Oh, no, we’re not going to Cordelia’s house are we? said a small voice inside me. Beside me.
Yes. I patted my knee kindly. Cordelia has no one else. So you will be perfect.
I wasn’t convinced. How will we know what to say?
Well, Cordelia’s already told you. You just have to tell her mum. Cordelia can’t find the words for herself. But you can, because you have the words in you. You’re outside her DILEMMA. So it’s easier for you.
I cracked my knuckles. But we’re not the man we used to be. We don’t have faith in words anymore.
There was silence for a minute, while I tried not to feel the spiders. Just remember what she told you, and what made her happy. You can do it. She said you are a word man. You don’t have to make anything up. Think of yourself more like a messenger than a storyteller.
I snorted at myself, as if this was all a huge joke. But I didn’t make us laugh.
Well, I thought, I could write out what I was going to say. Make a plan, as if preparing an essay for school, or making a speech on prejudice. That way, if my mind went blank, I could whip out my piece of paper, like a politician.
That’s it, just make a few notes. You can use them like palm cards.
I turned to a new page in my exercise book, right after the food review of Afghan curry. A fiery energy was spiralling up my back, burning a trail under my skin, vaporising the spiders. I could feel them falling off, one by one, back into the snow.
14
THE PLAN
I must have slept through my alarm. When I woke up, Dad had gone and Rosie’s door was closed. Maybe she had a free first period, I thought, and was sleeping in. I didn’t want to be the one to wake her. She’d bite my head off.
Even though I was running late, I glanced over what I’d written. I couldn’t leave it alone.
When you first meet Cordelia’s mother, compliment her on having a nice daughter. All parents like to be told something good about their child, don’t they?
I nodded, agreeing with myself. What could be more true? And it would be easy to praise Cordelia – she had so many excellent qualities. But I couldn’t help thinking then about my parent. What pleased my father about me? Straight away I remembered the fixed gate, the work in the garden, his delight. My stomach shrank. I tried to think of another time he’d looked at me with that glad, proud expression, but nothing came to mind.
Tell the mother how much Cordelia loves her and misses her. Only when you’ve said all this, and she’s smiling at you, maybe getting you a nice cold drink and showing you Cordelia’s bedroom, only then tell her about how awful Jimmy is really, and why she ought to throw him out like stinky garbage and rush to find her daughter like lost treasure.
My eyes filled up at the last bit and I had to go and wash my face. Then I saw the kitchen clock and realised I was going to miss the bus. I raced past the tent and didn’t look back.
AT recess, Hassan and Singo were lining up at the canteen. I managed to INVEIGLE my way into the queue beside them, which means I slunk in, sucking in my cheeks so that I looked like a starving person. Luckily I had an extra two dollars from Dad for fixing the gate.
You can’t see me now, but actually I’m cringing while I write this. I felt guilty, of course, and unworthy, but I was also very, very hungry.
I ordered a custard tart and a chocolate milk, and guzzled them down. By the time we’d wandered over to a bench under the only gumtree in the playground, I felt slightly sick. I avoided the mashed caterpillar near my thigh.
‘Hey, guess what, I scored three times at practice yesterday.’ Singo puffed out his chest like a gorilla and made deep hooting noises.
I put my head on my knees.
‘What’s up with you?’ Hassan turned to me. ‘You’re as white as an onion.’
I made a face. I didn’t want to think about onions, which are essential in most Afghan curries. Bile rose up at the back of my throat. ‘I was awake nearly all night,’ I said.
‘Is Cordelia all right?’ asked Hassan.
I shook my head. ‘We’ve got to do something – she’s really unhappy. So I’ve come up with a plan.’
‘What?’ said Singo quickly. ‘I can’t do anything for the next two days after school, remember.’
‘No, I’m not asking you to.’ I stretched out my legs. ‘This is something I have to do alone.’
Singo stared at me. ‘Uh-oh.’
‘I’m going to go and see Cordelia’s mother,’ I announced. ‘Oh no!’ cried Singo and Hassan together. Then of course they had to do the pinky-linking thing because they’d said the same thing at the same time.
