by Nette Hilton
Missie wasn’t giving it up. It was her money and she was keeping it. Max held on tightly but for a boy who looked a bit on the soft side, he was very strong. She tried to grab at him but he was quicker and twisted her arm up her back. Now she couldn’t move.
Her hanky, though, was still tight in her fist.
‘Let it go,’ he was saying. The pointy thing was a nail. She could see it easily as it swam in front of her face. ‘Let it go or I’ll jab you.’ He let the nail prick her skin. Not deep but the promise was there. ‘Give it to me!’
She closed her fist tighter. It hurt like hell when he pushed her arm higher but she wasn’t giving in. The only good news was that he had to drop his nail to try and prise her fingers apart. He had her then. Pain screamed up her arm as he pressed down on her fingers. She’d never known anything could hurt so much.
He let her go and she fell straight down onto her knees. Like she was praying. Her arm was smarting and throbbing like blazes but she scrambled to her feet. It was her money and he wasn’t having it.
She was on her feet and grabbing as best she could. Her sore arm was flopping about and didn’t seem to have any muscles working. But her other arm worked and she shoved him when he tried to undo the knot. He pushed her but she didn’t go down. She was swaying about a bit, though.
Hot tears filled her eyes. She was panting and sweating. Her dress was filthy and her hair had sprung out of its ribbons and stood like wires. And her nose was snotty. ‘You’re a pig, Max Winterman,’ she sobbed. ‘A snotty fat pig!’
‘You’re a snotty fat pig, Maxy-Waxy...’ he mimicked and tossed the handkerchief from one hand to the other.
The other boy was still standing on the path. ‘Here!’ he called. ‘Chuck it here!’
Missie knew she was trapped. Max behind. This boy in front. The more she leapt the harder and higher they’d throw it.
Her blood rushed and roared with hate. It was blinding her. There’d be no good rubbing her eyes. Her hands were filthy and she’d have it all over her face as well. She did anyway before she could stop herself, and almost wailed with rage.
‘Here,’ the boy said quietly and threw it to her.
He was sorry for her, that’s what it was. She’d seen it when he looked at her like she was some dopey little kid.
‘Piss off then.’ Max gave her a shove and went back to standing by his mate. He rocked back and forward on his feet.
And she hated him. He was a bloody pig and she’d dob on him if she could. She wasn’t going just because he said so. Pig. She stood still and didn’t move until they drifted off back under the trees.
It helped a bit.
Not going when he said.
Not a lot, but enough to get her going again.
She rubbed her face with her hanky and scrubbed her hands down the front of her skirt. She thought about licking them to make them wet but it was a dark, checked skirt that prickled her legs and was scratchy enough to make her hands feel smooth again.
A lot of other people were heading up the hill and it was exciting just to be one of them. Grown-up almost.
The Mary statue smiled at her as she stopped at the gate to look across the lawn at all the tables that had been set up.
‘Jeez, what took you so long? You should see this stuff.’ Zilla was beside her. ‘There’s masses of things. You got any money?’
There were more than masses. Surely there was never, ever anywhere with so many things sitting out ready and waiting to be sampled or touched or tasted or sniffed or bought. Missie hardly knew which direction to go in first. Zill was busy snatching at her arm, pointing out this and that but it wasn’t going in. Missie’s eyes were so full of it her brain wasn’t able to do more than just feast on that. Hearing was out of the question.
‘What’re you going to get?’ Zilla said. She lifted a little vase with a pink flower on the front from the white elephant stall. ‘You could buy this.’ It was a dressing table for a doll made out of matchboxes. The drawers slid in and out but they had a nasty way of bending which said they’d be buggered in a few days. ‘Or this.’ A little swan vase with a plant in its back sat on Zilla’s hand.
It was lovely.
The exact same swan was in the jeweller’s shop in Main Street with the same fizzy sort of decoration on it and it cost lots and lots of money. And this one, just because it was used and had a little chip that you could hardly see at all in one of its honey-combed feathers, was only sixpence.
