Belly Flop (2 page)

‘He's not like one of those posh guardian angels in the Bible,' she used to say. ‘Doug's invisible, he doesn't do violence and he's very busy, so if you need him you've got to ask.'

I'm asking now, Doug.

The Malleys are getting close again.

I can hear them yelling round the corner.

I've just ducked down the side of Conkey's Store, but I doubt if that'll throw them for long.

You're probably wondering, Doug, why I'm not asking anyone around here for help.

Why I'm not running into houses and yelling ‘neighbourhood watch' or something.

Things have changed since I last gave you a hoi, Doug.

Everyone in town hates me now.

They hate Dad and Mum and Gran too.

I'll explain why when I've finished climbing up into Mr Conkey's old storage shed.

 

 

 

 

Sorry that took a while, Doug.

It's really hard climbing wood when it's rotting.

I'm hoping die Malleys won't think of looking all the way up here in the rafters.

With a bit of luck.

Or rather with a bit of help from you, Doug.

Luck's something we haven't had much of around here lately.

Remember how last time you were round this way it hadn't rained for nearly four years? Well, we haven't had a sprinkle for eight years now, except for a few drops last January which everyone reckoned was from a leaky dunny on a Qantas jet.

It's a really crook drought, everyone says so.

Sheena Bullock's dog can unscrew aftershave bottles with its teeth, that's how crook a drought it is.

Everyone's suffering, but Dad's copping it the worst.

Remember how he used to be one of the most popular blokes in town, partly because of his sweet nature and partly because drought-struck farmers knew that if they came to see Dad he'd make sure the bank lent them some money to keep them going?

Well now everyone hates him.

Someone spat on him in the street yesterday. It was terrible. They'd been eating beetroot.

I've tried to explain to people that Dad's just doing his job.

That it's what a Bank Liaison Officer has to do, write reports on families who are going broke because the drought's killed their sheep and dried up their paddocks.

That's it's not his fault the bank gets twitchy when broke families can't pay back the money they've borrowed.

That it's not his fault the bank takes their farms instead.

I've told people a million times how much Dad hates writing those reports.

How he wishes he could be a swimming pool attendant like Grandad used to be.

How he'd give his right arm to . . .

Hang on, what's that noise?

For a sec I thought it was the Malleys climbing up to get me.

Relax, Doug, it was just the wooden beams expanding in the heat.

I'm lying stretched out on a rafter now so even if Troy and Brent do come into the shed they definitely won't be able to see me up here under the roof.

Where was I?

Oh, yes.

I'm always reminding people that Dad's the same kind bloke he was before the drought. Reminding them how he nursed the Bullocks' dog back to health after we found it in our backyard with bubbles coming out of its mouth.

But every time the bank chucks a family off their land, everyone blames Dad.

I tell them he's as upset about it as they are.

He is, he's got flaky skin on his upper thighs from the stress. (I don't tell them that.)

I tell them it's the bank bosses in the city that chuck people off their land, not Dad.

But they don't listen.

They just turn away and pretend I'm a bus stop.

Which is pretty hurtful, cause our town hasn't got any bus stops.

People are starting to hate Mum too, and all she does is work in the bank and cash drought-relief cheques and make cups of tea for people who are depressed and upset at the state of their sheep.

The bank offered to promote her to manager, but she said no cause she knew she'd cop it even worse.

Even Gran gets picked on when she goes shopping.

Well, she reckons she does.

She reckons someone muttered to her in Conkey's yesterday how they were going to slit her throat and reach in and pull her intestines out, but she was standing next to a noisy soft drink cabinet and her hearing's not the best.

Anyway, Gran's pretty tough.

It's Dad I'm most worried about, Doug.

If kids chuck my bag on the roof I can climb up and get it, but Dad can't if his clients do that to him. He's too overweight to be a good climber, plus he's meant to be resting his thighs.

The other kids do chuck my bag around a fair bit.

I reckon they hate me almost as much as their parents hate Dad.

I've tried not to think about it too much.

Until this arvo.

I nipped down to Conkey's for some corn chips.

Troy and Brent Malley were waiting for me.

When I saw the expressions on their faces and the tractor starter handles in their hands, I knew my worst nightmare had come true.

If only Dad had warned me the bank was gunna chuck the Malleys off their land.

I could have taken precautions.

Like staying indoors.

And I wouldn't have had to disturb you, Doug.

Sorry if I'm messing up your work schedule and causing you job-related stress, but I'm . . .

Listen.

It's that noise again.

That's not beams expanding, that's . . .

Oh, no.

Doug.

The Malleys are up here.

They must have climbed up the back of the shed.

They've just stepped out from behind an old crate and they're coming towards me along the rafter.

Grinning.

Their grins are even scarier than their scowls.

Doug, help, I'm on a thin strip of wood miles from the ground being stalked by killer twins.

There's only one thing I can do.

Jump onto the next rafter.

Doug, if you're there, could you give me a sign?

So I know you're looking after me and I won't fall and get mashed.

Just something small.

A thumbs up made of dust floating in the air.

A spider winking at me.

Anything.

Too late.

The Malleys are lunging at me.

I'm jumping.

I've made it.

I'm on the other rafter.

No I'm not.

The wood's splintering.

I'm falling.

Doug . . .

I'm not dead.

I can move both my arms.

And both my legs.

And most of my bottom.

Doug, you did it.

You broke my fall.

Jeez, I'd forgotten how good you are at this angel caper.

It must take years of training to make a person who's falling that distance land exactly on a pile of empty cardboard boxes and not on the concrete floor or the rusty old sheep feed machine.

