Finding Darcy

by Sue Lawson

  A sparrow flitted past the window, drawing my eye to the sideboard, the only place in the kitchen and dining room I hadn’t searched.

  I dragged myself out of the chair and across the room. In front of the sideboard, I squatted and searched the cupboard beneath the drawers. It was filled with china and silver stuff, like cake stands and salt and pepper shakers. I stood and yanked the drawers open. The smell of old lavender and Iron Aid filled the air. Misery’s ‘good tablecloths’, each wrapped in tissue paper, lay in rows. I slipped my hand between each, but felt only dried lavender. As I decided to give up, my fingers bumped something hard. I pulled a cloth from the drawer, revealing tatty, gray cardboard.

  My pulse beat a little faster. I placed the cloth on the sideboard next to a blue and white vase and picked up the cardboard.

  Written in pencil on the cardboard was ‘Charlie Fletcher, 1941’.

  I almost skipped on the spot.

  Not daring to breathe, I turned the cardboard over. A photo of a man in army uniform, face stern, hair parted and slicked in place, looked back at me. A button on his uniform pocket was only halfway through the buttonhole on his pocket. I studied his face, looking for signs.

  Excitement began to drain from me, seeping into the lino.

  I realised it was just a photo. It didn’t prove the Internet’s D C Fletcher was my great-grandfather and it wasn’t enough for a project.

  The screech of Misery’s handbrake from the driveway sent me into a panicked dance.

  Put it back? Keep it?

  It mightn’t be enough for my project, but it was something.

  I thundered down the hall and hid the photo between a hoodie and a pair of jeans in the tallboy.

  Next, I brushed my hair back from my shoulders and smoothed my clothes. I strolled to the front door, determined to act as though everything was normal. ‘How’d you go, Grandma?’ I asked as I opened the door.

  ‘Fine, thank you, Darcy,’ said Batty as Misery helped her up the steps.

  Misery released Batty’s arm at the door and studied my face. ‘What have you been doing?’

  ‘Homework.’ The tablecloth sitting on the sideboard flashed into my brain.

  Misery glared. ‘What?’

  ‘I left my English novel at school.’

  ‘Darcy, your organisational skills are appalling.’ Misery snorted as she brushed past me. ‘I must start dinner.’ She stalked through the lounge.

  My stomach felt like it was full with ice.

  ‘I’ll help, Granny.’ I rushed after her.

  Misery stopped inside the dining room door, her voice cutting through the air like a knife.

  ‘Darcy, would you care to explain why the good table cloth is out?’

  ‘I … I was setting the table with the good stuff, as a surprise … a celebration. I mean, how many girls are lucky enough to have a grandmother and great-grandmother? And we’re all here together.’

  Eyes narrowed, Misery let me ramble.

  It was Batty who saved me. ‘That’s a lovely idea, Darcy.’

  Misery snorted, again. ‘Darcy, these are for special occasions.’

  I held my breath as she opened the drawer. ‘Use the tablecloths in the linen press in future.’ She placed the cloth back in the drawer and closed it. ‘You can peel the potatoes.’

  ‘Sure, Granny.’ I opened the pantry. ‘How many?’

  ‘Four. And use the vegetable peeler. You waste too much potato with a knife.’

  My hands shook as I peeled the potatoes.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The ringing phone saved me from Misery’s miserable meatloaf.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ I leapt up from the table.

  ‘Must you thunder about like a baby elephant?’ bellowed Misery.

  I screwed up my face as I answered the phone. ‘Darcy speaking.’

  ‘Darcy? It’s me. Why aren’t you answering your mobile?’

  ‘Mum! It’s in the bedroom. We’re eating dinner.’ I slumped on the stool attached to the phone table. ‘How’s study?’

  ‘Okay. Busy. Scary.’

  Misery popped her head through the lounge door.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Mum.’

  Misery scowled. ‘Tell her we’re eating.’

  I shook my head. She could shove it. I’d much rather talk to Mum than eat meatloaf.

  Lips pursed, Misery marched back to the kitchen.

  ‘How’s school Darcy?’ asked Mum.

  ‘Okay. I guess.’

  ‘And Mum? Grandma?’

  ‘Okay.’ I fiddled with the teledex beside the phone. ‘It’s quiet without basketball. And the beach.’

