Maggie looked concerned.
“Hey,” Peter consoled her, “Stephen rang and told her not to, didn’t he?”
Maggie smiled. She had been so proud of Stephen when he had rang Marjorie and told her that he didn’t want to see her. Marjorie had cried on the phone and asked how he could not want to see his own mother. Stephen had calmly explained that he saw his mother every day and that Marjorie was a complete stranger to him. Maggie had been touched by his response. She knew that Stephen and Michelle considered her their mother, but it was nice to have real proof of their commitment, especially given how long it had taken to gain their approval in the first place. Besides, Maggie was only human, and like anyone else, she thought it was good to know that her family loved her.
Speaking of family who loved her, it was time for Peter to go to work. They both resented the time they had to put in at work as opposed to spending it together, but they knew there was nothing that could be done about it. Maggie would like to have played hooky for the day and stayed in bed with Peter, but they both had so many things to do at work before the holidays started that they couldn’t afford to have a day off. Besides, the holidays would be here soon enough. Less than a month to go, thought Maggie, and they’d be relaxing at Bellbird Cottage.
She couldn’t wait.
Maggie reluctantly loosened her grip on Peter and turned back to the sink. As she did so, she noticed the clock on the wall. “Shit! I better get a move on or I’ll be late for school.”
Peter laughed at the familiar comment and kissed her one last time before heading for the door. “I don’t have any appointments today, so I might even get home early.”
“Mmm, that’d be nice. Stephen’s going straight to Mark’s, so we’ll have the place to ourselves.”
“I better try extra hard then.” Peter picked up his case, blew Maggie a kiss, and left. The phone rang as soon as he got out the door.
Expecting Peter to come back in, Maggie stayed put. “Thanks Peter,” she said sarcastically when he didn’t return to answer it. She dried her hands again and walked into the lounge room. She picked up the neglected phone, “Hello.”
No response.
The second time she said it a little louder, “Hello?”
Still no response.
She tried one more time before hanging up the phone. “Hello? Anyone there?” When she got no answer for the third time, she slammed the handset down hard on the off chance that whoever was on the other end still had the phone to their ear.
***
Maggie unlocked the front door, dropped her bag in the entry, and raced in to answer the phone. With a bit of luck it would be Peter ringing to tell her he was leaving work. Because school finished earlier than uni, Maggie got home before Peter most days. And since Stephen often went to Mark’s place after school, Maggie frequently had the place to herself. She was so used to it by now that she doubted she could get through the week without her afternoon recovery sessions.
That’s not to say that she didn’t like it when Peter was able to sneak home early, she did. She always looked forward to it, but it was not like he did it that often. Although, when he did, they would invariably make the most of it. Sometimes they would duck out for a coffee at their favourite coffee shop in Kensington, but more often than not they would spend the time in bed. They would lock the front door, turn off the television so no one could tell they were home, and sneak off to their bedroom like newly-weds. They wouldn’t even answer the phone if it rang. Occasionally, one of the kids would come home unexpectedly, but Maggie suspected they knew the signs to look for by now, and would deliberately not disturb them.
“Hello?” Maggie had already forgotten about the phone call on her way out that morning, but as soon as she failed to solicit a greeting, she was reminded of the phantom caller. “Hello, is anyone there?”
No answer.
“This is getting boring,” Maggie mumbled into the phone.
She waited a couple of seconds longer, but never said anything more. She listened for the obligatory heavy breathing, but the line was quiet. She could hear a lot of background noise and thought it sounded like the caller was ringing from a busy street, but apart from that, there was no hint as to who was calling.
Maggie looked at the non-responsive receiver as though it might provide some clues. Who could it be and what did they want, she wondered. She tried to think of anyone that might have a bee in their bonnet about something she or Peter had done, but came up with a blank. Over the years they had both received the occasional prank call from students, but unlike today’s phantom caller, they were usually unable to resist saying something.
