She waved a clenched fist at him and went on: “Clear off! I don’t want to have anything to do with you ever again! And don’t go around spreading more lies about what you claim to have done to me, you filthy toad!”
Willy’s heart leapt. ‘She is giving Scranton his marching orders; and, from the sound of it, she hasn’t done anything with him!’
Scranton lost his temper. His hand shot out and grabbed Barbara’s wrist. “Don’t you call me a toad you frigid bitch!”
“Let me go!” Barbara shouted. She pulled back and tried to break free. Scranton held on and twisted her arm so that she cried out in pain. Barbara swung her free hand at him but he fended off the blow and in return punched Barbara in the face.
By then Willy was running. He saw Barbara try to duck another blow. She kicked at Scranton and he swore. Scranton drew back his fist. Willy yelled. Scranton heard him and turned to look. His face registered surprise and anger. He pushed Barbara away and went to raise his fists. Too late. Willy slammed into him at full tilt. Both went down in a sprawling heap. Willy felt pain in his right knee but rolled clear and sprang to his feet.
As Scranton scrambled up, shouting obscenities Willy lashed out at him. The punch connected but Willy knew it was not a good one. It would only make the bully angry. He sprang back, just in time to avoid a flailing fist. All he could see was Scranton’s livid face. He was dimly aware that a crowd was gathering and that Scranton was still mouthing obscenities.
Scranton lunged forward. Whack! Willy tried to block the blow but took it hard on the side of the head. Thud! Another punch struck his left shoulder. Scranton seemed to go berserk. Willy reeled back from another blow to the face. Then he sprang forward and punched hard with his right.
Smack! The blow took Scranton full on the nose. The bully stepped back and yelled out. Blood appeared. Fury glittered in his eyes. Willy braced himself for the next onslaught.
Mr Conkey stepped between them. Willy had not realized just how broad in the shoulders the teacher was. Mr Conkey held the two apart. Other teachers appeared. Willy stood, panting with relief. He looked across at Barbara. She was crying and had a split lip. Karen and another girl were comforting her. And there was Marjorie, looking worried. Willy lowered his fists and realized that his bandaged hands were really hurting.
This time it was Willy to the office as well. He sat for nearly an hour, waiting with Stick beside him as his chief witness. He did not know where Scranton was but knew that Barbara had been taken to the sick room. He wanted to go along to talk to her but did not dare. There was much coming and going of teachers and other students but Willy barely noticed them. He did not care. All he was concerned with was Barbara.
Eventually he was called into the principal’s office where he was interviewed by the Principal and Deputy Principal. He explained what he had seen and then done. Possible consequences of fighting did not concern him. Mr Croswell, the principal, heard him out then fixed him with a hard stare.
“Has this got anything to do with what happened last week when Scranton burnt your model?”
“No sir,” Willy replied. The idea had not occurred to him. The suspicious suggestion gave him a real jolt. He replied: “I don’t like boys who hit girls. I would have gone to her aid regardless of who it was.” That was true enough and summed up how he felt.
“Hmmm,” Mr Croswell commented, appearing doubtful. “There will be no more fighting thank you. And no more trouble between you and Scranton. Go and write out a statement of the incident as you saw it and give it to the Deputy Principal. Then, if you feel you don’t need to report to the sick room, go back to your class. You may hear more of this if Barbara Brassington’s parents decide that Scranton should face police action for assault.”
Willy thankfully left the room. His hands still hurt but he did not go to the sick room for that reason. He wanted to see Barbara. Luckily he met her in the corridor outside. She was with two adults. ‘Her parents?’ Willy wondered, looking at the large-breasted, red-headed woman.
Barbara spoke first. “Mum, Dad, this is boy that helped me. Thank you Willy.”
Willy felt himself grow. Pleasure burst out from deep inside him. ‘She has noticed me! She has spoken to me!’ The mother beamed. The father shook his hand and thanked him. Both asked if he had hurt his hands in the fight and Barbara showed real concern. He explained how his hands had got burnt. There was more concern and Willy blushed in pleasant confusion and went on his way treading on air.
