by Joanna Baker
Chess? Chess and me? It felt as if he’d slapped me in the face.
‘No …’ I said, but couldn’t go on. The mistake was just too big for me to tackle. Not Chess. Tara. Tara’s the mind I need to get into.
I sighed in an exasperated sort of way and folded over to put my face on my knees, squashing my stomach and hurting my bruises. That should give him the message that he’d been majorly unhelpful. After a minute I heard him go back to his handles, but I stayed there anyway, holding the brush across my shoes, staring down at it over my knees.
What was he on about anyway? Chess didn’t have any big worries. Sure, she had a tough time with her father and everything, and the mother thing was bad, but we all have problems with our families. That’s just part of life. And stressing about that stuff wasn’t Chess’s style. She’d just told me she didn’t let it worry her.
It wasn’t like Dad to be so wrong about things. I should put him right. I sat up.
‘It’s not Chess I need to help. She doesn’t waste her time worrying about her father. She lives inside her head, with logic and puzzles and stuff. She does experiments with food. She controls things. I know it’s weird, but she explained it to me. She doesn’t actually feel bad about her life. Chess doesn’t feel strongly about anything.’
This time Dad turned around and looked straight at my face. He didn’t say anything, but it was clear I’d shocked him, and not because I’d been clever.
‘She doesn’t! She doesn’t feel things.’ I protested, but I was already realising how wrong I was.
I got a flash of Chess’s bony hands fidgeting, desperately drawing imaginary diagrams on her legs, and her tight black eyes and how, whenever her father was mentioned, the eyes flickered away.
That’s what Dad had revealed to me. Something I should’ve seen a long time ago. In a way I’d always known it, but at the same time I’d refused to know it. I’d been an idiot. Mr Sensitivity. Mr Understanding. And when it came to Chess, I’d missed the mark by a hundred miles.
Then I realised what else Dad had said. ‘What do you mean close? Chess and I aren’t close!’
Chapter 21
Mum came back without finding Wando, but he turned up that night at the Christmas picnic.
He brought something important.
Every December the Yackandandah Chamber of Commerce holds a picnic on the old sports field. It’s always the first Christmas event of the year and comes right after, or sometimes before, school breaks up. It’s the typical thing, with free sausages and hamburgers, a lucky dip, a jumping castle, and a tinsel-covered archway over a red chair where Santa comes and hands out bags of lollies to anyone under thirteen. It’s a big event in the lives of Yackandandah ankle-biters. Even though they are going to run into him about seventeen times before Christmas actually arrives, Santa is still an exciting person.
But the December picnic isn’t just for young children. It’s for catching up with the neighbours. People bring food, or eat the free sausages and sit around in groups on the grass and the Picnic Co-coordinator makes a speech that a lot of people talk through. My family went every year.
Wando and I had gone along with this at first. Even when we were ten and eleven and had started making smart jokes about Santa, we’d still fronted up for the lollies. Then, a couple of years ago we found the best thing was to volunteer to cook the barbecue. This gave us a reason to hang together instead of sitting with our families. It also gave us a way out of conversations with the auntie and uncle types who made it their Christmas duty to interrogate us about exams and careers. If they tried this at the barbecue, we had an easy way out. We learnt how to stab things in such a way that a stream of fat would fall onto hot coals. A sausage on fire has great diversion potential. It was also a relief not to have to front up to Santa, although I did have regrets about the lollies. Finally even the barbecue idea wore off. Last year Wando and I didn’t go at all. We had hamburgers at home and watched a video and again I had regrets about the food. Mum always makes a super-creamy bacon quiche for the Christmas picnic.
This year I went along and sat with my parents. I didn’t have the energy for anything else. Chess came with us, but she was as quiet as me. She wasn’t even interested in a meal. She started unpacking and then stopped suddenly, holding a bottle of champagne wrapped in red and white Christmas paper.
‘It was cheap,’ said Mum.
Chess put the bottle down slowly, bolted down some corn chips and then went off for a walk.
Mum frowned after her. ‘Chess is strange today.’
‘She’s thinking,’ I said.
