Finding Darcy

by Sue Lawson

  ‘Asleep in her recliner.’

  A question roared in my head, so loud I was surprised Batty couldn’t hear it. ‘Grandma, the other day, you said I was like him. Who did you mean?’

  ‘Charlie, of course.’

  ‘Do I look like Charlie?’

  Batty chuckled. ‘Gracious no, Darcy. Don’t misunderstand me, Charlie was the most handsome man I’d ever seen, but with his broken nose, his chipped teeth and his scrubbing-brush hair, well…’

  ‘So I’m not, like, masculine. You know, an…’ The word stuck in my throat. ‘Amazon.’

  ‘Darcy! Where would you get such an idea?’ Batty’s voice was sharp. ‘You’re such a feminine girl. So graceful. And your hair is glorious. You get that from me. Mine was long and dark, too, when I was young.’

  I just about blurted out “I know”, but stopped myself in time. If Batty found out I took the photos from her unit, she wouldn’t want to talk to me at all.

  ‘He was tall and willowy like you, and you do have his cheeky eyes.’ She frowned. ‘But it’s more than physical. You have his sense of humour and wicked laugh. The face you pull when you think Margaret isn’t looking reminds me of Charlie, too. So does the way you frown when something is worrying you.’ She looked straight at me. ‘You’ve reminded me of him since you were tiny, Darcy.’

  Misery burst through my door, eyes filled with panic. ‘Mum! I thought you’d gone for a sleep, but your bed was empty…’ As she took in Batty sitting on my bed, and me cross-legged at her feet, Misery’s eyes narrowed. ‘What are you two up to?’

  ‘We’re talking about this book,’ I lied, holding up Parvana. ‘It’s about a girl in Afghanistan and how her…’ I stopped myself from saying father.

  ‘Fascinating, Margaret,’ said Batty. ‘I’d like to read it.’

  Misery looked less than convinced.

  ‘Margaret, why don’t the three of us go to the new café by the wharf?’

  It was as if Batty had emerged from hibernation.

  Misery frowned. ‘Out? To a café? Are you up to it, Mum?’

  ‘Of course I am, Margaret. I can sit and drink there as well as I can here.’

  Misery sucked in her lips. ‘I suppose. Darcy, you’ll need to smarten yourself up. Tracksuits are sporting apparel.’ She slipped her hand under Batty’s arm. ‘I’ll help you up.’

  Batty brushed her aside. ‘Margaret, I’m not an invalid, yet.’

  Misery’s mouth became round. ‘I’ll just freshen up.’ She bustled out of the room.

  ‘Give me a hand, Darcy,’ said Batty.

  I held her elbow and stayed beside her until she was less wobbly.

  ‘Thank you, my dear. Now, change quickly. I’m longing to try one of those lattes.’

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Batty made porridge topped with cinnamon, which led to half an hour of me acting.

  First I had to pretend I wasn’t stunned to see her at the stove instead of crumpled at the table like she would have been only weeks ago. Then I had to pretend I loved the porridge. Any other time, that wouldn’t be hard, but this morning, each spoonful sat in my stomach like a lump of concrete.

  I couldn’t help notice the disappointment on Batty’s face when I didn’t finish the porridge. How could I tell her that the prospect of facing everybody at school had shrunk my stomach and turned my bowels to ice?

  Misery tutted about waste.

  While I was brushing my teeth, thinking about Charlie, Mum not calling and school, all at once, Misery called out, ‘Darcy, you have a visitor.’

  The only thing stopping my stomach from flipping was the lumps of concrete porridge.

  I trudged down the hall, trying to do Mum’s ‘think positive’ thing. When I looked up, I froze.

  Misery stood on the veranda talking to Laura. She must have sensed I was there. ‘Hurry, Darcy. That’s no way to treat a visitor.’

  I looked from Misery to Loz.

  ‘I was whingeing to Mum that I missed walking to school with you, Darce, so she dropped me off on her way to work.’ Laura adjusted her backpack. ‘Hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Wonderful idea,’ said Misery. ‘Collect your bag, Darcy. Don’t dawdle or you’ll be late.’

  The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck prickled. Didn’t Misery hate Laura?

  In the kitchen, I grabbed my lunchbox and school bag. ‘See you, Grandma.’

  Batty looked up from the newspaper. ‘Good luck, Darcy.’

  I stopped, one foot in the kitchen, the other in the hall.

  Good luck? She probably meant have a good day. I kept going.

  ‘Are you leading me to my death or something?’ I asked, as Laura and I walked up Carmichael Street.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Batty wished me good luck.’

  Laura laughed. ‘Don’t be a drama queen.’

  ‘Answer my question.’

  ‘You didn’t ask a sensible one.’

  ‘Don’t mess with me. Laura. I’m so freaked out about facing everyone at school that I couldn’t eat the porridge poor Batty made me, I’ve weed a thousand times, no exaggeration, and then, just when I’ve nearly conned myself that everything will be okay, my best friend arrives to walk me to school.’

  ‘When did Batty become “poor Batty”?’

  ‘Well, she … Laura!’

  ‘Okay.’ Laura tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘I didn’t want you to walk into school alone, not with everything that had happened, so—’

  ‘Omigawd. You phoned Misery!’

  ‘Actually, she phoned me.’

  I slumped to sit on the brick fence we were passing. ‘Misery phoned you?’

  ‘Uh huh. Weird, eh?’ Laura slipped her school bag off her shoulder and picked a stem of lavender growing over the fence. ‘Mum agreed I should walk you to school and I was about to call, when the phone rang.’

  ‘No way!’

  ‘True. She said they were worried about you, and would I mind accompanying you to school. She suggested she drive us, but I figured walking would give us a chance to talk.’ Laura crushed a lavender flower and rubbed it between her fingers.

  Mum swears lavender oil is calming, so I sucked in the scent. ‘Misery was worried?’

  ‘So she said. Apparently you spent all weekend staring into space and chasing food around your plate.’

  ‘So much for keeping your own counsel.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s a Misery expression. More a mantra really.’

  ‘She’s a hard person to figure out,’ said Laura. She checked her watch. ‘We’d better move.’

  After brushing dirt from the back of my dress, we power-walked to school. As we crossed to the beach side of the road, my legs became weak.

  A stiff wind from the ocean blew over me. Maybe it would slough off my fear and carry it away.

  ‘Laura, why do you reckon Neanderthal calls me Amazon?’

  Laura stared at the ocean. ‘No reason. Lots of reasons. Mum says he thinks you’re hot.’

  ‘Gross!’ I shuddered. ‘Seriously, Loz. Do I look like, well, a man?’

  ‘What?’ Laura’s head jerked around.

  ‘It’s just, I can’t work out why else Mantis turned into Amazon, and Amazon became she-male.’

  ‘You didn’t react, so Neanderthal tried harder.’

  That fear, the doubt that lived in the back of my brain, niggled. ‘Yeah, but … Loz, I mean, do I look like a lesbian?’

  She screwed up her nose. ‘Darce, lesbians are no different to us. They’re just girls. Women.’’

  ‘I know, but what if I look like one?’ I picked up a stone and lobbed it down the hill. ‘I mean, I haven’t got a boyfriend—but I do like guys—and I don’t wear make-up or jewellery to school. If I do, Mum goes right off. School rules! Maybe if I start wearing mascara, and—’

  ‘Darcy, stop it!’ Laura look flustered. ‘So what you think looking like The Triplets will make you more feminine? Please! You said it yourself—they’re
skanks.’ She positioned herself in front of me. ‘Darce. You. Don’t. Look. Masculine. The Amazon, lesbian, dyke thing is a pathetic Neanderthal joke that got out of hand because he was stupid enough to smoke behind the portables. Period.’ She rested her hands on my shoulders. ‘Honestly, Darce.’

  I nodded. Some of the gunk slid off my body. ‘So I don’t look like a man?’

  Laura groaned. ‘NO! Now can we go? I’m not getting a late detention.’

  The school loomed ahead of us. The closer we came to it, the faster Laura spoke, her voice rolling on like radio static.

  Teeth gritted, I ploughed ahead, determined not to give in to the urge to sprint back to Misery’s. Four students hung around outside the brick fence. Neanderthal and his crew, waiting for me, I knew it. The concrete porridge clunked in my belly.

  One of the students waved.

  Laura waved back, not the bird, or a ‘bugger off’ kind of wave, a ‘Hi! Good to see you’ wave.

  It wasn’t Neanderthal and his gang. Ava, Lily, Bailey and Dylan were waiting at the school gates.

  ‘Take you long enough?’ asked Bailey. ‘I tell you, Abbott, if we get a detention for being late…’

  I shoved him aside. ‘Shut up, Bartlet.’

  Instead of marching with gritted teeth, I strolled to the locker room, smiling. Dylan described every detail of the lifesaving certificate he passed on the weekend. Lily watched, eyelids fluttering. Bailey threw in oneliner after oneliner. Ava danced along the pavers. Laura and I brought up the rear.

  Around us, people scattered for home rooms.

  My out-of-control world seemed to have righted itself. But when the bell sounded across the schoolyard, that

  Now to face Neanderthal and Sarah.

  Avenel Rises Mavins Rd Port Avenel 22nd June, 1942 My Darling Charlie, Happy Wedding Anniversary! Artie, Alice and Margaret are tucked in bed, asleep. I’m sitting by the fire looking at our wedding photos. Do you remember how cold it was that afternoon? The wind whipped up the hill and tried to rip the veil from my head. You and Alby were no help at all, standing there smoking and laughing. Remember, Dad said it was the happiest wedding he’d been to! Where are you, my darling? Since I read the newspaper articles about the Japanese invasion of Rabaul, I try to imagine you safely holed up in the jungle being cared for by those natives you spoke about in your letters. With each passing hour, I pray you are safe and in good health. But Charlie, my heart is filled with fear. I haven’t heard from you since your postcard in January. But enough of my morose words. Let me tell you about the children. Alice is loving school. She’s quite the model student. Margaret misses her terribly and scowls from the time Alice leaves until her return. Artie is as bubbly and happy as Margaret is stern. He is so sweet. He has your eyes, Charlie. All is well on the farm. Mr O’Sullivan has been a blessing. He insists I call him Michael, but it doesn’t seem right. He has everything in hand, which means I can spend a little more time with the children. Charlie, I miss you so. I will continue writing every week and pray my letters find you safe and well. I love you, Charlie. Your loving, Batty Betty xx

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  ‘Sure that thing isn’t like the cupboard in The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe,’ said Laura, watching me rummage in my locker.

  ‘Ha, ha, you’re hysterical.’ I shoved my bag inside and closed the door. ‘I’m not sure what will be worse. The Amazon stuff or the “your dad is dead” look.’

  ‘It’ll be fine, Darce,’ said Laura.

  As the bell rang, Laura grabbed my arm, dragging me outside. ‘We have English with Broady after home room. Bailey’s gone ahead to set up Neanderthal Formation.’

  ‘At least we don’t have SOSE. I couldn’t face sitting with Neanderthal.’

  ‘Take a deep breath and just do it,’ said Laura, stopping outside our home room.

  ‘Thanks for the TV commercial wisdom,’ I said, opening the door.

  Neanderthal sat in the back corner. Eddie was beside him, chewing gum. Jack Ng leant against the wall, hands in his pocket. Sarah and Harmony shared the chair in front of them.

  Neanderthal curled his lip and mouthed ‘Dobber.’

  Sarah scowled.

  The concrete porridge in my stomach threatened to make a rush for freedom.

  I scrunched up my courage and strode towards the table by the window, as though I was on top of the world instead of the world being on top of me.

  Most of my class nodded or smiled as I passed. Patrick Birrell said hello, and he never spoke to girls unless he had to. Ciara and Jake stared at their tables, faces pink.

  I dumped my books as Broady walked in.

  ‘Sitting on chairs, thank you. Toni remove those leather strips from your wrist immediately. I trust you have a note to explain why you’re wearing runners on a non-sport day, Cody.’

  ‘How can she see that stuff in two seconds?’ I whispered to Laura.

  ‘She’s a freak,’ said Laura.

  Broady arranged her books on the teacher’s table then stepped to the middle of the class, roll clutched to her chest. ‘A reminder before we start. Star of the Sea has zero tolerance for bullying. The staff will act swiftly should we notice any rot.’

  I chewed my thumbnail. Did she really think this would help?

  ‘Understand?’ She directed the Broady death stare at Neanderthal, The Triplets, Jack and Eddie. ‘Thank you.’ Eyes still on Neanderthal and co, Broady flipped open the roll. ‘Darcy Abbott…’

  ‘Morning Mrs B,’ I said, still chewing my thumb.

  ‘Bailey Bartlet…’

  Broady’s approach worked. Apart from a few sneers and mouthed ‘Amazon’ or ‘She-male’, Neanderthal and his crew stayed away.

  At lunch, Ciara Spiteri grabbed my hands and spluttered, ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

  I was about to tell her Dad was dead, not lost, when Laura kicked me in the ankle.

  ‘Thanks, Ciara. That’s very kind of you,’ said Laura.

  ‘What was that for?’ I hissed as Ciara strolled away, looking pleased with herself.

  ‘You were about to do the “I didn’t lose him, he died” thing.’

  I gasped. ‘Laura! Would I do that?’

  Dylan rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah, you so would.’

  We walked towards the quadrangle to eat our lunch under the gum trees.

  Now everything seemed normal at school, the need to find out more about Charlie had become almost a physical urge, like being thirsty. ‘I’ll catch you guys in a while. I just need to check something in the library.’

  ‘You got a secret man stashed in there?’ asked Dylan, before taking a bite of his sausage roll.

  ‘Yeah, a cyber man.’ I smiled as I strolled to the library.

  ‘More research for Mr Newtown, Darcy?’ asked Ms Farrow, looking up from the newspaper.

  ‘And I forgot to book again, Ms Farrow. Sorry.’

  ‘I think I can accommodate you.’ She smiled. ‘How’s the project going?’

  ‘Good. Better if I had a computer at M Granny M’s.’

  Ms Farrow peered over the top of her glasses and nodded to the row of computers along the wall. ‘The end one is free.’

  Year 8 geeks huddled over the computers, playing explosive games. I moved my chair a little to the right and logged on.

  This time I found the website with ease. It wasn’t as easy to click on the Lark Force Prisoners link. My hands shook and my breath came a little faster, as though I’d been jogging or something.

  Eyes shut, I clicked.

  The words overwhelmed me. I’d seen documentaries about prisoners of wars and the horrific conditions, but reading about it with Charlie in mind made it a thousand times worse.

  Five months of dirty water and rice. No toilets or showers. Unloading bombs, ammunition, weapons, fuel and supplies from Japanese ships, at gunpoint and while being bombed by their own side’s aircraft. Beatings and illness. Tattered clothes and no blankets, pillows or mattresses.

  In April, the Japanese
soldiers made the prisoners write letters home. They told the men exactly what to write. The Japanese dropped these letters over Port Moresby from planes. Most letters were lost in the jungle, but about 400 made it to Australia. By the time the letters did arrive, the prisoners were dead.

  The room shrank around me. Had Batty received a letter from Charlie?

  I chewed my bottom lip and opened the next page. The details on this page made my skin cold and prickly.

  The Montevideo Maru was a Japanese merchant ship that was used as a troop transport. It sailed from Rabaul on 22 June, 1942 for Hainan Island. On board were 1053 prisoners, 845 men from Lark Force and 208 civilians. All were suffering from malaria, tropical ulcers, and other disgusting diseases I’d never heard of—dysentery, dengue fever and beriberi.

  The prisoners were locked in the ship’s holds with no fresh air or sunlight and only buckets for toilets.

  I tried to imagine what it must have been like—those ill men, probably seasick as well, crammed below the ship’s decks. My stomach churned when I thought of the sounds, the smell, the terror.

  The Montevideo Maru didn’t have any markings to identify it as carrying prisoners of war.

  On 1 July, eight days after the Montevideo Maru left Rabaul, torpedoes fired from an American submarine, USS Sturgeon, hit and sank the ship off Luzon near the Philippines. The Sturgeon crew reported only three lifeboats were lowered. The Japanese crew escaped. The prisoners, locked in the ship’s hold, died.

  Those in the hold hit by the torpedoes died quickly. But those who weren’t…

  I swallowed, my heart and mind racing.

  It took eleven minutes for the Montevideo Maru to sink.

  A scene of panic and horror filled my head.

  Eleven minutes.

  I could walk home in 11 minutes, boil and eat and egg or listen to three songs on my iPod.

  Had Charlie been on the boat?

  And if he was, which hold had he been in?

  The tick of the clock above the computers seemed louder. I took a deep breath and held it, watching the second hand. Thirty seconds. I gasped for oxygen.

  I jumped at the hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Darcy, were you holding your breath?’ Laura sounded like she was at the end of a long tunnel.