CHAPTER 11
RENEWED PRESSURE
That night, after he had finished his homework, Willy went downstairs to the workshop. His home was a typical old ‘high-set’ ‘Queenslander’. Upstairs was the kitchen, dining and lounge rooms, shower and toilet and four bedrooms. Downstairs, in the enclosed underneath, was a car port, laundry, storeroom and a large area with work benches and cupboards called ‘The Workshop’. In the workshop Willy had his own table, chair and workbench. A second bench took up much of one wall. Above the benches were cupboards full of tools, nails, screws, hinges, odd fittings and a hundred and one other items, plus odd lengths of timber and things like sandpaper and paint. On one bench were clamped a jig, a vice and a small lathe.
Willy cleared his bench of odds and ends. The other bench was, by tacit consent, for Willy’s father and his elder brother Lloyd. But Lloyd was no handyman, preferring to spend his spare time at sports like golf and tennis, or in front of the TV.
Next Willy laid out the plans of his model zeppelin. These had been drawn on A2 sized sheets of drawing paper. Over the plans he pinned sheets of tracing paper and began tracing the frames for another model. It took an effort to get started but as he settled to the work his thoughts seemed to ease and clarify. After a while he relaxed and began to enjoy himself. It had been a difficult and tiring afternoon as his parents had been called to the school to be present while a policeman interviewed him. It appeared that Barbara’s parents were contemplating having Scranton charged with assault. Willy wasn’t sure what trouble he might be in himself, but he did not really care. It was Barbara he had fought for.
‘And I’ll do it again, anytime!’ he told himself.
While Willy settled to model making his worried parents discussed the affair upstairs.
“It’s not like Willy to get into fights,” his mother said. “He was never in trouble until this business of the model being burnt last week.”
“Probably coincidence,” his father suggested. “After all, he’s had a pretty rough time recently; what with finding Ted’s body and all that. I think he is taking Ted’s murder very hard.”
“So are you.”
Willy’s father nodded sadly. “And the police don’t seem to have a clue who killed him or why.”
“Do you think we should take Willy out of school and take him on a holiday for a month or so? After all he keeps having nightmares almost every night,” his mother asked.
“No. I think he is better off in his normal routine,” his father replied. “He is better off being busy and with his friends. Besides, there is this girl too.”
“Marjorie?”
“No, Barbara Brassington. The red-head he went into bat for today.”
His mother sniffed. “Hmf. She didn’t impress me. A bit of a tart I thought. Marjorie is who he needs. She really loves him.”
His father laughed and tugged at his chin. “Hmm. As long as there aren’t any little slip-ups.”
“Oh don’t say that! They are much too young,” she said, then stopped and giggled. “But then again, when I went down to get them for morning tea the other day they were getting a bit- well- passionate.”
“Good for them. But I’d better have a few words of fatherly advice with young William on the subject,” his father decided. “And it might be for the best if I can keep him very busy, to keep him from brooding so much. His depression worries me a lot. We will try to keep his mind occupied.”
“What have you got in mind?”
“First I will
push him gently to finish another model zeppelin. Then I will get his airship project off the ground.”
Willy’s mother pursed her lips. “I don’t like that idea. It is not very safe.”
“It is better that we take a hand in the project and make it as safe as we can. If we don’t he might start on another one of his secret schemes we don’t know about. Remember the giant Roman catapult? And the man-lifting box-kite? And I’m sure you haven’t forgotten the rocket!”
They both shook their heads and laughed. Willy’s father went on: “No, we will try to keep control of this one. Otherwise we will find he has gone and built a gyrocopter, or a hovercraft, or something- and then we won’t know till the police come to tell us he has wrapped himself around a high-voltage power line.”
“Oh heavens! Don’t even suggest such a thing,” Willy’s mother cried.
“I won’t. I’ll suggest something else though. Come on.” He stood up and pulled her to her feet and firmly hugged her. After a long kiss they made their way quietly to the bedroom.
Downstairs Willy was oblivious to this, although his mind was directed along much the same track, but with only a hazy idea of what to do and how to do it. He day-dreamed while he worked, hampered by having his left hand still bandaged.
