I am not a victim.
TUESDAY, 19 APRIL
Marshall won’t let me out of the house alone. After I ran off yesterday, he says I’m a flight risk. He’s lucky I came home at all – it’s only because I had nowhere else to go.
Now he’s forcing me go with him today while he interviews Rex and some of Rex’s mates from Legacy. Apparently they all fought in the Korean War. He’ll have to open up his computer for that. So far, he hasn’t discovered what I did to his files, but it’s only a matter of time.
As I drag on my jeans and hoodie, I notice that the feeling I had yesterday – that I could haul a Mack Truck up a hill – has gone. Now it’s more like I’ve been run over by one. Shouldn’t I feel better than this? All I did was right a wrong and even things up. I try to read Dad’s book of myths, but for the first time ever, I can’t seem to get into it. I toss it in my bag and head downstairs.
Since Rex is coming with us, we drive the short distance across the road to collect him. As he comes out to meet us, he holds a finger to his lips and hobbles down the steps.
‘You okay?’ asks Marshall through the open car window.
‘Yes, yes,’ replies Rex quietly, holding his back and wincing with pain. ‘Just a bit o’ shrapnel playing up – happens sometimes.’
‘We can always postpone the interview if you’re not feeling well …’
‘What? And miss out on me offal? Not a chance.’ Rex comes around to the passenger side and eases himself into the front seat.
‘Ever had offal, son?’ he asks me, grunting and groaning as he gets settled.
I shrug. My plan is to remain silent for the whole day on principle.
‘It’s essentially innards: liver, kidney, brains.’ He lifts his right leg into the car. ‘Trust me, son, you’ll love it. Us four blokes meet every Tuesday for a feast. People call us the “Awful Offal Eaters”.’ He grins in spite of the pain and lifts his other leg in. ‘That’s me sorted. Let’s hit the road, fellas, before the wife finds out I’m gone and orders me back to bed.’
To save him from walking far, we drop Rex off at the front of the Canberra Services Club then park the car. While Marshall gets his stuff out of the boot, I think about the shrapnel in Rex’s back. Imagine carrying around a piece of a battle you’d fought more than sixty years ago. Some memento.
‘That’s everything,’ says Marshall, wedging his laptop under his arm. ‘You okay, mate?’
‘Hnh,’ I grunt.
Ever since I got back yesterday, Marshall’s been really nice to me (apart from forcing me to come today). I thought I’d get a blasting for sure, but instead, he offered me some of Cass’ cupcakes. Then, after dinner, he didn’t hassle me to do the dishes or anything. He must be faking it. He’s scared Mum’ll give him the flick if we can’t get along.
Marshall squints at me. ‘By the look on your face, I’m guessing you think listening to a bunch of old people talking about the war is the most boring activity on the planet.’
I shrug.
‘Thing is,’ he says, ‘more than eighteen thousand Australians served in Korea, but hardly anyone knows about it. That’s why it’s called The Forgotten War. Imagine that – you’ve been through hell and everyone acts as if nothing’s happened. I interview men like Rex and his mates because I don’t think anyone’s story should be forgotten.’
I’d never thought of it that way – not that I’d ever tell Marshall that.
When we get inside, Rex is waiting for us in the entrance hall. He signs us in, then ushers us into the dining area. ‘This way, gents.’ He takes us to meet three old blokes sitting around a table laughing their heads off.
‘Hi, fellas,’ says Rex. ‘Meet Marshall and Sebastian. Marshall and Sebastian, meet the Awful Offal Eaters, Gordo, Nobby and Jack.’
The men get up and shake our hands. They’re all in ironed shirts with their hair neatly combed. Rex’s comb-over still beats the others. I sit up the far end of the table and get out Dad’s book, hoping to keep my head down till it’s all over.
‘What d’ya make of Canberra, Sebastian?’ asks Jack.
I guess the men have other ideas. ‘Cold,’ I reply, glancing up at him.
‘You call this cold!’ exclaims Gordo. ‘You should’ve seen Frozen Chosin – that’s what we called Korea. Minus fifteen degrees in the winter, it was. We’d lather up for a shave in the morning, and by the time we’d picked up our razors, the soap had frozen on our faces!’