‘And there’s stacks of stuff to eat!’ Zilla was pulling her along. ‘Let’s find something. What d’you want?’
They wandered the full length of the fair and back again to the cake stall. Zill was hinting that a cake would be nice but the swan was calling her back. It’d look lovely on her mother’s dresser.
‘I’m buying Mum a present.’
Zill hovered around the cake stand. ‘I’ll catch up.’
‘Come now.’ It’d be better if they stayed together. ‘We’ll come back in a minute.’
If she hadn’t turned around she’d have been none the wiser. But, as it was, she turned just as Zilla’s hand snatched out and grabbed something.
She was stealing stuff.
Missie’s mother’d turn her inside out if she found out!
‘Put it back!’
‘Don’t be a dill.’ A gingerbread man was lying in her open hand. It was lovely and crumbly and longed to be eaten. ‘Here.’ The bottom half was thrust at her. ‘Go on.’
There was no way she could nibble at it. Her mouth was so dry it’d never go down.
‘Eat it up, then,’ Zilla said.
Missie shook her head and went to stand in front of the stall with the swan. ‘I want that vase, please.’ She made a point of holding her money up high. She wanted to show the world she was paying for this. Properly. A nice girl like her would never, ever steal anything. Or eat something that was stolen. Like Zill was doing.
‘It’s a nice one, isn’t it, dear?’ the woman behind the table was saying. ‘Is it for you?’
‘For Mum.’ Missie’s voice was so dry she was croaking.
‘Well, she’ll love it, I’m sure.’
The woman took the sixpence and, before Missie could collect her little parcel, pressed two pennies into her palm. ‘I think girls who buy their mother a special present should get a special price.’ She smiled. ‘There’s enough change to go and buy a patty cake each.’
Zilla beamed up at the woman. ‘Thanks very much,’ she said and enjoyed the joke all the way to the end of the park. ‘Don’t be such a grouch! It was only an old gingerbread man. And you paid for the vase so they got some money anyway. And we paid for the cakes.’
‘You stole it.’ It made no difference to Zilla, no matter how fierce she sounded.
They were at the far, far end of the gardens. Beyond them the road, empty now, stretched back down the hill and on into town. Then it would meander past the town centre gardens and swoop down, passing the playing fields on its right and curving to take a run across the bridge. Missie could hear the cars crossing at night sometimes. The old boards rattled and her mother reckoned if they didn’t hurry up and get across they’d all finish up in the drink.
Zilla stood still. ‘So?’ she said. ‘What now?’
‘You shouldn’t steal.’ It was her lovely day and angry little bits were threatening to spoil it. She wouldn’t have even known about the jumble sale except for Zilla.
And Jimmy. Who hadn’t even been there.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Missie said quietly. ‘I just don’t think you should do it, that’s all.’
‘I know that.’ Zill was already ambling off. ‘And I won’t do it again but it was only one thing and anyway who was gonna miss it?’
They were shuffling down the road, Zill in the lead.
‘Where’re we going?’
‘Down there for a bit.’ Zilla pointed to the playing fields on the way back to town. ‘Found a real good place I wanta show you.’
&nb
sp; She hurried past the trees where Max had hidden. It was silly because even Max wouldn’t still be hanging around in there waiting for her. But he’d be somewhere. It was enough to make her keep going.
Zilla was already through the fence and onto the fields and dancing in circles. Her arms swung out either side of her and her head was flung back.
‘Come and do this!’ she cried.
12
SATURDAY AFTERNOON
RIVERBANK
It was an ocean of grass. A place where she could actually see the wind rushing at her.
Grass bent and begged to be danced across. It whipped against her legs and shoes making tiny clicking noises. Together they ran to the centre, arms outstretched and then twirled around and around and around until the world spun and they fell down.
‘It’s all rocking!’ Zilla said as she swayed upright.
‘I’m not doing it any more.’
Her stomach lurched as she stood up.