Because of the size of the model he had to build each ‘frame’ from four pieces of balsa wood. He used an old ball point pen to go over the tracing paper, which he had pinned over a sheet of balsa 2mm thick. This left an indentation in the soft wood. Willy then removed the tracing paper and placed the balsa so that the light threw a shadow in the indentation. Using a black pen he carefully marked the outline. Once that was done he took a Stanley knife and cut along the black lines.
After separating the main pieces he used a razor blade (broken on half) to cut out small nicks 1mm X 1mm. These were to hold the stringers. Willy worked patiently and methodically. Girls were forgotten as the work absorbed him. As each piece was completed he used sandpaper to rub it smooth, then marked it carefully with the name or number in ink. To rebuild the model he had to construct 15 circular frames; ten of equal size and five of smaller sizes. The largest frames were half a metre in diameter. That night he completed the first one.
In spite of it he had a restless night, fretting about what might happen the next day. Next morning he was very nervous. He refused to have bandages on his hands and carefully studied himself in the mirror. He did not know what new opportunities might present themselves now that Barbara had noticed him, but he wanted to look his best. To his relief he saw that his hair now looked passable and his eyebrows were at least visible. His fingers still hurt to bend but all the blisters had dried up or gone down. In places the dead skin was starting to peel, revealing patches of pink new skin.
On arrival at school Willy at once sensed a small change. He was still the object of open curiosity, but this time it was tinged with respect. Even the little grots of Year 8s weren’t cheeky. Soon after meeting Stick and Noddy in their usual place Marjorie appeared. She rushed up and gently took his hand.
“Oh Willy, are you alright?”
“Yes. Why?”
“That fight yesterday.”
“Oh that. I only got hit a couple of times and skinned my knee,” Willy replied in an off-hand manner.
“What was the fight about? Was it because he burnt your model?” Marjorie asked.
Willy hesitated before answering, then said: “Er..um.. No. Scranton was hitting a girl in my class.”
“Oh yes,” Marjorie replied in an odd tone. “What girl?”
Willy swallowed and tried to sound casual as he said, “Barbara Brassington.”
Marjorie’s lips pressed together. “So, what’s she to you?”
“Sh.. she’s in my class. Besides, I don’t like blokes who beat up girls,” Willy replied. He knew it sounded lame and he despised himself for his weakness at not telling the truth. He also felt hurt at the look of worry that appeared on Marjorie’s face.
Stick now spoke up, ending a strained silence. “Fair go Sis. Willy was just trying to be a knight in shining armour. He’d do the same for you.”
Marjorie looked earnestly at Willy. There was just the hint of a tremble in her lower lip. “I hope so,” she said.
Noddy chortled. “It was a good smash up,” he put in. “You should have seen Willy charge. It was like the original wild boar.”
Stephen’s voice broke in: “Well, that’s because he is a bore. Hi gang! Tell me about the fight Willy.”
Willy felt a surge of resentment at Stephen’s comment but did not make an issue of it. He had to repeat the story of the fight and kept talking till the bell went, when all he wanted to do was go and find Barbara. But his hopes of that were dashed when he learned at the first class that she was not at school that day. To his relief, nor was Scranton. So Willy dragged himself through the day wondering what his chances of winning with Barbara might now be.
That night he made two more frames for his model. He sat working for nearly three hours, his mind wandering through fantasies of flying airships, and of romantic encounters with Barbara. To his vexation he could not seem to control his thoughts. Whenever he imagined gently kissing Barbara’s cool lips he found himself in Marjorie’s hot embrace.
He squirmed with thoughts of disloyalty and lust. In his innermost heart he had to admit that he had enjoyed what Marjorie had given. He even admitted that he wished for more; and damned himself as a hypocrite and a two-timing cad. But his apparent inability to control his thoughts made him angry with himself. The result was another troubled sleep.
Thursday came and Barbara was at school. Willy saw her in the distance but she was with a group of girls and he sensed it was not a good time to try to speak to her. ‘I will wait till she is alone,’ he decided. ‘Then I will ask her to go out with me.’