The barbecue was set up in front of the old grandstand, near the road. There were trestle tables to hold sauce and napkins and things, and an ice barrel for soft drinks. Everything was smothered in tinsel and balloons. This year Mr Roland was in charge of it and Tara was helping him. I thought I’d go over a bit later and see if they wanted a hand.
My parents certainly wouldn’t miss me. A lot of other people sat with us, all adults. We were surrounded by folding chairs, rugs and tables, with Eskies and baskets scattered around and everyone talking and laughing at once. It made me more depressed than ever. My chair started sinking into the soft ground. Closest to us were the Carmodys. I loaded up my plate and started eating as quickly as I could.
Across the lawn, the Wilsons went up to the barbecue. I watched closely, remembering Tara had said her father didn’t like them. The whole Wilson family went — Don, Annie, Craig, and Andrew, who was always with them these days. Each carried a white plate, loaded with salad. Mr Roland made a big hearty show of greeting them. He talked loudly and shook hands and waved his tongs around, but even from this distance I thought he seemed uneasy. Tara fiddled with the meat and completely ignored them. The Wilsons stayed at the barbecue, smiling and chatting away. The organisers would be delighted. The Yackandandah Christmas Picnic, Bringing People Together.
Next to me, Mrs Carmody looked around the crowded park and wrinkled up her lips.
‘I see the O’Raffertys haven’t arrived yet. Those poor people. They’ve been through so much.’
Wando’s parents. I hunched over my food.
Another neighbour of ours, Liz Abruzzo, said, ‘I hear Warwick did something very stupid down at Burrendong Falls this afternoon.’
I wasn’t surprised. Yackandandah has a world class gossip system and dramatic bits of news get around the town faster than the speed of light. It leaves the internet for dead.
And Liz had heard something else. ‘You were with him, weren’t you, Matthew?’
About ten pairs of eyes looked at me eagerly. It’s a thing I’ve noticed about all people, adults as much as kids. We are fascinated by other people’s anti-social behaviour, and the worse it is, and the more comments we get to make, the more we secretly enjoy it.
I couldn’t very well refuse to tell them. ‘He jumped off the Ink Well. He was OK. We saw him walking away.’
Mrs Carmody said, ‘It’s because of Debbie Wilson, I suppose. He was very disturbed over our own poor Jeanette. I’m so sorry he had to be there at that time. Who can imagine what that does to a young mind? I’m sure he’s taking this second death badly.’
‘He’s had a lot of counselling,’ said Mum.
‘And I hear little Jessica Febey is a help to him. I know he thinks a lot of her.’
This was news to me. Wando and Chess?
Mum could see me looking surprised. ‘She’s been helping him with his maths homework. Paid tutoring. The O’Raffertys think the world of Chess.’
‘Such a strong young lady, who handles her father so well. She could be such a help to other young people. And Warwick certainly needs someone like her.’ Mrs Carmody lowered her voice. ‘I heard there’d been alcohol abuse, too.’
‘Who? Wando?’ I said.
‘Yes, I’ve heard the same thing,’ said another woman.
Mrs Carmody finally stopped shaking her head. She leaned forward with new information. ‘Apparently he’s been h
ome and then disappeared again. Some of his clothes are missing and so is a bottle of vodka. His parents are out looking for him.’
‘That’s happened before.’
‘You have to worry, really, about children’s access to alcohol. So dangerous in a boy that age. And hard drugs. You read about it in the papers. There are hard drugs readily available in many schools.’
They all stared at me, as if expecting me to produce a spoon and a syringe. No one was worried about Wando any more.
They were expecting an answer. My parents were listening too, hoping I would say something mature and impressive about the Drug Menace. I was failing them. I was just about to push myself up and go off to the barbecue when I was saved, by the arrival of Wando.
***
He had come up from the path by the creek, and had bashed through a bank of shrubs to get to the lawn, twisting his clothes and getting leaves stuck in his hair. Not that this mattered. He would’ve looked insane without them. He came across the lawn, past the jumping castle and Santa’s arch, picking his way through the groups of people, heading towards the grandstand and the barbecue. There was no sign of a vodka bottle but he was walking unsteadily and yelling. At first it was difficult to hear the words, and when we did it didn’t make sense. He wanted to draw everyone’s attention, but hadn’t quite worked out what to say.