She’d had no idea that a footy field was so huge. It was like standing in the middle of the universe. It was like being her own kaleidoscope. This way the river, turn a bit and up there was the town and turn a bit and there was the marsh and turn a bit and there was the old wharf. Nothing seemed to overlap. All the times she’d stood over there and watched footy with her mother she’d never known how marvellous this was. All that time. Wasted.
They ran, being the ball in the game until they finally reached the goalposts and leapt through. ‘Goal!’ they cried. ‘Goal!’
Then they kicked themselves in and tumbled and ran and leaned into corners and sprang through to score again.
‘Who’s that?’ Zilla swung herself right around the goalpost.
‘Who?’
‘Up there...’ She was pointing back up the hill, the hill that appeared to be so distant now.
‘It’s Max.’
‘I know that’s Max ... dumbo. Not Max. Who’s that with him?’
‘Lawrence Somebody-or-other.’
Zilla let go of the post. She set off slowly towards the river end of the oval. Beyond it were places to sit, railings that splintered bottoms and pulled threads in trousers, and beyond that the road and then the river. She kept glancing back as she went.
‘He looks all right.’
They climbed over the fence. Missie followed although she was beginning to feel uneasy at being so far away from the town.
‘Saw them up at the fair. Woulda been good if they’d come over, don’t you reckon?’
Anything or anyone to do with Max wasn’t to be encouraged. It was easier to pretend she hadn’t heard. Besides, they were standing by the side of the road now and the river shone brown and deep beyond the reeds on the other side. Nothing about it was making her feel like she wanted to be here. Rivers plus reeds equalled snakes and even if they didn’t get you, the water was deep and fast-flowing and probably would.
‘Where are we going? I have to go back soon.’
‘It’ll be all right. Just want to show you something.’ Zilla plunged into the taller grasses. ‘Come on.’
The choice between staying with Zill and staying up on the side of the road where anyone might see her and dob wasn’t a happy one. However, as she clambered along through the reeds to the water’s edge, the thought that nothing ever seemed to happen to Zill offered some comfort.
Here there were flatter places smoothed out by fishermen. Logs lay jumbled like giant pick-up-sticks along with scrambles of fallen branches. Several jutted out into the river.
‘Wanna walk out on one?’
Nasty little waves fell over themselves. They didn’t make a sound. They just crept closer and then slid back to hide under the next. Further out, beneath that flat brown surface there were stronger currents that twisted themselves into knots racing along to get to the lake and then the sea. Her mother had shown her. Pointed them out. Made her afraid.
Zilla was already on the log. One foot sliding along, arms outstretched, body tensed against any sideways wobble.
‘You might fall in.’
‘Nah. Done it heaps of times.’
If Zill did it, Missie knew, she’d have to do it too and she deadset didn’t want to. No way.
‘I have to go,’ she said.
‘No you don’t. You’re frightened, Missie Missinger. You’re a bloody old scaredy-cat!’
It was something the other girls would say. Joannie or one of them. You expected it from them. Even now when they all managed to play netball together and that was only because they needed more players, even now they’d say something like that. It didn’t matter much, because that was the way they were. But it was horrible when Zill said it. True friends shouldn’t say stuff like that. True friends know what their friends want.
It was a quick little thought. But she heard it and knew exactly how to get Zilla moving.
‘I know Lawrence,’ she lied. ‘He comes to my house all the time.’
Zilla paused and wobbled a bit.
‘Who?’ There was a lift in her voice and her eyes were looking up from under her lashes. She knew exactly who they were talking about.
‘You know.’ Missie dragged at a bit of grass. ‘Max’s friend.’
‘Why should I care?’
‘Course I reckon you like Lawrence.’
‘So what. You like Jimmy Johnson.’
Missie’s face was turning beetroot red. She knew it. It was as hot as hell. Nobody was supposed to like Jimmy Johnson. Especially not the way she liked him. He was a ratbag. Everyone said so. He couldn’t even read properly and Miss Martin was always ticking him off.
