Bill Rules (5 page)

Back at the Grubs' house that night, the two weary adventurers did not mention their plans for joining the Scouts. Matty's mum and dad and Bill's mum wanted to hear all the details about the screaming koala and the storm. The two families were comfortably lounging in saggy armchairs around the fireplace in the Grubs' tiny sitting room. A fire crackled in the grate. Everyone had hot drinks. Mat and Bill drank creamy rich hot chocolate. A trolley laden with home-made muffins and biscuits was within arm's reach.

Matty had the family sitting on the edge of their
seats when she described the sound of the screams and the way Bill, rock in hand, placed himself in front of her, ready to save her life. Tears formed in Donald's eyes. He placed his hand on Bill's shoulder, ‘You're a man, Bill – and a good one. Thank you.'

Bill felt Tom deserved a mention. He said, ‘Tom walked up to explain what the noise was all about, though.'

‘You weren't to know there was no danger,' said Tom. ‘What counts is that you were prepared to put your life on the line for our Matty.'

‘Hear, hear,' said Nan.

‘A toast to Bill,' said Tessa, holding up her cup of tea.

Everyone in the room held their cups in the air and cheered. Bill saw the pride in his mum's eyes. He wanted to smile, but he thought that might look show-offy, so he looked down at the ground.

‘Okay, next part of the story,' urged Donald.

Bill started recounting the story of the storm up until the bit where the hootchie was blown off. Then Mat took over the storytelling. This was fair because at that point in the tale, Bill had been so freezing that
he wasn't thinking clearly; he had just wanted to be left alone. In fact, the night was still a weird mix of memories, like a dream. The way Mat described Bill's strange behaviour – crouching there under the tree with the rain pouring down – reminded Bill that he really had been in danger. As Mat recounted the story, Bill realised that she might tell everyone how she had stripped herself and him down to their singlets and jocks, and then hugged him close all night. That would be embarrassing. But Mat must have realised. All she said was, ‘And I got him to take off most of his wet things and get under the foil blanket with me.' Bill looked at Mat gratefully.

‘Oh, Matty,' said Pam, her voice almost breaking. ‘You probably saved my boy's life.'

Pam rose from her chair and wrapped her arms round Matty.

‘Three cheers for Matty!' cried Tom.

Everyone raised their tea cups again and cheered.

‘Two heroes,' said Nan, smiling a crinkly smile.

‘Well three, actually,' said Bill.

The grown-ups looked puzzled.

‘Three?' asked Pam.

‘We couldn't get the Djelwuck to work. It was too hard. We didn't have a fire,' said Mat.

‘But during the night of the storm, I woke up and saw an old Koori lady using the firesticks. She was humming while she made us a fire,' explained Bill.

‘Spooky,' said Pam.

‘Makes sense,' said Nan. ‘Fire, warmth, light. They came from our female ancestors.'

‘And one more amazing thing,' added Bill. ‘Go on, Mat. Tell them about the carving.'

‘Oh, yeah. We found a Tiddalick carving on the rock shelf.'

Nan's eyes filled with tears. ‘My people,' she said. Tessa leant across and held Nan's hand.

‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,'
murmured Tom dreamily.

‘Who's Horatio?' asked Pam.

‘Hamlet's friend. You know – in that play by Shakespeare,' explained Tom smiling. ‘Hamlet is talking to Horatio.'

‘And Hamlet was spot on. There are many mysteries in this world,' said Tessa, gazing at the glowing
logs in the grate.

‘Like who on earth got that fire going in our rock shelter,' added Mat, ‘I never saw them, but someone definitely lit a fire.'

‘I don't know how Kooris used to have the time and energy to make fires every single day,' said Bill. ‘But it must have been extra tough for that old lady all by herself on a freezing, wet night,' said Bill.

‘You're right, Billy boy. Someone was working hard to look after you two kids,' said Nan. ‘In the old times, fire-making wasn't something even Kooris wanted to do every day. They often chose boys and girls to carry hot embers from camp to camp.'

