This was it, I realised. The end of Louis as we knew him. His precious words – the secret army that came to his rescue in times of trouble – had vanished. In its place was just this silent ghost of a person sitting on a chair in a family kitchen. No one around him knew that a changeling was occupying the seat of Louis Montgomery. Nobody knew what had happened. Maybe that was the loneliest feeling of all.
I tried to stop listening to these unhappy thoughts and concentrate on the conversation around me. And there were certainly a lot of interesting words bubbling around the table. Elena was describing her Aunty Maria’s stolen earrings, made of both gold and ONYX – a peculiar word I’d never heard before. Was it Italian? But before I could ask about it, the talk moved on. There was much general MIRTH, meaning laughter, fun and hilarity. Especially when Singo put pieces of toast up his nostrils and blew them out, aiming in the general direction of his glass, just like Aunty Maria with her olive.
9
TENTLAND
Dad came home at five o’clock, only to shower, change, and go out again.
‘How was The End?’ I asked as he peeled off his clothes.
‘Fine,’ said Dad, striding to the bathroom.
‘Are you going to just leave that shirt in the middle of the hallway?’
But Dad had stepped into the shower.
‘Did you advise him about his investments?’ I shouted over the gush of water. ‘Does he live in a mansion? Did he show you his Discus Leg Drop?’ Dad was scrubbing under his arms and singing ‘Dancing in the Dark’, so he didn’t hear me.
I sat down on the bath. This was Dad’s second shower today. I tried to remember the last time he’d done that. Maybe it had been the night of Rosie’s Year 10 graduation dinner. And that was only because he’d been working in the garden all day and smelled like a wrestler’s socks, and Rosie had threatened to go without him and pretend to be an orphan if he didn’t wash.
After the shower I followed Dad into his bedroom. He put on a brand-new forget-me-not blue shirt that I hadn’t seen before, and checked himself out carefully in Rosie’s new mirror.
‘Dad, what are you doing?’ It was a pretty silly question, as it was actually quite obvious, of course. But everything felt so strange – already I was not myself, and now here was my father not being himself, either. I sat down heavily on Rosie’s bed and put my head on my knees. All the blood rushed into my cheeks and my head throbbed. When I lifted it up, everything went starry and blurred, like the Milky Way.
But Dad didn’t even notice. ‘Do you think the blue shirt looks good with my eyes?’
‘Enhances,’ I said automatically.
‘What?’
‘Looks good is okay, but a better choice would be enhances.’
‘Okay, Monsieur Roget,’ said Dad. ‘So does the blue shirt enhance my eyes?’
‘Yes,’ I said wonderingly. ‘Your eyes look bluer.’
Dad smiled. There was that foreign flavour to his face again. An expression I’d only seen once before. It was happy and proud and shy at the same time.
‘What?’ I said.
‘What do you mean, what?’
‘Well, you’re acting weird.’
Dad grinned, then looked at his watch. ‘Jericho, I have to go.’
‘Where? And what will I have for dinner?’ I felt faint again, hollow, like a drawing instead of a person.
‘Oh!’ Dad finally focussed on me. ‘Mm, leftovers in the fridge, maybe? I just imagined your friends would still be here . . . aren’t they?’
‘No, Dad.’ I gestured at the silent empty hallway where his shirt and trousers still lay, like a crime scene.
‘Well, why don’t you come with me then? I’m going to Doreen’s – I mean Miles’s house – to talk with the family about . . .Agnes. Rosie is there.’
‘No thanks,’ I sniffed. ‘I’ll ring up Singo— ’ ‘Okay then.’
‘Or I’ll nip out into the garden and have a word with the burglar,’ I whispered.
But Dad was choosing shoes. ‘The black or the brown?’
‘Why is it so important?’ I said. ‘It’s only Miles and stuff.’ ‘Yes, yes,’ said Dad. ‘Brown is more casual. More appropriate.’
And then, before I’d had time to ask ‘appropriate for what?’, he’d sailed out the door and driven off with a squeal of the tyres that in other drivers usually makes him wring his hands and deliver a lecture.
