Finding Darcy

by Sue Lawson

  Tears stung my eyes.

  ‘See you guys later.’ He hovered for a moment.

  ‘Go now, Boof, dear. We’re fine.’

  He patted my back and walked out the back door.

  ‘Let’s do these dishes before Margaret returns,’ said Batty, struggling to her feet.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Any other time, a day off school for a teacher in-service would be a reason for celebration. But not while staying with Misery. Instead of sleeping in, hanging out with Laura or surfing with Dylan and Bailey, I had to put up with lecture after lecture. If I didn’t escape, I’d explode. Or worse.

  ‘Granny, can I walk around to my place?’ I asked, strolling into the kitchen.

  Misery’s head jerked up from the church magazine. ‘Whatever for?’

  Batty, open novel on her lap, watched from the armchair, bathed in sunlight.

  I leant against the kitchen bench. ‘To do homework on my computer.’

  ‘Cursed things!’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Who are you meeting?’

  ‘No one. I just have homework.’ I tried not to sound as angry as I felt.

  Misery smoothed the magazine flat and nodded at the bookshelf. ‘Use the reference books on the bottom shelf.’

  The encyclopaedias’ gold lettering was worn and the spines cracked. ‘They’re out of date.’

  Her mouth twitched. ‘The books or nothing. You won’t be walking the streets, alone.’

  ‘A walk would be good for her, Margaret.’ Batty’s voice was steady and clear.

  ‘Mother, this is none of your concern.’

  ‘The girl needs to get out. Exercise.’ Batty pointed her gnarled finger at Misery. ‘She’ll end up doubled over and cranky like us if you keep her cooped up.’

  ‘May I remind you,’ said Misery, her eyes knife sharp. ‘This is my home and I make the decisions here.’

  The air between them crackled.

  ‘That’s okay, Grandma, I’ll do it at school.’

  ‘Fiddlesticks! You’ll not fall behind.’

  Batty and Misery eyed each other like cats before a fight.

  ‘Drop her off, Margaret, and let her walk home,’ said Batty. ‘And to keep you happy, she can phone before she leaves. Anyway,’ added Batty, pulling her cardigan around her, ‘it would be good to have someone at Darcy’s home. Take the worry of breakins off your shoulders.’

  Misery’s mouth twisted like a dishrag. Batty had her there.

  ‘After lunch,’ barked Misery. ‘But Darcy, woe betide you if you break my trust.’

  I shivered.

  She snatched the magazine from the table. ‘Set the table for lunch.’

  I was putting my phone and house key into the front pocket of my backpack when Batty shuffled up to my open door.

  She glanced over her shoulder like a kid up to no good. ‘Darcy, could you do me a favour, please?’

  ‘Of course, Grandma.’

  ‘There’s something I need from home. I’d ask Margaret, but she wouldn’t understand.’ Batty lowered herself to sit on the edge of my bed. ‘I’d like to keep this between us.’

  Great, more family secrets. ‘No worries, Grandma.’

  Batty reached into her cardigan pocket and pulled out the beaded key ring I’d made her for Mother’s Day years ago. She pointed to the green key. ‘This opens the wire and front doors. In my wardrobe, on the left, you’ll see a wooden box, about so big.’ With her hands, she indicated the box was shoebox size.

  ‘Should fit in my backpack.’ I slipped the key into my jeans pocket. ‘So Grandma if I get busted, who shall I say the marijuana belongs to?’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Darcy, whatever do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you want me to pick up a mystery box and keep it secret. Obviously you’re up to something illegal.’

  Batty did something that I’d never seen her do before—she laughed. ‘Darcy, you are a trick. You’re really asking what is in the box.’

  I blushed.

  ‘What are you two up to?’ asked Misery, appearing in the doorway.

  ‘Grandma’s worried about weed,’ I said.

  Batty laughed again.

  Misery bustled into the room. ‘You’re not up to it, Mum. Darcy and I will do the weeding.’

  I rolled my eyes.

  Batty winked.

  ‘I’ll take you to Maxine’s now, Darcy.’ Misery folded her arms. ‘And you will be back here in half an hour.’