‘That makes me feel less of a loser!' laughed Bill. ‘You might have let me bring a bucket of live coals on our camp, Matty!'

In response, Mat chucked a muffin at Bill. It ricocheted off Bill's chair and back into her lap. Everyone laughed...

That night, in the cosy, amber glow of the Grubs' sitting room, the discussion of who the firemaker might
have been flowed back and forth – and over the two children as they sank into sleep curled up in their armchairs. Bill would still be wondering, years later, when he was an old man. It was a mystery.

During recess at school the next day, Mat and Bill entertained their friends with their adventures. Some of those present had never ever been camping. And out of the kids who had slept under canvas, not one had been allowed to camp alone with just a big brother a whole two kilometres away.

‘We want to go camping more,' said Bill.

‘So we're going to join the Scouts,' added Mat.

‘But you can't,' said Shane Storey, one of Bill's cricket mates.

‘Of course we can,' said Mat, annoyed.

‘I mean,' explained Shane, ‘there's no scout group around here anymore.'

‘How do you know?' asked Bill.

‘My big brother's a scout. The local scout group has moved across to join with the Mt. Ewart scouts.'

Both Bill and Mat knew Mt. Ewart was more than an hour's drive away. Too far to expect their parents to drive to on a regular basis. Mat saw the disappointment in Bill's face. Bill saw Mat's jaw tighten. It was just a muscle twitch. But Bill could read Mat's face; he knew what emotions she was feeling. At this particular moment, Bill knew Mat was preparing for a battle. No scout group? That was just a challenge for Mat. Bill wondered what scheme she was going to come up with. Whatever it was, Bill realised that he would be part of her plan – like it or not. In fact, he didn't have to wait long. He found out that afternoon as they walked home from school...

Bill did not like Mat's plan. In fact, it totally appalled him. He had never, ever point-blank refused to co-operate with her ideas. If he was going to be honest, there had been times when he'd been reluctant to do as Mat suggested. ‘Passive resistance,' was what
Mat called it. If that meant buying time by bringing up potential problems, avoiding outright agreement, or going slowly, then he had to agree he was a passive resister.

Bill had tried to dig his heels in to avoid the snake-eating challenge and to get out of participating in Mat's home opera and dance performances. He wasn't the sort to sing loud and tragic love songs or dance in a ballet, even if it was only in front of their own families. In fact, he needed to be downright stubborn about that. With respect to Mat's entertainments, he reached a compromise with her. He agreed to announce the acts and to be curtain puller. Bill's mum told him that he performed those jobs like a professional. He did take his responsibilities seriously; he made sure he stood in a dignified way and he tried to be as helpful as possible. He believed in Mat's talent.

But this current plan of Mat's was madness, and Bill told her so. If he went along with her ideas, he'd never live it down. It wouldn't just be everyone at school who would hear of it, but the whole valley. As
it happened, Bill's instincts were right. But he underestimated the publicity he was about to attract.

‘All I'm asking is that you come with me. You won't have to say a thing,' said Mat. ‘I'll do all the talking.'

‘No,' said Bill.

‘I won't even mention you. I'll just get an idea of what's possible.'

‘No,' said Bill.

‘If I was you and you were me, I'd go along with you.'

‘You're not me,' said Bill.

For the first time ever in their friendship, Bill deliberately avoided Mat. He went into hiding. He started setting off early for school. If he had to leave his own Grade Six classroom during lesson times, he gave a wide berth to Mrs Facey's Grade Five classroom where Mat spent her lessons. At recess and lunchtimes, he hung around the boys and played even more sport than usual. And at home, he stayed at his house and devoted himself to his homework. (The new study habits were so extreme and out of character, they almost made Pam take Bill to the doctor.) Bill was so scared that, even on the rare occasion that he saw
Matty, her disappointed look did nothing to soften his determination to rebel against her plan.

‘Probably those teenage hormones coming on a bit early,' said Mrs Mabel Flint over a cup of tea with Pam O'Connell. ‘Sometimes makes boys start to get very awkward and stand-offish with girls.'

‘That would be very sad,' said Pam. ‘Up to now, the Grubs and us have been like extended family.'