I wandered back into the kitchen and stood staring out the window. I thought about what it had been like to watch a stranger perch on that very ledge and jump to the floor, right where my feet were now. My mind relived it all, but my feelings just lay there at the foot of a cliff, asleep. Soon I’d go and tell Cordelia that she could come inside if she liked. It would only be the polite thing to do. But somehow, my eyes didn’t want to move from their position. I wasn’t looking at anything in particular, it was just that my mind had got stuck in the quicksand of one moment.
The afternoon passed in front of me like a film. My friends were the star actors. After breakfast we’d sat around and talked – or at least the others had – and Elena had shown great enthusiasm for Cordelia becoming a Permanent Resident of the Tent. ‘I can bring over heaps of food,’ she said, spreading her arms out wide as if to cover the length of the table, ‘particularly if you like dishes with eggs in them.’
That got Hassan talking about Mady’s restaurant, and he and Elena began to swap recipes and exquisite CULINARY experiences until Singo rolled his eyes and yawned, suggesting they go up to the park to play basketball because there were try-outs for the big end-of-year match next week. Elena, who plays basketball too, quickly agreed. Hassan was excited to do anything Elena wanted to do, plus he said he’d bring his skateboard and show her a few moves.
‘I’m still learning,’ he said humbly. ‘But, you know, I could teach you some of the basic tricks. If you wanted . . .’ When he said that, I recognised the expression on his face. Wasn’t that the shy proud look my father had put on with his shirt? While they were away, I looked up the meaning of onyx, and then I washed up all the breakfast things while Cordelia returned to her mowing. After a couple of hours they trooped back in, flushed and happy and loud, bursting with mysterious talk about activities I just couldn’t see the point of. I could only nod my head and smile meaninglessly and wish myself away.
OUTSIDE, the sun was sinking behind the mango tree, outlining the tips of leaves, a bird’s wing, the tent. With a gold pen it traced these familiar things, and then the things wouldn’t return to their normal selves. I saw a circle of torchlight spring up from inside the tent and wondered if Cordelia was settling down to read. Probably she was quite comfortable there . . . and anyway, she was better off with the words of Mark Twain than anything I could offer, which was pretty well zilch, zero, nought, nada (which is Spanish for all those nothings).
I trudged into my room, lay on my bed and closed my eyes. Dark. I opened my eyes. Dark. Depressing. I switched on the light and hunted through the notebooks in my bedside drawer. At the bottom was the red leather one that Rosie had given me for my ninth birthday. Riffling through the stories, I saw this was the year of the giant rat with the fluorescent-green saliva that burned right through your skin like hydrochloric acid. Nice. The word lists that went with it were quite colourful, I thought. My favourite word of that year was AGOG. Apparently, everyone who saw the giant rat with fluorescent-green saliva became agog, meaning amazed, astonished and consumed by curiosity.
What do you think of when you see agog? A small sea creature from the ocean floor, transparent like a jellyfish, its eyeballs out on stalks like a snail? Or something else?
Reading through the notebook, I tried to get inspired. Here was the old Louis, practically fluorescent like those giant rats – with enthusiasm, not green saliva. I took a deep breath, shut my eyes, and searched for a new idea.
Nothing happened. I couldn’t think of anything to write. I just stared into the shadowy grey. I must have nodded off for a minu
te, because I woke up with my neck all twisted from being propped up against the wall. My teeth felt furry. I didn’t want to be awake, really. I hoped that Cordelia was okay out there in Tentland, that she had what she needed. Because really, I couldn’t seem to manage anything with this blank, lumpen feeling in my belly. It didn’t belong to Louis. It was the changeling’s problem, but unfortunately that meant it was mine, too.
10
THE CLOTHESLINE MOVE
I woke up with a start when the phone rang. I glanced at the clock – it was only early evening. I must have been napping like an old person. Maybe losing your words is a sign of the old-timer’s trouble. Was that what was happening to me? I studied my hand – was it more wrinkled than yesterday?
‘Hey Louis, do you wanna come out for a run?’ It was Singo. ‘Coach says to train every day if you wanna make the A-team.’