‘When you’ve finished, boys,’ I said in Mr Mainprize’s voice. ‘Now listen, you don’t have to worry. I know exactly what I’m going to say.’
‘What, to Jimmy?’ Singo scoffed. ‘Have you forgotten he still lives there?’
I had forgotten, actually. I’d been so obsessed with what words I’d say to Cordelia’s mother that I’d forgotten about the wild animal at home. But I wasn’t going to let on. I fiddled with my shoelace to take up a bit of time. ‘As I remember,’ I said slowly, like a lawyer in court, ‘Jimmy is out every Friday night. Isn’t that what Cordelia told us? So I’ll go then. And anyway, I’ll be able to tell if he’s home because his blue van will be parked there.’
Singo and Hassan looked at each other. ‘Today’s Thursday.’
Oh no! I’d thought I’d have a little time to get used to the idea.
‘And how do you know where she lives?’ asked Singo. ‘She hasn’t told you, has she?’
‘No.’ Damn Singo, always with the details. He should have been supporting me instead of finding all these silly problems. I tapped my nose and tried to look sly. ‘I have my ways.’
Hassan ran his hand over his face. Now he looked like an onion. But he said nothing.
‘I think this is a bad idea,’ said Singo. He cracked his knuckles. ‘Cordelia’s mother will just try to find out where her daughter is. She’ll interrogate you. She could even torture you. Or Jimmy will.’ He giggled nervously. ‘No, what we should do is get more evidence about Jimmy’s criminal activities. If he ran away with that briefcase, you know, the night Cordelia came, he’s obviously a thief. Maybe there were jewels inside or . . . or money from a bank robbery. Or a gun. We could report him to the police, ask them to keep an eye— ’
‘No.’ Hassan stood up. Then he sat down very quickly as if he was light-headed. ‘We’d have to make a proper statement and give our names and addresses. Jimmy would know it was us, he’d find out – people like that always find out, and the police wouldn’t bother following it up because what real evidence do we have? And then we’d have an enemy living right near us. You don’t know, Louis, you don’t know what that’s like. It’s very bad. I remember. You don’t want to make enemies. You live scared all the time.’
Singo and I sat quietly. I didn’t look at Hassan. Singo’s knuckles cracked loudly in the silence. Hassan took a deep shuddery breath. ‘Louis, let’s just wait a bit longer. If Cordelia is so upset and missing her mother, she will return home, you will see. We must give it a few more days and . . .’
Just then a shadow fell over our knees. Elena was standing in front of us, looking from one face to the next, a frown deepening between her eyes. ‘Hey, you guys, what are you talking about?’
Hassan looked away. Singo cracked his knuckles again. I had to say something. ‘Oh nothing much, it’s just . . . I was just saying Cordelia was kind of upset last night.’
‘Why, what happened? What was she doing?’
‘Oh nothing, she was reading something . . .’ I noticed Hassan widen his eyes and waggle his eyebrows at me. What?
Elena bit her lip. ‘Oh I knew it! She was reading that book I gave her, wasn’t she? I was going on and on about orphans, and right now Cordelia must be feeling like an orphan, what with no dad and her mum so . . . and there I was chattering about . . .’ Elena made a noise of disgust.
Hassan si
ghed and closed his eyes.
‘So, what can we do?’ Elena went on. ‘Maybe my mum – she works at Cordelia’s school – she could talk to the principal, you know? She could make sure Cordelia gets to do her Year 12. I mean, it’s time to talk to the authorities, isn’t it? Mum will give Cordelia’s mum a ring, tell her what’s going on.’
‘No!’ said Singo. ‘You just don’t get it, do you?’
Elena stared at him. No one said anything.
The bell rang out like a siren. Hassan jumped as if he’d been shot. He was pale, and a faint line of sweat bubbled on his top lip. He didn’t look at Elena.
Singo picked up his bag. ‘I’ve got woodwork,’ he said quickly. ‘See ya.’
‘Hey, come on,’ said Elena, tugging at Hassan’s shirt. ‘We’ve got Geography. Aren’t you coming?’
