it first.’

  She guided him to a kitchen stool.

  ‘I’m sorry, Neelu,’ he said. ‘I’m such a dill. It’s my fault.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ she said. ‘It’s mine.’

  The microwave lay on its side, smoking. I knew the truth. It was my fault for leaving him.

  We still had to make it through lunch. I was so afraid he’d try to fix something else, I jumped every time he moved in his seat. Whenever he opened his mouth, I cut him off in case he said something weird. Mahesh looked at me like I’d lost my marbles. I didn’t care. I needed to get us out of there.

  After the dishes were cleared away, Mrs B. suggested a cup of tea.

  ‘I have to work on my school project,’ I said. ‘Grandpa promised to help me.’

  Mrs B. had a frowny look on her face. Not ‘mean’ frowny, but ‘concerned’ frowny, like she knew something was wrong but was too polite to say. She loaded us up with a container of extra sandwiches and drove us home.