by Lee Hayton
I liked her. I needed to talk to someone and I liked her. Most of all, I needed to talk to someone I liked inside where there couldn’t be the possibility of casual eavesdropping occurring.
I placed her belongings down carefully on the floor, and picked a long hair pin out of Ms Aiello’s bun where it was trying, and failing, to hold the bounty of grey and brown hairs under any sort of control.
‘What are you..?’
‘I’ve got this. I want Ms Pearson to come back out like I want a roll in the hay with the headmaster,’ I said, and she reddened and then giggled at the image.
I bent down to look through the lock. It was an old-fashioned turn-key style like we were living in a Dickens novel rather than the modern day. It made it a matter of strength rather than dexterity, though, and I only spent a minute poking around with the hairpin before I managed to trip the tumblers and carry them round.
‘Oh dear, I can’t thank you enough,’ Ms Aiello said as she walked into the room. Leaving most of her possessions out on the floor where I’d placed them. ‘I must remember your services the next time I misplace them. I don’t suppose you can do that with a car, can you?’
I was about to ask her which model, and then thought better of it and shook my head. Some secrets it pays to keep close to your chest. I picked up the rest of her gear and brought it in with me, making sure the door was securely closed behind me.
‘What can I help you with today, then? Are you settling into our little school okay?’
I nodded and swallowed hard. Now that it came time to speak I wasn’t sure how to phrase it.
‘Don’t you worry, don’t you worry. We’ve got time. You have a think about what you want to talk about, and I’ll have a quick look through your file so that I don’t mix your name up with the janitor.’
I bubbled up a laugh in surprise.
‘Oh, it’s been done. It’s been done.’ She squinted at me across the desk. ‘I’d say not by me but who’d I be kidding, eh?’
She kept looking through my file, squeezed full of too many different papers, from too many different letterheads. I tried to think of a way to start that wouldn’t make me sound as bad as I thought I was, but the words eluded me.
‘It says here that you were a Cantamaths contestant for the last three years,’ she said and looked up at me, ‘A pity you arrived a few weeks too late for that one. We haven’t submitted a team in donkey’s years.’
‘I was a contestant, but I never won.’
‘It’s a team thing, though, isn’t it? You couldn’t win alone even if you were the best in the room.’
I snorted and nodded, ‘Sure. It was all those other students holding me back.’
She looked at me for a minute longer, then smiled wide. ‘Sometimes it’s the things we don’t like to say aloud that are the truest. You had something going for you, anyhow. Gosh, you move about a lot.’
‘My mum doesn’t like to stay in one place for too long.’
‘So what is it?’
‘’Scuse me?’
‘What’s the reason? Let me guess, you’re bright. I bet you’re mum’s got some smarts too. Drugs, or alcohol?’
I shifted on the seat. The wood seemed to have grown too hard and too hot.
‘Don’t worry. You don’t have to say it if it makes you uncomfortable. Must be hard moving all the time.’
I just nodded. I didn’t want to say anything now, just in case I started to talk and then couldn’t stop.
‘I heard there was some trouble yesterday.’
I relaxed and leant back. This was my entrance.
‘Yes, I was in class…’
She cut me off, ‘Yes, and someone had a nasty surprise for you, I see.’
‘Well, that’s not the only…’
‘I know, I know. There’s been a bit of talk around the staffroom. I keep my ears to the ground, you see.’ She tapped the side of her nose. ‘I can sniff out the truth in a single morning tea break. Secret power.’
‘You’re talking about me in the staffroom?’
‘Well, not just you dear. Everybody. All the pupils. Have to make sure we’re keeping an eye on you. And I know you’ve gotten yourself into some trouble.’
‘I’ve?’ What the hell had I done?
‘Heard you gave Michelle a bit of a once-over. No,’ she said putting her hand up in a stop signal. ‘Don’t tell me anything. It’s safer that way. About time, someone put that girl in her place.’
My face was heating up, and my heart was beating faster. I felt indignation, and not just for me. They sat around in the staff room making up gossip about us? Over their morning tea?
‘I really haven’t…’
‘Yes. That’s the spirit. You’ve done nothing wrong. Just make sure it all doesn’t go too far and get too out of hand, okay. I know there're the old mantras about giving a bully a taste of their own medicine, but as I’m sure you found out yesterday that sort of thing can escalate out of all control. You don’t want to keep this little spat going on too long, do you? I think you can probably be the better person, and put aside your differences.’
I stared at her for a long moment, my mouth dropped open. And then I snapped it shut, an audible clink coming from my two incisors where they came together.
No wonder her sign-up sheet was barren.
‘I see you got into a spot of bother at your last school…’
‘Yes, well I really should get to class.’
‘Don’t worry about that dear, I’ll give you a pass that’ll let you off the hook.’
‘No, no, we’re going to be doing some work I was looking forward to,’ I said as I stood and slung my backpack over one shoulder. ‘I’ve already missed out so much because I was late arriving.’
She was shaking her head no. ‘I’m sure you’ll be able to pick up anything. All your records indicate that you’re very bright.’
For some reason this statement, that should’ve sounded like a compliment, started to feel like a threat.