‘Too right,’ says Nobby, who I think has a glass eye. I wonder if he lost his real one in the war. ‘When we were on patrol, we had to wear gloves ’cos if we didn’t, our fingers’d stick to our rifles. Skin’d tear off if we tried to pull free.’
‘How’d you get your hand off if you forgot?’ I ask, accidentally breaking my rule not to speak.
‘Fire off a few rounds,’ says Jack. ‘Warm up the barrel.’
‘And as an added bonus,’ adds Gordo, ‘get a rise out of the enemy.’
The men hoot with laughter.
‘I should be getting this,’ says Marshall, opening up his laptop and pulling out a microphone. ‘Just give me a moment to set up.’
Out of nowhere, dread slugs me in the stomach. Yesterday, all I wanted was to see the look on Marshall’s face when he discovered the files were gone, but now that it’s about to happen, my hands are shaking so much I have to sit on them. I think I might be sick. Any second now and he’ll know.
Any second … Now.
‘No, no, no, no, no,’ moans Marshall, frantically opening files and folders.
‘What is it?’ asks Rex.
‘My interviews! All the recordings from last week are gone!’ Marshall taps away, vainly trying to retrieve his data. I keep my head down and read the same sentence over and over.
‘Did you back up?’ asks Nobby.
Marshall shakes his head grimly. ‘Not last week’s – I left my external hard drive at home by mistake.’ He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes, defeated. ‘All those interviews. I’m going to have to redo them … if I can. A couple of the men were in nursing homes and it really took it out of them to share their stories. I’m not sure I can ask them again.’
My stomach is all knotted up but I remind myself Marshall deserved it. He deserved it, he deserved it, he deserved it. But I can’t look him in the eye.
Marshall takes a deep breath and collects himself. ‘At least I’ve got you blokes to help me out.’
‘That you do,’ says Rex. ‘But before we get down to business, let’s begin with the most important job of the day: ordering our offal.’
I try to focus on my book but I find myself listening to the men – how they went to help several million people who’d been driven from their homes by an invading army, volunteering to go to a freezing cold country in nothing but light winter uniforms.
‘It’s extraordinary how you stood your ground for so long at the Battle of Kapyong,’ says Marshall, resting his chin on his hand.
Rex shrugs off the compliment. ‘All part of the job, son.’
‘We lost a lot of mates that day,’ says Jack. ‘Billy, Gunner, Frenchy. Rex got captured there too, didn’t you, Rex? Spent two years as a prisoner of war.’
‘Two years?’ says Marshall.
‘Two years, three months and fourteen days,’ says Rex quietly. ‘It was pretty grim. Hundreds of men crammed into a tiny space. Lice, vermin, not enough food or water, and the rest …’
‘The rest?’ I ask, leaning forward in spite of myself.
Rex’s face clouds over and I can tell he’s back sixty years in the past, imprisoned against his will, not knowing if he’ll ever make it back alive. He shakes his head as if coming out of a dream.
‘Anyway,’ says Gordo, glancing at his friend. ‘Enough of that. You reckon Rex has been through the mill? Wait till you see this.’ He lifts up his shirt to reveal a scar on his stomach. ‘Copped this from a Chinese bayonet.’
‘Really?’ I say, gawping at the wound.
‘Lucky to survive, I was.’
‘He’s pulling ya leg, Sebastian,’ says Nobby. ‘That scar’s from last month’s gall bladder op.’
Gordo cracks up laughing. ‘Had ya going, though.’
I can’t help but laugh along too. I like these old blokes. As much as I hate to admit it, Marshall’s right about one thing: their stories shouldn’t be forgotten. I think of the stories I deleted and guilt slithers in my gut like an eel in a murky pond. I kick it away, reminding myself I’d be with Dad in Roxby if it weren’t for Marshall.
But that eel is slippery and it slides right back before I can stop it.
‘You’ll never get ahead of anyone as long as
you try to get even with them.’
