The Beginner's Guide to Revenge

by Marianne Musgrove

  SUNDAY, 24 APRIL

  After Romola goes home, I take a quick peek in my book. She’s filled three whole pages with revenges, not to mention all the ones she’s scribbled in the margins of the index. Next to Riley’s name are about twenty entries: her hair turning into worms, boils covering her face, her breath permanently reeking of fish guts – the list goes on. Paige gets a few mentions as well, followed by a bunch of schools, some other people whose names I don’t recognise, one or two teachers and a bus driver. I shut it carefully – I don’t want to look at it anymore – and stuff it into my bag.

  I get maybe three hours of broken sleep in the night. I can’t stop thinking about the look in Romola’s eyes when she said she wanted to ‘crank things up a notch’. What exactly is she planning?

  I get up around eight and head downstairs.

  ‘Can I go to Romola’s?’ I ask Marshall.

  He looks up from a book Rex lent him on the Battle of Kapyong. ‘Don’t you want some breakfast first?’

  I shake my head. ‘There’s something I need to take care of.’

  ‘Okay,’ he replies with a smile. ‘See if you can score us some cupcakes for morning tea.’

  Romola answers the door with dark circles under her eyes and her hair all over the place. She looks worse than I feel. She’s awake, though. Wide awake.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Sure,’ she says. ‘You can help me with my plan.’

  I follow her inside and say hi to Cass, who’s bent over the kitchen counter icing cupcakes, then we head into Romola’s room. Just as I expected, her bedroom has lots of emerald green things in it. There’s also a model of a dragon on her desk and the postcard of Circe stuck up on the wall. I sit down on her chair while Romola paces back and forth like a lion in a too-small enclosure.

  ‘I’m going to get Riley,’ she says, her eyes glittering. ‘She won’t know what hit her. I just need to tweak a few things till my plan is perfect.’

  ‘Yeah, about that,’ I say. ‘Maybe revenge isn’t such a great idea.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘It doesn’t feel the way you think it will. Better to just leave things.’

  She stares at me, astonished. ‘But you said revenge was about justice. You said that when things are out of balance, they need to be evened up. Well, that’s what I want – to stop being a doormat and get even.’

  I need to tell her something but I’m not sure how. I stare intently at her postcard of Circe. ‘I know I said that but that was before.’

  ‘Before what?’

  ‘Before I did something … to Marshall. Doesn’t matter what, but it was bad. I was paying him back and … Look, you think you’ll feel better afterwards but you won’t. Trust me, I know.’

  ‘So you think she should get away with it?’

  ‘No. I’m no fan of that Riley girl, believe me, but isn’t there some way you could be a non-doormat without being …’ I gesture at her blazing eyes and clenched fists, ‘this?’

  Romola purses her lips. ‘This,’ she says, pointing at herself, ‘is exactly what I need to be. I won’t be a victim ever again, Seb. Never!’

  ‘Yeah, but –’

  She pushes past me and stands by the door. ‘Look, Seb, I’m pretty tired. Would you mind …’

  ‘Romola –’

  ‘Sorry but I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  I look at her closely. Her face is set and it’s clear there’s nothing I can do to change her mind. I sigh heavily, and leave the room. I think I’ve created a monster.

  Just as I’m walking down Romola’s driveway, Maisie steps out of her front door, her hair boofed up like a bright red cloud. ‘Sebastian!’ she calls. ‘Just the person I was looking for. Got a minute?’

  All I want is to go for a run to clear my head but I can’t think of an excuse so I climb over the low wall and let Maisie show me in. As we walk through the house, she explains that Rex wants to talk to me about something. We go into their bedroom, which is filled with pictures of her and Rex when they were young: Maisie with the same boofy hair, in costume as an entertainer behind the frontline in Korea; Rex in his army uniform, his hair slicked back with Brylcreem. The current Rex is lying flat on his back in bed in tartan PJs and a beanie.

  ‘You’ve got company,’ Maisie says, then stops and stares at a dial on the wall. ‘Rex Goddard, did you turn off the heating?’

