by James Roy
Lou waved his hand at Dad. ‘Don’t worry about it, Marty. It’s all good, my friend.’ Then he looked at me again. ‘Cream with your crumble?’
I glanced at Dad, and he just kind of shrugged and nodded that it was fine.
‘Yes please, Lou, cream would be nice,’ I said.
‘And ice-cream?’
‘Of course.’
‘Of course, indeed,’ Lou said. ‘And Marty – the usual for you?’
‘Indeed. Thanks, mate . . .’
‘Coming right up.’
When Lou had gone to the kitchen (stopping at two other tables on the way), Dad sat back and sighed. ‘So, how about all the different hooks in that hardware place, huh?’
‘There were heaps,’ I said.
‘There were, as you say, “heaps”.’ He paused, then cleared his throat. ‘Betty, I wanted to ask you something. How do you feel the homeschooling is coming along?’
‘Why don’t you ask my teacher?’ I said.
‘I’m asking you.’
‘It’s okay,’ I said.
‘Just okay?
‘Mum’s a pretty good teacher, but I miss my friends.’
‘Betty, what would you really like to do? About school, I mean.’
‘If I could do anything? I’d like to go back to Sacred Wimple. That’s where all my friends are. Why? Can I?’ I asked, getting tingles of excitement at the idea.
Dad scratched the side of his face. I could hear his whiskers against the tips of his fingers. ‘I’d love to say yes,’ he said.
I could hear a ‘but’ coming, sending the excitement-tingles away just as quickly as they’d arrived. ‘But you can’t?’
He shook his head. ‘Not just yet.’
‘Do you think I’ll ever be able to go back?’
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Your mum and I have been thinking.’
‘About?’
‘About finding a way to get you back into Sacred Wimple.’
‘But you wanted me to leave,’ I said. ‘You wanted me to do homeschooling.’
Dad shook his head. ‘No, that’s not true at all. We saw homeschooling as the best option but . . . well, it’s probably not going to turn out to be ideal.’
‘Why not?’
‘Look, there are several reasons which I don’t want to get into with you right now. Put it this way, Betty, we’d have to talk to Mr Hilder again –’
‘So do it!’ I said.
‘Let me finish. I think before he’d let you back into the school he’d like to see you showing a bit more maturity,’ Dad said. Then he lifted his hand as I opened my mouth to interrupt him again. ‘I know that the events at school weren’t entirely your fault, and that you weren’t trying to cause trouble. But if we’re serious about getting you back in there, we’re going to need to work on Mr Hilder.’
‘So what can I do?’ I asked. ‘Because I’ll do anything!’
‘Well, I think you should spend the rest of this term working really hard.’
‘I will! Of course I will! What else?’
‘Remember how Mr Hilder talked about maturity and responsibility? Well, I think that you should show him how responsible you can be. Your mum and I reckon that you should think about doing some community work.’
I made my confused face at him. ‘Community work? Isn’t that what judges tell footballers they have to do when they misbehave? For, like, a hundred hours or something?’
‘Well, that is a slightly different thing,’ he said, smiling. ‘What we mean is that you could do a few hours of volunteer work, maybe a couple of mornings a week. Then you could write a letter to Mr Hilder telling him what you’ve been doing, and what you’ve learnt about responsibility. We really think that would help. Does that sound like a good idea to you?’
This sounded like a completely dodgy idea to me. ‘What sort of volunteer work?’ I asked.
‘Well, you could go to the local pre-school and read to the kids – I’m sure Mum would be able to clear it with her friend Kelly.’
I shook my head slowly. ‘I get enough of little kids at home with Richie. Boy, he stinks! You should have smelt the –’
Dad coughed and held up one hand to stop me. ‘All right, another option is to go and spend some time with the old people at Redgrange, helping the staff hand out meals, or making cups of tea or something like that.’
This was an even worse suggestion. I remembered going to the nursing home where Grandpa was living, just before he died, and all it did was make me sad. Plus it smelled a bit funny, sort of like gravy and Dettol. Also, there was one old lady there who shouted at me because her favourite TV show wasn’t on, even though Mum told me later that it hadn’t been on telly for almost twenty years.
