by John Marsden
Phil, Phil, what a dill,
Got no brains and got no skill.
Face like a pickle,
Nose like a bean,
Voice sounds like a washing machine.
We went out to PE, where we had softball, and it got pretty serious then. Phil was playing second base and he tried to trip Helen as she ran past, but Mrs Hazell didn’t see that. Then Phil was batting, and Helen was backstop, and Phil took a big swing at the first ball he got. Helen caught the ball and started yelling at Mrs Hazell, saying that Phil had hit it, had brushed it with the bat. Phil was screaming ‘I didn’t, I didn’t’. Helen was screaming back ‘You did, you cheat. You’re out, get out.’ Then she pushed him, he pushed her back, Mrs Hazell stepped in, and they both got sent to the classroom to write lines. Boy, were they fired up. It would have been an ugly scene back in the classroom I reckon, just the two of them on their own, with smoke still coming out of their nostrils and their ears.
Everyone’s so violent lately. So many fights, and everyone so uptight. Maybe it’s the hot weather.
2.20 pm
I had lunch with Mike. We didn’t talk about anything much, I mean nothing serious. The only thing he said about his father was that no one’s allowed to visit him for the first three weeks. He looked like he was going to cry when he said that.
Rory and Elissa are coming back to school tomorrow.
I asked Mike if he wanted to come to Dalgetty with Dad and me on Saturday. He said he’d ask. He seemed pretty keen.
5.15 pm
I’ve just been at Mike’s. That was a big surprise. But as we got off the bus he suddenly asked me if I wanted to come to his place. I knew Mum was home, so Jodie would be OK, so I dragged her home and got permission, then raced back to the Edwards’.
It wasn’t the greatest afternoon I’ve ever had at one of my mate’s places, but I made sure Mike thought I was having a good time. I really tried. It wasn’t all that easy, ’cos the whole lot of them seemed so tired. I guess anyone would be. Rory looked the worst. He’s always had such fair skin, but now he looks like that ice-man that they pulled out of the glacier a while back, the bloke who’d been there for a few thousand years. Even Adrienne, the baby, was crying a lot. Maybe she had wind. Maybe she had a hurricane.
Mrs Edwards is a nice lady though. She seemed rapt that Mike had brought someone home. I didn’t tell her that Mike had belted my face in outside their back fence just a couple of weeks ago.
Mrs Edwards is pretty young I’d reckon. She’s got a big mop of curly black hair and strong black eyebrows. The kids must have got their red hair from their dad. Her voice is really posh, not like people round Cobbler Park, but I like the way she talks. But she sure looked tired. Maybe she doesn’t sleep all that well.
Mum was curious to find out what they were like. I suppose it’s because they keep to themselves so much.
When I think about it, maybe what shocked me most was how little stuff they had. I mean, if Mr Edwards stole 23 million bucks, there’s not much of it left now. They’ve got a TV, a lounge, a few tables and chairs, and that’s about it. Mike shares a room with Rory, and Mrs Edwards and the two girls are in the other room. It must be strange for them if they were living like millionaires before, and now I’d say they’ve got less money than we have. Occasionally Mike says something like, ‘When we were in London …’ then he stops and changes the subject. It’s like he’s trying to liquid paper about ten chapters out of his life.
Mike’s Mum said he could come on Saturday, to Dalgetty. It should be cool fun. But when I told Dad I’d asked Mike, he said ‘I hope his old man’s grateful. I might send him a bill for the petrol. $850 should just about cover it.’
I sure hope he doesn’t say anything like that on Saturday. But still, we couldn’t afford to lose that money. $850 is a lot of dough.
Friday, Mar 6, 11.35 am
Things are still tense at school. I think Mike’s getting a hard time in his class, although he doesn’t say much about it. Phil and Helen are serious enemies now—it used to be a bit of a joke before. Generally Phil’s like a bear in a sauna: very heated up. Maybe he’s upset with me still. I know he is.
I talked to Natasha a bit at Recess but it wasn’t too good. Going out together seems to have made us nervous with each other. It’s hard to talk now. It was better before. No one else in our class is going out with anyone, although I know Kathryn likes Luke, and Cindy likes Darren. The trouble is, when Natasha and I were talking at Recess, all her friends were watching and giggling, and now they all tease me about liking Natasha. It’s a bit embarrassing.
Rory and Elissa didn’t come to school today. Mike said his Mum decided to send them back Monday.
