Mad Men, Bad Girls

by Maggie Groff

  Once Tildy was propped in the driver’s seat, Tommy squeezed in front of his mother, the pressure between the back of the seat and his body keeping Tildy upright.

  ‘Can you walk?’ Solly asked me.

  ‘I have to,’ I said grimly, looking down at Serene Cloud, who was attempting to lift his head. We had to reach the gate before he regained consciousness, or people came to investigate the screaming.

  ‘What about me?’ Cinnamon cried. ‘I need to get to a hospital. I’m having a baby!’

  Self-preservation seemed to have kicked in and she was clearly having second thoughts about giving birth in a rainforest. I didn’t blame her—in fairy tales all the bad stuff happens in the woods.

  ‘There’s a wheelbarrow in the shed,’ I muttered. ‘Put her in that.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Solly exclaimed. ‘Do we have to take her?’

  ‘It’s the right thing to do,’ I said weakly. I had no stamina for an argument.

  With a mixture of horror and perverse delight, I watched as Solly pushed a remonstrating Cinnamon into the wheelbarrow and set off at surprising speed over the rough terrain, Cinnamon hanging on to the sides of the wheelbarrow and howling at the indignity of it all.

  ‘Go, go, go!’ Solly shouted at Tommy as she passed him. Immediately Tommy leaned back against his mother and took off into the gloom after Solly, the mower engine roaring like a trail bike. I noticed with relief that Tommy had lifted the blades and Tildy had instinctively thrown her arms around his waist.

  Clasping my arms tightly across my ribs, I took a deep breath, decided my lungs weren’t punctured, and set off after them. Every step sent shooting pains through my chest, and my head was starting to feel a teensy bit woolly. It was just shock, I reassured myself, although I knew that I hadn’t eaten enough food after having my evening insulin.

  Instinctively I felt for my diabetic pack to take a sugar pill and with abject horror I realised it had fallen off. There wasn’t time to go back and look for it—it could be anywhere.

  Terror gripped me as I pressed on, praying that Laura had my backpack in the minibus and had managed to open the security gates, and knowing that somehow I had to haul Casey out of her hut on the way through the compound.

  Unbelievably, Prince Photon was still merging his universal self with Dawn against the side of the hut, and I averted my eyes as I staggered past. Jeepers, the lad had stamina.

  The sound of screaming and the mower engine had woken a few people. Some were peering through windows, others standing on verandahs staring into the compound. We must have cut an unusual sight hurrying by in the dead of night—a young boy in red pyjamas and a semi-comatose woman on a ride-on mower, a goth pushing a wheelbarrow containing a pregnant woman in labour, and me bringing up the rear, stumbling along like Quasimodo.

  I heard movement beside me just as a hand grabbed my elbow. I gasped. It was Casey.

  ‘Are we going now?’ she said eagerly.

  I nodded. ‘I’m injured, Casey. Help Solly with the wheelbarrow,’ I panted. ‘Go!’

  Casey appraised the scene in an instant. Tommy had already streaked ahead of us with his mother, the mower engine a distant hum.

  ‘It’s okay everyone,’ she shouted. ‘Cinnamon’s in labour and we’re taking her to the hospital to have her baby. Sorry about the screaming, but it hurts.’

  I was incredulous at her quick thinking. Casey let go of my elbow and ran to Solly and took one handle of the wheelbarrow.

  Amazingly, Casey’s announcement was all it took to quell the onlookers’ curiosity. Mind you, they were all so away with the pixies they probably thought the rest of us were fairy midwives, come from the woods to help.

  There were cheers and chants of, ‘Mystic Master, Mystic Master,’ and I hoped the Mystic Master didn’t hear the calling and stagger from the undergrowth, or Cinnamon cry out that we’d killed him. Solly must have had the same thought as I saw her whip Cinnamon’s glasses from her face so she couldn’t see, and put her free hand securely over Cinnamon’s mouth—a couple of interesting new moves for the midwives’ manual.

  Willing myself forward, I moved automatically, each step a new experience in pain. The others were well ahead. I felt dizzy, weak. Only a few more steps, only a few more . . .

  Things were hazy. Solly and Casey were running back for me.

  ‘Here, take my arm,’ Solly said, supporting me as we hurried towards the minibus.

