Finding Darcy

by Sue Lawson

  I gritted my teeth. Was nothing private in this town?

  Mum’s smile was warm. ‘Still there, Derek.’

  Mr Goodman fiddled with his shirt collar. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘I need a basic mobile for Darcy.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ I squeaked.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘But, Mum, Granny will go off.’

  ‘Not if she doesn’t know about it.’

  Boof closed the boot.

  ‘All packed, mate. I checked the oil, water and tyres, too. The back left will need changing soon. Want me to book you in for a Saturday?’

  ‘That’d be great thanks, Boof.’ Mum opened her wallet.

  ‘Cut that out,’ said Boof. ‘Petrol’s my shout.’

  Mum kissed Boof and turned to me. ‘Keep it on silent, Darce, okay?’ she whispered as we hugged.

  I nodded, unable to say much. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  ‘I’ll be home earlier next weekend. Why don’t you arrange something with Laura for then?’

  ‘Darcy, let your mother leave,’ said Misery, tugging on my arm.

  I stepped back.

  Mum kissed Misery’s cheek and waved to Batty, who stood in the lounge room, peeking between the scrim.

  Tears flooded down Mum’s face as she reversed out the drive.

  Misery tutted. ‘It’d be better if she didn’t come home until she was finished.’

  ‘Better for who?’ I mumbled.

  Misery folded her arms. ‘I will not tolerate your bad attitude, Darcy. Is that clear?’

  I stared at my runners.

  ‘On that cheery note, I’m off, too,’ said Boof. He pulled a face behind Misery’s back.

  Any other time, I’d have laughed.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘And so Dad goes, “What?”’ Laura slapped her knee as she laughed.

  Bailey, Dylan and Ava cracked up.

  I smiled and bit into my sandwich. A shudder slithered down my spine at the Vegemite that was layered on as thick and black as road tar.

  ‘Darcy, that was funny,’ said Laura, frowning.

  ‘Yeah, but my lunch isn’t.’ I checked Loz out, trying to see her as Misery did.

  ‘Basketball?’ asked Bailey, climbing to his feet.

  Dylan crumpled his lunch wrap. ‘I’m in.’

  ‘Me, too,’ said Ava.

  ‘Be over in a minute.’ Laura studied my face. ‘Is everything okay, Darce?’

  Okay? My mum had abandoned me with a disgusting old witch and a vacant lot, The Newt’s project could provoke Armageddon and Misery’s mountains of blankets squeezed not only the breath out of me, but any chance of sleep.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You sure? Because you’re kind of…’

  ‘Hey, Mum bought…’

  Ahead, between the oval and the portable classrooms, The Newt lectured two Year 10 boys. The shorter guy tucked in his school shirt and straightened his tie. The taller one stared at his feet. The Newt pointed to the covered walkway, the place where you had to hang out if you mucked up.

  As the boys slunk away, their group of friends cheered and clapped.

  Hands clasped behind his back, The Newt continued yard-duty.

  Time to sort out one of my problems.

  ‘What did your Mum buy, Darce?’

  I passed my half-eaten tar sandwich and apple to Laura. ‘Hold these for a sec.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Won’t be long.’ I ran towards The Newt, hoping to stop him before he reached the portables. No way was I following him there. The school’s smokers and pashers hung out behind the portables, though it was mystifying why. Anyone with half a brain knew the teachers on yard duty checked there at least twice at lunchtime. If you were caught behind the portables, it was detention. If you were caught there often enough, suspension.

  ‘Mr Newtown,’ I called. ‘I need to talk to you.’ I skidded to a halt, cutting off his path to Pasher/Smoker Ville.

  ‘Ah, Ms Abbott. Delightful to see you.’ He bowed, like an actor in a Shakespearean play. ‘Accompany me on my rounds.’

  I cringed. ‘Couldn’t we talk here?’

  ‘Hardly, Ms Abbott. Constant movement is the key to surviving yard duty.’ He stepped around me.

  ‘Mr Newtown,’ I power-walked after him. ‘You know that war project?’

  ‘I do indeed, Ms Abbott.’

  I wished I’d thought this through before I charged up to him. ‘You see…’

  The Newt stopped and cleared his throat. I looked up, expecting him to be looking at me. Instead, he glared at four students huddled behind the portable.

  Neanderthal, Eddie Urquhart, Jack Ng and Sarah Rinaldi.