Saturday, Mar 7, 7.15 pm
We’ve had a real iced donut kind of day. I’m tired though. It’s funny how doing nothing, just sitting in the truck for five hours, can be so exhausting. And it was more than five hours ’cos we got a bit lost trying to find the building site. Then there was no forklift for the unloading—the bloke said it had broken down—so we had to take them off by hand, which Dad was a bit burned off about. They’re heavy, tiles.
After that we ate lunch. Dad and Jodie had made sandwiches last night, and they were really funny mixtures. Dad said it was Jodie’s idea, and when I asked Jodie tonight she said it was Dad’s. So I don’t know. They’re both pretty mad. There were things like dates and Vegemite in one, egg and peanut butter in another, and a corn beef and honey. The dates and Vegemite weren’t too bad actually. Sardines and jam were probably going a bit far. That was in a park in Dalgetty, then we went to the swimming pool down the road. We had some fun there. You were allowed to do bombs and stuff—well, you weren’t meant to, but being a small town no one seemed to mind. There were a few kids our age and we mucked around with them while Dad had a sleep under a tree. I reckon Mike had an extra good time. He didn’t do much at first, but after a while he got going. He had us doing synchronised bombs and follow-the-leader bombs and moon bombs. (I’d better not say what they are.) I’ve never seen him laugh so much. We didn’t leave till after three o’clock.
On the way to Dalgetty Mike hadn’t talked much at all, but on the way back you couldn’t shut him up. He started asking Dad all these questions:
‘Do you think people have long memories or short memories?’
‘Well, it depends.’
‘Jobs are hard to get at the moment, aren’t they?’
‘Yes mate.’
‘What kind of questions do they ask when you go for one?’
‘Oh what other jobs you’ve done. How much experience you’ve had. If you’re in the union. Why you left your last job.’
‘Do you have to tell them everything?’
‘Well, everything that’s relevant.’
‘Even the bad things?’
‘Depends.’
‘What if you’ve got a bad name because of something but it was a long time ago?’
‘You might still have to tell them.’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘Nobody said it’s meant to be fair.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, deep down I reckon everyone does expect life to be fair. People get upset if something happens to them that they didn’t deserve. Well, I sure do. But that’s the way it is, I guess. You lead a good life, follow the rules, look both ways before you cross the road, then a runaway truck comes through your bedroom wall one night and flattens you. Or ninety-nine people walk under a tree but the hundredth one gets hit by the falling branch. Or you work your guts out in a job, then the company goes bankrupt and you’re retrenched.’
‘That’s like what my dad said.’
‘It is?’
‘He said it’ll be hard for him to get a job when he gets out of prison ’cos people’ll remember what he did. But he said my life’ll be harder too, because I’ll get a bad name from what he did.’
I had the feeling that this was getting a bit embarrassing for Dad. I couldn’t help remembering ho
w mad he’d been at Mr Edwards, and then that joke about paying for the petrol. He was looking in his side mirror really busily, like he was worried about the tarps or something. Finally he said: ‘Well, I guess some people might hold it against you. But anyone who’s worth anything won’t. At least it’ll help you sort people out. When it comes to people, you’ve got diamonds and you’ve got cut glass. It can be hard to tell the difference.’
‘Could a kid my age get a job?’
‘I think paper rounds are easy to find. You might be able to mow a few lawns, or wash some windows. You could put a card at the milk bar—might get something out of that.’
Mike didn’t say anything for a few minutes then. I was sitting by the window, staying quiet, letting him talk. Then he said to Dad ‘Did you lose any money in Pedestal?’ He was looking straight at the windscreen and he’d gone all red.
Dad gave a little cough. I couldn’t look at him but I looked at his hands. He was gripping the steering wheel like he wanted to strangle it. Then, in a funny croaky voice, he said ‘No’. I relaxed a bit. I should have known Dad would give the right answer.
There was another silence, then Mike said ‘If I ask you something, will you tell me honestly what you think?’
‘Try to, mate.’
‘What do you really think about what my dad did?’
‘I think it was pretty rough mate. Every time you tell a lie, it’s like you pull a pin out of a hand grenade. Sooner or later it blows up. Seems like he pulled a lot of pins out of a lot of hand grenades.’
‘Do you think he should have gone to prison?’
‘I’d never tell a bloke that his old man should be in prison mate.’
Mike kind of whispered the next question.
‘What do you think it’d be like in prison?’
‘Oh, not like the old days. It’s all carpets and colour TV’s and swimming pools now. It’s not too bad.’