  ‘Gracious, Margaret,’ said Batty, frowning. ‘The walk back will take her at least that.’

  Misery scowled.

  ‘An hour and a half then.’ She took Batty by the elbow. ‘You shouldn’t be sitting on that bed. Your back is unsupported.’

  ‘Heavens above, Margaret.’ Batty brushed off Misery’s hand and shook her head. ‘How did I breed such a misery?’

  I gasped.

  Misery jumped back. ‘Right. I’ll get my keys.’ Huffing, she marched down the hall.

  ‘You’d have had to run all the way there and back to make her deadline,’ said Batty, heaving herself to her feet.

  ‘Grandma, how did you know?’

  ‘What? That she hadn’t given you enough time? Or that you called her Misery? I might look vacant, Darcy, but I don’t miss a trick.’ She leaned on her stick. ‘You know, Darcy, he called me Batty, too. You’re very like him.’ With that, she shuffled from the room. I watched her go, my mouth hanging open.

  After checking the laundry for the third time in five minutes, Misery watched over my shoulder while I turned on the computer.

  ‘Don’t answer the phone.’

  ‘No, Granny.’

  Misery glared out the window at Mrs Menzies’ house.

  ‘And don’t open the curtains. That infernal woman over the road will tell all of Port Avenel I left you here alone. Unsupervised.’

  At last I’d found something Misery and I had in common—a complete dislike of the Prairie Dog. ‘I didn’t think she’d ever stop talking.’

  ‘That was a quick visit.’

  ‘Don’t know how Maxine puts up with the interference.’

  ‘She’s used to it,’ I muttered.

  Arms folded, Misery looked me up and down. ‘Very well. I’ll see you in an hour and a half.’ She scanned the lounge, kitchen and hallway again. Did she think I had my friends stashed in the cupboards or something, ready to burst out for a wild party?

  ‘No shenanigans.’

  ‘Definitely not.’ My hands curled into fists.

  Misery checked her watch and marched out the door, locking it behind her.

  I exhaled and rolled my shoulders. From where I sat, I could see Misery give the rhododendrons and side of the house the once over before she reversed out the drive.

  Misery’s acid tongue must have dissolved Prairie Dog’s interest, as there was no sign of her. My phone buzzed in my hand as I took it from my school bag.

  ‘You’re a hard to catch, Darce. I’ve phoned three times today.’

  ‘Sorry Mum. I keep the phone on silent so Mis—Granny won’t hear it.’

  I was torn between being angry with her for taking so long to call and relief at hearing her voice.

  ‘Wise move, Darce.’ Mum’s voice sounded bright, but brittle. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Good, I guess.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Home.’

  ‘Our home?’

  ‘The one and only. I needed the computer for homework.’

  ‘And Mum left you there, alone?’

  I wiped dust from the keyboard.

  ‘Batty talked her into it. She said that I needed to get out.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘No. She used the “don’t want Darcy falling behind” and the “good to have the house occupied to keep the burglars away” argument.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘Yeah, but don’t get too excited. Batty couldn’t stop Misery putting a time limit on my visit. I have to do this research, stop off at Batty’s and
be back at Misery’s in an hour and a half.’ I checked my watch. ‘Make that an hour and 24 minutes.’

  ‘Stop calling them that, Darcy.’ Silence separated us. ‘Did you say you had to drop into Grandma’s?’

  ‘Walk past, really,’ I said, remembering Batty’s request that I keep the box a secret. ‘She wanted me to make sure it looked okay.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Mum. ‘Are you two up to something?’

  ‘Mum! How could you think that of us?’

  Her voice changed. ‘Now? Oh. Okay.’ I could hear the rumble of another voice talking to Mum. ‘Darce, our lecture is restarting. I have to go.’

  ‘That’s okay, I have stuff to do.’

  ‘Darce, I miss you. And I’m sorry about, you know…’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’

  ‘I was thinking we might go on a holiday, just the two of us. After this.’

  ‘That’d be cool, Mum.’

  ‘We’ll talk about it when I get back. Love you, Darce.’

  ‘See you, Mum.’ I flipped the phone shut.

  I had heaps to do and not much time to do it in.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  While the printer chugged beside me, I stared at the cursor flashing on the computer screen. The new information I’d discovered made my brain bulge.