  ‘I’m diabetic,’ I wheezed. ‘Think my ribs are fractured. May have punctured my lungs.’

  ‘We’ve got you,’ Casey said, ‘you’ll be fine.’

  But I knew I wouldn’t be.

  They manoeuvred me into the minibus. Laura, in full goth regalia, was at the wheel and had started the engine. Tildy was sitting with a blanket wrapped around her, staring straight ahead. Tommy was sitting next to her, his arm around her, his face filled with anxiety. Cinnamon was lying across the back seats, screaming for painkillers.

  Casey helped me into a seat and wrapped a blanket around me. Then she rolled up another blanket and put it across my ribs. I held the blanket to me hoping it might offer some protection. Casey took the seat beside me.

  My backpack, I saw with relief, had been placed on one of the single seats. All my sugar pills were in the pack that had fallen off, but there was a juice in the backpack, as well as an emergency glucagon injection in the toothpaste tube if I should go into a coma. This dizzy feeling could be anything, and I was unsure if I was in shock, having a panic attack or my blood sugar level was dropping dangerously low.

  ‘Go, go, go!’ Solly shouted.

  ‘Hang on tight,’ Laura yelled. She put her foot down and we tore off in a screech of gravel and dust, down the drive, through the open security gates and out into the real world.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Laura shouted over her shoulder.

  ‘Gold Coast Hospital,’ Solly called back. ‘Bloody hell, Laura, we’ve got a diabetic who may need surgery, a woman having a baby and an injured kid with a catatonic mother. Where do you think we’re going? Sea World?’

  Cinnamon screamed continually, contraction or not. Casey looked at me and cast her eyes heavenwards. Despite my adverse state, I managed a weak grin.

  ‘If you shut up back there I’ll give you your glasses,’ Solly shouted at Cinnamon.

  It worked and the screams subsided between contractions, which seemed to be coming far too close together for my liking.

  Solly was trying her mobile phone for a signal.

  ‘Damn, damn, damn,’ she said, shaking it. ‘The sodding battery’s flat!’

  Laura tossed her mobile to Solly and after what seemed an hour, but was actually only about five minutes, Solly secured a signal, called emergency services and informed them of our situation. She stated her name and advised that she was an immigration officer.

  I listened in a daze as Solly related the information. She stated the location of Bacchus Rising and gave the registration number of the minibus and said we were heading for Gold Coast Hospital with seven on board. The missing child Tommy Wilding had been found at Bacchus Rising and he was safe. He had been assaulted by a man called Serene Cloud and was being taken to hospital. The man had also assaulted two women who were being taken to hospital, both in a serious condition. One of the women was the mother of Tommy Wilding. A third woman was in labour and being taken to hospital. Serene Cloud was in the rainforest at Bacchus Rising with a head injury. There was a demountable on the property full of goods suspected to have been stolen by Serene Cloud and his followers. Several followers were possible illegal immigrants.

  Oh, is that all? I thought.

  Solly asked that police meet us at Gold Coast Hospital. She hadn’t mentioned the crimes against Casey Steinman.

  ‘It looks like we aren’t going to need that glass after all,’ Solly said to me. ‘Now they’ll have the actual fingers.’

  Every bump in the road was a nightmare and I dreaded to think what further damage was occurring i
n my chest cavity. I looked at Tildy. She was slumped in her seat and Tommy was rubbing her arm, saying, ‘Wake up, Mum, wake up.’

  As soon as we hit the sealed road I asked Casey to remove the talc container and toothpaste tube from my backpack. Quickly, I explained how to open them, and after a lot of fumbling Casey handed me the mobile phone and the medication and syringes from the tube. I felt better knowing that I had the emergency glucagon injection handy.

  Marcia needed to be called and, mustering reserves from somewhere, I managed to tell her that I was heading to Gold Coast Hospital with Tommy and Tildy. Marcia said that once she’d spoken to Mark she would contact Dave Fanshaw and then meet us at the hospital.

  Time seemed infinite and things were getting foggy. I was trembling, sweating and feeling sleepy. This wasn’t shock—I was having a hypoglycaemic attack. Oh, Christ! I needed sugar.