‘No, not right now,’ Hassan said softly. ‘I’ve got to see . . . Mr Denham about maths homework.’
Elena opened her mouth, then closed it. She stared at Hassan for a moment while he looked in his bag. When she turned to me, I got busy with my shoe that suddenly had a hole in it.
I watched her walk away quickly, her back straight and proud with hurt.
ON the way home I bought a Coke at the Welcome Mart. There was so much to think about, so much to do before tomorrow – it was like having a mountain of homework with an impossible deadline. It made my mouth dry.
The whole afternoon I’d been wondering how to find out Cordelia’s address. Could I sneak into the tent and go through her things? What things? She only had the clothes she was wearing. No. I’d have to ask her straight out, make it sound as if I was just curious about her house, tell her I was doing a history project about our suburb, the old houses, heritage houses they were called . . . It would be tricky. I’d have to summon up all my new lie-addict skills.
I must have been worrying at the ground, not looking where I was going, because I walked straight into something soft and hard in front of the grocer’s.
‘Hey, watch it, Louis!’
And there was Cordelia, holding a pot of lilies.
‘Oh, sorry.’
She gave a little smile, and quickly bent to arrange the pot next to the other flowers for sale outside. ‘Pretty aren’t they? I’m doing some work for Mr Vince, potting up plants, fixing the display . . .’ She shrugged. Her cheeks were pink.
We locked eyes for a moment. Hers began to brim. ‘Sorry. I, um, still haven’t decided what to do. Don’t know . . . But don’t worry, I’ll think of something soon.’
My stomach turned over. ‘Cordelia, there’s something I want to ask you. See, I need to know . . .’
Her face tensed.
‘Cordelia?’ Mr Vince came out of the shop. ‘Those herb pots, do you want to bring them out?’ He stood back to examine the display. ‘Brava. It’s all looking very good!’ He reached into his pocket. ‘Oh, here’s your student card back. I filled out the employment forms.’
And there it was – that precious piece of identity carrying Cordelia’s photo, birth date, address. No chance to think. This was a miraculous opportunity!
I grabbed the card. ‘I’ll take it for you,’ I said. ‘You’ll get it all filthy with those hands.’
Cordelia Woolfe
124 Fort Street
Mr Vince snatched it back. ‘No, this card is important. Cordelia can put it in her wallet when she’s tidied up.’ He put it back in his pocket. ‘Collect it from me when you finish,’ he said to Cordelia.
That’s okay, I thought. I’ve seen everything I needed to see.
15
PICK YOUR STREET
It was a struggle to get through all the hours of Thursday evening. Have you ever had something huge and scary looming over your head, something you’ll have to face before the next twenty-four hours is finished, something that could end life as you know it, but you have to act as if it’s just an ordinary evening, full of normal seconds, minutes and hours?
Well, I can tell you that it helps if your Dad comes home late with Thai takeaway, so you don’t have to explain why you look white as an onion, and your sister only creeps out of her room to eat dinner. Dad told her she was like a bear in its lair – he was doing that rhyming thing again, and looking pleased with himself even though he was concerned about Rosie, who, he pointed out, had dark circles under her eyes – but Rosie didn’t even get cross, just raised one eyebrow in that superior manner of hers, and retreated.
Dad chattered away at the sink while he washed and I wiped. He’d had an interesting day with The End, who’d told him about a wrestling match in Mexico where the crowd threw hundreds of dollars into the ring when he did a swan dive over the top rope onto his opponent.
‘Really, he did that?’ I responded with awe, but what I was thinking was – imagine what might be happening at this exact time tomorrow night! A part of my mind actually snagged on the picture of The End picking up money with his teeth, his left leg pinning the other guy’s chest to the ground, but most of me was wondering if Jimmy might have changed his Friday night habits and would be spending them quietly at home filing his teeth. Or maybe he wore a knife on his belt where most people usually hung their keys.