‘Yeah? And do you? Didn’t think you were that serious.’
There was a pause. ‘Well, you know, might as well. If there’s a chance I might be good enough . . . dunno.’
‘Why wouldn’t you be? You’re really fast and the other night you sunk great goals— ’
‘Dunk. You dunk to score. Anyway, so, wanna come with me? We could get a drink up at the shops after, Vince’s doesn’t close till late.’
‘I’d just slow you down.’
‘Nah, that’s okay, I’ll do some jumps and dodges and stuff while we run. Come on, what else are you doing?’
Normally I’d tell him. Normally I’d be very busy – reading something or writing in my notebook. Or arm-wrestling with my father. Or arguing with my sister. But right now there was nobody to exchange words with. And yet . . . running? Me?
‘Maybe,’ I said.
‘Really?’
I could tell he was surprised. Was he regretting his invitation?
‘Your mother’s okay about you going out?’ I asked, giving us both time.
‘Yeah, just a run round the block. See you in ten then. Meet at Vince’s.’ And he put the phone down.
I went to find my boardshorts. It was still hot outside – maybe we’d jog past a house with a friendly pool. This would be good, I told myself. On account of three factors: 1) regular exercise helps keep you and your brain young 2) a fast pair of legs would be handy now in situations of conflict 3) it’s good to support your friends.
I ran my head under the tap and left my hair dripping. It would keep me cool while we jogged. Jogged. It was an ugly word, really – awkward – like something dropped on the way from juggle to joggle.
I was looking at these words in my head as I walked up the hill. Maybe that was why I didn’t recognise her straight away. A tall girl in jeans at the corner. She was lounging against the wall of the bottle shop across the street, next door to Vince’s, deep in conversation with a man. Heavyset, in a dark suit, his jacket hooked over his shoulders with a finger.
I was about to cross the pedestrian crossing when an old Valiant sped up and hooned right past me, not bothering to look right or left.
Jericho, my father would have said, where’d he get his licence, in a packet of Cornflakes?
It was then, as the engine faded, that I heard it. The girl’s voice – clear, edgy, strong.
Cordelia.
I peered into the yellow square of light under the shop awning. Cordelia’s voice changed abruptly. It rose high, wavered, then broke off. The man’s voice rode in like the Valiant – fast, aggressive, bullying. He handed her some papers, his finger jabbing at them. She studied them, slowly took the pen he was offering. She shook her head – I couldn’t see her expression, but her shoulders seemed to clench, as if she expected a blow. She was cowering against the wall when the man raised his fist and shook it, just an inch from her face.
God, this must be Jimmy! My knees wobbled. I inched behind the telegraph pole. What should I do? I looked over my shoulder, up the street. No sign of Singo. Where was he? What are you waiting for, Louis, someone else to save her? The man grabbed Cordelia’s wrist. She dropped the pen.
What did he want from her? Her signature maybe? To sign over all her mother’s worldly goods to him? Had he already killed her mother and buried her in the basement? Did they have a basement?
The man gave a savage wrench to her arm. ‘Do what I tell you!’ I heard him roar.
‘No, you’ll have to kill me first!’ she cried.
Charge at him, take him by surprise. The Clothesline move!
I lifted my arm chest-high, holding it out from my side like a baseball bat. The man was bigger than me, but Cordelia needed help. I’d leap up for extra height, bending my arm over his shoulder, and take him full on, chest to chest. This was my moment.
I pelted across the road like an Olympic athlete holding up his torch.
Just when I reached the opposite kerb, the man moved. I saw him bend down a split second before, but I was going at such a pace I couldn’t stop or change direction. Everything happened in a click of the fingers – I arrived full-charge, our heads knocking together like two bricks.
I don’t know what happened then. The world blurred – it was like being underwater. I was falling backwards, the sky was opening out above, bleeding into blackness, my head was going to crack the pavement, and then – whumff – there was someone pushing me up again, holding me. I heard a sharp groan behind me as I stood swaying, blinking at the man.
Jimmy.
‘Are you all right?’
Singo! I shot round to see him running up. But he wasn’t looking at me.