  ‘It would be.’

  ‘Mum, can I ask Laura to sleep over this Saturday night?’

  Silence crackled between us.

  ‘Darce, there’s something … I didn’t realise…’

  ‘What?’ I snapped.

  ‘Darcy, I’m sorry. We have classes on weekends.’

  The walls closed in around me.

  ‘This weekend?’

  ‘Every weekend. Because it’s a fast-track course, they’re packing in as much as they can. I have classes every Saturday. Until late. If I came home, it would only be for a few hours. It’s such a long trip…’

  Misery appeared beside me, tapping her watch with her forefinger.

  ‘Darcy, are you still there?’

  The ceiling had lowered. I was being squashed. ‘Yeah. Granny wants to talk.’

  ‘Darcy, I’m so sorry.’ Mum sniffed. ‘I love you, you know that.’

  ‘Yeah, Mum. Here’s Granny.’

  Misery shooed me off the phone stool and snatched the phone.

  In my room, I paced between the beds.

  It sucked. Worse than sucked.

  As if I didn’t have enough to deal with—The Newt’s stupid project, The Triplets calling me Amazon and Mantis—now my weekends were ruined.

  I stopped pacing and stared out the window at the gums battered by the heavy rain.

  Misery opened the door.

  ‘Your dinner is going to waste.’

  ‘So am I,’ I muttered.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said, jaw clenched.

  ‘Don’t bother sulking, Darcy. It’s for the best. Less disruption for your mother.’

  Her voice was clipped, business-like. And it held a hint of victory.

  ‘I’m not sulking.’

  ‘Good. Back to the table then.’

  As I sat down at the table I caught Batty’s eye. Instead of looking away, she held my gaze. Sorrow filled her eyes.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After seeing that photo, my great-grandfather’s face haunted me. It was in the mashed potatoes Misery served for dinner, the toothpaste I spat in the sink and the blackness when I closed my eyes to sleep.

  Even walking to school—the long way to avoid Neanderthal and his stones—brick fences morphed into his face and clouds swirled into his outline.

  During English, the words in the John Blake poem rearranged themselves into the button halfway through the buttonhole.

  In technology, every photo I edited reminded me of him. In art, I found myself sketching him, instead of the bowl of fruit Ms Pippos had set up. Lucky for me, Ms Pippos liked my sketch.

  Why was a photo messing with my head?

  A photo so old it was more cream and grey than black and white.

  A photo of a dead guy I knew nothing about. A guy I didn’t even know what to call. Batty’s husband? Misery’s dad? Grandpa? Charlie? Him?

  The upside of the haunting was that it dulled my senses.

  I could see Neanderthal, Eddie, Jack and The Triplets making gestures and calling me Mantis and Amazon, but their attacks skimmed over me. I didn’t realise that my lack of reaction was just inflaming them.

  Bailey, Laura, Ava and I strolled across the path to home room.

  ‘That was a cool sketch of the guy in uniform,’ said Bailey, kicking a w
ad of paper along the path. ‘Who was it?’

  I shrugged. ‘The Newt’s project must be getting to me.’

  ‘Do you know what you’re doing yet?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Do you?’

  Bailey pulled a face. ‘One great-grandfather did the Kokoda Trail thing. The whole town turned on the other.’

  ‘What do you mean, turned on him?’ asked Ava.

  ‘Well, you know how the Italians were on Hitler’s side? Well, Papa’s dad was Italian. And even though he was born in Port Avenel, people—including his friends—turned on him. They ignored him. Or threw eggs at his shop. And worse.’

  ‘That sucks,’ said Laura.

  ‘Reckon. Think I’ll do him.’ Bailey nodded at our home room. ‘What’s going on there?’

  Neanderthal was leering over a poster stuck to the window. Behind him, the rest of our class was grinning.

  ‘Who can tell with Neanderthal,’ I said, stomach clenching as we drew closer.

  The poster was of a praying mantis, only instead of a mantis head, it had my face. Printed underneath, in the same green as the insect, was ‘Darcy Abbott—Dobbing Man-eater’.

  Anger built in my stomach and spread to my chest..

  ‘Idiot,’ said Bailey.