Thanks, Doug.

Troy and Brent can't believe it.

They're staring down with their jaws hanging loose.

Even from this far away I can see that their races have gone pale and their legs are quivering.

They look like stunned sheep.

I'm shaking too.

On the inside as well.

My heart and liver and guts are quivering more than the stuff in the butcher's window when a cattle truck goes past.

Not because of the fell, Doug.

Because I'm so happy and excited.

You've come back.

 

 

 

 

It's amazing, Doug.

Now I'm a client of yours again, I feel totally different.

I can even run faster.

I've just made it home in a couple of ticks and the Malleys weren't even in sight.

Thanks, Doug.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

This is the best birthday present I've ever had.

Did I mention today's my birthday?

That's why I'm catching my breath on the front verandah.

I don't want to burst into the house panting and looking like I've just been chased three times round town by a pair of psychopaths.

Mum and Dad have got enough stress as it is.

And they're about to have some more.

My birthday party starts in twenty minutes and there's something about it I haven't told them yet.

Something very important.

I haven't been game to tell them in case they chucked a fit.

But now you're back, Doug, it'll be fine.

What I've got to tell them is that my birthday party's not just a birthday party.

It's the event that's gunna make everything in our lives OK again.

When I got inside, Gran was having a go at Dad as usual.

Three more families heaved off their land by that bank of yours,' she was saying. ‘Don't take it personally, but I reckon you're lower than the flap of skin on a sheep's rear end.'

Dad was ignoring her as usual and pretending to look for something in his briefcase.

‘Mum,' said Mum wearily to Gran, ‘do us all a favour and change the subject, eh?'

Gran got herself a beer.

Mum plonked a bowl of taco dip down with the other party food and then saw me.

‘Mitch,' she said, ‘we were wondering where you were. Did you get the extra corn chips?'

I tried desperately to think of an answer that wasn't a lie.

‘Couldn't,' I said. ‘Sorry.'

Mum ran a worried eye over the food table.

‘Oh well,' she said, ‘we should have enough.'

I took a deep breath.

I don't know if you were ever a kid, Doug, but if you were you'll know how hard it can be telling your parents stuff that might hinder their breathing.

‘Mum,' I said, I've invited some extra kids to the party.'

Mum frowned.

‘I thought we agreed,' she said. ‘Five or six and no horses in the house.'

‘Too many and it'll put a strain on the furniture,' said Dad, ‘and the dunny.'

I took another deep breath.

I've invited a few more than five or six,' I said.

‘How many?' said Gran through a mouthful of peanuts.

‘Seventy-three,' I said.

Mum dropped a plate of chocolate crackles.

Dad went so stressed he looked like a city person.

Gran had a coughing fit and sprayed peanuts across the room.

‘I did it for all of us,' I said, banging Gran on the back. ‘So we can show them our human side.'

Mum and Dad stared at me.

‘That's why I asked you to rehearse your card tricks, Gran,' I went on, ‘and you to learn some good jokes, Mum, and you to practise juggling ping-pong balls with your mouth, Dad. When all the kids see how much fun we are at parties, they'll tell their parents and everyone'll stop hating us so much.'

Dad jumped out of his chair so fast you'd never guess he's a bit overweight.

‘Mitch,' he said, grabbing me and knocking the tomato sauce bottle over, ‘stop that talk. The people in this town don't hate us. They just get crook with me because of my job. They certainly don't hate you. You're a good kid and it's just your bad luck to have me as a dad.'

I couldn't speak, partly because what he'd just said had made my throat go funny and partly because he was gripping my shoulders so hard.

If I hadn't already known him I'd have been amazed to discover he was a Bank Liaison Officer and not a professional arm wrestler.

There was another pause while Gran wiped tomato sauce off the jelly and Mum gave Dad a worried squeeze.

Then I told Dad he was wrong about the bad luck and that he was the only dad I'd ever want, even if we lived in a huge city where there were millions of other dads.

I put my arms round him as far as I could and gave him a hug.

He is wrong, but.

Not just about me, about all of us.

We're the most hated family in the district.

Dad knows it.

That's why a tear ran down his face and sploshed into Gran's beer.

And that's why I've invited every kid in town to my party.

 

 

 

 

We're all sitting here watching the chocolate crackles melt and waiting for the kids to arrive.

They should be here any minute.

Mum and Dad have just had a private conversation in the kitchen and they don't seem so worried now about the extra kids.

When Mum and Dad came back in I had a thought.

‘Let's drag my bed in,' I said, ‘for the kids at the back to stand on so they can see the card tricks and the ping-pong balls.'

Mum and Dad looked at each other.

I think they could see the sense in it.

‘And we'd better put some more mashed baked beans in the taco dip,' I said.

‘Good idea,' said Mum. ‘We'll do it after they get here.'

Dad nodded and spilled his tea.

I think we're all pretty excited.

Except Gran.

She seems to be frowning a lot, though that could because her cigarette ash has dropped down inside her bra.

They shouldn't be much longer now, Doug.

You probably think I'm a bit mental, having a party when everyone hates me.

I'm not.

I've thought about this for weeks and I reckon it's a good plan.

You work with kids, Doug, so be honest.

What kid can resist a party?

None in this town, it's a known fact.

Plus I've made it really easy for them.

I hand-delivered the invitations to their school lockers so they wouldn't have to make conversation with me.

I chose three o'clock as the starting time so they wouldn't have to gobble their lunch.

And I made it fancy dress so they could come in disguise if they were embarrassed to be seen here.

They'll arrive soon, you wait and see.

Oops.

Gran's choking on a Cheezel.