‘I don’t like the sound of that one,’ I said. ‘What else have you got?’
‘Um . . .’
‘I could go and work at the local pool,’ I suggested.
Now it was Dad’s turn to shake his head. ‘No, I don’t think so. But I’m sure we can come up with something that fits the bill. What do you think?’
What did I think? That it would be a lot easier if Mr Hilder just let me back in, because this volunteer thing sounded like a lot of hard work – that was what I thought.
‘Sounds okay,’ I said. ‘Can I think about it?’
‘Of course. But don’t take too long. We need to make a decision,’ he added, his voice kind of trailing off.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Hmm? Oh, because . . . because we just want to give you the best possible chance for high school in the medium-term, and your other learning needs in the short- and long-term.’
Even though I didn’t really understand what that meant, it sounded quite a bit like when Dad wrote that a new restaurant served ‘bold combinations’, when what he actually meant was, ‘the food was really weird’.
CHAPTER 11
That Friday afternoon, after me and Dad got back from The Green Gecko, Mum and I took Richie to the park while Dad swore at his hooks and his electric screwdriver. The park is just around the corner, sort of tucked in behind the display village, and only about a ten-minute walk from our place. It was quite late when we went, and because the afternoons were starting to get colder, Mum had Richie all rugged up in a puffy hoody-jacket that made him look like a Teletubbie.
While Mum pushed Richie on one swing, I sat on the other. I wasn’t swinging hard – just back and forth gently. I think that no matter how old I get, I’ll always enjoy being on a swing.
‘So, Lizzie,’ Mum said, ‘it’s the end of the week. Have you decided who you’re going to interview for your HSIE project?’
I wasn’t ready for her to ask that question, especially since I’d thought that school was over for the week.
‘Do you have to know today?’ I asked. ‘Like, right now?’
‘No, but I did say I wanted you to have a bit of an idea by Friday.’
‘I can’t think of anyone,’ I said. ‘I don’t know anyone interesting.’
‘No one at all?’
‘Everyone I know is boring.’
‘Boring!’ said Richie, which made Mum show me her not-happy-with-Lizzie face.
‘First, I don’t think that’s true, and second, I’m not going to accept that as a reason for not doing it. Think about it over the weekend, and we’ll talk about it on Monday. But definitely Monday, okay?’
‘Fine,’ I said. Then, mostly to change the subject, I said, ‘Dad said I could go back to Sacred Wimple.’
She frowned at me, all confused. ‘What? Are you sure?’
‘Yeah, he told me this afternoon.’
Mum shook her head. ‘I don’t think . . . He was going to talk to Mr Hilder, wasn’t he?’
‘Yeah, but I know he’ll say yes.’
‘I suppose we’ll see.’
‘Has Dad even talked to Mr Hilder yet?’
‘I’m not sure,’ she answered. ‘Maybe.’
‘I wish he
would.’
‘He will, Lizzie.’
‘Do you want me to go back to Sacred Wimple?’ I asked.
Mum didn’t answer straight away. Then she said, ‘We just want what’s best for you, Lizzie. And if that means getting you back into your old school, then we’ll do whatever we can to make that happen.’
We left the park a little while after that, partly because it was getting even colder, but mostly because Richie was going all ratty and hungry. The walk back home took us through the middle of the display village, and that was when, near the tiny roundabout at the end of our street, I saw a man standing on the corner. It looked to me like he was waiting for something. Or maybe for someone. But definitely waiting. People who aren’t waiting don’t stand on a street corner in the middle of a display village with their hands in their pockets. Not usually, anyway.
We walked straight past him. His hair was quite short and greying at the sides, and he had a moustache, which I think is always a bad look unless you’re a bank robber or a pirate. He wasn’t wearing any of the other things that a bank robber or a pirate would wear, though – he was wearing a white shirt and a gold tie, and a black leather jacket. Mum nodded to him and said hi, and he said hi back, but as he said it, he pulled the front of his jacket over to the side a little bit. It looked to me like he was covering something up, maybe a name tag. But there was definitely something that he didn’t want us to see.