‘I . . . I think so.’ Cordelia’s voice came from behind me. She was supporting me, and trying to stand up.
The man was rubbing his forehead. A red lump was already swelling just above his left eye. He looked down at the pen in his hand, muttering some words I’m not allowed to write here.
I took Cordelia’s elbow and helped her straighten up. She was favouring her bad foot from the break-in.
‘What on earth did you think you were doing?’ she said.
‘Saving you,’ I whispered.
‘From what?’
I nodded over at the man. He stopped rubbing his head in surprise.
‘Me?’ he said.
Cordelia gave a snort of laughter. ‘This is Nick, my mother’s ex-boyfriend.’
I stared at her blankly.
‘The actor. I told you about him, remember?’
‘Can’t say I’m thrilled to meet you,’ said Nick.
‘What?’ I was having trouble trying to focus on anything but my nose, which was going from numb to throbbing.
‘Remember I was telling you? The Kiwi gangster? Well, I was out having a walk just now, and we met up – he was telling me about this new part he’s got.’ She picked up the papers scattered on the ground. ‘See, this is the script.’ She put it under my sore nose. ‘He’s a Mafia boss in this one – you know, real tough – but he’s conflicted. He loves a woman who’s betrayed him to the cops . . .’
‘Sounds like a good movie,’ said Singo, looking over her shoulder.
‘Play,’ said Cordelia.
‘Oh. So, what, you guys were rehearsing?’ he said.
‘Well, Nick was just running through a few lines with me.’
Singo turned to me. ‘And you thought . . .’ He cracked up. Soon he had to sit down on the bench, he was laughing so hard.
‘I was trying to save her . . .’ I murmured.
Singo started to hiccup. ‘But she had to save you! Oh god, this is killing me.’
Cordelia put a hand on my shoulder. ‘Louis, can I ask you something?’ Her eyes had grown huge, pleading. ‘Can you PLEASE STOP SAVING ME? A person could get hurt this way.’ And she gave a crack of laughter that hit me like a gunshot.
‘How big is this lump?’ Nick asked Cordelia worriedly. ‘Doesn’t look good for a Mafia boss to get roughed up. I’m supposed to look untouchable.’ He turned to me. ‘I don’t know what your problem is, mate, but you should get some help.’ And he made the crazy sign at my head
.
‘I’m sorry. I must have been . . . deranged.’ I looked at the ground. My nose hurt like mad. I felt dazed. Shocked. DERANGED.
‘Hey, Nick, what a compliment though,’ said Cordelia. ‘You were so convincing, Louis thought you were for real!’
Nick smiled. He lifted his chin for Cordelia to inspect. She gave a low whistle. ‘Attenzione, signor, or you vill be vearing ze concrete shoes.’
A hot wave of anger rose in me. I felt it burn my ears (as well as my nose). What – was this all a game to her? Like some kind of play? Street theatre, maybe! All very amusing. She hadn’t just made a fool of herself in front of her friends, or had her nose practically broken.
Singo snorted and doubled over again. ‘Such a lame move, Lou, no offence. I mean, how did you think that would go?’ His snorts turned into hiccups.
I wished his hiccups would choke him. ‘You didn’t see what I saw,’ I started to say. ‘I mean, it looked . . . but then— ’ No one was listening.
So I tried out a wry smile. I shrugged my shoulders. I could feel blood seeping at the back of my nose. Best now to keep my feelings to myself. No one ever seemed to share a single one of them. Better if no one knew who I was.
‘I’m going home,’ I said.
‘What, you don’t wanna come jogging?’ Singo grinned. ‘Save me from a mugger?’
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. Plus, I didn’t have any words. The mute disease had settled in for good.
I just kept walking.
DAD came home when I was getting ice cubes from the fridge. I’d been about to wrap them in a tea towel and hold them against my nose, but now I poured them into my glass of chocolate milk.
‘You’re back early,’ I said, keeping my back to him. I heard him sigh, throwing his keys down on the kitchen table.
‘Doreen forgot she had a parent–teacher meeting – Miles’s biology class. Something about extra lessons.’
Louis Beside Himself Page 8