‘Do they get bashed? The men in prison?’
‘Not nowadays mate. It’s all very organised. He’ll be right, Mike. He’ll be getting up early, having three square meals, doing a bit of light yakka in a workshop or somewhere, watching TV, going to bed. The worst thing for him is that he’ll be feeling bad about what he’s done, and missing you guys.’
‘I miss him,’ Mike said.
I just looked out the window.
Sunday, Mar 8, 8 pm
This weekend, March the 7th and March the 8th, is the most amazing weekend I’ve ever spent. My life used to be seriously boring until LFT was formed. Maybe it’s just coincidence, but at the moment life’s seriously interesting. Everything that didn’t happen last week happened today. Happened this afternoon even, ’cos this morning I just slept in, mucked around with Mum and Jodie, playing 500, then Jodie and I cooked lunch. We did a good job too. I did stirfry vegetables and Jodie did the chicken.
We’d finished that and we were sitting around, explaining to Mum and Dad why they should do the washing up, when the doorbell rang. We had an argument about who should answer it, which I lost, as usual. So I went to the door, thinking it’d be someone boring, but it was Phil. He was just standing there, looking a bit embarrassed, and holding his bike. He said: ‘Do you want to come for a ride?’
Now I know Phil pretty well, and I know he’s not too good at saying sorry. He admits that himself. I knew this was the closest he was ever going to come to apologising for the stupid way he’s been going on. And even though he can be aggravating, he is my closest friend, and I hope the day never comes when Phil and I can’t hang out together. So it was good to see him. I said ‘Yeah! Good idea. Wait a sec and I’ll ask.’
Mum and Dad said it was OK, so I got my bike and off we went. First we rode over to Luke’s place and picked him up, which wasn’t easy ’cos his Mum’s always nervous about letting him go anywhere. You feel like being really rude sometimes and saying, ‘Well how about I dink you on my bike Mrs Jackanic, and you can come too and keep an eye on him. Would that make you happy?’ But I didn’t say it. My trouble is, I’m too polite.
Anyway, finally Luke was allowed to go, although if Mrs Jackanic had known what was going to happen she would have locked Luke in the bathroom and not let him out till Christmas. But nobody knew that, not us or Mrs Jackanic, so off we rode.
We weren’t going anywhere in particular, just round and about. We ended up going down Ockerby Road and along the river, for about forty minutes, then around the football ground and back through the industrial estate. As we rolled along Phil and Luke told me something that surprised me—how they’d been to Denison Imports at night, not once but twice. Wednesday night and Thursday night. I nearly fell off my bike. They’d done it Wednesday when Luke was staying with Phil and Thursday when Phil was staying with Luke. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I said. ‘Why didn’t you ask me to come?’ But I knew why they hadn’t. They just looked a bit embarrassed and said ‘Well, you were mucking round with Mike and Natasha so much …’ So I didn’t make a big issue of it. It’s like Mum says; only a dog digs up a buried bone.
Anyway, by this time we were actually on Chamberlain Road, getting close to where Denison Imports was. A shiny white Rover came out of the street ahead of us, turning into Chamberlain Road, but going really slowly. Half joking I said to Phil and Luke ‘Hey that Denison bloke drove a Rover. Maybe that’s him.’ We watched the car as it came towards Denison Imports. It didn’t have its indicator on, so I thought it’d drive on past. But to our total amazement it suddenly turned right, into the factory car park.