  ‘Ignore it, Darce,’ said Loz. ‘He wants you to lose it.’

  ‘She’s right, Darcy. Act like nothing’s wrong,’ said Ava.

  Easy for them to say.

  Outside the door, the others’ laughter stabbed at me like tiny knives. I stomped inside to where Neanderthal was holding his stomach and roaring with laughter. In one movement, I shoved him aside and ripped the poster from the window. I scrunched it into a tiny ball. If only I could crumple Neanderthal’s doughy face. I piffed the paper at his head. ‘You are such a Neanderthal.’

  ‘Whoa!’ yelled Jack, over the jeering. ‘Amazon fights back.’

  ‘We have those in other sizes,’ said Sarah, smirking. ‘Amazon sizes.’

  The Triplets high-fived each other.

  I turned to see Bailey and Laura, either side of the blackboard, ripping down posters twice the size of the original.

  Ava, holding Bailey and Laura’s books, frowned.

  A buzzing noise, as loud as the laughter filling the room, roared in my ears. Instead of just angry, now I was embarrassed.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Mrs Broadkin, standing in the doorway.

  Bailey and Laura hid the posters behind their backs.

  Neanderthal groaned, holding his head. ‘She hit my head, miss.’

  ‘I did not,’ I said, my jaw clenched.

  Broady brushed past me to examine Neanderthal’s head. ‘Any damage, Nathan?’

  ‘No, miss. She took me by surprise. I wasn’t doing anything.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ I muttered.

  ‘Darcy!’ Broady glared at me. ‘You’re on notice.’

  ‘But Mrs—’

  She shot me her death-look before weaving through tables to the front of the room. She opened the roll. ‘Seats, thank you.’ She looked towards Neanderthal and me. ‘Everyone.’

  I sat at the empty table by the door.

  Laura sat beside me. ‘You alright?’

  I nodded, the buzzing noise in my head louder. The anger and embarrassment packed into my body was set to explode and shatter me into tiny pieces. Once Broady dismissed us, I bolted for the locker room.

  Stuck to my locker was another poster. I ripped it down and shoved it into my backpack. Without waiting for Laura or Ava, I sprinted for the gates.

  ‘Darcy, wait,’ yelled Laura, behind me.

  Postcard from Rabaul VX23813 DC FLETCHER 2/22 INF BN. Rabaul April 20, 1941 My Darling Betty and Babes, What a trip. Train to Sydney then I sailed with the first troops to leave on the Katoomba. We’re now in Rabaul, which is hot and humid. The natives are a friendly bunch and have been helping us out. We’ve employed a few to do our laundry and other odds and sods. They live in grass huts which are surprisingly cool. No sign of the Japs apart from the odd plane high overhead. Stay strong, Betty darling. It won’t be long until we’re all together again. My dearest love to you and the babes, My love, Charlie.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dinner hell. Head bowed, Misery blessed herself. She waited for Batty and me to do the same before launching into grace.

  As she finished, I mumbled ‘Amen’.

  Two pieces of withered meat, a mountain of mashed potatoes, a valley of peas and carrots covered the blue and white plate in front of me. Why couldn’t she cook a stir-fry, lasagna or even one of those frittata things Mum loved?

  ‘How was school, Darcy?’

  ‘Okay … Grandma.’

  Batty squished peas and mashed potato onto her fork. ‘How is—what was it? That subject you’re doing. The one about the war.’

  Misery’s knife clanged as it hit the dinner plate, daring me to answer.

  ‘SOSE, Grandma.’ I reached for the tomato sauce. ‘We haven’t done much yet—’

  ‘That’s enough sauce, Darcy,’ barked Misery.

  It was Batty’s turn to drop cutlery. Her fork bounced off her plate onto the tablecloth. ‘Margaret, must you interrupt? Darcy was speaking.’

  Go, Batty!

  The colour drained from Misery’s face. ‘And drowning a perfectly good piece of meat.’

  Batty picked up her fork and poked a chop. ‘Well, I think whatever goodness was in the meat has been cooked out of it, Margaret.’

  Mouth open, I stared at Batty.

  ‘Close your mouth, Darcy,’ snapped Misery. ‘How am I supposed to care for two extra people, shop, clean and produce gourmet meals?’