Stick joined him. “Heard the word?”
“No. What?”
“Scranton’s gone. Been expelled.”
“Are the police going to charge him?” Willy asked.
“Don’t know. But he’s out of this school.”
Willy didn’t know if this was good news or bad. Scranton out of sight and with a grudge could be a dangerous enemy. Would he seek revenge? And, if yes, how? It was very worrying.
As they went into class Willy got a surprise. Barbara walked up and touched him on the arm to attract his attention. “Thanks,” she said, then gave him a smile.
Willy was dumbfounded. ‘She touched my arm!’ It felt as though he would float up like one of his airships. He then noticed that Barbara had a scab on her lower lip from Scranton’s punch. He also saw that her blue-green eyes seemed very cool and deep, but not hostile. ‘She knows I exist! I will ask her for a date! I will!’
But he didn’t. It didn’t seem to be the right moment and he was quite unable to think of what to say. By the time he had thought of suitable words she had turned and gone to her seat. Willy sat through the lessons in a haze of euphoria, admiring her and planning what he would say and when. But he got no opportunity that day. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he rationalized. ‘I will let things calm down. I don’t want to rush her.’
That night he made two more frames for the model and continually rehearsed what he would say.
Quite unexpectedly his opportunity arose as soon as he got to school the next morning. He went upstairs to place his school bag in the port rack and met Barbara and Karen there. Barbara was taking books out of her bag. As he walked towards them she looked towards him. A faint frown formed on her face, to be replaced by a faint smile.
Willy had to swallow and managed to say, in what he hoped was a nonchalant voice: “Hello Barbara. How are you today?” His heart by then was thumping so hard he could feel a vein pulsing in his throat.
“Hello Willy. I’m alright,” she replied.
Willy hesitated. He was aware Karen was looking at him. He met Barbara’s eyes. How beautiful they were!
“Er.. umm.. Can I ask you for a date, maybe on Satur
day night?” he blurted out, his carefully rehearsed speech forgotten.
Barbara looked down into her bag and shook her head. “Not this Saturday night thanks. I don’t feel like going out with boys for a while.”
Willy blushed crimson as he thought of the rumours about her last date; and in embarrassment at his own defeat. “Er.. um.. I see. Well, thank you.” He turned and walked away, all his muscles feeling very stiff. Anger with his inept handling of the situation warred with hurt at the rejection, made more acute by the self-conscious certainty that the eyes of both girls would be on him.
As he walked away he overheard Karen say: “He’s OK Barbara. You could go out with him. He wouldn’t try anything.”
Willy didn’t hear Barbara’s reply but the words set his mind in a whirl. Maybe it was only a temporary setback? ‘I need to play a waiting game,’ he thought. ‘Just be friendly and agreeable and not apply any pressure.’ But the rebuff still hurt. ‘And stuff Karen! What she said hurt as much as it helped. She implied I am wimp! He wouldn’t try anything!”
As he went down the stairs Willy met Marjorie coming up. Oh blast her! Would she never leave him alone? ‘I should just tell her to bugger off!’ he thought. But he also had the guilty worry that she might have seen him talking to Barbara.
She had. “What were you talking to those two girls about?” she asked.
“Er.. um. That is Barbara, the girl Scranton hit. I just went to see how she was. He split her lip.”
Marjorie frowned. “I’m not surprised he did. She’s a sneaky two-timer.”
“She is not!”
“She is! She’s been going out with Nigel Cressly in Year 12 for months.”
Willy was momentarily dumbfounded. ‘It couldn’t be true!’ He said: “She wouldn’t go out with a Year 12. They don’t bother about Year 9s. They don’t want to be accused of ‘cradle-snatching’.”
Marjorie shook her head. “Don’t be so naive Willy. She and Fiona Davies have been going out with Cressly and Masters for months. I’ve seen them together down town. And she often goes for a drive in Cressly’s sports car at lunch time. Anyway, what’s it to you?”
Airship Over Atherton Page 12