  The Japanese had wanted to use Rabaul as a naval and air base for when they invaded Australia. They started bombing Rabaul on 3 January, 1942, and kept the air raids up until they invaded on 23 January at 2.45a.m..

  Five thousand Japanese troops against the 1400 men of the 2/22nd Battalion, or Lark Force as they were called.

  Around dawn, Lark Force’s commanding officer gave the order, ‘Every man for himself’. Just reading the words, they seemed filled with panic, fear and desperation.

  After the order was given, the men scattered into the tropical jungle. They had no food, medical supplies or even blankets and they hadn’t been trained in how to survive in the tropical jungle. Some of the troops escaped with the help of the Tolai people, making it to New Guinea. But most of Lark Force surrendered or were captured.

  I picked up the sheet I’d just printed—a copy of the leaflet the Japanese dropped over Rabaul the morning of the invasion.

  To the Officers and Soldiers of this Island!

  SURRENDER AT ONCE! And we will guarantee your life, treating you as war prisoners. Those who RESIST US WILL BE KILLED ONE AND ALL. Consider seriously, you can find neither food nor way of escape in this island and you will only die of hunger unless you surrender. January 23rd, 1942Japanese Commander-in-Chief

  I stared out the window trying to imagine what Charlie and the other soldiers had felt when they saw the Japanese fleet in Simpson Harbour. Seven cruisers, two aircraft carriers, 13 warships, three merchant ships, a hospital ship, 14 destroyers, gunboats, minesweepers and submarines carrying 20,000 troops.

  How did they feel when they faced armed Japanese soldiers? What did they think when the leaflets dropped from the sky? Had Charlie surrendered or was he captured?

  Terrified didn’t seem strong enough to describe how he or any of them would have felt.

  I couldn’t work out why reading this new stuff had made me feel so numb. Before The Newt’s project, it was as if Charlie had never existed. He’d been a shadow hovering at the edges of my family. A faceless great-grandfather who shaped our lives but was never to be mentioned or discussed.

  Now he’d shifted into something, someone, more solid. And that was knotting my brain with more questions than the new information answered.

  I groaned and ran my fingers through my hair, snagging a strand in my watchband. The time!

  My fear of Misery’s moods was greater than my need to find out more about Charlie. I’d waited years to discover this much, a little more time wouldn’t hurt.

  After packing everything up, I locked the house and jogged towards Batty’s street. Thoughts and questions tumbled through my head in time with my pounding feet, shifting and reshaping my feelings and beliefs.

  Since Misery’s makeover of Batty’s unit, the place made my stomach lurch.

  Last year, Misery decided Batty was past gardening. She made Boof dig up the lavender hedge and the pink daisies in front of Batty’s bedroom window. She even made him remove the yellow roses that grew along the fence. Misery decided even pot plants were too much work for Batty and gave them to Misery’s church friends. All that was left was grass and a camellia.

  The lone camellia, dull bricks and brown doors and windows made the whole place look and feel gloomy.

  I wandered through Batty’s home, checking everything was okay. By the time I reached her bedroom, a heavy feeling pressed against my heart. Batty’s unit oozed sorrow and loneliness.

  To take my mind off that heavy feeling, I checked out the photos in silver frames on the chest of drawers in Batty’s bedroom. The largest, a black and white photo, was of Misery, Gramps, Aunty Alice, Uncle Artie and Batty outside the Star of the Sea church on Misery’s wedding day. Gramps was the only one smiling; only his smile looked more like he had wind.

  In front were two smaller black and white photos. One of Mum and Uncle Boof sitting under a Christmas tree, ‘1967’ written in white pencil across the top corner. The other was of Misery and Granny, in woollen coats and hats, on the Port Avenel breakwater.

  The only colour photo was of Mum and me. Mum, hair pulled tight in a ponytail, held me above her head. My hair fanned out wild and free. We both laughed, mouths open and eyes alive. Dad took the photo on the Port Avenel surf beach, two weeks before he died.

  So much for taking my mind off the heavy feeling. That photo made the feeling swell.