  ‘Casey . . . juice . . . in my backpack . . . get it quick,’ I stammered.

  Panicked, Casey found the juice, opened it and handed it to me. I drank quickly, spilling liberal amounts. Would the juice be enough? I knew I was heading into the danger zone because my head was starting to ache. Give it time, Scout. Give it a few minutes to take effect.

  Solly, who was sitting on the seat in front of me, turned round and handed Casey her American passport. It looked unusually thick and an elastic band had been secured around the outside.

  ‘It’s an early Easter present,’ Solly said. She looked at me. ‘Jeez, you look rough.’

  Casey opened her passport and removed a bundle of money.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Casey said.

  ‘Laura retrieved some of our retreat stake from the safe,’ Solly said, peering towards the back to make sure Cinnamon wasn’t listening.

  I was beginning to feel really strange. Things were starting to drift in and out of focus. I was beyond swallowing and I needed to have someone give me the glucagon injection, but I couldn’t seem to work my mouth to ask.

  ‘If you don’t want to press charges against that old bastard,’ I heard Solly say to Casey, ‘make yourself scarce when we get to the hospital. Go to a motel and get some new clothes. Lay low for two days. Then call Scout and she’ll help you go home.’

  Solly took my phone, pressed some buttons and wrote what I later learned was my name and phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to Casey.

  I looked at Casey. She was smiling and tears were running down her face. The tune of ‘Oh, What a Night’ played in my head. Casey was looking really fuzzy . . .

  And that’s the last thing I remember before passing out.

  When I came to I was lying on a hospital bed in the Accident and Emergency department at Gold Coast Hospital. There was an intravenous infusion in my left arm and a doctor was standing over me. Sadly, he didn’t look like George Clooney.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Any special reason there’s a toy rabbit stuffed down the back of your jeans?’

  One week later . . .

  I was recuperating on my verandah, taking it easy and drinking Old Socks tea while relatives and friends tended to my every need. Naturally, I was milking the attention for all it was worth, and I was pretty sure that they’d be sick of me by next weekend when my parents and daughters arrived to take over.

  It was a beautiful autumn day and the sweet sound of Linda Ronstadt was drifting up from Fandango’s kitchen where Miles was preparing a plate of interesting things for my lunch. I was surrounded by the bounty of the indisposed—flowers, cards, magazines and fresh fruit. Tommy had painted me a picture of a ride-on mower, and Fergus had sent down his Sesame Street pillow­cases in case I was sick and ran out of clean ones.

  Chairman Meow had finished his tea and was on my lap, rubbing his head against my arm. Since I’d arrived home he’d assumed the mantle of Matron Meow, but Rafe, who visited often, said cats were only good for a few days and I’d soon be requiring more specialised attention.

  On the night I was injured, Dave Fanshaw had contacted Harper and she’d raced to the hospital and spent the night sitting beside my bed, fretting. Apparently I was lucky. Shortly after I’d lost consciousness an ambulance had met the minibus and I’d received treatment from the paramedics in good time. The blunt-force trauma from the spade had bruised my chest wall and fractured two ribs, but there was no other damage. The doctors had kept me in hospital for two nights to stabilise my diabetes and fully assess my injuries. My ribs would take several weeks to mend, during which time I was to rest and take anti-­inflammatories. Harper, who’d spent two nights playing nursemaid when I came home, was now making daily visits and would be arriving shortly.

  Chairman Meow jumped off my lap as the back gate opened and Miles appeared carrying a large platter of dips, feta cheese, Turkish bread, olives and fresh dates.

  ‘I made a big platter as you seem to have a lot of visitors at lunchtime,’ he said, putting the food on the table.

  ‘That’s because everyone knows you bring me such a wonderful lunch.’

  Miles grinned and then went to fetch me a glass of water from the kitchen.

  ‘Do you need anything else before I go, darls? I’d stay and chat, but we’re busy.’

  ‘No, this is great, thank you. I’m very spoilt. Are you coming up for a drink later?’

  Miles said that he would and disappeared down the back steps. Two minutes later Harper arrived with a container of homemade minestrone soup for my supper and a pile of movies.

  ‘I didn’t hire anything funny,’ she said, handing me the DVDs, ‘as I know it hurts you to laugh.’ She eyed the platter and then said, ‘I’m starved.’