‘Did you see that?’ I asked Mum once we were far enough away that he wouldn’t hear. ‘He pulled his jacket over like this.’ And with my jacket, I showed her what he’d done.
‘It is pretty cold,’ Mum said. ‘Maybe he doesn’t want to get a chill.’
‘Yeah, but why was he even there? What’s he waiting for?’
Mum shrugged. ‘How would I know, Lizzie? A taxi? A friend? Maybe he works in the display village and he’s getting picked up from work.’
I thought about this. It was possible that she had a point. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Yes, I decided at last, that must have been exactly what was happening.
‘Wait – he doesn’t have a bag or anything with him,’ I said. ‘Wouldn’t he have one of those little suitcases that business people carry around?’
‘A briefcase? Well, yes, maybe, but not necessarily.’
I looked back. The man was still standing on the corner, and as I watched, a small red car pulled up beside him.
‘You were right,’ I said. ‘He’s getting picked up.’
Mum nodded. ‘Good. So we can rest tonight, now that the mystery is solved.’
But it wasn’t actually solved at all, because the man was bending over at the window of the car, talking to the driver. Then he handed something to the driver, and when he stood up straight he was holding a flat box with some kind of small package on top.
‘He’s getting pizza,’ I said. ‘Someone just delivered pizza to him on the corner.’
‘Pizza!’ said Richie.
‘Why would they deliver it on the corner?’
‘I don’t know!’ Mum said, all impatient. ‘How would I know, Lizzie?’
I didn’t really expect her to know. I wasn’t asking her to give me an answer that was completely true. I just wanted an answer that might be true.
I looked back towards the corner, hoping to see which direction the man had gone. But in the time we’d been talking and wondering, he’d disappeared.
I phoned Jenni before dinner, and told her what Dad had suggested to me at The Green Gecko.
‘So you’re coming back to Sacred Wimple?’ she said. Then she started squealing.
‘Jenni, it’s not definite yet,’ I said. ‘Jenni! Calm down! I need to do some community thing. Like, work somewhere or something.’
‘What, are you in jail?’ she asked, all scoffy.
‘No, but I have to show how responsible I can be. So I need your help to think of a place I could volunteer.’
‘Why can’t you just tell Mr Hilder that you’ve learnt your lesson and you’ll never do anything bad again and you’ll even wash his car every week, or something?’
‘Nah,’ I said. ‘I don’t think he’d go for that.’
‘He might.’
‘Anyway, we can talk about it some more tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Are you still coming over?’
‘Of course! I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Oh, and by the way, Amanda says she misses you.’
I wasn’t sure how to answer that. Me and Amanda Jenkins had never been the best of friends. Actually, we’d never been friends – not since the first day of kindy, when she stole my brand new glue stick and I paid her back by cutting off one of her plaits.
‘Why would she miss me?’ I asked. ‘We don’t even like each other.’
‘Hmm,’ Jenni said. ‘She doesn’t mind you.’
Ouch.
At dinner, I mentioned Jenni’s idea. ‘She thought I could wash Mr Hilder’s car or something. You know, to convince him.’
‘I strongly doubt that he’d agree to something like that,’ Mum said.
‘He might.’
Mum shook her head. ‘He’s not going to accept a bribe.’
‘A what?’
‘A bribe. It’s when someone pays another person, or gives them something so that they’ll do them a favour.’
‘Like what Dad does?’ I asked.
‘What do I do?’ Dad asked as he ground some pepper onto his vegetable lasagna. ‘Tell me.’
‘Well, all those restaurant people give you meals, and then you write nice things about their food.’
Dad shook his head. ‘I don’t even tell them that I’m coming, Betty. I make a booking, just like a regular customer except I use a fake name, and I go along and eat my meal, and they don’t know that I’m there to review their restaurant.’