‘Mind you,' said Mabel, lowering her voice as she did when she had a bit of gossip to reveal, ‘that Herbert Riley could be stirring up some trouble.'

‘Why would he want to do that? And how?' asked Pam, astonished.

Herbert Riley, living as he did between the Grubs' house and Mabel Flint's house, had often been the chief subject of Mrs Flint's gossip. Until late the year before, Mabel and Herbert hadn't spoken for twenty-two years. One of Herbert's worst crimes had been to accuse Mabel of deliberately letting her liquid ambar drop leaves into his yard. He also had been rather unfriendly to Mabel's cat. Something to do with a garden hose. Pam had always suspected that there might be another side to the story, but since the
two old people had made up, she had not delved any further. But obviously, Mabel Flint still had her suspicions about Herbert Riley.

‘Well, your Bill was walking home from school the other day (I was at my letter box, checking my mail), and as he passed by Herbert's place (he was raking leaves, does he ever do anything else?), Herbert calls out, “Where's your young mate, that Matty?”

‘And Bill says, “We're just having a bit of a break from each other.” Then Herbert says, “Women troubles again, eh?” and Bill steps up to Herbert's fence and says, “Sort of.” And then...' Mabel paused both for breath and to add drama to her story, ‘Herbert says, “Maybe it just needs some flowers and chocolates to patch things up” (as if that Herbert Riley would have ever done that for a lady), and your Bill says, “I'm not sure I want to patch things up,” and Herbert says, “Well I'd be sad to see you two carry on like that for twenty-two years. How about getting it off your chest?” and Bill says, “You wouldn't understand,” and Herbert says, “Try me.”' Mabel Flint paused to take a sip of tea.

‘And?' asked Pam.

‘And your Bill leaned close to Herbert's ear and
whispered something. I tried to listen, but I couldn't hear a thing. And then Herbert looks all astonished and says to Bill, “You stick to your guns, lad!”'

Bill did stick to his guns. Nothing Pam said persuaded him to make contact with Mat. He made all sorts of excuses for not accepting invitations to the Grubs' place. Pam would go over there for dinner and cards, but Bill stayed behind. He felt lonely, but he also felt safe. That is, until one Saturday when his mum and the Grub adults were away at a craft market. He was kicking a soccer ball on the front lawn when he heard a scream.

‘He-e-lp!' It was Mat's voice and it sounded urgent. This was followed by lots of barking from Uncle Len, the Grub family's dog.

Bill climbed through the fence into the Grubs' place. ‘Where are you, Matty?' he called. There was no answer, so Bill ran down the side to the back garden. There was Mat crumpled up at the bottom of the verandah steps. She was groaning. Uncle Len was licking her face. At first, Bill thought she must have had a bad fall. When he reached her, he saw that she was covered in a red rash.

‘What happened?' asked Bill.

‘Ants,' gasped Mat. ‘Jumping ones.'

‘It wouldn't be that,' said Bill.

‘Get help,' she wheezed. ‘No one's home.'

Bill ran to Mr Riley's side of the fence and bellowed for attention, but Mr Riley was nowhere to be seen. Bill knew that whatever was happening to Mat was a medical emergency. He ran back to her, checked that she was still conscious, told her he was getting an ambulance, and bounded up the back steps into the Grubs' house. He went straight to the telephone to ring 000. An operator answered quickly. She asked for an explanation of Mat's problem.

‘My friend says it's ant bites. She reckons they jumped on her. But maybe she's wrong.'

‘Ah. No adults around?'

‘No. Please help us.'

‘Keep your friend calm. Make sure she is lying down and tell me your address, dear.'

Bill gave the address and phone number of the house as well as Donald's mobile and his mum's mobile. He could have cried with frustration when the operator wanted to know what the nearest intersection to their
own road was. He couldn't remember the name of the road. ‘She's ten years old. She can't breathe. I'm eleven. I'm alone with her.'

‘An ambulance is on its way,' said the operator so calmly that it made Bill want to yell. ‘Is your phone cordless?'