  ‘Can’t have it on till tomorrow,’ Rex protests.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Rex! This is no time for silly traditions.’ She stomps over and turns it back on. ‘There are some people in Canberra, Sebastian – older people with no sense – who refuse to turn on their heating until ANZAC Day, no matter what the temperature. But not in this house. You, my dear husband,’ she says, facing Rex, ‘are going to lie still and keep warm or your back will never settle.’

  Rex mutters something I can’t quite make out, but Maisie glares at him and he shuts up.

  ‘You’ve got five minutes,’ says Maisie, ‘then I’m coming in to collect Sebastian. You need your rest.’

  ‘Yes, Matron,’ he mumbles.

  Maisie fondly cuffs him over the head and leaves the room.

  ‘Pass me that pouch, son,’ says Rex, pointing at the dressing table. I pick up a black plastic pouch and hand it to him. He tips it upside down and out slides a set of war medals – shiny medallions hanging from brightly coloured ribbons. ‘Doc’s forbidden me to go to the Dawn Service tomorrow,’ he says. ‘He’s an old fusspot – says I can’t go on the march either. I haven’t missed an ANZAC Day since ’54!’ He lifts out the medals and holds them up. ‘You’re not a blood relative so you’re not allowed to march for me but you can wear these to the service. On the right, here.’ He prods me in the chest. ‘I wear them on the left because I served. Go on, take them.’ He drops the medals into my hands.

  ‘What’s this one?’ I ask, picking out one attached to a blue, red and white striped ribbon.

  ‘That’s the military medal.’

  ‘And what’s it for?’

  ‘Bravery in the field.’

  ‘Really?’ I say, holding it up for a better look. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Happened to be in the right place at the right time,’ he says, waving his hand as if it was nothing at all.

  ‘Still, you must have done something brave to get it.’

  Rex shrugs. He’s so different from my dad, who boasts to the whole world if he wins the chook raffle.

  ‘It was nothing compared to the bravery I witnessed when I was a prisoner of war.’

  I nod. ‘You must hate the people who put you there.’

  Rex is quiet for a moment. ‘Actually,’ he says, ‘I don’t.’

  ‘How could you not?’

  ‘Hate’s a funny thing, Sebastian. Hang onto it too long and it starts to shape who you are. I realised that if I didn’t forgive those people, I’d be tied to them forever and I’d still be in prison – up here.’ He taps the side of his head.

  ‘But how could you forgive them after the terrible things they did?’

  ‘Forgiving isn’t the same as excusing. They’ll answer for what they did. Nothing to do with me – that’s my two cents’ worth, anyway.’

  I look at this eighty-year-old man lying flat on his back with a crocheted blanket pulled up over him. Even like this he’s got more dignity than most people I know.

  As I run my fingers along the medals, I’m ambushed by the memory of deleting Marshall’s files. Wearing Rex’s medals would be a great honour but it’s an honour I don’t deserve.

  ‘Don’t you want to ask Romola to wear them?’

  ‘She’s got enough on her plate reading that poem,’ he replies. ‘And besides, I asked you.’

  I’m about to hand them back, to explain that I’m not the right person for the job, when Maisie comes in and interrupts us. ‘Time’s up, gentlemen. Rex, my dear, you need your nap.’

  ‘But, Maisie –’

  ‘No buts,’ she re
plies, hands on hips. ‘Thanks for visiting, Sebastian. We look forward to hearing all about it tomorrow.’

  Before Maisie can steer me out the door, Rex reaches out and grasps my arm. ‘Do one more thing for me, will ya, son? A couple of me mates died on the battlefield and we never found ’em. Every year I lay a poppy for them at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. It’s a special place to me – a place to remember the lads and lay a few demons to rest.’

  I nod my agreement and Maisie ushers me out of the room. As I glance over my shoulder, I catch a glimpse of Rex reaching for the heater dial.

  MONDAY, 25 APRIL

  It’s the morning of ANZAC Day, 4.06 a.m to be exact. When I stagger into the kitchen, Marshall’s already packing sandwiches into a basket. ‘For brunch after the service,’ he explains. ‘Here, get some toast into you before the girls arrive. Don’t want to be late for Romola’s big day.’

  I slide into a chair and spread blueberry jam on my toast.

