To be perfectly honest, we are broke.
The phone was cut off the other day because Mum couldn’t pay the bill. This is a bit of a worry.
‘What if the baby comes in the middle of the night?’ I say. ‘What then?’
Mum pats her swollen tummy. ‘You run down to the phone box and ring for a taxi,’ she says.
‘What if I’m not here?’ I say.
Mum gives me a big, warm smile. ‘But you will be, won’t you, darling?’
She is right, of course. Where else would I be? No one is going to ask me to sleep round at their place, are they? Not me. No way. To tell you the truth my heart is breaking.
We have chips for tea. I smother mine in tomato sauce and sit down on my mattress to watch TV. We only have one bedroom so I sleep in the lounge on a mattress.
Mum is really tired. It has been a hot day and she is worn out, what with carrying the baby inside her and doing all the housework.
She is the best Mum in the world. She has a great big grin when she talks. She always makes me feel that I am a sort of superhero. She wears beads and long dresses with fringes and has a little diamond stud in her nose. Sometimes she goes down the street with a flower in her hair. In bare feet too.
I would do anything for her. I don’t mind not having a father. Mum will do. And the baby. When the baby comes I will have a mate.
But I just hope that he doesn’t decide to arrive in the middle of the night.
‘Go and lie down,’ I say to Mum. ‘And I will make you a nice cuppa.’
Mum drinks her cuppa and falls asleep. After a while I decide to go to bed. I jump onto my mattress and pull up the checked blanket. My eyelids begin to droop.
I start to fall asleep. Or am I falling awake? That is the question.
3
When I open my eyes I am back in the schoolyard and the kids are picking sides for the football match.
My mattress is on the asphalt in the schoolyard. I am dressed in my school clothes, not my pyjamas.
‘Hey, Duck,’ yells Fitzy. ‘Get up and stand in line.’
I jump up, embarrassed.
Fitzy does not seem to see my mattress. No one does. Straight away I know that this is a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. I am back at school and they are picking teams again.
Well, I am not going to do it. There is no way that I am going to get back in that line. And not be picked. And sit on the toilet all lunchtime. And walk home on my own all over again. This is just a bad dream and I will get out of it as quick as I can.
I decide to wake myself up. I pinch my arm. Hard. And it hurts. I do not wake up. This does not seem like a dream. It seems real. I shake my head. I pull my hair. The kids all look at me as if I am mad.
‘Duck is pulling out his feathers,’ shouts Keeble.
A big laugh goes up. How can I get out of this? How did I get into it? On the mattress, that’s how. Well, that’s how I will get home.
But the mattress is fading. And so is my ticket back. I feel as if I am standing at the station and the train is going without me. Before I can move, the mattress vanishes completely. I know straight away that I am stuck in this dream. Or was the other world a dream? And is this the real one? I really can’t tell.
All the kids are looking at me. They want to start choosing the teams. Oh no. Now I have to get in the line again. And not be picked.
But wait, what is this? There is another kid in the group who wasn’t there last time. He has a cheeky grin. And on his arm is a little birthmark. It looks like a small map of Australia.
‘Come on, Simon,’ he says with a wink. ‘Who wants to play footy anyway?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I sure don’t.’
‘Me neither,’ says Tootle. He comes over with Tang, who also does not want to play.
We all grin at each other. Fitzy and Keeble are not too pleased but they don’t say anything. I hope they are not going to make trouble for me after school.
I spend all lunch time hanging out with the boy with the birthmark. It turns out that he is my best friend. His name is Matthew but I call him Possum. We have always done everything together – me and Possum.
After school Possum and I walk home together. We reach the front gate of a house. The grass is long and weedy. It is the worst garden in the street. It seems familiar. I feel as if I know this place. As if I should be going inside.
I open the gate.
‘Where are you going?’ says Possum.
I blink and scratch my head. There is an image in my head. A pretty woman with a flower in her hair. And beads. It is like a far-off dream.
I look at Possum. ‘To see er … Mum,’ I say.