‘Not really, I have to study really hard. So I’d better…’
‘Sit down, sit down. We haven’t even started, and I’ve got most of the day free so you can talk as long as you like.’
I stopped arguing and just walked away. The temptation to jimmy the lock and keep her inside her room all day was strong, but I pretended I was the better man.
Outside I looked in at Ms Pearson’s office. If she was my mother, she’d make sure I saw a doctor. If for nothing else than it was the expected thing to do. But she wasn’t going to help a pupil out with their stupid problems, and the person who should was barking.
Another brilliant idea gone down the gurgler.
It better not be brain cancer.
Chapter Four
Coroner’s Court 2014
Ms Aiello lumbers to the stand. The grace I remember is gone, lost to arthritis and varicose veins, but the wide smile is still in place. It looks incongruent in the setting.
‘Now, I want you to tell us – in your own words – about a session you held with Daina Harrow.’
Ms Aiello nods. ‘Actually we had several sessions. I think she came to rely on me.’
Ummm. No, we didn’t. And, huh, no I didn’t.
The coroner nods and she nods back until she realises that he was trying to prompt her. She gives a trilling laugh and places her arms on both rests to lever herself up to change position. She winces in pain. I could sympathise. It was hard when your body turned against you and started to inflict the pain that it was meant to protect you from.
‘Well, she signed up on my sheet. I’m usually quite busy, but I felt it was important to make the time to see her, being she was a new student and all. I set aside some time in the morning so that if we ran late it wouldn’t interfere with the other students I’d booked in.’
I wondered if the lie ran off her tongue with such ease because she half-believed it herself. The genuine smile almost made the rubbish she was spouting believable to me.
‘She’d been having some trouble with bullying. We took a hard line on that, and not just because of legislation. It’s a no-win situation. Daina was a nice girl, but she’d rubbed some people up the wrong way, and then she’d escalated things by getting physical when she should’ve just backed away.’
Ms Aiello turns to the coroner and states, ‘You should never get physical, no matter what the provocation. It can only make situations worse, but it’s hard to get that across to a teenager when they’re full of hormones. Daina was quite competitive as well, so it was expected that the entire episode would get out of hand if I didn’t counsel her on how to handle it.’
She stops talking and looks satisfied with herself instead. The coroner waits for her to resume, and when she doesn’t he leans over to her, ‘And what counsel did you offer her?’
‘Oh, as I’ve already said. Don’t let it get physical. Try to rise above, that sort of thing.’
‘But it had already become physical, you said?’
Ms Aiello frowns and looks down at her hands. I can see a hairpin wandering free of her bun and wonder again how different a course my life would have taken except for that damn piece of bent metal.
Daina 2004
As though by agreement, nobody in my new little circle ever mentioned ‘the incident.’
Perhaps it would’ve been easier to have it out in the open so that I could laugh about it, but at the time I was grateful for the opportunity to ignore it.
Other pupils didn’t make life so easy. Not by confrontation – I think that would’ve offered me the chance to set things right – but by whispers behind hands. Whispers that stopped while I walked past, then resumed.
I got into the habit of having lunch with Vila, Tracy, Melanie, and Susie. We used the same bench and table each time; nothing like a teenager to stake out territory even in a public place, and I grew used to the company. On occasions when there wasn’t any food in the house I grew used to the offers of sandwiches and the dreaded fruit that health-conscious mothers put in their daughter’s backpacks, apparently unaware that unless I claimed it the apples, oranges and bananas they provided would go straight in the bins. Or, even worse, they’d sit at the bottom of the backpack for a couple of weeks and then go in the bins.
We started to sit near each other in class, in classes where the teachers didn’t need to keep to a strict seating plan in order to remember each pupil’s name anyway.
There was something for me to look forward to.
My mother continued to throw parties on the weeks she was paid out her benefit money, and continued to scrimp and save and go through the DTs on the week that she wasn’t. I tried to lift her EFTPOS card again, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. My mother may seem like an idiot when she was drinking, but all the booze hid a fierce intelligence that was more than equal to secreting a small plastic card away from her teenage daughter.
#
‘Daddy. What are you doing home?’ Vila bounded into her lounge and gave her father a big hug. Unilateral parental hatred, then.
Her father was a big man. Broad-shouldered. Well over six foot. He towered over me, and at five foot ten myself, that was becoming an increasingly rare occurrence for anyone, even a male.
He nodded at me, and I took another step forward into the room. ‘I’m Daina.’
‘She’s the girl helping me with my maths,’ Vila explained, still holding her Dad around the waist with one arm. ‘Not that it’s really helping.’
He gave her a kiss on the forehead and pushed her back slightly so she let go. ‘You don’t have to be good at everything. As long as you’re trying your best.’
‘What are you doing home?’ Vila repeated, this time a frown appearing and creasing her brow.
‘I’ve got an all-nighter coming up,’ he said. ‘And I wanted to bring some stuff home, then go back into the office.’
He waved at his briefcase, which lay open on the side table. There was a flutter of pages as he leant over and snapped the lid down shut.