Dad reminded me to put out the garbage. As I walked up the garden path, I glanced at the tent. I’d left some egg salad in a dish for dinner, but I didn’t want to go in and see if Cordelia had eaten it. I didn’t want to talk. It was better, I decided, that nothing distract me from my purpose. I knew that one small word might make me too anxious to go on.
It was almost ten when Miles knocked on the door. Rosie and I both went to answer it.
‘Get lost,’ Rosie said to me.
‘Charming.’
I studied Miles. He looked a bit like I felt – worried, unsure, on the edge of something alarming. He ignored me. Just took out his hands and studied them.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.
‘Sorry,’ said Rosie SIMULTANEOUSLY, which means at the same time.
‘I was an idiot— ’
‘No, I was— ’
‘Maybe you both were,’ I put in.
Rosie shoved me down the hall.
‘It’s just . . . stuff at my house is so . . .’ I heard Miles say. ‘And that biology assignment is impossible – oh why did I choose it?’
‘Because you want to do phys ed and maybe teach and— ’
‘And I can’t concentrate and I’m thinking maybe I’m losing it, too, like Grandma. And when I can’t talk to you it’s . . .’
I stopped at the door of my room and saw Rosie smiling as if Miles was Santa Claus come to drop in her Christmas presents early.
They went into the living room to talk. Dad told me I wasn’t allowed to go in there, which was very annoying as Guess the Word was on TV. Have you ever seen it? It’s like a giant live crossword that contestants have to act out. It was probably the only thing that could have taken my mind off Jimmy filing his teeth.
‘Give us an arm-wrestle instead,’ Dad suggested. ‘I got some new tips from The End.’
We sat across from each other at the kitchen table. ‘Use your right,’ said Dad. ‘Now check this out. A couple of new moves, just subtle, but they’ll give you an edge. There’s the hook, the top roll, and the press. We’ll start you with the top roll.’
Dad rotated his left shoulder a couple of times to loosen it, and clenched his biceps. He motioned to me to do the same. Then we both had our elbows on the table. He grabbed my hand hard and squeezed. He was talking away, about moving back the shoulders, turning the wrist over, but I just couldn’t concentrate. Normally, if I really listen and try, I can eventually get it. But that night it was impossible. Just feeling the force of him made me think of what might happen in twenty-four hours, when I could be facing a man who wasn’t my father wanting to help me learn the top roll move.
I started to sweat, and my arm trembled. I just wanted to let go, and lie down. I was deciding which excuse to pick from my usual list of favourites when my father crashed my ar
m down to the table.
‘You’re jelly!’ he exploded. ‘I even warned you that was coming! Where are your muscles?’
I was about to tell him how tired I was and that I hadn’t slept last night and maybe I was coming down with the flu, when I saw a look on his face that stopped the words in my mouth. It was a look of despair. And there was something else – a kind of fear. Not a fear of burglars or gatecrashers, but a fear that his son might just never make it, that Louis Montgomery might never be a wrestler, a strong man, a defender of himself and others in times of trouble. Dad’s face had come to a dead end, and as he dropped his eyes from mine, I felt something twist in my guts.
‘Do you want a cuppa?’ Dad asked. But I said no, I was going to bed.
Under the covers, I began counting Afghani goats. But they wouldn’t behave. They wandered out of single file and charged wild-eyed and bewildered all over the crags, in danger of dropping to their deaths from the cliffs at any moment. The twinge in my stomach became an ache, and the nervous goats grew into the giant rats of Grade 4. They eroded my confidence and deleted any FORTIFYING words I might have found so that I was left with nothing, only the cicadas clicking outside in the empty dark.
THE alarm woke me in the middle of a dream. Something with teeth was pulling me underwater, and I was trying to reason with the teeth but we didn’t speak the same language. The whole morning was tinged with that feeling – of
The whole morning was tinged with that feeling – of being dragged by an undertow, struggling to keep my head up.
At recess I went to the library, and at lunch I tried to avoid conversation. But Hassan found me in the canteen. We waited in line, both quiet. Hassan kept looking over his shoulder. I heard him sigh.
‘Where’s Elena?’ I asked.
Louis Beside Himself Page 12