  ‘Oh, and I’ve borrowed some binoculars from Rex,’ he adds, ‘so you can see what’s going on during the ceremony.’

  I nod, every act of kindness a stab in the guts.

  ‘Got the medals?’

  ‘Hall table,’ I mumble.

  Marshall goes out and returns with them. When I finish eating, he tips them into his palm. ‘Here, I’ll pin them on you.’

  With great reluctance, I stand up.

  ‘Did you know that medals were invented by the Romans?’ says Marshall, as I put on my coat. ‘The first legionnaire to go over the wall and into battle was awarded a wreath. Later, they changed it to a gold button, which is where modern medals come from.’ He takes hold of my lapel and attempts to stick the pin through it. ‘Rex was awarded this one, here, for running out onto open ground to rescue a fellow soldier who’d been shot – a very brave thing to do.’ He pauses to reposition the pin. ‘Sorry, Seb, I’m not very coordinated this time of the morning.’

  As he struggles with it, he continues telling me about medals and the sorts of things people have done to earn them – brave things, honourable things.

  ‘Stop!’ I cry, pulling back. ‘I can’t do it!’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asks Marshall, holding the medals in his hand. ‘Did I stab you?’

  I shake my head, no, my eyes fixed firmly on a blob of jam on the kitchen table.

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘I … I have to tell you something.’ My heart’s beating so hard, I’m amazed it’s not visible through my coat. ‘It’s about your files – the ones that disappeared.’

  ‘What about them?’

  The blob of jam looks like a little island on a huge wooden ocean. I wish I was there right now. I think I’m going to be sick.

  ‘I did it,’ I blurt out. ‘I deleted them.’

  Although I’m not looking at him, I hear his sharp intake of breath. ‘What?’

  ‘After the phone call with Dad I saw your laptop sitting there. I went over and …’ My mouth is so dry I grab my OJ and take a swig. ‘I wanted to get back at you.’

  Marshall stands there for a moment, breathing hard. I brace myself for a blasting. Instead, he abruptly leaves the room. I sink down into my chair, pressing my hands against my eyes. This is bad.

  When Marshall returns a few minutes later, I risk a glance at him. The muscles in his jaw are clenching and unclenching beneath his skin. There’s almost no colour in his cheeks and his eyes are wet. I wait for a lecture but all he does is thrust the medals at me. ‘I’d like you to put these on, please, Sebastian. No matter what you’ve done, you made a promise to Rex.’ I take them from him while he grabs his coat. ‘Make it quick. I’ll be in the car, waiting for the girls.’

  ‘All the old knives that have rusted

  in my back, I drive in yours.’

  – Phaedrus (Thrace of Macedonia)

  MONDAY, 25 APRIL

  I didn’t sleep much last night – I got too worked up planning my revenge. Riley’s going to be at the Dawn Service along with my whole class. An audience is just what I need. I get down on my hands and knees and fetch a special something from under my bed, then shove it in my pocket along with Riley’s friendship band.

  Mum comes to my doorway just as I’m lacing up my school shoes. ‘From our garden,’ she says, holding up two sprigs of rosemary. ‘It’s a symbol of remembrance.’

  I take one and pin it to my school blazer. Then I give my hair one last brush and grab my poem. ‘I’m ready.’

  It’s going to be a memorable day.

  It’s bizarre seeing the streets busy at four in the morning. With so many people about, we have to park more than a kilometre away from the Memorial. As I get out of the car, my breath fogs up in front of me, making me think of a dragon exhaling smoke after it’s just extinguished a village – a good day’s work, you might say. Mine’s not yet begun.

  Mum and Marshall walk ahead, leaving Sebastian and me to follow behind them. Since it rained last night, the paths are gleaming black and the air smells damp. I feel calm. Deadly calm. I brush past some bushes dripping with water and out of nowhere, a branch smacks me in the face. Fury at the branch explodes inside me like a grenade. I grab it with both hands and try to rip it off the bush.

  ‘You okay?’ asks Sebastian, stopping to watch.

  I keep wrestling with the branch. When it at last comes free, I throw it on the ground and stomp on it. Then I straighten my clothes and keep walking.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say, brushing leaves off my blazer. ‘Perfectly fine.’