Possum stares at me as if I have gone mad. ‘Simon,’ he says. ‘Your mum died when you were born.’
I try to hold on to the image of a lovely lady who has a big grin whenever she talks. And a diamond stud in her nose. But the vision fades away, just like the mattress. And I am left staring at Possum with my eyes filled with tears.
‘Where do I live?’ I say.
Possum puts his arm around my shoulders. ‘Don’t be a donkey,’ he smiles. ‘You know that you live with us.’
4
We walk past the house with the weedy garden and go out into the countryside. As Possum talks I remember things. How we live in a big house out of town. How his dad is a real great guy. His mum is terrific too. I call them Mum and Dad even though they aren’t my real parents.
Possum and I have a room each. And our own TV. We have always been the best of mates. We are like brothers.
We take the short cut across Crazy Mac’s paddock when we suddenly hear something. Voices. My heart starts to pump fast and my legs feel like lead.
I know those voices. They belong to Fitzy and Keeble. Every night after school they wait for us. They are bullies. They like to scare us. ‘Get them,’ yells Fitzy.
I look at Possum. We are not fast runners. We are skinny kids. Fitzy and Keeble will catch us for sure. Then they will … I can’t bear to think about it. I hate pain.
But Possum is not too worried. He winks at me. ‘The river,’ he whispers.
We turn and run for it. We bolt towards the river. Across the dry grass, slipping on cow pats. Stumbling, falling, scrambling up and racing on. My chest hurts because I am running so fast. I look behind and see that Fitzy and Keeble are catching up. Oh no. We are gone. Who will save us?
Possum, that’s who. By the river is a huge gum tree. It has a rope hanging from a branch. The rope is hooked up on our side of the river. We can use it to swing across to the other side. Possum winks again and I know that he is the one who has put the rope there.
I do not wink back. This is no time for winking. Keeble and Fitzy are nearly up to us. There is no time for two to swing across the river. One can swing and the other will be caught.
‘You go,’ I yell.
‘No, you,’ says Possum.
I look down at the water. It is deep and flowing fast. I look at the safety of the other side. Fitzy and Keeble are running and shouting and waving sticks. I am scared stiff. I would love to swing away but I can’t leave Possum on his own.
‘Together,’ shouts Possum.
Fitzy throws himself towards me in a dive for my legs.
‘Jump,’ I yell.
We grab the rope and launch ourselves over the muddy river. Fitzy crashes onto the bank with a grunt.
Down we swing, down, down, down towards the murky river. We skim across the surface and our feet trail in the water. Then up, up, up towards the opposite side. I let go and tumble onto the bank. Possum touches ground too but he is smart enough to hang onto the rope so that it doesn’t swing back to Fitzy and Keeble.
They are angry. Furious. Crazy. Like two baboons. They jump up and down, spitting with rage on the other side of the river.
Possum makes a rude sign with his fingers. It makes Fitzy and Keeble even worse. Possum is really game. He is a great kid. He has saved us. Oh, I would do anything for Possum. He is the
best mate in the world.
We walk off towards home. ‘What about tomorrow?’ I say. ‘They will be waiting at the rope.’
Possum walks along with a bit of a swagger. ‘But we won’t be going that way,’ he says. ‘Will we?’
5
When we get home there is no one there. We search around for a bit and finally find the place where the chocolate biscuits are hidden. We take them up to my room and start munching on them.
‘That river is deep,’ I say. ‘What if we had fallen in?’
‘Yeah,’ says Possum. ‘We could have drowned.’
‘What would it be like to be dead?’ I say.
Possum thinks for a bit. ‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘Sometimes I think that if I wasn’t here no one else would be either. I can’t imagine the world without me in it too.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Sometimes I think that it is all a dream. And that if I woke up you would be gone. Just as if you were never there.’
We both stop talking and think about this for a bit. All that can be heard is the thoughtful munching of chocolate biscuits.
After about four biscuits each we are still silent. I know that we are both thinking about the same thing. We are thinking how horrible it would be to not have each other. To be in a world without our best mate.
