The Betrayal of Bindy Mackenzie

by Jaclyn Moriarty

Kellyville NSW 2155

  Dear Ms Mackenzie,

  Thank you for your letter.

  It seems you did not receive our previous two letters. Copies are attached.

  We are always pleased to hear when a student is enjoying a course at his or her school. If you would like to continue providing us with ‘reports’ on your ‘FAD’ classes, please feel free to do so. All future ‘reports’ should be sent to Mr Cedric E. Constantine (Assistant to the Student Liaison Officer).

  We trust that this has been helpful.

  Please do not hesitate to contact Mr Cedric E. Constantine (Assistant to the Student Liaison Officer) if you have any further queries. I have given him a copy of your file.

  Yours sincerely,

  George Sutcliffe

  Student Liaison Officer Office

  of the Board of Studies

  A Memo from Bindy Mackenzie

  To: Ernst von Schmerz

  From: Bindy Mackenzie

  Subject: Thanks and Sorry

  Time: Friday Recess

  Dear Ernst,

  Thanks for your memo. Don’t worry, I’m taking steps to ensure that those teachers won’t bother you again. Well, I can’t be sure of that. They might bother you for other reasons. Other messages, other notes. They might bother you to blow up a balloon, or to rescue a tiger from a tree.

  Forgive my insanity. I think it is temporary. I think I will return to myself one day soon. Maybe we can meet up on the holiday, as you suggest, but of course they only last for two weeks, and I’m sure you are busy. I’ll be busy with Kmart, babysitting, some extra work I’ve just been given at a book-shop owned by one of my babysitting clients, assignments, essays, revision, advance preparation for next term etc, etc. You understand.

  However, in relation to the teachers who want to see me: You may be pleased to know that I have arranged to meet with Mrs Lilydale at the start of lunch today, and with Mr Botherit at the end of lunch. I am just about to write to the other teacher: the small one with the plaits and a name like Endeavour. She wrote me a note herself, so I’m replying.

  So! Thank you very much and I hope you won’t be bothered again.

  Best,

  Bindy

  A Memo from Bindy Mackenzie

  To: Try

  From: Bindy Mackenzie

  Subject: FAD

  Time: Friday Recess

  Dear Try,

  Thank you for your note full of ‘hope’. I didn’t think it was ‘corny’ or ‘lame’ at all. I think it was kind of you to write it, and beyond the call of duty.

  I’m very sorry but I’d prefer not to come to your FAD classes again. It’s not that I don’t want to give the FAD group a ‘second chance’. It’s just that I think you and the others will get along much better without me!

  If I am technically required to continue taking the course, perhaps I could do it by correspondence?

  Yours sincerely,

  Bindy Mackenzie

  NOTE FOR BINDY MACKENZIE FROM MRS LILYDALE

  Hi Bindy,

  So sorry—had to rush off at the last minute so can’t be here to meet you as planned. I wanted to see you so I could talk about debating. It starts in the third week after the break, so decision time! Listen, I’m sure you’ve heard that Emily T. was a hit in the oratory contest? (Winner at district level but knocked out at the next round—not bad!) And she’s been going great guns with moot court! Her Legal Studies teacher raves about her! You know, her parents are both successful lawyers, too . . . So shall we assume you’re happy, after all, to have her on your team? Back on track? A team player again? We need you, Bindy! The team needs you!

  Have fun on your break!

  So long!

  Mrs Lilydale

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  Friday, 1.47 pm (by a window in the Year 11 wing)

  If a teacher can be absent from a meeting, can a student then be absent from a class? Perhaps the student should have left a note at the classroom door: ‘Hi Mr Patel, So sorry—had to rush off at the last minute so can’t be here for your Economics class as planned.’

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  1.49 pm

  Of course, Mr Botherit was there at his meeting. Does he cancel Mrs Lilydale out?