‘Oh! Well, then!’ he yelled. ‘Isn’t this nice! OK.’ He stopped, facing the people at the barbecue. They formed three little pairs — Debbie’s parents, Don and Annie; Craig and Andrew; Tara and her father. The sun had sunk below the grandstand, throwing them into deep shade, but Wando had placed himself outside the shadow, and was lit up by the yellow evening sunlight.
‘Oh-Kay.’ This time he said it slowly. ‘Here we all are then.’ He threw out his arms and swung a little from side to side to take in as many people as he could, but his attention was focused on the group at the barbecue. His arms waved jerkily in the air, one hand open, the other clenched tight.
Some parents with young children started hurrying towards cars. Nobody else moved. No one seemed to know what to do. A few people went on with their eating, pretending not to notice. Some were exchanging glances, telling each other something should be done but wondering who should do it. I was as stunned as everyone else. It’s always embarrassing to see someone acting the big-time idiot in public, and the fact that Wando was normally so quiet made it worse. But I didn’t freeze like everyone else. Without thinking I stood up and started walking towards him. Over on my left I could see one other person moving. Chess was coming along the road that led to the grandstand.
When I was quite close to Wando I had to step around a group of people, so that I was approaching him from the side. One of those people was Mr Smith from the Bridge Hotel, a member of the Chamber of Commerce. He must have felt that, as one of the organisers, it was up to him to do something about Wando before there was any real aggro. He stood in my way and put a hand on my arm to stop me. Unfortunately he didn’t know what else to do. We both stood watching. Chess got closer than I did. She was in front of the barbecue now, but before she could reach him, Wando started again, yelling to the people behind her.
‘Look at you, up there. Hiding!’ This wasn’t really accurate. Tara had edged behind her father, but the Wilsons and Andrew all stood perfectly in view, staring at him. They were in shadow, but they weren’t hiding.
Wando went on shouting. ‘Hiding from the sunlight. Think you’re safe there don’t you. Think the Eye of Ra goes down every night in the west.’
At this point Mr Smith took a reluctant step towards Wando, saying his name, but Wando staggered sideways away from him and almost tripped. Mr Smith hesitated.
The stumble made Wando angrier. He stepped back into his sunlight and his voice went up a notch in volume and meanness. ‘Eh?! Is that what you think? But what if it came back?’ He opened the clenched fist, letting something dangle from his hand. It caught the light and concentrated it into a still droplet of gold. There was a moment of complete silence.
Wando had no need to shout now. The appearance of the necklace had everyone hypnotised. Suddenly the scene had taken on an air of hyper-reality. The deep green grass, the tinsel and balloons, the blue-black shade, the bright stone.
He went on in a voice that was quieter, but nasty. ‘Thought it had really gone this time, didn’t you? But I’ve got it now. What do you think about that? I know everything, and I’m the only one left.’
I heard Chess give a small groan. ‘Oh, no.’
This time another man had come up to join Mr Smith. Together they went to Wando and took him by the arms. Wando didn’t seem to notice.
Chess came over to join me.
‘Oh, Matty, this is bad,’ she said. ‘This is very bad.’
Wando yelled, ‘What are you going to do about that? I’ve got the Eye!’ They started leading him away. He turned sideways and over his shoulder screamed into the shadows. ‘It’s me now! Are you going to kill me too?’
Chapter 22
There was no chance of getting near Wando as they led him away. Four men had gathered around him, just like they do with a streaker at the cricket.
But I had to speak to him, and as soon as possible. For one thing it was now obvious he knew who the murderer was and he wanted to tell. But more than that, I couldn’t help feeling responsible for Wando. His face had been full of pain.
I decided to try to see him the next morning. I set the alarm for eleven. I was worried, but I had to be realistic. Then, because I had to hunt for jocks, and allowing time for toast, it was nearly twelve when I headed out to try my luck at the O’Raffertys’ door.