  Neanderthal and Eddie gasped. It was tough to work out who was passing whom the lit cigarette. Eddie released his grip, leaving Neanderthal to hold it.

  Behind them, Jack and Sarah leapt apart. Sarah, lip curled, folded her arms. Jack stared at his feet. It wasn’t difficult to work out what they’d been doing. One look at the lack of lip-gloss on Sarah’s lips and the amount of it on Jack’s and it was obvious.

  ‘I’ll catch you later, Mr Newtown,’ I said, edging away.

  ‘Stay, Ms Abbott. These people are on their way to the office, where they will wait for me. And should anyone not be there when I finish duty…’ His words trailed off, but his intent was clear. ‘Mr Thackery and Mr Urquhart, before you leave, prohibited goods, thank you.’ The Newt held out his hand.

  Neanderthal fished around in his pocket, producing a red lighter and a crushed cigarette packet. He placed them on The Newt’s palm.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Thackery. Nothing to declare it seems, Mr Urquhart?’

  Eddie shook his head, his eyes rolling around like a doll’s when you shake it.

  ‘Mr Thackery, butt that out before you go.’

  Neanderthal jumped as though he hadn’t realised he was still holding the lit cigarette. He ground it into the dirt with his heel, shooting me deadly looks at the same time.

  What was his problem? He was the idiot smoking in the most obvious place in the school.

  Sarah led the way to the office, head held high. Neanderthal, Eddie and Jack, heads bowed and hands jammed in their pockets, followed.

  ‘Now Ms Abbott, you were saying,’ said The Newt, as though nothing had happened.

  ‘I um…’ I watched Sarah and the guys disappear around the corner. ‘Mr Newtown, I can’t do this project on … ethical grounds.’

  The Newt’s eyes widen. ‘I’m sorry, Ms Abbott?’

  ‘It’s war mongering. And I’m a pacifist,’ I said, warming up. ‘We should be focusing on peace and harmony. Not war and destruction. This project offends my … religion.’ I folded my arms. Not bad for something I hadn’t planned.

  The Newt adjusted his glasses. ‘And what religion is that, Ms Abbott?’

  ‘Catho … Budd … Pacifistism.’

  ‘Ms Abbott, I admire your fervour, however you will do this project.’ He shook his head and strode towards the basketball courts.

  ‘But Sir, I’ve been researching, and I can’t find anything about my great-grandfather.’

  The Newt stopped and set his poppy eyes on me. ‘And did this research involve your grandmothers?’

  ‘Not exactly. But I have proof in my locker.’

  The Newt raised his eyebrow.

  I fidgeted with the cuff on my jumper. ‘Mr Newtown, I can’t ask them. Last time I mentioned the war, Granny M scalded her hand, Grandma dropped her book and plate and I was sent to my room.’

  The Newt gave me a wry smile. ‘Reminiscent of that Fawlty Towers episode, “Don’t mention the war.”’

  I frowned. ‘Faulty what?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ The Newt rubbed his chin. ‘Ms Abbott, unless I have a letter from your mother, grandmother or great-grandmother citing a believable reason that you can’t complete this project, you will do it. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to fail you.’

  I felt like a ba
lloon that had zipped around a room and landed, pathetic and wasted on a table.

  ‘Ahh, the changing of the guard.’ The Newt nodded at the staff room door. Broady, Ms Pippos and Father Nelson scanned the yard like army generals. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Ms Abbott, I must attend to the nicotine addicts and Romeo and Juliet.’ He bowed before bouncing towards the office.

  Laura strolled towards me. ‘What was that all about?’

  ‘Just project stuff.’ I reached for my apple and sandwich. ‘Let’s play basketball.’

  Chapter Eleven

  While we waited for our PE teacher, Mr Rao, Ava, Laura and I leaned on the wire fence with most of the girls in our class. At the far end of the courts, the boys threw goals with rocks.

  Harmony Murray and Toni Jamieson sat on the court, in the centre circle, legs crossed and heads close together.

  ‘Wonder where the boss triplet is,’ said Laura.

  ‘The office,’ I said. ‘The Newt caught Sarah and Jack pashing and Neanderthal and Eddie smoking behind the portable. ’

  Ava’s eyes lit up. ‘That’s the second time Neanderthal’s been caught this term.’