At that exact moment something starts to happen. Over in the corner a shape starts to shimmer and wobble. A sort of ghostly platform on the floor.
‘Look at that,’ I yell.
‘What?’ says Possum.
‘Something’s there,’ I whisper. ‘A sort of ghost thing.’
‘I can’t see anything,’ says Possum.
My mouth falls open as it takes shape. The image in the corner. It is a mattress. With a checked blanket. I know that I have seen it before.
‘A mattress,’ I gasp.
Possum is staring at me and shaking his head.
‘You sure are a funny guy, Simon,’ he says. ‘There is no mattress there.’
I look at him and I look at the mattress. It seems to be calling me. But I don’t want to go.
‘If I get on that mattress,’ I say. ‘I will not be coming back. You will be gone. I will never see you again.’
Possum is not sure whether to believe me or not. He can tell that I really think there is a mattress there. Even if he can’t see it.
I feel a sort of longing. A sadness. And the picture of a face comes into my mind. A woman with a quick smile. And beads. She is padding around in bare feet.
A voice seems to call. Like a call from way down a long drainpipe. ‘Simon, Simon,’ it says.
The picture in my mind grows stronger. The lovely lady is fat. Much fatter than normal.
‘Simon,’ she calls in her far-off voice. ‘Simon, the baby is coming.’
I look at Possum in panic. ‘The baby is coming,’ I say. ‘The baby is coming. And the phone has been cut off.’
The mattress in the corner is starting to fade. Will I go or will I stay? I know that there is only one chance. I can choose. Stay in the dream with Possum. Or go back.
But then which is the dream? Maybe the other world with Mum and the baby is a dream. And this is the real one. Possum is real, I know that. Possum is my mate. He starts to scratch at the little birthmark that is like a map of Australia. His eyes grow round. He realises that something scary is happening but he doesn’t know what. ‘Don’t go,’ he says. ‘Don’t leave me, mate.’
‘Simon,’ calls the far-off voice. ‘Oh, Simon, quick. The baby is coming.’
I can’t choose. I don’t know what to do. The mattress is fading fast. It will not be coming back – I know that for sure. Already the voice has sunk to a whisper. Like someone calling from a boat that is drifting out into a sea of fog.
One word fills my mind. ‘Mum.’ Suddenly I run over to the mattress and jump onto it. It is warm. And real. I see Possum and the chocolate biscuits start to fade.
‘Don’t …’ says Possum. He never finishes. Like a tear falling into the sea he drops away and is gone.
6
And I am there in the other world. The first thing I see is the plate from last night. With a few cold chips and dried tomato sauce. The room is small and I am on a mattress in the lounge because we only have one bedroom.
Possum is gone for ever. I chose this world and let his one die. A terrible sadness sweeps over me. I feel like a murderer.
But there is no time for this.
The baby is coming.
Mum collapses onto my mattress with a groan. Her nightdress is all wet. ‘I’ll run down to the phone box,’ I shout.
‘Too late,’ says Mum. ‘My water has broken. It’s coming.’
Aw, shoot. Aw, gees. It’s coming and I am the only one here. What will I do?
I try to remember what they do on TV when babies are coming. ‘Push,’ I say. I am not sure what she is supposed to push but that is what they always seem to say.
‘I am pushing,’ groans Mum. She is lying on her back with her knees pointing up to the ceiling.
Then I see something that I have never expected to see. Never in a million years. The top of the baby’s head. It is coming out. It is covered in blood and slime and has wet hair stuck down. Oh, oh, what am I going to do?
Suddenly there is a slurping noise. More of the baby is coming out. Mum is groaning. ‘Push,’ I say.
With a sudden rush the baby is born. It is followed out by wet bloody stuff. The baby has a long cord stuck onto its stomach. Mum has tears in her eyes. What will I do?
I lift up the baby and put it on her panting chest. Straight away it starts to cry. It is alive. It is covered in blood and gunk. But it is alive and screaming. Oh, it is terrible. Oh, it is wonderful.