Thank goodness the phone was cordless because the operator told Bill to take it back to where Matty was writhing and gasping on the grass. Uncle Len was whimpering and lying close beside her. The lady told Bill what he would have to do if Matty stopped breathing. She also told Bill to keep talking to Mat, to stop her from panicking too much.

With the phone wedged against one ear, Bill tried to do what the emergency lady said.

‘Am I dying?' gasped Mat.

‘No way. An ambulance is coming.'

‘When?'

‘I think I hear the siren.' Bill could hear no such thing, but he wanted to give Mat hope. Suddenly, he so regretted the stupid stand-off, the wasted days. He'd never ever forgive himself if Mat died. He put her head in his lap. Mat was groaning. Her face, chest, arms and
legs were covered in raised welts that made her look as though she had been whipped. Mat feverishly tossed her head from side to side, over and over again.

‘Where does it hurt?' asked Bill.

‘Everywhere. Even inside my throat,' she whispered.

‘Try to keep your breathing even.'

Bill could see Mat was trying – and failing. Mat arched her neck back. ‘Tell them to hurry,' she panted.

‘God, Mat,' cried Bill, ‘I need you!'

Mat didn't answer.

‘She's getting worse!' Bill screamed into the phone.

‘They're almost through the forest. You should hear them soon. Tell her that.'

‘Mat, the lady says they're near. Please, Mat.'

Bill was blinking back tears. If Mat saw them, she'd know she was in great danger. Why not let his best ever friend know how much he cared? No, save his breath for the mouth to mouth that just might pull Mat through. And just as Bill was thinking this, he heard the siren.

‘Hear that, Mat? You're safe!'

Mat just groaned again. Three long minutes later, two ambulance officers, a man and a woman, were
kneeling next to Mat. Bill explained again about the jumping ant. The woman gave Mat an injection of something in her backside. Bill thanked the operator and hung up. The ambulance officers lifted Mat onto a stretcher and carried her up to the ambulance in the driveway. Bill marched alongside. When Mat was inside the back of the ambulance, they fitted an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. ‘Want to stay with your friend?' they asked. Bill climbed in and sat on a side bench holding Mat's hand. The woman got into the driver's seat. The man joined Bill and Mat in the back.

‘She's okay, mate. Those ants are called Jumping Jacks. You only get them down here in Victoria. A few people are mighty allergic to them, like your little friend here. You did a good job looking after her. Nasty thing this anaphylactic shock,' the officer said.

Bill still kept watching Mat closely. They were out of the hills and into the suburbs before Mat started to obviously recover. Her breathing was easier. The lobster look was fading. The red splotches had turned pinkish. But still, Mat's normal olive skin colour was a grey-white. The ambulance officer who was sitting
with them started chatting through the connecting window to the driver. Mat moved her oxygen mask enough to talk to Bill. She spoke in an exhausted whisper.

‘If I had died, would you have felt bad about keeping away from me like you have been?' she whispered.

‘Of course I would've.'

‘I've missed you,' said Mat, looking up at Bill from her stretcher.

‘Me too,' said Bill. He squeezed her hand.

‘You were scared of my plan,' said Mat.

‘Any bloke would be.'

‘I thought it was a brilliant idea.'

‘Mat, you're always brilliant, but I'm a boy. Males don't go to Guides. My mates would think I was nuts. And I really don't think I'd have much fun being the only boy in a massive bunch of girls.' Bill searched for the right words, ‘Well maybe once would be okay, but I don't know why you are so obsessed with this whole crazy thing.'

‘It's about what's fair, Bill,' said Mat, tears welling up in her big brown eyes. ‘It's about wanting something and fighting for it. It's more important than just
you and me. It's ... it's about not excluding anybody from anything. I hate it when people are kept out of something. But I didn't know you would end up hating me.'

Bill suddenly saw how Mat came from a family who held their arms wide open to strangers. The Grubs' house was a home away from home for lots of people. It was the sort of place where you felt you could go to the fridge for a drink or snack without always having to ask. It just wasn't natural to Mat to accept rules that weren't friendly.