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  1.50 pm

  Now, there is a question. Does Mr Botherit cancel Mrs Lilydale out? A Year Co-ordinator like Mrs Lilydale! I used to knock on her door last year, and she would trill, ‘Ah-hah! A Bindy viewpoint!’, beckon me into the office, offer a cup of tea, and sit back, happily, waiting for my viewpoint. (I had viewpoints on many things last year: my teachers, global dimming, Iraq, reality tv and the associated decline of civilisation, alcohol abuse among teenagers . . .) Today, I climbed to the top balcony, knocked on Mr Botherit’s door, and he glanced up from a spilling pile of paper. ‘Oh!’ he said in surprise.

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  1.54 pm

  ‘Oh!’ he exclaimed, and he gathered his papers together, and gave me a thoughtful frown. ‘Sit down, sit down!’ he remembered himself, and I sat. There is a window behind his head, filled with bright sunlight. It was difficult to look at him.

  ‘Bindy,’ he said, ‘yes, I asked you to come and see me, didn’t I?’ And he began to spill papers again.

  (It is worth pointing out that this is Mr Botherit’s first year as Year Co-ordinator. He joined our school two years ago as an English teacher, and has stirred up controversy in the past—he started a penpal scheme with the wayward students of a nearby school. As far as I can see, the only step he has taken towards embracing his new role, as Year Co-ordinator, is the ‘rousing’ speeches he gives at our weekly assemblies.)

  ‘Now,’ he said, finding the paper he wanted. ‘Ah yes, I wanted to see you. Looks like you’ve been busy writing letters to the Board!’

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  1.58 pm

  Betrayal!

  The Board of Studies had contacted him! That ridiculous Student Liaison Officer! He had replied to my letters in a manner which suggested he must have failed Primary Comprehension. He had replied to my letters without actually responding to a single word that I said. (His replies, quite frankly, made me despair for the future of this State.) Meanwhile, secretly, he had contacted Mr Botherit to pass on my complaints! He had contacted Mr Botherit to say: what shall we do about this girl?

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  2.03 pm

  Well! I could not believe it.

  While I was not believing it, Mr Botherit wasted several minutes of my life gently suggesting that I come to him in the future if I have any concerns about my school. No need, he reasoned, to go straight to the Board! He wondered why I hadn’t come to him first on this occasion? (It didn’t seem right to point out his inexperience as a Year Co-ordinator, nor his errors of judgement in the past—so I simply smiled enigmatically.) More minutes passed as he explained the multitude of benefits of FAD. He could see exactly why I doubted that I needed it, but he was sure my group would bring me around.

  ‘And your group,’ he said, earnestly,‘—I looked it up— and they seem like a fine group, as far as . . .’ He turned to his computer.

  And something extraordinary happened.

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  2.08 pm

  He turned, as I said, to his computer.

  He squinted at it. Turned with irritation to the window behind him which was obviously lighting up his screen. He hit a few keys. ‘FAD, FAD,’ he muttered to himself. ‘This new-fangled software,’ he apologised. ‘We seem to be doing a trial run with some tricky new software, and I can’t get the hang of—hang on, here we go. Yes, here’s your FAD group. You’re in with a great bunch of people! Terence Brickhill, Sky Morrell, Ernst von Schmerz—he’s a friend of yours, isn’t he? Oh, look, and you’ve got Ashlee, she’s a great girl!’ He faced me
again, smiling broadly and I simply stared.

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  2.12 pm

  I’d been attending the wrong FAD group all this time.

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  2.13 pm

  Somehow I’d misread my timetable! And those names he just mentioned—those were my kind of names, those were my class, my level of people! I had slipped into the wrong universe! Somehow I had made a terrible mistake and now I was mortified. I sat in Mr Botherit’s office feeling as if I had come to school in my pyjamas.

  ‘That?’ I whispered, after staring a moment. ‘That’s my FAD group? Because I thought . . .’

  Mr Botherit turned back to his computer, nodding—and then he frowned.

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  2.15 pm

  As he frowned, his eyebrows seemed to jump.