‘You’re not leaving me alone with Mum for tea, are you?’ Vila asked. The mock horror in her voice lifted it up into a higher octave.
He frowned at the television, ignoring Vila, and picked up a remote to pump up the sound.
‘I don’t want you fighting with your mother,’ he said idly, his concentration diverted.
There was a picture on the TV of a crashed plane in the snow. The 25th anniversary of Air New Zealand flight 901’s infamous crash had spread the images across the airwaves so much it was as familiar as wallpaper.
Vila shifted her weight from foot to foot, then looked at the TV as well. There was an array of crash scenes, a Dash-8 on a foggy hilltop, with an Ansett NZ official tearfully breaking the news, then a Cessna 182 in a lake with a grey-suited man staring down the gathered journalists.
I felt a wave of sickness and turned away to steady myself against the sofa. Vila’s Dad, his eyes still glued to the screen, stretched a hand behind him to feel the locks on his briefcase.
Broadcast over, he turned the TV off and kissed Vila on the forehead. ‘I’ll see you later tonight. No fighting, okay?’ He picked up the briefcase and moved into the far corridor. ‘Your mum works hard for this family.’
‘He’s got an office there,’ Vila said to my querying look. ‘Never stops working these days.’ She stuck her lower lip out.
My calculator died halfway through the quadratic equations we were working on. There’d been a crack in the side of the tiny LCD screen for a while now, and after pressing in the latest numerals it went dark with a rainbow effect at the edge of the screen.
‘Use mine,’ Vila said and shoved it towards me. ‘I still don’t get how you just know what the answer should be.’
I took her through the method again, but my heart wasn’t really in it. I’d already taken Vila through the steps a dozen times – she was well versed in the theory – but she couldn’t make the leap to deduction. Part of it was her complete inability to divide or subtract in her head. Most of it was a general apathy towards the subject as soon as she realised the work it required.
There was the slam of a car boot from downstairs and the rev of an engine. Vila leapt to her feet and went to the window. Her father’s vehicle was reversing out of the driveway.
Even worse, her mother’s car was turning in.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Vila said suddenly. She picked up the corners of the plastic picnic blanket we’d been working on and lifted the whole thing onto her bed.
‘I can’t stand another moment of schoolwork. It’s bad enough I have to do it all day. Let’s go to the mall.’
‘I don’t have any money,’ I reminded her, but she just shrugged her shoulders.
‘I don’t want to buy anything. I just want to get out of here.’
‘But you haven’t finished your homework,’ I protested. ‘You’ll catch it tomorrow if we don’t finish up.’
‘That’s tomorrow,’ Vila said and dragged me by the elbow to the stairs. ‘Plenty of time to worry about it then.’
#
‘Homework, ladies,’ Mr Nippon said as he came to a halt beside my desk, almost clicking his heels together. Vila passed her exercise book across to him, and I offered up my sheets of refill.
He stared down at them fixedly for a good thirty seconds before speaking.
‘Where’s your exercise book, Miss?’ He was good with names.
‘I haven’t got one yet. I only just started here.’
The loose pages continued to be glared at. ‘You’ve been here for three weeks, young lady. That’s more than enough time to equip yourself. I’ve given you the list.’ He tapped his knuckles on the desk for emphasis. ‘You make sure you get them or I won’t accept any more work in from you. You need the right calculator for the end of year exams as well, or you won’t be allowed in.’
I reddened as some of the kids at the front of the class turned to see what the problem was. I couldn’t afford any of it, and there was no way that
my mother was going to forgo a bottle of vodka to pay for a new calculator.
After school, I went to the admin building.
‘Excuse me, Ms Pearson?’
She smiled as she turned, and then frowned and sighed as she saw it was me. For some reason, the purloining of me on the first day was considered my fault. I bet the golden-haired Mr Bond didn’t get the long sigh.
‘I was wondering if there was any assistance available to help with purchasing school books and equipment?’
‘What do you mean, equipment?’
‘Calculators, exercise books, that sort of thing.’
She stared at me for a long minute and then snapped the book in her hand shut.
‘There’s nothing like that. Why?’
Because that wasn’t immediately obvious to her.
‘I don’t think my mother can afford it.’
She continued to stare at me, a knowing look now working its way onto her face. ‘According to your records your mother is on the DPB.’
I nodded. ‘That’s right. And things are tight right now. If I could just get some assistance, maybe even a loan?’
‘We’re already paying your mother to raise you. If you want school equipment, then tell her not to spend the money on frivolous expenses.’
I bit back a retort and wondered at what point in my life I would be involved in an exchange with an adult where I wasn’t judged and found wanting.
‘She doesn’t spend money on things she doesn’t need to,’ I answered. This was perfectly true, from an alcoholic’s point of view. ‘But we had a lot of expenses moving here, and this is just outside our budget at the moment.’
‘You would’ve needed these things at your previous school.’
‘We had to leave in a hurry. I don’t think they were packed up, or we’ve lost them somewhere in the move.’
Ms Pearson sniffed and walked behind her desk. She placed her hands on either side of the pristine desk pad that was centred on it and leant forward.
‘Well, if your mother really does require some assistance perhaps we’d be able to help.’