‘Get scissors,’ says Mum panting. ‘And a clothes peg.’
I rush off and quickly come back with the peg and the scissors. ‘Cut the cord,’ says Mum. I cut the cord about ten centimetres away from the baby’s belly button. Then I clip it off with the peg.
Mum smiles. There is a terrible mess everywhere. ‘I’ll go for help,’ I say.
‘No,’ says Mum with her big grin. ‘In a minute. This is our special moment. Everything is all right. I have done this before, remember.’
‘I haven’t,’ I say.
‘Maybe not,’ says Mum. ‘But you were there the last time too. Now go and get a warm towel and we will clean down the baby.’
Well, everything turns out just right. I am a hero. My picture is in the paper. And on television. At school I have to give talks about how babies are born. All the kids want to be my friend. I am famous.
When they pick teams for football I am always the first one they choose. Even though I am not very good at it.
Life is wonderful. I have friends everywhere.
But now and then I feel sad. Especially when I am down by the river. I think of a mate who tied a rope to the tree so that we could escape from the bullies. A mate who loved chocolate biscuits.
I can see his face when he said, ‘Don’t go.’ I know that I could have stayed and kept his world alive. But I didn’t and my heart is heavy.
There is only one way to cheer myself up when this happens. I remember how I delivered the baby. I remember how I wiped him down with the warm towel. And I remember what Mum said as she watched me cleaning him.
‘Look at the little possum,’ she laughed. ‘He’s got a birthmark on his arm. It looks like a tiny map of Australia.’
Li Foo walked into the water pushing the little raft in front of him. He wiped a tear from his eye and sadly tied a vase to the mast. Then he pushed the raft out to sea and walked back towards the rocky shore. The raft drifted slowly out into the vast Indian Ocean. Li Foo knew that he would never see it again.
1
Sean flapped his wings nervously. It was a long way down to the beach. Everything was set. The feathers were glued on really well. The wooden struts were strong. But would he fly? ‘Go on,’ said Spider. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’ Dee
fa barked loudly and ran around their legs, waiting for the fun.
‘It’s all right for you,’ said Sean. ‘You’re not going in the competition.’ Suddenly he ran towards the edge of the sand dune and jumped. He plunged into mid-air and flapped his arms furiously. Panic filled his face. He flapped harder. ‘No,’ he yelled. ‘No.’ He plunged down, rolled over in the sand and lay still.
Spider ran down to meet him. ‘Are you okay?’ he shouted. Sean lifted up a sandy face and nodded. He undid his wings and left them on the sand.
‘It’ll never work,’ said Spider. ‘You’ll never win the Birdman Competition like that. You can’t jump off the end of a pier in those.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Sean. ‘I’m going to pick up Uncle Jeremy’s hang-glider this afternoon. A real one. You watch me fly over the waves when I get that. This year Buggins isn’t going to win for once.’
The two boys walked along the edge of the water. Neither of them noticed the raft at first.
Sean suddenly did six cartwheels along the beach. ‘Beat that,’ he said.
‘That’s nothing,’ said Spider. ‘Watch this.’ He tried to stand on his hands but he collapsed onto his face. He stood up and spat out sand. ‘That one didn’t count,’ he grinned. He tried again and the same thing happened. His whole face was covered in sand. It didn’t matter how often he tried, Spider just couldn’t do cartwheels. Not to save his life.
‘Weak,’ said a loud voice.
They both looked up. It was Buggins. Big fat Buggins sitting up there on Devil, his big fat horse. He walked Devil past Sean and Spider and then backed up into them. The horse’s legs stumbled and spat up sand. Sean and Spider fell back into the waves.
Buggins stared down at them with a smug smile. Then he nodded towards Sean’s wings on the beach. ‘You’ll never win with those,’ he scoffed. ‘You just watch me tomorrow. I’ll take the trophy off again for sure.’
He kicked his horse and galloped along the beach. ‘Oh, look,’ yelled Sean. ‘The dirty ratbag.’
Paul Jenning's Weirdest Stories Page 26