  As we tucked into lunch, Harper filled me in on Knickergate.

  ‘Mary’s doing fine. She’s settled back into school and the kids in her class have been great. She’s been invited to the movies and a party on Saturday.’

  ‘Counselling at its best,’ I said.

  ‘As you’d thought,’ Harper continued, ‘Mrs Niles didn’t want police involved, or for Mary to have to go through the court process, so she talked to a lawyer and asked that they try to negotiate a reasonable settlement for Mary. If nothing came of that, then she’d reconsider informing the police.’

  That seemed sensible to me. I knew that Mary had also decided my sister was the only person she would allow to view the texts and photos. Harper had told me the texts were horrific, along the lines of You’re going to die, bogan and Tonight’s your last night, fat mole. She wouldn’t tell me about the photos. Just that she died a little inside when she saw them, and if they were not needed for the police then steps would be taken to banish them to the ether forever.

  Harper cut open a date and removed the stone, filled the date with feta cheese and then handed it to me.

  I bit into the date. ‘Mm. What do you call this?’

  ‘I don’t know what you call it in Byron, but in Robina we call it date stuffed with feta.’

  I chuckled and threw the date stone at her.

  ‘Did the legal eagles meet?’ I asked, keen to know if there had been any outcomes from meetings held yesterday. I also knew that Brianna Berkelow’s father had been requested to attend, and I was dying to know if he’d turned up.

  Harper popped an olive in her mouth. ‘Yep. Robert had a union lawyer, Mrs Niles had her lawyer and Margo Mitchell represented the Day, Robertson and Rack families. Brianna Berkelow’s father turned up prepared to sue the school, Robert and Mrs Niles, in that order. I hope he got one hell of a shock when confronted with the evidence and the girls’ confessions of his daughter’s activities.’

  I suspected that Brianna’s father, when faced with the enormity of his daughter’s behaviour, had agreed to discuss a settlement immediately. ‘And?’ I said.

  ‘Brianna has also been expelled and a detailed file will be forwarded to any future school she attends. I have no idea if her parents plan for her to have a psychiatric assessment, but I do know that Brianna’s father has agreed to destroy everything in his daughter’s possession
that relates to Mary, which is a blessing.’

  ‘Oh come on, you must know more than that,’ I moaned.

  ‘I understand there has been agreement on a financial settlement for Mary, but the amount is confidential. I know that Mrs Niles is purchasing a new wheelchair-accessible vehicle to help transport her elder daughter, and Mary will be attending a four-day camp for siblings of children with disabilities. Mrs Niles has also made an appointment for Mary to have her acne professionally treated, and Mary’s labradoodle puppy will be arriving in three weeks. Mary’s already named him Bach . . . or Offenbach, I can’t remember which.’

  ‘Were any of those ideas yours?’ I asked, suspecting that Harper had had a hand in these constructive resolutions.

  ‘Maybe,’ she said evasively, and I stifled a knowing smile.

  ‘What about Robert?’ I asked. ‘Is he taking civil action?’

  Harper shook her head. ‘No, he thought it would be too stressful, but I’ve heard that the teacher from Heathlands intends to pursue his own case against Brianna through the courts. Robert’s lawyer has negotiated a monetary settlement for Robert. Again, I don’t know details, but Robert seemed happy with the amount.’

  In a sense, it was a good outcome for Robert and Mary, although it would have been rewarding to have seen the girls face court and receive an appropriate punishment. This way, though, Robert and Mary had immediate compensation and could get on with their lives. I could understand why the teacher from Heathlands wanted to pursue the matter. His career and good name had been destroyed, and I had no doubt that he would triumph in any legal proceedings.

  Outside in the back lane I heard Rafe’s voice. It sounded like he was talking to Miles. This could be interesting, especially as I hadn’t mentioned Rafe to Harper.

  Chairman Meow ran to greet Rafe at the verandah gate. He was in uniform and carrying the diabetic pack and mobile phone I’d lost in the woods. He was smiling broadly and I hoped that meant he’d read the situation.

  ‘You must be Scout’s sister, Harper,’ Rafe said, offering his hand. ‘I was at school with Toby,’ he added, as if that explained everything.