As soon as she hung up the phone, it dawned on her. I bet it’s that selfish bitch Marjorie, she thought. Peter had told her about her frequent outbursts and irrational behaviour when they were married. This sort of thing sounded like it was right up her alley. Maggie considered what she hoped to achieve by phoning them up and not saying anything. It was hardly an effective method of getting a point across, assuming that is what she was trying to do.
Maybe she was pissed off because Stephen didn’t want to talk to her, and this was just her way of getting even. Nah, thought Maggie, too childish. The idea appeared to align more with the thinking of a juvenile than that of a middle-aged woman. Or, perhaps she was hoping to get Stephen on the line. That seemed to be the most logical explanation, decided Maggie. In future, she would try to remember to get Stephen to answer the phone. If nothing else, she would at least get to see if her theory was correct. In the meantime, Maggie did not like to generate negative energy by thinking bad thoughts, so she dismissed the matter from her mind and went to change out of her work clothes. If she hadn’t heard from Peter by the time she had changed, she would surprise him with a phone call.
Chapter 8
Saturday, 15 December 1979
Duncan Dumbrell sat on a log squashing ants with a stick. He saw me coming, stopped what he was doing, and stood up. I nearly walked straight into him, but jumped back just in time. He puffed his chest out and stood to his full height. “Look who’s here,” he snarled, “if it isn’t that bitch, Jenny Dawson.”
Dean stood beside him aiming his slingshot at a Kookaburra perched in the tree behind me. I looked around frantically for an escape route. Before I could so much as take a step, Dean reached out and grabbed my arm. “I bet she’s not so tough now her boyfriend’s not here to protect her.”
He dug his fingers into my flesh, causing me to cry out in pain. I looked around in panic, but there was no one in sight. I opened my mouth to scream and Duncan slapped me hard across the face, knocking me backwards into the dirt. My face burned where he hit me and I started to cry. Duncan spat on me. “Cry baby.”
I looked up at them towering above me. Dean aimed his slingshot at me and released the elastic. A small rock flew past, just missing my head. “I should bash your face in for pushing us in the water, but I reckon you deserve worse than that.” Duncan reached down and grabbed my top. He pulled me to my feet so hard I almost lost my balance and fell down again. I’d no sooner steadied myself when he pushed me backwards into Dean. Dean immediately reached around and pinned my arms behind my back. I had no idea what was worse than having my face bashed in, but I had a feeling I was about to find out.
Duncan stood as solid as a wall in front of me. He’s at least two feet taller than I am, but his threatening manner made him appear even taller. He came so close I could smell his breath. I was surprised that it had a fruity smell to it, I was expecting it to smell as foul as his personality.
Despite his sweet smelling breath, his nearness was repulsive. It gave me the shivers. I tried to struggle, but Dean held my arms so tight I was sure he’d break them if I moved too much.
“Hey Duncan, why don’t you pants her?”
This time I really panicked. I kicked Duncan so hard he fell backwards. I watched in terror as he got back up and rushed at me. He punched me hard in the tummy, making me do
uble over in pain. “You get her shorts and I’ll get her top,” he suggested.
Dean rearranged his grip on me to free up one of his hands. I twisted and squirmed as much as I could, making it almost impossible for him to keep his hold. While Dean held me, Duncan grabbed at my top. I heard a ripping sound and looked down. My top was torn down the side and twisted around, exposing one of my nipples. I tried to rearrange my top to cover myself, but without the use of my hands, I couldn’t. I begged them to leave me alone, but Duncan reached out and pinched me hard. “Cripple nipple,” he said nastily, laughing at his own joke.
Taking his brother’s advice, Dean pulled at my shorts. I felt his hand slide under my waistband and into my underpants. I kicked and jerked, but was unable to break his hold on me. I felt his fingers poking around in places I hadn’t had the courage to explore yet, and I started to sob hysterically. From where Dean stood behind me, he tucked his face into my neck and rubbed his cheek against mine. “I bet you like that, don’t you?” he asked.