  ‘Oh, sorry, Bindy. No. Look at that!’ He bit his lower lip, concentrating. He ran his mouse to the edge of his desk, looked down at the mouse with surprise, and returned it to the mousepad. ‘My mistake. You’re not with that FAD group at all! Here we go. Bindy Mackenzie. You’re with Emily, Astrid, Sergio, Toby—that lot. Does that sound right?’

  ‘That sounds right,’ I breathed. I felt a strange wave of relief. I was properly dressed, in full uniform, and not in my sleepwear after all.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he repeated, still gazing at the screen. ‘See, I was looking at an older version of the FAD groups—it appears that you were with that first group, originally, but someone . . .’ He tapped at a key or two and then shrugged to himself.

  ‘But someone,’ he repeated, ‘moved you.’

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  2.17pm

  And now here I am, in the Year 11 wing, reflecting on Year Co-ordinators and FAD groups. The meeting concluded when the bell rang. Mr Botherit was still talking, but I stood up and shouted, ‘I’d better get to Economics!’

  ‘Promise me you’ll give your FAD class another go?’ He raised his voice a little himself, as if trying to keep up with my shout.

  ‘Economics!’ I sang again.

  And now here I am, in the Year 11 wing—not in Economics at all.

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  2.19 pm

  I am new to this. This ‘skipping a class’. I see why they call it skipping. My heart skips a beat every now and then, when it remembers that it should be in class. Actually, I think I might contact Mr Patel later, apologise, and ask for a copy of his class plan for today, along with suggested additional reading so that I can catch up.

  Is that common practice for those who ‘skip’ a class?

  Of course, they might not call it ‘skipping’. What is the current slang for educational absenteeism? (I do not mingle with the sort of student that practises this art.) Do they call it ‘skiving off’, ‘playing hooky’, ‘wagging’? I have heard the word ‘jigging’, but perhaps I have mistook. Isn’t that a sort of Irish dance?

  The technical term is ‘truanc’, of course. The original meaning of ‘truant’ is a person who begs by choice. That is, a person who doesn’t need to beg, but chooses to do so anyway. An ‘idle rogue’, says my dictionary.

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  2.24 pm

  I am an idle rogue.

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  2.25 pm

  I was an idle rogue on Wednesday, of course: I missed my FAD class.

  But isn’t that something different? Not idleness at all? If you know that a group despises you, are you not compelled to stay away? Even if someone once moved me into that group (assuming Mr Botherit is right about that, and wasn’t just confused by his new software)—even if someone wanted me once, they certainly don’t want me now.

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  2.27 pm

  Strange.

  I know I have been lost in

  reverie

  but this wing has been whisper-quiet. I could have sworn I was alone. Yet, just now, I turned toward my locker and there I see a bulky, yellow envelope! It is taped to the outside of my locker. How did it get there? Are others, like me, shadow people? I will stop my

  reverie

  and get it.

  A Note from the desk of Try Montaine

  Dear Bindy,

  Well, I’ve given some thought to your creative suggestion that you do your FAD course by correspondence. And I’m afraid I can’t get my head around it . . . I don’t think a life raft works that way.

  You’ve got to at least be in the same room!!

  But you’ve given me an idea—how about some homework for over the break, to catch up on the FAD class you missed?

  The homework is simple. It’s this: tell me what makes you who you are.

  Take a blank sheet of paper and write down your favourite colours and foods, the moments that changed your life, some things you’ve seen and heard that have affected or surprised or concerned you. Be as honest as you can, Bindy. Don’t think about the impression you’re making. This can only help you if you’re honest.

  Let’s have the story of you. The story of Bindy’s life! (The group had fun doing this task while you were absent the other day. I think they found it invaluable.)

  To be honest, Bindy, I missed you at FAD—you and your multi-coloured nail polish. Which brings me to your gift! I’m enclosing some wonderful, sparkling nail polish in this envelope. It’s especially for you, from a member of your FAD group. (I’ve promised not to give away which member. You’ll just have to guess.)