  I rubbed my chest with my knuckles and looked around the rest of Batty’s room. The chest of drawers, bedside table and a double bed were made of the same dark, polished wood and the only decorations—softness—apart from the photos, was the cream lamp and silver alarm clock on her bedside table.

  I opened the built-in wardrobe doors. Skirts, pants, dresses and coats hung in order, on wooden hangers. Underneath, Batty’s shoes were lined up in rows. Jumpers, nighties, and spencers were folded on the open shelves.

  To the left, where Batty said it would be, was the wooden box. I eased it off the shelf. It was heavier than I expected and felt cold and smooth. It smelt of beeswax and lavender. In the front was a brass lock. I tried the lid. The box was locked. Instead of feeling disappointed, I felt relieved. I’d had enough of snooping—at least I thought I had. Batty’s bedside table drawer was ajar

  My special stuff was in my bedside table. The silver teddy charm and the last birthday card I received from Dad. A photo of Dad on his bike, holding me on the handle bars. Maybe Batty kept stuff about Charlie in her drawer.

  I put the wooden box in my backpack before peeking in Batty’s drawer. Ironed hankies and a rose-scented sachet were stacked on a bible the size of my hand. When I picked up the bible, Mum’s graduation photo tumbled to the floor. So did two photos more cream and grey than black and white. I lay them on the blue bedspread.

  The first photo was of two laughing soldiers, arms around each other’s shoulders. A cigarette in the taller guy’s mouth. Written on the back, in looping script, was Charlie and Alby, 1941.

  In the second, a family stood under a massive gum tree. On the back in the same handwriting was Charlie, Alice, Margaret, Arthur and I. 1941.’

  I turned the photo back over and studied Charlie’s face. Eyes bright, he cradled a white bundle in his arm—Uncle Art. His other arm was around Batty’s waist.

  I could tell by the smile that the dark-haired girl standing in front of Charlie was Aunty Alice. That made the child perched on Batty’s hip with the grim face and piercing gaze Misery.

  And then there was Batty. Her long black hair was swept back from her face and held in place by jewelled hairpins. She wore a large opal brooch, wedding and engagement rings and make-up. When had this alive woman become so lifeless and defeated?

  A wattlebird screec
h outside the window, jolting me back to reality.

  I glanced at my watch. Twenty, no, 19 minutes to make Misery’s time limit.

  Without thinking, I slipped the bible back in Batty’s drawer and photos in my backpack. As I raced out the door, I dialled Misery’s number.

  ‘Margaret speaking.’

  ‘I’m on the way, Granny,’ I said.

  ‘Why haven’t you answered the phone?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I phoned Maxine’s four times.’

  My face flushed. ‘You told me not to answer it.’

  ‘That’s not the point. Where are you? The phone line’s not very clear.’

  I ignored Misery and locked Batty’s door. ‘Leaving right now.’

  ‘No dawdling. And mind you don’t—’

  ‘Yep.’ I pressed the end button. If only it was that easy to be rid of her all the time.

  As I walked up the drive, Misery burst out of the front door like a cuckoo on a clock. She folded her arms and scowled. ‘What have you been doing?’

  ‘Researching stuff for school, then I walked back here.’

  ‘And what exactly were you researching.’ Misery tapped her arm with her finger.

  The war, Rabaul, Montevideo Maru, Charlie. Instead, I went for something I knew she approved of.

  ‘Shakespeare, Granny.’

  She made a strange noise in her throat. ‘There’s washing on the line,’

  ‘I’ll just put my bag away,’ I said, slipping quickly past her.

  On my way to the back door, I hid Batty’s wooden box under her bed. When I walked into the kitchen, Batty looked up, eyes filled with expectation. ‘How did you go, dear?’

  ‘With what?’ asked Misery, popping up from behind the bench, more prairie dog than Mrs Menzies.

  ‘With her study of course,’ Batty shook her head. She seemed different, brighter, younger or something.

  ‘Fantastic, Grandma. Found enough information to fill the gap under your bed,’ I said, hoping she’d pick up my message.

  Her eyes clouded then cleared. She beamed. ‘Well done, Darcy.’

  That night, crushed under Misery’s blankets, I studied the photos I’d found at Batty’s.