I shook my head from side to side, trying desperately to break contact. Duncan grabbed my face in the same way Mum used to when she combed my hair. “If you don’t keep still, I’m going to fuck your brains out with this bottle.” He held up a dirty coke bottle that he’d found on the ground to show that he wasn’t kidding.
The menace in his voice made me stop struggling. I was unable to stop crying, but I didn’t move a muscle. Dean stopped groping me and wrapped both his arms around my chest from behind, pinning my arms to my side. “Hey Dunc, wanna cop a feel?”
Duncan leered at me. “I’m gonna do more than that.”
I must have looked as petrified as I felt, because he laughed at me. “Look at her, she’s not so tough now,” he mocked.
Smiling, he forced his fingers inside me and pushed hard, making me scream in pain. He tried to remove my underpants with his free hand, but I started to struggle again and he was unable to get them down. I kicked and thrashed like a lunatic, no longer caring if I got bashed up.
He removed his hand and slapped me across the face. He bent down and picked up the coke bottle and shoved it in my face. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, I heard a huge cracking sound and he lurched forward with such force that the three of us fell over.
It took me a moment to work out what’d happened. I looked up in time to see Shortie swing a large stick at Dean who was trying to stand. Duncan was lying flat on his face in the dirt next to me.
“Leave her alone you fucking mongrels.” Shortie swung out and hit Dean across the face with all his strength. Something cracked and Dean’s nose started pouring blood. He reached up with both hands to hold it. When he did, Shortie swung the stick across his middle, knocking him back to the ground.
Dean landed on Duncan who was struggling to get up. “Get off me you fucking dropkick.” He pushed his brother away and tried to stand. Shortie swung his stick again, hitting Duncan across his neck and shoulders and causing him to fall down once more. “Run Jenny! Quick, get out of here!” Shortie instructed.
I was torn between my fear of what would happen when Duncan got up and not wanting to leave Shortie alone.
“Jenny, I told you to go, now get! Go get Simmo and I’ll catch up in a sec.” Shortie kicked Duncan back down and I took off around the corner. I ran as fast as I could, screaming for Tom at the top of my lungs the whole way.
Tom came out from the bushes looking worried. “What’s the matter?”
“Quick, we gotta get out of here,” I sobbed, “the Dumbrells are here and they’ll come after us.”
Tom looked around. “Where’s Shortie?”
“He’s still there, he told me to get you and he’d catch up.”
“I better go help him.” Tom started to take off but I reached out and grabbed his arm. “Don’t go, they’ll get you too.”
“I can’t leave Shortie there by himself.”
I was petrified of going back. I didn’t want Tom to go either, but I knew I couldn’t stop him.
“Hide in the bushes, I’ll go help Shortie.” He said, and then bolted before I could object further.
I ran back towards the creek and into the protection of the bush. I quickly settled on a big bunch of cut grass and crouched down out of sight. I had a good view of the hill without being visible to anyone. I straightened out my clothes and tried to stop crying. My tummy hurt from where Duncan had punched me and my face was still burning, but the soreness between my legs was by far the worst.
God! I was so glad Shortie came along when he did.
I heard a loud yell and looked up. The Dumbrells were riding away on their bikes. Shortie ran after them, waving a stick above his head and swearing like a trooper. “I’ll break your fucking legs next time you poxy bastards.”
The Dumbrells waited until they were out of reach before looking back. By then, Shortie had stopped running and was leaning against the stick. Duncan reached out behind him and stuck his middle finger up at him. Shortie didn’t move. “Ooh, I’m scared.”
I waited until the Dumbrells were well out of sight before coming out of hiding. I caught up with Shortie at the same time as Tom did.
“Look at the chickens run,” Tom said.
Shortie watched me approach. “Are you alright?” He sounded genuinely concerned.
I put on a brave face. “Yeah, I’ll live.”
He wasn’t convinced. “Did they hurt you?”