  ‘I should never have shown you that book,’ mutters Sebastian.

  ‘Are you kidding? Those gods and goddesses had it right. If someone messes with you, you pay them back in a major way. That’s what I call “getting even old school”.’

  ‘Romola, I think I might know what you’re planning and I don’t –’

  ‘Stop stressing, all right? I’ve got it covered.’

  Ever since Saturday happened, I’ve tried out hundreds of different scenarios in my head. I finally came up with the perfect plan around two o’clock this morning: I’ll wait till all the kids are assembled before the service, then I’ll just happen to mention that I was sorting through some stuff in the garage when I found my old fairytale books: Sleeping Beauty, Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, Thumbelina. I’ll shoot Riley a meaningful look when I say ‘Thumbelina’. She won’t know for sure if I’m referring to her thumbsucking habit but it should be enough to put her on edge. Then I’ll mention that I went to the dentist this week where I read an article about some teenagers who still stuck their thumbs. I’ll explain how this can cause buckteeth – sometimes so bad the person has to have braces. Knowing Paige, she’ll say something like, ‘Gross!’ or ‘How embarrassing!’ Then I’ll say, ‘You’d want to keep something like that quiet, wouldn’t you? I mean, imagine if people found out you still sucked your thumb and you were in high school. It’d be social death.’ Then I’ll give Riley another long, meaningful look.

  The next step will be the best bit: waiting for the truth to dawn on her. I don’t want to rush this part. I want to enjoy watching every aspect of her face change – the colour draining from her cheeks, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping. I want her to know it’s only a matter of time before I, Romola Metski, will be sharing her secret with the world. I’ll say something like, ‘Riley, you look kind of pale. Is something the matter?’ She’ll shake her head at me, plead with her eyes, then –

  ‘We’re here,’ says Sebastian, wrenching me out of my daydream. Never mind. In only a few minutes, that daydream will be a reality.

  Made of massive grey stone blocks with a green copper dome, the Australian War Memorial is Huge with a capital ‘H’. If this were ancient times, you could imagine the Roman Senate meeting here. We head over to the flagpole furthest to the left. That’s where our history teacher, Ms Adamson, is meeting our class. Mum leaves me and Sebastian there while she and Marshall head off to find an official to tell me where I have to go. Sebastian keeps
looking at me which is (a) annoying and (b) distracting. I turn away so he’s out of my line of sight.

  Quite a few of my classmates have already arrived. I search in the dark for the petite figure of Riley. For once, my height is an advantage. And then there she is, walking towards me with Paige and Amal. My heart sinks a little. If I’m honest, I’ll admit I had a fantasy that Amal and I would form a breakaway group – just the two of us. We’d invite anyone who’d ever been kicked out of a group to join us. Oh well, if she’s with them, that’s obviously never going to happen. I don’t care, I’ve got better things to think about. My heart pounds like a fist on a door, my upper lip is damp. Not long now … Any second …

  ‘Romola, you’re needed.’ It’s Mum. ‘Come on, this way, love.’

  I look from her to Riley to Sebastian and back to Mum. ‘Now?’

  Mum looks at me quizzically. ‘Yes, of course, now.’

  I take one last look at Riley. Frustrated as I am, I have no choice but to go. It doesn’t matter, I’ll do it as soon as the service is over. Anyway, it’ll be light by that stage so I’ll be able to see Riley’s face more clearly the very moment I produce the letter.

  Mum, Marshall and Sebastian go off to find a seat while I follow an official to the area in front of the Memorial where the dignitaries sit. From here, I can look out over the stadium they’ve erected just for today. Though it’s not officially dawn yet, thousands of people have already arrived: men and women in uniform, old diggers, families, scout troops, all sorts of people. Many hold electric candles that wink in the dim light as they weave about looking for a place to sit or stand.

  A little more time passes and then the Master of Ceremonies takes his place. The murmuring of the crowd ripples up the hill towards me. This is it. I’ve been so preoccupied plotting my revenge on Riley, I haven’t had a chance to worry about reading the poem, but now the time has finally arrived, I am seriously and officially nervous.