– Lou Holtz, Arkansas football coach
FRIDAY EVENING, 22 APRIL
After what happened with his dad, I’ve appointed myself Sebastian’s official cheerer-upperer. In my experience, if you feel bad, the best way to deal with it is to fill up your life with tonnes of other stuff. Sebastian was busy Tuesday afternoon – something to do with Rex’s offal-eating mates – so I invited him over that evening to taste-test Mum’s experimental cupcake creations. Then on Wednesday I took him rollerblading by the lake. On Thursday we rode over to the War Memorial so I could scope out where I’ll be doing the poetry reading on Monday. And today, we went with Rex and Maisie to help tidy up the garden of a war widow named Elsie. At least, Maisie, Sebastian and I tidied. Rex’s back was playing up so the women ordered him into a chair while Elsie got him cups of tea and a wheat bag.
Sebastian didn’t object to any of these activities but he still seemed troubled, and this time it was definitely spelled with a ‘d’. Never mind, I’ve got the perfect outing planned for tomorrow that’s guaranteed to lift his spirits.
‘What do you think of my idea, Dad?’ I ask as I climb into my dragon print PJs.
Unfortunately, I’m not speaking to my real dad. I’m talking to my pretend dad – the doll I used to imagine was my father when I was a kid. I found it under the bed a few days ago when I was looking for a place to put Riley’s letter so I wouldn’t have to look at it. When I was six, I used to dress up that doll in camouflage pants and a tiny jacket Mum had made for it. I even put black and green crayon on its face for war paint. Whenever Dad went on a tour of duty, I’d take out the doll and have chats with him.
I know thirteen-year-olds aren’t supposed to play with dolls, let alone have conversations with them, but as I yank on some extra-warm bed socks, I remind myself these are special circumstances.
‘Well, Dad?’ I ask. ‘I’m running out of entertainment options so if you’ve got anything to suggest, please let me know.’
Despite all my questions, Pretend Dad is silent. He’s still capable of giving me meaningful looks, though. He seems to be saying, ‘It’s great you’re trying to help your new friend through his problems, but don’t think I haven’t noticed you have problems of your own. What are you going to do about your friends?’
Pretend Dad has an uncanny, if somewhat irritating, knack of zeroing in on whatever’s bothering me most.
‘Sorry, Dad, but I just can’t handle that right now.’
SATURDAY 23 APRIL
As promised, Sebastian meets me at 6 a.m. I’ve got my bike plus I’ve pumped up the tyres on Dad’s mountain bike for Sebastian.
‘Where are we going?’ he asks, putting on a beanie and then a helmet.
I tug on my gloves and mount my bike. ‘You’ll see.’
We cycle all the way to the lake and over the bridge. Captain Cook Fountain is situated plonk in the middle of the water. It’s switched on today, spraying its jet high into the air. Locals call it The Great Canberra Carwash because when the wind blows in the right direction, it sprays everyone driving across the bridge. We’re lucky today, though. The wind isn’t too bad and it’s shooting straight up as if a huge whale were gliding just beneath the surface, spouting water.
We ride down to a grassy area where a group of people are gathered watching a deflated red and white hot-air balloon fill with gas. We drop the bikes a little way off and sit down on a nearby wall. ‘I come here when I’m feeling kind of ordinary,’ I say, ‘to watch the balloons take off. It’s sort of peaceful.’
Sebastian’s quiet for a long time, making me wonder if I made a mistake bringing him here.
‘Dad took me to see the Balloon Festival once,’ he says at last. ‘I was about seven, I think. He woke me up at four in the morning, said we were going on a boys’ trip. We snuck out of the house and got to Canberra a couple of hours later – just in time to watch the balloons inflate. I remember one shaped like a giant kookaburra and this other one like a turtle. It was brilliant.’
It’s the most Sebastian has spoken in days. It’s nice seeing him happy. ‘Sounds awesome.’
‘It was,’ he replies. ‘Mum went mental when we got home, though.’
‘Why?’
‘She’s always overreacting. Dad just wanted me to have a fun day but Mum didn’t get it. She did her block so badly Dad jumped in the car and took off for days.’
‘He took off?’ I’m stunned. ‘I can’t imagine my dad ever doing that after a fight.’
‘You haven’t seen Mum when she’s mad.’
‘I still don’t get why she was angry. There must’ve been some reason.’