  Since moving in here, I’d discovered Misery asked two types of questions; the usual type that required an answer, and those she asked to let you know how she felt. The trick was knowing the difference. Mucking them up was like poking a Rottweiler with a stick. If I’d worked that out, why hadn’t Batty?

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Margaret. With Darcy working like a navvy, I’d say your burden has decreased.’

  Misery flung her napkin onto her plate. She snatched Batty’s plate and mine and stalked to the sink. Her knife screeched against the china as she scraped food-scraps into the compost bucket.

  ‘Margaret, you shouldn’t put meat into the compost,’ said Batty.

  I sucked in my breath.

  The look Misery gave Batty would defrost our freezer at home.

  ‘Darcy, you may leave the table,’ said Misery.

  ‘I’ll have a shower.’

  ‘Three minutes maximum.’ Misery slammed the door on my heel in her rush to get me out of there.

  I stood in the hall rubbing my heel and listening to their muffled voices. Even though I couldn’t make out what was being said, I could tell Batty was giving as good as she got.

  What was going on with those two? Misery’s role was to boss and Batty’s was to do as Misery said.

  I collected my PJs and cosmetic bag from my room. Before leaving for the bathroom, I pulled the photo of my great-grandfather from the drawer. If only I knew for sure that it was his name on the honour roll.

  The telephone rang. Maybe it was Mum to say she could come home this weekend. I shoved the photo back in the drawer and sprinted for the phone.

  ‘Darcy speaking.’ In my rush, it came out as

  ‘Dacpeekin.’ ‘Hello, dear. Eunice Smyth.’

  ‘Hi, Mrs Smyth.’ My voice was flat.

  Misery thrust her hand out for the phone. ‘I thought you were having a shower.’

  ‘On my way,’ I said.

  She shook her head as she took the phone. ‘Hello, Eunice. No, this isn’t a bad time…’ Misery settled on the phone table’s seat.

  I slipped into the bathroom.

  As I stripped for a shower, I remembered Sarah’s ‘Amazon size’ comment. Naked, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, studying my reflection. So I didn’t have perfect curves like Sarah, and I wasn’t little like Laura. But I wasn’t, well, ove
rweight. Or was I? I checked my reflection from the front and the back. Standing side on, I sucked in my belly then puffed it out.

  Maybe Misery’s fatty food was adding to my thighs and hips. The only way to be sure was to weigh myself. I opened the cupboard under the sink and looked for Misery’s scales.

  ‘Darcy?’ said Misery.

  As I snatched a towel and wrapped it around me, she burst into the bathroom.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded.

  My stomach clenched. ‘Looking for soap.’

  She slid open the shower screen, peered inside and shook her head. ‘There’s plenty in the soap dish. Plenty.’ She looked me up and down. ‘Hurry up.’ She slammed the door as she left.

  Heat churning through my body, I turned on the taps.

  Stuff this.

  Stuff her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Laura and I sat on the edge of the table, feet on our seats and backs to the whiteboard.

  ‘So, do we sit in Neanderthal formation every class we’re together?’ asked Bailey, swinging on his chair.

  ‘Neanderthal Formation’ was Laura’s idea.

  Me by the window, Laura next to me, Bailey and Dylan behind us and Ava and Lily in front. Laura figured it would make it harder for Neanderthal or The Triplets to attack.

  I rubbed my palms on my knees.

  ‘We don’t have to sit like this. I mean—’

  ‘Hey,’ said Dylan with a shrug. ‘You’d do if for one of us.’

  Bailey flung his arms out and tried to balance his chair.

  ‘Darce, how’s your mum? Is her brain full from all that study yet?’

  Ava and Lily giggled.

  I chewed my thumbnail. ‘Who knows.’

  I didn’t want my friends to know Mum hadn’t phoned since she told me she wouldn’t be coming home on weekends. And no way was I making first contact with her.

  Laura elbowed me. ‘You still haven’t told me what she bought you.’

  With everything going on, I’d forgotten to tell Laura about my phone. I’d have blurted it out then, except I didn’t want too many people knowing, not while I was living with Misery. The fewer people who knew, the less chance there was of her finding out. I could do with out that.

  Dylan’s question saved me. ‘Did The Newt want us to write stuff about our projects for today?’