  Look at it as a bribe if you like. Look at it as secret code for: your FAD group want you back!

  Best wishes,

  Try

  PART FIVE

  Bindy Mackenzie: A Life

  INTRODUCTORY NOTE

  The following Life has been prepared by me (Belinda ‘Bindy Mackenzie) for the purposes of a course entitled ‘Friendship and Development’.

  Now, I had planned to present this Life as a ‘collage’. I wanted to answer the question ‘what makes me who I am?’ by scanning in various documents: my birth certificate; health records; parents’ tax returns; Kmart superannuation documentation; photos of my father with a chisel in his hand . . . and so on.

  However, most of these documents are now in a padlocked storage area, at our old house in Kellyville. The house has tenants living in it.

  (I contacted the real estate agent to request her assistance in procuring consent to access landlord chattels, but she said she didn’t ’get what I was on about’.)

  Accordingly, sections (1) and (2) of this Life are written in straightforward narrative. They describe my early years, to the best of my recollection.

  However, good news!

  I do have my special box with me. This is a box which contains my old diaries, and a few other select items which are precious to me such as merit awards, prizes, and copies of correspondence with the Ashbury school principal.

  Hence, sections (3) to (12) of this Life will be made up of the contents of my special box (along with occasional ‘explanatory notes’).

  As you will note, the diary entries are rather scarce. I have had little time for diary writing in the past (this year, I seem to write too much—not in my diary, but so many musings and memos . . .).

  At any rate, I now invite you to read on.

  I invite you to enter the Life of Bindy Mackenzie . . .

  Please enjoy.

  1. Bindy Mackenzie: the Early Years (Age 0–3)

  I was born on a cold, blue Wednesday in the middle of the month of July.

  I was two weeks early, and my mother likes to say that I’ve been in a hurry ever since.

  My father, Paul Mackenzie, was working in construction at the time. The day that I was born, he suffered a concussion, when a hammer fell onto his head. Indeed, he was en route to the hospital, in the front seat of an ambulance
(he refused to cower in the back), blood dripping into his eyes, when my mother felt her first contraction.

  My mother, Cecily Mackenzie, had started an MBA while pregnant with me. According to family legend, she distracted herself from the labour pains by writing an assignment on the Application of Financial Ratio Analysis to Assessment of Profitability in Small and Medium-Sized Businesses.

  A single photograph was taken that day. It shows me in my mother’s arms, my father leaning over both of us. My father is wearing a hospital gown which falls open at the neck, showing the hairs on his chest. There is a white gauze bandage protruding from the side of his head. I have studied his face for indications of concussion, but his pupils seem normal to me. He must have made a speedy recovery.

  I appear to be a sweet baby: a round face and squinty little eyes. My parents brought me home from the hospital, to live in their rented apartment.

  My father sued his employer for the falling hammer, accepted their settlement cheque, and bought a dilapidated house in Winston Hills.

  My mother received a High Distinction for her Financial Ratio Analysis assignment.

  One year later, my brother, Anthony, was born.

  To be honest, I have no memory of any of this.

  2. Bindy Mackenzie: the Shadowy Years (Age 3–6)

  My father fixed up the house in Winston Hills, sold it, and bought a house in Seven Hills.

  This became the pattern of his life—indeed, it remains the pattern of his life. He buys a house, we move in, he renovates, he sells it (or he rents it out while he waits for zoning laws to change, so he can demolish the house, subdivide and make a tidy fortune). He is a property developer. He runs a business called Mackenzie Enterprises which currently has a portfolio of twenty-five properties, mostly in the Hills District. The longest we have stayed in any one house is seven months. The shortest is seventy-two hours.

  Most recently, we lived in Kellyville. At present, however, I am staying with my aunt and uncle. (My parents wanted to live in/renovate a one-bed apartment in the city and there was no room for Anthony and me.)