But he’d rescued her and sometimes when no-one was around, he’d walk a little way with her after school.
‘You should see your face,’ Zill called.
It was a nasty little tease but at least she was heading back along the log. So long as Missie kept moving, Zill’d follow. A bit like Mary and her lamb.
‘You don’t even know Lawrence,’ she said. Already her face was feeling more like its usual colour. ‘Not much point liking him if you don’t even know him.’
‘Well, do you know him then?’
Missie kept going until she stood beside the road. Every car that went past was a good reason not to be here. Her mother’d know about it quick smart if she was seen. Better then to head off the other way. Down to the old wharf. There’d be a way across from there.
Well, do you?’ Zilla clattered up behind her. She stooped to straighten her shoe around her foot before catching up again. ‘He’s all right, don’t you reckon?’
He’d treated her like she was some sort of dopey kid. Who did he think he was? He was just a kid like she was. He was bigger but that didn’t make him older. And better. And he was a St Pat’s boy. They were always up themselves. That’s what Zill reckoned anyway. Least, she did until now.
‘Do you reckon if I came over to your place he’d be there?’ She was puffing a bit, trying to keep up.
‘I don’t know.’
‘But he could be, couldn’t he?’
‘He might.’
It wasn’t going to make much difference. Boys who came to the house were usually there because their mothers were. They were sent up to Max’s room with Max. Whether they wanted to go or not. And Max was never going to let her join in. He never had and he never would. Ever.
‘You can come over and see if you like.’
They’d reached the old wharf building. If you walked along looking down you got dizzy. There were gaps in the boards and the river sloshed along underneath. Black moss wrapped itself around the pylons. It was horrible to look at. Like worms. She stepped back. Quickly.
She saw him then.
A man with his back against the wall and a book open in front of him. Watching something. Looking at it really hard. He was sunlit and had a hat shading his face. He’d look and then lean over his book and write ... no. It wasn’t writing. He was drawing.
She could see it now. The bridge and the river and the trees. J
ust looking at it made it into a painting and she wished she could have crept closer to see if the painting she was seeing in her head would match the one on his page.
There’d have to be some way of sneaking a quick look but he moved then. He stood up and closed the book. His jacket was flung over one shoulder and his trousers dusted. Then he glanced up and, instead of heading off, paused when he noticed them.
‘Run!’ Zilla grabbed her.
She ran. There was nothing she could see to run from but Zill was hauling her along. They were over the road and back onto the oval before she knew it.
‘He’s a pervert, he is!’ Zilla announced when they’d finally stopped. ‘You gotta watch out for blokes like him.’
‘What?’
‘He’s a pervert. Perv. Jeez, don’t you know anything?’
Here was some secret information. It was the sort of stuff you sensed was out there but you couldn’t ask because you didn’t really know the question.
‘What did you say he was?’ Maybe this was the other reason she wasn’t allowed down by the river. She knew about drowning and currents and all those dangers. But there was something else. Something peeked at but not seen properly.
‘Never you mind!’ her mother had said when riverbanks were also made out of bounds. ‘There’s all sorts of people hang around that you don’t want to meet! It’s not a nice place for little girls. God love us. Old sheds and fleabites and now bloody riverbanks.’
‘He’s a pervert.’ Zilla rolled it out of her mouth. ‘They do things to you if they get hold of you. You know...’
She didn’t even have to say no, she didn’t know. It was written all over face.
‘Gawd.’ Zilla rolled her eyes and put the back of her hand to her forehead just like Miss Martin did sometimes. ‘They touch you...’
Touch you? She knew about the little boy who’d been put in the boot of a car. That was a lot worse than someone touching.
Again Zilla sighed. ‘Down there,’ she said.
She lowered her hand and pointed one finger firmly between her legs. ‘...There!’
There?
In that place down there? They were the bits that hung over the dunny. Who’d want to touch that? Her face was warming up at the very thought of it.