Sebastian pauses for a moment. ‘I suppose it’s ’cos I missed the interschool concert … Yeah, that’s right – Dad’s never been good at remembering dates – I was supposed to play the trumpet but we never made it back in time. I was doing a solo and everything. Hm,’ he says, frowning. ‘I’d totally forgotten about that.’
My dad’s missed school concerts before but not because he didn’t remember – because he was overseas and had no choice. Sebastian falls silent again and we gaze at the balloon as it rises like a loaf of bread in the oven. The pilot and a couple of passengers (a young couple who spend the whole time kissing – gross!) climb into the basket. The ballast is let loose, the pilot calls, ‘All clear!’, and the balloon lifts straight into the air. The passengers wave to us and we wave back, watching them soar higher and higher into the sky. And just for a moment, I feel light.
The feeling doesn’t last. As we ride home, bad thoughts elbow their way back into my mind. Sebastian will go back to Wollongong in a few days and, as Pretend Dad reminded me last night, my supply of friends isn’t exactly abundant. I wonder if Riley will text me today. I haven’t heard from any of my friends in almost a week. Amal’s family went away for a few days but that doesn’t explain the other two.
When we’re halfway home my phone beeps. I always have my mobile on so Mum can call me if Dad Skypes. He hardly ever knows when he’ll be free for a chat so his calls are almost always unexpected. Slamming on the brakes, I come to a stop and balance one foot on the kerb. It’s not Mum calling about Dad. It’s Amal. After reading her text, I look up at Sebastian with a huge grin on my face. ‘Amal’s back! She says everyone’s going shopping this afternoon and she wants to know if I want to come too.’ Relief floods through me. They’re not freezing me out!
‘You’re not going, are you?’ asks Sebastian.
‘Yeah, why wouldn’t I?’
He gives me a look as if to say, ‘You know why.’ I avoid his gaze and fiddle with the bicycle gears. ‘That peacock bag bizzo’s all in the past. I can’t spend my life holding grudges.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him regarding me closely. ‘You deserve better,’ he says.
What’s he talking about? They’re my friends. I swat his words away and shove my phone back in my pocket. ‘Better get back,’ I say, slipping my foot into the toe clip. ‘Haven’t fulfilled today’s quota of hard labour yet and I need to get clearance from Mum about going shopping.’
Sebastian frowns, looking concerned, but I turn away and push off for home.
I’d better hurry up and get dressed or I’ll miss the bus. My floor is strewn with brightly coloured jacket
s and skirts – none any good. Dad says the reason soldiers wear camouflage is to blend into the background. Brightly coloured clothes make you a target so no floral boots or peacock combs for me. I end up choosing jeans, black flats (the shorter I am, the better) and a top Riley once said she liked. My favourite jacket – an emerald-green velvet creation I found in an op shop – stays in my wardrobe. It’s a plain black coat for me.
Our rendezvous point is the giant chess board in Garema Place. Riley, Paige and Amal are already there, texting each other on their mobiles. It’s weird seeing Riley, knowing I have her letter stashed under my bed. What am I going to do about returning it without her knowing? I bury the thought. Today is about mending fences. ‘Hi, guys,’ I say, my heart thumping like crazy.
Amal looks up and hugs me. ‘Hi, Romes.’
Riley and Paige keep texting for a while before Riley finally puts her phone away and says, ‘Oh, hi, Romey.’ Paige holds up her hand and waves half-heartedly.
Looks like I’m not out of the doghouse yet …
‘Let’s go to Sportsgirl,’ says Riley, and starts walking towards the Canberra Centre.
Like most people, I like clothes shopping. Normally. But today, every time I pull something off the rack, I worry Riley might see it and buy it for herself. I tell myself I’m being paranoid, but in the end, I don’t try on anything. As I stand outside the changing rooms, guarding everyone else’s bags, Sebastian’s words – ‘You deserve better’ – pop into my head. I bury them in a hastily dug plot but the moment I lose concentration, they spring back up like weeds. I bury them again and focus on the facts: I’m with my friends.
An hour and a half later and we’re inside yet another clothing shop waiting for Riley to decide which belt she likes best of the five she has set out. At her request, the shop assistant gets out a sixth.
The Beginner's Guide to Revenge Page 6