  Mr Rao, sauntered through the gates, a bag of netballs slung over his shoulder. ‘Righto, you blokes, gather round.’

  Mr Rao majored in yelling at university. No matter where we were Mr Rao yelled. And worse, he yelled in sporting language—‘one percenters’, ‘there’s no I in team’, that sort of stuff.

  ‘It’s time to put the netball rules and skills we covered last week into practice.’ He dumped the bag of balls, and stood behind Harmony and Toni.

  Harmony smoothed her hair and smiled. Toni blushed.

  The triplets thought Mr Rao was hot which showed their taste was all in their mouths. His shorts and tee shirts were disgustingly tight on a man of his build, and he checked his reflection every time he passed a reflective surface. The man was a freak.

  ‘Sir, Sarah should be captain. She’s been league best and fairest the last two years,’ said Harmony, eyelids fluttering.

  ‘Where is Sarah?’ asked Mr Rao.

  ‘Here, Sir,’ said Sarah, charging through the gates with Nathan, Eddie and Jack following. ‘We had to meet with Mr Newtown.’

  ‘Amazon,’ hissed Neanderthal as he passed.

  Eddie and Jack snarled.

  ‘That name is so old,’ said Ava, glaring at them.

  ‘Takes Neanderthal a while to work these things out,’ I said.

  ‘When you’re finished,’ yelled Mr Rao.

  While Mr Rao bellowed instructions, Neanderthal, sneering, ran his finger across his throat.

  ‘Hero,’ I mouthed back.

  ‘Right, you blokes. Sarah, you captain the girls, Jack, the boys. Harmony, umpire with me.’

  ‘Gather round, girls.’ Sarah bossed us into position. Demitiri, Ciara and Catherine were given their usual spot when Sarah was involved—left-right-out.

  At first, I thought I was imagining Sarah’s death stares. Then she stomped on my foot as she rushed to the centre.

  ‘Ouch! Watch it, Sarah.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, her voice as fake as the look on her face. ‘Accidents happen, Amazon.’

  It felt like she’d slapped my face. Only Neanderthal called me that.

  ‘It must be tough playing a girl’s sport when you’re such a man.’ Sarah flipped her black hair off her shoulders and strutted to the centre circle.

  I plodded to goal defence, my ears buzzing.

  ‘Play,’ yelled Mr Rao.

  Jack, Neanderthal, Eddie and Sarah elbowed or shoved me at every opportunity. And when they weren’t elbowing and shoving, they hissed ‘Amazon’ and ‘Mantis’.

  As the bell rang, Sarah dug her elbow into the soft spot under my ribs and growled a new name.

  ‘She-male.’

  I stormed off to the locker room. My body and my mind felt battered.

  ‘You okay?’ asked Laura, catching up.

  ‘Dobber,’ snarled Sarah.

  ‘Dobber?’ I asked, surprised. ‘What are you talking about?

  ‘What are you talking about?’ mimicked Harmony, her face twisted like Sarah’s. ‘You led The Newt behind the portables at lunchtime.’

  ‘Sarah, Eddie and Jack have a two-week detention all because of you. And Nathan’s parents have to come up to the school.’ Toni looked like she’d stood in puke. ‘Top effort, She-male.’

  ‘I was talking to The Newt about my project,’ I squeaked.

  Sarah scoffed. ‘Yeah right, Amazon.’ She said it as though it tasted disgusting. ‘You and The Newt just happened to walk behind the portables? Right!’ She rolled her eyes and strode away. Harmony and Toni followed.

  My hands shook. It was one thing for Neanderthal to call me Amazon, but The Triplets? Sure, they dressed alike and couldn’t think for themselves, but they were okay.

  ‘Ignore them, Darcy. It’ll blow over,’ said Laura. ‘Someone else will annoy Sarah tomorrow.’

  Letter excerpt from VX23813 DC FLETCHER 2/22 INF BN. Bonegilla March 10, 1941 …Finally, after all that training, we’re being shipped overseas. Seems the rumours about us going to Africa were off the mark, though. Everyone’s disappointed about that, but still, it’ll be good to be somewhere new and to be doing something other than training drills. We’re being stationed as an outpost on New Britain, an island north of New Guinea. Our job is to protect airfields and keep an eye on the Japs in case they join the war. Can’t see that happening. The biggest fight we’ll face will be with the mossies. But don’t worry, my pet, we’ll be taking quinine daily.