Mum chuckled. ‘Not until you order three different entrees and a couple of mains. That’s when they start to suspect.’
‘Anyway, the point is that they don’t give me anything for free. If they do, I have to say so at the end of the review – I have to write something like “Marty Adams dined at Yuck Sausage as a guest of the chef”. Just so people know, you see.’
‘But it’s a bit different with Mr Hilder, isn’t it?’ I asked.
Dad shook his head. ‘No, we’re just going to have to tell him that you’ve learnt your lesson, show him the letter you end up writing, and hope for the best.’
‘Have you even talked to him yet?’ I asked.
‘Not yet. We only talked about it this afternoon!’
‘Can you do it soon? Please?’
‘Yes,’ Mum said, and when I glanced at her, she was giving Dad quite a stern look, as if she’d already asked him to do it a million times, and it was super-important.
That was when he took a deep breath and sighed and looked all tired. ‘I’ll add it to the list,’ he said.
‘Well, it is a bit of a priority, I think,’ Mum said. ‘You know, under the circumstances –’
‘Yes, I understand that,’ Dad replied. The way his words came out was kind of short and cross. ‘I’ll get onto it.’
CHAPTER 12
The next day was Saturday and Jenni came over, just to hang. I hadn’t seen her since I was expelled, but it was like we hadn’t even been apart (except for the Amanda Jenkins thing from the night before, but even though we were both thinking about it, neither of us said anything). We just lay around on my bed and played on our phones and talked and laughed and listened to music and made stupid jokes and baked muffins and forgot to clean up the kitchen and had to be reminded three times by Mum and played with Muppet and had to be reminded about the kitchen again. We also tried to think of somewhere I could volunteer that would show Mr Hilder how responsible I could be, but there wasn’t anywhere. Well, nowhere that sounded like much fun, anyway.
As well as all the talking and baking and lying around and giggling, we had three lots of people knock on the front door asking if they could take a look throu
gh our house. The first time Mum answered the door and asked them (politely) to go away. The second time Dad asked them (less politely) to go away. The third time, Jenni handled it.
Here’s how.
We were at the door, putting on our shoes so we could take Muppet for a walk, when we heard the security screen rattle. The screen was locked but the main door was wide open, and we could see two ladies in the doorway. One of them was shaking and rattling the door like a chimpanzee in a cage.
‘Oh, not again,’ I said, but Jenni was totally cool.
‘Watch this,’ she said. Then she went over to the security door. ‘Helloo,’ she said, in a low, spooky voice. ‘We’ve been ex-pect-ing you.’
‘You have?’ said the blonde lady who’d been shaking the door. Then she turned to her friend – a younger, thinner lady with short red hair – and said, ‘Did you make an appoint–’
‘Oh no!’ Jenni interrupted. ‘We were expecting you because of the prophets. Oh yes, they foretold your coming, and now the preparations are almost . . . complete.’
‘Preparations?’ the red-haired lady said, and she and her friend looked at each other with a scared kind of expression. ‘What . . . preparations?’
‘Oh, that’s not for you to worry about,’ Jenni said, still in her spooky voice. Then she unlatched the security door and swung it open. It kind of creaked, which felt like totally the right sound for the situation. ‘Please come in – the high priestess awaits you in . . . the crypt.’
‘Um . . .’ the blonde lady said, shuffling her papers. ‘I’m not sure if we’ve got the right . . .’
Her friend looked as if she’d just eaten something disgusting. ‘Yeah, I don’t know. Look, is this house part of HomeFest?’
Suddenly Jenni’s voice was normal again, and all chirpy. ‘HomeFest? Oh no, the house next door is the last display house. This one is the home of . . . the Adams family!’
The ladies rolled their eyes at one another, at exactly the same time, which looked a lot weirder than it sounds.
‘Come on,’ said the blonde one. ‘Let’s go back and take another look at the one with the mezzanine atrium.’
‘Okay,’ said the other. But then she tipped her head over to one side so she could see past me and Jenni into our entryway. ‘Still, this looks quite –’