I had no idea how much he’d seen, so I considered my answer carefully. “I’ll be okay. Duncan slapped me across the face and punched me in the tummy, but then you got there and sorted them out.”
“Fucking mongrels,” spat Tom. “How tough do they think they are, picking on a girl?”
Shortie agreed with him. “Only sissies pick on girls.”
Tom came over and stood beside me. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He had such a look of concern on his face that I nearly started to cry again. “I’m fine,” I said, dismissing him with a wave of my hand. “I told you, Shortie sorted them out for me good and proper.”
“Didn’t he what?” Tom said proudly, “I don’t know why you let them go.”
“What was I supposed to do with them?”
I felt I had to stick up for Shortie. “Shortie’s right, we’re better off without them.”
“Come on,” Shortie said, looking very calm for someone who’d just taken on two much bigger kids and won, “let’s get that car seat and get out of here.”
***
The car seat trailed in the dirt leaving a line to mark our progress. Tom and Shortie walked in front of it, each pulling a piece of rope tied to the seat. I walked behind them, jumping at every sound, terrified that the Dumbrells would jump out and attack us. I doubt I would have been more scared had the Yorkshire Ripper been on the loose. I was still shaken up from what had happened. I tried to play it down as much as possible, but Shortie had seen way too much to dismiss it as nothing. “I reckon you’re mad if you don’t tell your dad,” he said.
“Nah, there’s no point, they’ll just deny the whole thing and then Mum and Dad will treat me like a baby and not let me out of their sight.” I felt bad for lying to my friends, but I had no choice. If I told them I was too embarrassed to say anything to my parents, then I’d have to tell them everything the Dumbrells did, and I don’t think I could ever tell anyone something that private, not even Tom.
“Shortie’s right, Jen,” Tom agreed. “You can’t let them get away with it.”
“I’ll think about it.” I knew I wouldn’t tell Mum and Dad, I just said that so they’d stop hassling me. It seemed to work. Tom went straight back to bragging about how unreal Shortie was for beating the Dumbrells in a fight. I walked behind them quietly, not joining in their conversation. When we finally entered the clearing at the end of our street, I let out a sigh of relief. At least I could stop worrying about being ambushed by the Dumbrells.
Instead of dragging the seat down the road and thr
ough our back yard where we’d have to lift it over the fence, we took it through the bush and along the row of back fences. We slid it into the cubby and left it under the tin section. It felt good to be back in a safe place. I still couldn’t believe Shortie had scared them off single handed, but he had. Boy was I stoked to see him standing over the Dumbrells with the stick.
“By the way, thanks Shortie,” I said.
“Thanks for what?” he asked.
“You know, the Dumbrells. I hate to think what might have happened if you hadn’t turned up when you did.” I think that’s what Dad calls an understatement. He said it’s when you say something in a way that the other person doesn’t realise how much you really mean it. I gently touched my tummy and felt where Duncan had punched me. I bravely resisted the urge to wince from the pain. I didn’t want the others to know how much it hurt.
Shortie looked embarrassed. “It was nothing. I enjoyed beating the shit out of them anyway.” He got up to go. His dad was taking him and his brothers to the Motordrome and he didn’t want to be late.
“It’s Mum’s turn to go to Uncle Harry’s tomorrow if you want to come.” I said, as he was leaving.
“You bet. What time?”
“Dunno, just come down when you get up.”
“No worries. See ya then.”
“I better go too. I’ve got to help Mum sort out Jim’s room. He’s coming home tonight.” Tom got up and followed Shortie out of the cubby. “Wait up Shortie, I’ll walk with you.”
It’s hard to believe there could be anything to sort out in that house with Mrs Clean Freak around. No doubt, she’ll have Tom scrubbing the skirting boards with his toothbrush and personally fogging the window with his hot breath, only to polish it off again with her best rag, which used to be her best pair of cottontails. I swear, you’d think the Queen was coming to stay. “Hey Tom,” I called after him. “We’ll come over when we get back from Uncle Harry’s, okay?”
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