Irritatingly, I found myself thinking about Chess. I’d told her I would try to see Wando this morning and now I was wondering where she was. Not that I wanted her there. It was just that in the last week or so I’d hardly managed to go anywhere without her. It had got to the point where if she wasn’t with me I felt — not lonely exactly — but aware that something was missing — like being in a Star Wars movie without R2D2. I kept expecting her to suddenly appear and start beeping and squeaking at me.
Wando’s place was on the other side of town from mine, which isn’t saying much, except that I had to cross the main street to get there. Sure enough Chess turned up, sitting on a bench. It was up against the wall of the old State Bank, which was now a junk shop and between Chess and me there was a collection of wooden chairs, old prams and a sign that said ‘Bric a Brac’. She didn’t see me straight away and I was able to watch her from the side as I approached. I was struck by two things. Firstly that she had shrunk, and secondly that she was unbelievably lonely.
Now I’d like to say that as soon as I thought this I rushed up and started being nice to her, but the opposite is true. All I felt was a surge of resentment. What was I supposed to do? I had enough to worry about. If Chess was lonely it was because she was a deviant and she couldn’t expect me to rescue her and haul her back into civilisation. And even if I did talk to her, she’d only start telling me how clever she was. So, before I got to her I crossed the road.
It didn’t worry her. She came trotting after me.
‘Are you going … Matty!’ She dodged around a half-barrel full of flowers. ‘Matty wait!’
Well, if she was going to yell the place down I didn’t have any choice. I slowed down and let her catch up.
She said, ‘Are you going to Wando’s? Can I come?’
‘Chess, he’s a mate. I just want to see him, OK? He doesn’t need a party.’
‘Please Matty. There’s something I need to know.’
‘Ring him up.’
‘I’m nearly there. I nearly have the answer.’
‘What is it?’
‘I can’t tell you. Not until I’m sure, but I need to get into Wando’s room.’ She could see me hesitating. ‘They’re not going to let me in there by myself, are they?’
I made a spitting noise and started to walk on. Chess recognised this as my ch
arming way of saying she could come.
Wando’s street was new. Unlike the middle of town, the bitumen went right up to a cement gutter. His house was one of those super-neat affairs, with a lawn that looked as if it had been edged with masking tape and a razor blade. There had been a tree once, but birds had kept sitting in it so Mr O had chopped it down. Birds did poo on the concrete.
Actually I quite liked the O’Rs. They were cheerful, and in the kitchen they kept a permanent supply of chocolate chip biscuits. Mrs O was always doing really boring cleaning jobs and while she did them she liked to chat. I used to go there after school and she would feed me biscuits to keep me talking. After Wando I think she found me a novelty.
She was a kind of female version of the front garden — spotless and ironed all over. A lot of kids thought she was ga ga. She always spoke to us in a soft sugary voice as if we were five-year-olds turning up to school on the first day and any normal behaviour might scare us away. She would smooth Wando’s hair and brush at his clothes and he would shrug her off, but I always felt sorry for her. Today the voice was worse than ever, but I took that to be a sign of worry about Wando.
To my surprise she didn’t turn us away. ‘Matty, Jessie. How nice. Come in. Warwick would love to see you. He’s still tucked up in bed but he is awake.’
I said, ‘Has he said anything about —?’
‘He’s eaten two Weet-Bix for breakfast and I think his colour is a little better. I’m sure we’ll have him back on his feet again soon. This will cheer him up, to see a few people his own age. It’s just what he needs. I might even try him on some ginger ale.’
It sounded as if he had measles, or the ’flu or something. Still, I didn’t blame her for treating Wando’s problems like that. A sick person is much easier to deal with than a drinker who abuses people in public.
Wando’s bedroom was all straight lines and right angles, with tartan and stripes and nothing on the floor except furniture. He was sitting up in bed in a white T-shirt and Mickey Mouse boxer shorts, with his pink hairy legs bent up in front of him. His mother tugged at the sheet, but she only managed to cover his feet. She told him that the two people standing in front of him were Matty and Jess come to visit, and then she picked up a plate and a mug and went away. I gently shut the door behind her.