  Chapter Twelve

  Misery was wiping the kitchen table so hard, it shook.

  ‘Hi, Granny.’ I walked past her to the sink.

  ‘Is it that time already?’ Misery shook her head. ‘Where did that day go?’

  I knew where my day had gone. Down the toilet. By home room, The Triplets, Neanderthal, Eddie and Jack were calling me Amazon, Mantis and Dobber. Thanks to my family’s ridiculous silence, I was going to fail SOSE. Fail! I’d never failed anything before, not even woodwork. And if that wasn’t enough, I couldn’t shake the ‘cause of death: presumed’, that I’d read on the honour roll, from my head.

  I poured a glass of water.

  ‘Where’s Grandma?’

  ‘Changing. She has a podiatrist appointment at four. Are you coming with us?’

  ‘Thanks, but I have homework.’ Which was a lie.

  Granny stopped scrubbing. ‘You’re not wasting time in class and having to finish work at home, I hope?’

  ‘No, Granny, just stacks of homework.’ Glass in one hand, school bag in the other, I escaped down the hall.

  ‘Don’t spill that in your room,’ called Misery.

  I’d changed out of my uniform and hung it in the wardrobe when Misery opened the door. That woman glides like a hovercraft. I never hear her coming, unless she is ranting on the way.

  ‘I’m taking Grandma now. Are you sure you won’t come, Darcy?’

  Hmmm.

  Misery bossing Batty all the way there and asking her about her toenails on the way home? I’d rather stick a pencil in my eye.

  ‘I won’t … but thanks.’

  Misery glanced around the room. Probably checking my uniform wasn’t crumpled on the floor.

  ‘Fine, Darcy. But no phone calls, do not answer the door and do not leave the house.’

  How old did she think I was? Once Misery left, I lay on the bed, my brain whirling like a washing machine on spin cycle. If only I’d waited until The Newt had finished his lap behind the portable before talking to him. If only I hadn’t tried to talk to him at all. War monger. No way was he failing me. I’d do his stupid assignment if I had to make it up.

  If only I knew for sure if the D C Fletcher I’d stumbled across on the Internet was my great-grandfather. Why his cause of death was ‘presumed’. That project was messing with my head.

  And as for Neanderthal … brainless idiot. Since when was he interestin
g enough to dob on?

  I punched my pillow. Twice. At home when I felt this churned up, I’d hang out at the beach. The roar of the breakers always drowned out the noise in my head. Like I could go down to the beach. The walk there and back would take at least 40 minutes. Batty wouldn’t be at the podiatrist for that long.

  There had to be something I could do to relieve the pressure in my brain.

  Watch TV? Do one of Misery’s logic puzzles? Pluck the hairs off my arms?

  The whispering in the back of my mind started as the breeze in the gum trees against the back fence, but grew louder and stronger.

  Snoop!

  I could search Misery’s home for a photo, letter, anything that would prove the D C Fletcher on the Internet was my great-grandfather. And maybe I could use what I found for my project, seeing as The Newt wouldn’t be swayed.

  But poking around in Granny’s stuff. Well that was just, wrong.

  A sign flashed in my brain—FAIL! Snooping to avoid failing had to be okay.

  I started with the crystal cabinet in the lounge. Because it had glass doors and sides and I didn’t have to open anything, I told myself it wasn’t exactly snooping.

  There were revolting crystal things—a swan, a teapot, a baby’s pram—and heaps of patterned wine glasses but nothing to hint at D C Fletcher’s existence.

  On the wooden shelves either side of the gas heater were blue Wedgwood plates and miniature paintings, all on lace doilies. The only things on the coffee table were Woman’s Weekly mags and two remote controls.

  Discoveries—zip.

  Frustration—high.

  I uncovered disturbing things in the kitchen and dining room. In the cupboard above the fridge there was a metal tin filled with baby teeth. In the bookshelf, pressed between a gardening book and Maggie Thatcher’s autobiography, was a lock of blonde hair in a yellowing envelope marked James. It was hard to imagine Boof’s straight mud-coloured hair ever being blonde and curly.

  I flopped in the chair bathed in afternoon sunlight. It wasn’t as if I’d expected to find a book How Charlie Fletcher Died or The Fletchers At War, but I had hoped to find a medal, photo or some normal piece of family memorabilia.