‘Oh momma,’ Phil said, ‘it’s him.’ We were wobbling all over the road with nerves and excitement. It was lucky no other traffic was around or we would have all been smeared like a sardine and jam sandwich. There were a tree and a phone box about a hundred metres from the factory, so we stopped behind them to work out what to do. We could just see the Rover, and no one had got out of it yet. ‘Sneak up closer,’ Phil said. ‘Wait till he goes in, then lock him in there,’ Luke said. That surprised me, because Luke normally doesn’t do anything too risky. ‘Call the cops,’ I said. ‘You got any money?’ Phil asked. ‘I don’t think you need money to call the cops,’ Luke said. ‘But they mightn’t take us seriously. They might think we’re just kids mucking around. And anyway, he hasn’t done anything yet.’ We looked at the car again. As we watched, the driver’s door opened and a bloke got out. He was a tall, white-haired man in a suit. He looked more like a school principal than a crook. Still, he looked pretty much the way Dad said Mr Denison looked. ‘I reckon it’s him,’ I said. ‘I’m going to call the cops.’ I sneaked into the phone box, feeling all funny and nervous. My chin was jiggling away uncontrollably, like it does when you’re very cold. I did feel cold, as a matter of fact, although the temperature was about 30 degrees. From the phone box I could see the bloke go to the front door of the factory. I lifted the receiver and pressed 000. I saw the bloke put a key in the factory door. A voice in my ear said ‘Emergency. What service do you require?’ Phil and Luke were jammed in the door of the phone box, giving me a running commentary. ‘Um, police,’ I said. I’d stopped looking at the factory, but Luke whispered ‘He can’t get the door open’. I suddenly remembered the man we’d talked to at the factory saying that he’d changed the locks. I was sure then that we had the right bloke, and that gave me a bit more confidence. ‘He’s going round the back,’ Phil said, just as a man’s voice on the phone said ‘Police’. I said ‘We’re in Chamberlain Road and there’s a bloke here, I think his name’s Denison, and he ripped my dad off for some money and now I think he’s breaking into a factory’. ‘Whoa, whoa,’ the policeman said. ‘Now firstly, what’s your name?’ I thought this was a waste of time, but I told him anyway. ‘And where do you live, son?’ It was funny, he had such a typical policeman’s voice. And I hate being called son. But I told him my address. ‘We’re going closer’, Phil and Luke said. They got out of the phone box and grabbed their bikes. ‘Now, what’s all this about?’ the policeman asked. ‘Well,’ I said,
trying to get all the words organised, ‘there’s this bloke called Denison, and he cheated my dad and now he’s trying to get into this building he used to own, but he’s not meant to be there any more.’ ‘Where’s the factory?’ the cop asked. This was more like it. ‘It’s in Chamberlain Road, about number 50. It used to be called Denison Imports. It’s got a new name now, it’s hard to see from here. Looks like Fraser Formworks, something like that.’ ‘OK, well we’ll find it. Now, who are you with?’ ‘Um, some mates.’ They weren’t exactly with me any more. In fact I couldn’t see where they were. ‘Right, well you kids just stay near the phone box, understand? Keep away from that factory. We don’t want any heroics thank you.’ ‘Yes, OK.’ I hung up, and immediately forgot what he’d said. I grabbed my bike and got a running start, belting after Phil and Luke. I could see them now. They were behind a tree, the only tree near the factory. I snuck up there to them. ‘Are they coming?’ Luke whispered. ‘Yeah, they said they would.’ ‘I’m going to go and have a look,’ Phil said. ‘Wait, don’t, stop.’ Luke and I dead-heated with each other to get the words out. But stopping Phil once he decides to do something is like stopping a speedboat on steroids. He ran to the corner and peeped around it, just like in the movies. We were watching so nervously. I was trying to decide whether I should race over there with him, but a few secs later he was rushing back to us, looking all wild and excited. ‘He’s in there!’ he hissed. ‘He’s broken a window and gone in. There’s glass all over the ground, and you can hear him moving stuff around.’ I thought it was about time the cops arrived, and I kept looking down the street. But there was no sign of them. ‘Are they coming?’ Luke asked me again. ‘How do I know?’ I said. ‘The bloke on the phone said they would, but I don’t know when.’ Phil asked: ‘What if Denison gets away while we sit here waiting for the police?’ ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I’m not going in there. We can’t tackle him. He’d kill us.’ ‘There must be something we can do,’ Luke said. I couldn’t believe how fired up he was. I had an idea but I was a bit reluctant to offer it to these two maniacs. I admit I did just have a vague memory of the last thing the cop on the phone had said to me before I hung up. But finally I said in a sort of half-mumble, ‘We could let the air out of his tyres’. There was a pause of about three milliseconds and they were off. One millisecond later I was after them. They were treating this like a big game. I thought it might be quite dangerous. We dodged around to the blind side of the car and crouched there. ‘If we hear him coming, then run like hell,’ I said. ‘We should be faster than him. He looks pretty old.’ Phil and Luke were already screwing the little caps off the valves. ‘You need a little stick or something,’ I said. We looked around. There was a bit of wire about ten metres away. Phil scurried to get it, like a rabbit who’s seen a carrot. Luke was searching through his pockets. I thought I heard a noise and looked over the back of the car. I couldn’t see anyone, but I wished the police would hurry up. ‘Look,’ Luke said. He was holding out a little thin pencil. ‘Good, eh?’ ‘Hurry up,’ I said, looking over the boot again. Phil was back and working on his tyre. A hissing noise started from it, then the same noise started from Luke’s. After a few moments, to my joy, the car started to lean to one side. I forgot to keep looking for Mr Denison, and watched Phil’s tyre, which was really flattening out. When I looked up again it was almost too late. I was amazed to see how far Mr Denison had been able to travel in a few seconds. He was almost at the car. He was carrying a big cardboard box, and was looking red-faced and sweaty. He saw me at the exact moment that I saw him. I don’t know who got the bigger shock. He stood there with his mouth open. I stood there trying to get my voice, to yell at Phil and Luke. Finally I found it. ‘Go!’ I yelled. ‘Go! Phil! Luke!’ The three of us took off, scattering gravel. Behind me I heard a noise—the box dropping, I think. The bloke yelled ‘Hey! Stop! You little mongrels! What have you been doing?’ I looked around. He was chasing us, and he wasn’t that old either. I had a horrible feeling that he might catch one of us, at least. I ran and ran and ran. Seemed like I’d never run so fast, but I wasn’t getting far. I remember feeling sick, and wondering what would happen if I vomited on the run. Would I get it back in my face? Would Mr Denison get it in his face? Phil and Luke and I reached a little low wall between the waste ground and the road. We all hurdled it together, and raced across the footpath. There was a squeal of brakes on the road and a police car stopped so hard it almost did a forward roll. I’d never seen the back of a car go up so high and the front of a car go so low. The bumper bar just about scraped the bitumen. We pulled up, panting. The police car settled back on its springs again, with a bit of white smoke coming from the wheels. Two policemen got out, quite slowly and casually. ‘Hot afternoon for a run,’ one of them said. I looked around. Mr Denison was standing there, all red in the face and panting. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘it is.’ He stood up a bit straighter and patted his hair and touched his tie. ‘Ah well,’ he said. ‘No harm done. Just chasing these kids off my land. You might like to have a word with them. I don’t like kids hanging round the factory. Still, no harm done.’ ‘Your place this, is it sir?’ one of the policemen said. He nodded to the factory. ‘Yes, yes.’ ‘And your car?’ ‘Yes, that’s mine.’ ‘Would you happen to have some ID on you sir?’ ‘Oh yes, certainly.’ He pulled out a wallet and gave the policeman some sort of card with a photo. The policeman looked at it. ‘Your name Michael James Denison, sir?’ At last we had it confirmed. Phil gave me a grin but he looked nervous. ‘And is this your current address?’ ‘Yes it is.’ The policeman gave the card to his mate. He looked at it and gave it back to Mr Denison. I was getting worried. This didn’t seem to be going too well. It was time we spoke up. But as soon as I said ‘I don’t …’ one of the policeman cut in. He looked at me and said ‘Are you the boy who rang us up?’ ‘Yes sir,’ I said. ‘What was all that about?’ ‘It’s not his factory,’ I said. ‘He broke into it. Come on, I’ll show you, round the back. You can see for yourselves. There’s the broken window, and the glass is still on the ground.’ Mr Denison just laughed. ‘Oh, I can see what’s happened,’ he said. ‘I’m on my way to the airport, and I had to call in to get some papers. Then I found I left my keys at home. I needed the documents so badly, and I had so little time, that I had to break the window to get in. But I’ll call my manager when I get to the airport and have him come and fix it up.’ One of the policemen had wandered a few metres over towards the factory while Mr Denison was talking, and now he came back. ‘In a hurry to get to the airport are you then sir?’ ‘Yes, I am. In fact I must get going. I’m sorry you’ve been brought out here for nothing but I suppose you’re used to that.’ The policeman didn’t seem to take much notice of what Mr Denison was saying. He just kept looking at the factory. Then he said, ‘Because I don’t think you’ll be getting to the airport too quickly in that car.’ Everyone, even us kids, looked. Phil and Luke had done quite a good job with the tyres. We all seemed to stand there on Pause for a few seconds, until Mr Denison gave a little cough. It was like he was trying to get control of himself. We all looked at him then. But it was a long time before he spoke. Finally, he said ‘Yes. Well. I suppose the boys thought they were doing the right thing. I know what kids are like … they see all these crime shows on TV … they start seeing a criminal under every tree.’ No one else was saying anything so he kept talking. ‘Yes. Well. No hard feelings. I’d better go and ring a taxi. That’s a phone box down there, isn’t it?’ You could just see the phone I’d used to call the police. Mr Denison took a few steps towards it. Then the first policeman spoke: