‘Well, you find a place in here for it then. Go on. See, there’s no room, is there? Hey, what are you doing?’
‘You don’t need this.’
‘Fuck off. I don’t go through your stuff.’
‘You won’t find shit like this in it if you do.’
‘No, that’s mine.’
‘And this is our tent. I think it’s sort of a priority don’t you?’
‘Okay, but if I end up needing that I’m…’
All of us feeling the same, wondering what it would be like to fail, and who we might blame if we did. Not that any of us had imaginations wild enough to pick what was waiting for us up in the hills.
The bus arrived. I saw Jeremy, who’d been in charge of booking it, breathe out with relief. It was bigger than we needed, eighteen students divided into four expedition groups, and Mr Camden. The other three adults were taking a car, but not him. He couldn’t bear to be that far from the action. He bounded up the stairs, last on, and stood there beaming down on us. He pretended to be doing a head count but that wasn’t his job. I knew he was taking the chance to soak it all in: his latest recruits. He thought about giving one of his little speeches, his lips moving in preparation, but the bus shuddered into life just in time. We were off. It had started.
The journey took a little over three hours. At first we tried to make like it was any other bus ride, sitting with our mates, hanging our conversations over the backs of seats, arguing about music. But then, within half an hour of leaving and without anyone having to suggest it, we’d moved into our expedition groups and the talk had turned to distances and menus. Anxious conversations, with people carefully laying lines of blame, in case it all went wrong.
My group was definitely the worst. In theory the class had been split according to ability but there had been a lot of chopping and changing since then. I’m the sort who prefers to keep his opinions to himself, which is how I found myself dragged along by the social currents, washed up with the group of leftovers.
Officially we were the ‘middle slow group’ and we sat near the front on the driver’s side, all of us thinking the same thing: how the other three weren’t the first people we’d choose to spend six days of our lives with. Jonathon’s the easiest of the other three to describe so I’ll start with him. He had a special skill which was well known to everybody, the skill of pissing other people off. It doesn’t sound much, said like that, but Jonathon had it down to an art form. He was like one of those natural athletes you see who never seems to train but still excels at everything. Jonathon could get right in under your skin without appearing to try. The first time I saw him in action Mr Camden was his victim. It was at the beginning of the year, only two weeks into the course.
We were doing our orienteering practical, the first assessment. There was a course we had to negotiate through the pine plantation behind the school. I’d completed mine earlier in the week and I was at the end with Mr Camden, helping him to record finishing times. Jonathon was the first person into view, with only one checkpoint left and plenty of time in hand. He’s fit enough and too devious to be stupid. As soon as he saw us he stopped jogging and ambled over, like we were friends he’d bumped into during a weekend bush walk. He knew the stopwatch was still on.
‘Hi guys. There you go.’ He handed Mr Camden his clipboard, where all the checkpoint numbers got marked off.
‘You’ve still got one to get there, Jonathon,’ Mr Camden pointed out, just like he was meant to.
‘That’s all right. Think I’ll stop here.’ Jonathon gave a shrug and smiled.
‘What do you mean? There’s one marker left. You’re on course for a level six. Away you go.’
‘But what grade do I get if I stop now?’ Jonathon asked, all innocent. Mr Camden stared at him as if he couldn’t even begin to understand the question.
‘One more in under three minutes and you get the top grade. Hurry up. The watch is still on.’
‘Grade three isn’t it, if I fail to complete by one marker?’ Jonathon kept pushing.
‘You can see the marker from here for God’s sake. Do it or there’s no grade at all.’ Just like that. Mr Camden had snapped. With Jonathon you don’t even see it coming.
‘You can’t do that. I’d appeal. Here, I’m quite happy with a three. Three’s a pass, the way I see it.’ He tapped the clipboard and sauntered off and I watched the red rise in Mr Camden’s face. He never forgave Jonathon for that. He singled him out whenever he could and even tried to get him moved out of the class. Of course that just made Jonathon happier, because that’s the way he is. Not exactly the type I’d choose to help me slog my way across the country. I spent a lot of that bus trip watching him, wondering how long it would take him to find a way in through my soft defences.
Then there was Rebecca, who should never have been in a group like ours. A week before, she had been a major player in the élite group, who were planning to complete the whole journey in only four days. She was fit and she was popular. Her dad tutored some outdoor pursuits course at a local university. But even people like Rebecca can slip up. She was meant to be going out with a guy called Shannon Robertson, who wasn’t in our class but was best mates with the other people in her group. So when it got out that she’d been seen going off with some other guy at a party on the weekend the group became outraged on Shannon’s behalf. She was no longer welcome amongst them and was banished. We were her punishment. There’s probably more to it but that sort of gossip has a way of avoiding me. What I do know is that Christina Meade, whom I’d half-considered making a move on during the trip, was promoted, and Rebecca, who sort of scared me, moved in. On the trip over the hill I could see she was caught between two moods, half-wanting to take over and show us all the things we were doing wrong, half-trapped inside her sulk, determined to remain quiet and miserable.
Lisa is harder to describe. I knew least about her. I don’t think anyone in the class knew her much. She was new that year. She’d transferred over from some private girls’ school, and she didn’t seem to have made many friends. It was hard to know whether she was quiet because she was new, or whether she’d always been that way. Even after ten weeks together people would often pause before saying her name, like they were using it for the first time and frightened of getting it wrong.
And of course there was me. I wonder what the others would have said about Marko Turner, if you asked them. Quiet too, probably, and a little bit soft. They’ll think differently, when the Doctor is dead.
5
APRIL 18 I wasn’t able to write yesterday. It was too risky getting to the room.
I have seen the Doctor again. Last night I woke to find him standing beside me, his hand on my wrist, checking my pulse. It took all my control not to let out a scream, or reach out and take his neck in my hands. Somehow I managed to stop myself, force my eyes to flicker without recognition, and close again while I slowly counted out my breathing, trying to stop my pulse from racing. I heard him walk to the end of my bed and check my charts and all the time I felt the hatred swirling up inside of me, mixing wildly with my fear. Then I heard him walk away. I took a risk and opened my eyes again. He was still out in the corridor, talking to a nurse. About me I bet. About my medication.
Whatever it is he thinks I’m taking it must be strong. Four days without it has not been enough to clear my head. There are times when my eyesight goes fuzzy and I can only write this in small bursts, before the words lose shape.
There have been three different nurses bringing my pills round so far. Two of them don’t worry me at all. They’re always rushing and don’t seem to notice much. It’s easy enough to slip the pills under my tongue, I don’t even have to pretend to swallow. The third is called Margaret and Margaret is different. She is older, about my mother’s age, only unlike my mother there’s not much she misses. Last night, after she had handed over the little paper cup with the three pills rattling inside, she stopped and stared me down. I looked away, like I hadn’t noticed, but
still I could feel her eyes on me, not moving until I handed back the empty cup and I finished the glass of water she’d given me. It is as if she knows but she isn’t saying, doesn’t want to give anything away. Neither do I.
I took a chance coming here today. I knew another day without writing could break me. There was someone standing in the nurses’ station but they were busy reading from a folder and I hurried past, head down, hoping they wouldn’t notice. Then I ran, as best I could, so even if they followed I might lose them. I decided to wait here a while before I got this book out, just in case. Being careful is second nature now.
When the door opened, part of me was expecting it. I’d tried to lock it but that needed a key. I was sitting on the chair with my knees up under my chin, trying to look harmless and crazy. I am lucky it was only Andrew, one of the orderlies. They must have been too busy and sent him out to look. I don’t know how he knew to try in here. He’s one of the better ones around here, as far as I can tell. He’s always smiling, no matter who he’s dealing with—some up-himself doctor or a patient who’s losing it. Not that I trust him. I don’t trust anyone here, not until it’s done.
So when he smiled at me I didn’t smile back. I didn’t move.
‘You all right?’ he asked and I didn’t respond. I willed him to leave it there, to walk away. He had to think about it, and in the wait our silence grew larger.
‘Okay, just our little secret then,’ he whispered and I had to bite my tongue hard to stop the relief from spreading over my face. He shut the door behind him when he left and I moved the chair so I was sitting up against it. That was forty-five minutes ago and still no one has come so I figure it’s safe now to be writing this.
6
Riversdale isn’t a town. It’s a name on the map where the rugged east coast of the Wairarapa relaxes just long enough to become a beach, a beach where small holiday houses have collected about a single shop, a campsite and a golf course. There’re sixty kilometres of winding road before you reach Masterton, through land where drought calls every year and windless days are marked down on a calendar. Sheep country turning to pine, hilly enough to prompt nervous cycling talk as we watched out the bus windows.
We stayed a kilometre or so back from the beach in accommodation originally built for shearers. The small cabins formed a U-shape around an area of grass. Off to one side was a kitchen and two outside toilets. Basic stuff but ‘the most luxury you’ll being seeing this week so enjoy it’, Mr Camden delighted in telling us. Enjoying it meant stretching out in the sun and pretending this was the beginning of a holiday, and hoping someone else would volunteer to do dinner.
Ours was the last group to organise itself. This was the only night we had access to an oven and like everyone else we’d opted for simple food, two large frozen pizzas thawing messily somewhere amongst our gear.
‘So how’s our dinner going then?’ Jonathon finally asked as the other groups started to emerge from the kitchen with plates of steaming food.
‘It isn’t my job,’ Rebecca told him.
‘Didn’t say it was.’
Lisa was lying on the grass with her pack as a pillow, pretending to be asleep. I did the same, even though I was hungry. Ms Jenkins, our assigned adult, was with us. We were meant to be feeding her too. I’m sure she wanted to get up and do it herself but she had to sit back and observe. They were the rules. We’d talked about her on the bus but none of us had been in any of her classes. She taught Science, and Jonathon thought she might have been his little brother’s class teacher. She was quite young, only in her second year, and she’d seemed shy when she’d introduced herself to the class the previous week.
‘So you’re so hungry, you do it,’ Rebecca said.
‘Didn’t say I was hungry either,’ Jonathon told her.
‘Fine. Neither am I.’
‘Ah, I think Mr Camden wants to do the briefing at eight,’ Ms Jenkins reminded us. We ignored her, not because we were trying to be rude but because we were ignoring each other too, none of us wanting to give in, which would set the trend for the rest of the trip. Rebecca broke first.
‘You’re all useless!’ She stood up and made a big show of rummaging through the bags. She located the pizzas and stormed off into the kitchen. When she came back a minute later I saw her look around at us all, waiting for someone to say thanks. When nobody did she looked really pissed off. She took her logbook from her pack and scribbled into it angrily. Jonathon sat cross-legged and rolled a cigarette. Ms Jenkins sat awkwardly on the one picnic table in the middle of the grass. I went back to pretending to be asleep. I think by then Lisa really was asleep. We waited.
‘So how’s our pizza?’ Jonathon asked twenty minutes later.
‘How should I know?’ Rebecca replied.
‘Shouldn’t you check then?’
‘I put it in. You check.’
‘How long ago was that?’ I asked, realising too late the game Rebecca was playing. Just then a window opened above us and two charred disks, still smoking, were hurled out onto the grass, accompanied by laughter from within.
‘Shit,’ Jonathon said. ‘You’ve burnt them.’
‘Me? How was it me?’ Rebecca managed to sound both indignant and triumphant.
‘It was a reasonable thing to assume,’ Jonathon told her.
‘For someone too lazy to get off their fat arse maybe.’
‘You’d better cook us something else then.’
‘You cook it.’
‘Already told you, I’m not hungry. Anyway, I’ve lined up some of the pasta Andrew’s group had.’
‘Well what about one of these two sleeping beauties then?’ Rebecca said, pointing at Lisa and me in turn. ‘This is supposed to be a group, you know.’
‘She does have a point,’ Ms Jenkins offered. That shamed me into speaking, even though I didn’t want to get involved in any of Jonathon’s games.
‘There’s some extra bread for tonight, and cheese,’ I said. ‘I could make some toasted sandwiches.’
‘It talks,’ Jonathon mocked.
‘I’ll help then,’ Lisa added blearily. ‘Come on.’
But we’d run out of time. Mr Camden had decided he wanted to hold the briefing early and wouldn’t let us back into the kitchen. We were forced to sit in a corner of the communal lounge, sharing bread and cheese and accusing stares while better smells hung in the air. In a room of excited chatter we were the one pocket of disgruntled silence. Rebecca was the most irritated, but she did her best to hide it from the gloating élite group. I could see Jonathon getting happier by the minute, feeding off her misery.
Mr Camden made us go through our plans for the next day. The first group aimed to leave early and have the 100 kilometre cycle leg completed by two o’clock, giving them time to tramp over to Cone Hut before dark. The rest of us were leaving at a more decent hour, aiming only to make it to the shelter at the Waiohine road end.
Each group had its own cabin, an arrangement the rest of the class had decided upon. Once again we were victim to the rule of remainders. Although we put it off as long as possible, eventually we were forced to come together in the little room. There was barely space for the bunks, and only one window which was jammed shut. We got it open after much combined grunting, letting in a swarm of mosquitoes and setting off another round of accusations. That should have been enough trouble for one night but Jonathon was indefatigable. While the rest of us claimed our beds he decided it would be a good time to go through his gear. He took his pack, upended it and shook the contents onto the small space at his feet.
‘What are you doing?’ Rebecca snapped, straight off. Me and her had taken the two top bunks and from her vantage point she could see the sorry state of his gear.
‘Repacking.’
‘Look at your stuff. Is that how you’re going to do it?’
‘What’s it to you?’
‘Where’s your packliner?’
‘Don’t need one.’
‘Until it rains.’
‘It’s all in plastic.’ They could have made a documentary out of it, the way he was winding her up. His gear surrounded him in small clumps, tied up in supermarket bags, pretty much exactly as we’d been told not to do it.
‘You know they’re no good,’ Rebecca said. ‘Water’ll get in the top.’
‘Not your problem,’ Jonathon shrugged.
‘I’m not tramping with you if you’re this badly prepared.’
‘Whatever.’
Lisa and I remained silent on the sideline.
‘Oh for God’s sake, these’ll rip. Look!’ Exasperated, Rebecca leapt from her bunk, grabbed the nearest package and swung it wildly above her. As intended, the bag gave way, sending the contents flying. It would have been quite an effective demonstration, if she hadn’t by chance chosen his underwear bag. A pair of bright yellow boxers with a smiling face landed neatly on her head and it was impossible not to laugh. That was the scene Ms Jenkins walked in on.
‘Ah, Rebecca,’ she said. ‘You really shouldn’t use those bags. They’re not very waterproof.’ That set us off again.
‘I’m perfectly aware of that, thank you,’ Rebecca fumed and hauled herself back up onto her bunk.
‘Well I suppose if you’re sure. Ah, Jonathon, here’s the packliner you asked for.’ She passed him the orange bag and backed out of the room. ‘See you all in the morning.’
‘You’re something of a prick, aren’t you Jonathon?’ I muttered when she had left.
‘Do my best.’
Lisa suggested we check through our food again, as we’d decided earlier, but Rebecca, probably fearing another ambush, refused to co-operate. As I wriggled into my sleeping bag that night, I was certain we’d got off to the worst possible start. It was going to get much worse.
7
APRIL 19 Already it feels as if I’ve been acting too long. It’s like being trapped underwater, your body dying to let go of the stale air, your mind struggling against it. I’ve heard when you’re drowning there’s a point where you let the fight go, slip away without even realising. The body wins in the end. Last night it almost happened to me. I was in the toilets, with the door locked behind me, when I heard a strange sound fingering the walls of the cubicle. It took me a second to realise it was my own voice.
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