Blabber Mouth (8 page)

Why couldn't he have stayed considerate and quiet and normal for the whole evening?

The disaster started when Ms Dunning said she couldn't eat any more.

She'd only had about a third of her roast lamb.

Dad looked sadly at all that food going to waste and I knew we were in trouble.

At first I thought he was going to call for a doggy bag, which would have been embarrassing enough in the Copper Saddle, but he didn't.

He did something much worse.

He told Ms Dunning how he'd read in a magazine somewhere that if you stand on your head when you feel full, you open up other areas of your stomach and you can carry on eating.

Then he did it.

Stood on his head.

The waiter walked out of the kitchen and saw him there next to the table and nearly dropped a roast duck.

All the people at the other tables stared.

I wanted to hide under the tablecloth.

I waited desperately for Ms Dunning to swing into action. If Darryn Peck stood on his head in class, she'd be giving him a good talking to before you could say ‘dingle'.

But she didn't give Dad even a medium talking to.

She just watched him and laughed and said that she'd read in a magazine somewhere that if you stand on your head when you're full up you choke and die.

Dad sat back down and they both laughed some more.

I can't believe it.

OK, I know that inside she's deeply embarrassed, and that after tonight she'll never want to be seen dead in the same room as Dad again.

But why doesn't she say something?

Too nice, I suppose.

That's how she can sit through all those extra reading lessons with Megan O'Donnell without strangling her.

It's tragic.

Here's Dad, pouring her some more wine and chatting away happily about why he gave up drinking, and he doesn't have a clue that he's just totally and completely stuffed up his best romantic opportunity of the decade.

Because he's his own worst enemy.

And he doesn't have a clue.

And he won't till someone tells him.

Ms Dunning won't.

So it'll have to be me.

Me and Darryn Peck's brother.

While I was creeping out of the house this morning Dad gave a shout and I thought I'd been sprung.

‘Jenny,' he called out, and I froze.

I took several deep breaths to try and slow my heart down and in my head I frantically rehearsed my cover story about going for an early morning run to train for the big race with Darryn Peck.

Then I checked my nails for white spots.

Then I remembered my name isn't Jenny.

Jenny was Mum's name.

I crept along the verandah and peeked through Dad's bedroom window.

He was still asleep, tangled up in the sheet, his Elvis pyjamas scrunched up under his arms. Dad's a pretty tense sleeper and I've heard him shout in his sleep a few times. Usually it's Mum's name, though once it was ‘The hat's in the fridge'.

I stood there for a few secs watching him. There was something about the way he had his arms up against his chest that made him look very lonely, and seeing him like that made me feel even more that I'm doing the right thing.

I ran into town.

Along the road the insects were waking up, and judging by the racket they were making they thought I was doing the right thing too.

‘Go for it,' a couple of million screeched, and another couple of million yelled, ‘He'll thank you for it later.'

One said ‘You'll be sorry', but I decided to ignore that.

I went to the bank and put my card in the machine and took out my life's savings.

Then I went across to the phone box and looked up Peck in the book. There were two, but I didn't think Peck's Hair Removal sounded right, so I went to the other one.

It was quite a big fibro place with a mailbox nailed to a rusty statue of a flamingo by the gate, and two motorbikes in the front yard.

I had to ring the bell four times before the front door half opened and a bloke with a sheet wrapped round his waist and a red beard peered out.

‘Are you the skywriter?' I asked him.

He stared at my note, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

‘You want Andy,' he said.

He looked at me for a bit, then turned and yelled into the house.

After he'd yelled ‘Andy' the third time, a bloke with red hair and a tracksuit appeared, also rubbing his eyes.

‘She wants Andy,' said the sheet bloke.

The tracksuit bloke stared at me.

‘Andy!' he yelled.

Another head appeared round the door.

It wasn't Andy.

It was the one I'd been dreading.

Darryn.

He stared at me in amazement, then his eyes narrowed.

‘What do you want?' he demanded.

‘Get lost, shortarse,' the sheet bloke said to him.

I was glad Darryn's family knew how to handle him.

‘Vanish, pest,' the tracksuit guy growled at him.

They didn't have to be so nasty about it though.

Darryn looked really hurt, and for a moment he reminded me of Dad at the sports carnival after Mr Cosgrove had called him badly dressed.

Then Darryn scowled at me and vanished.

The door opened wider and a thin bloke in a singlet and shorts stepped in front of the other two.

I guessed he was Andy because on the front of his singlet was written
Crop Dusters Don't Say It, They Spray It.

‘What is it?' he said, looking at me.

‘I think she's that girl from Darryn's class,' the tracksuit guy muttered to him. ‘The one he's always on about. You know, the one that can't speak cause she was shot in the throat by Malaysian pirates.'

The three of them stared at me.

Andy was looking doubtful, and I knew I had to grab his attention before Darryn came back and started telling him more stories about me.

I decided the note I'd written explaining every-thing might be a bit complicated to kick off with, so I showed Andy the money instead.

He looked down at the two hundred and ninety dollars in my hand.

‘Tell me more,' he said.

Where is he?

It's twenty-three minutes past four and he was meant to do it at four.

Come on Andy, please.

Perhaps he's lost the bit of paper and he's forgotten what he's supposed to write. No, that can't be it, because after he finished laughing, and agreed to do it, he wrote it on his wrist.

If he doesn't get here soon it'll be too late.

Dad'll have upset and embarrassed every parent and every teacher at this barbie and they'll form a vigilante group and we'll have to move to another town.

He's already upset the lady on the jam stall by asking if he could taste all the jams before he bought one. She laughed but I knew that inside she was ropable.

And he's embarrassed Megan O'Donnell's dad by buying twenty raffle tickets from him just because the third prize is a Carla Tamworth CD.

Mr O'Donnell shook Dad's hand and slapped him on the back, but I could tell that inside he knows we haven't got a CD player and he thinks Dad's a loony.

And at least six people have commented how Dad's purple and yellow shirt looks as though it's made from the same material as the big purple and yellow Parents and Teachers Association banner over the marquee. They pretended they were joking, but inside I bet they were nauseous.

At least the Cosgroves aren't here.

It means I won't see Amanda today, but I'm prepared to pay that price if it means Dad and Mr Cosgrove won't be stabbing each other with chicken kebabs.

Four twenty-four.

Come on, Andy.

Perhaps he's got mechanical trouble. No, that can't be it, everyone knows crop-dusters keep their planes in A-1 mechanical condition. Farmers won't hire you if you keep crashing into their sheds.

I've got a knot in my guts the size of Antarctica.

Relax, guts, it'll be fine.

That's the great thing about talking in your head. It takes your mind off stress and you don't get ulcers. If I wasn't having this conversation now I'd be a nervous wreek.

Oh no.

I can't believe what Dad's just done.

He's donated a song to the fund-raising auction.

He actually expects people to bid money for him to sing them a song.

This is so embarrassing.

I'd go and hide in the marquee if I didn't have to keep an eye out for Andy in case he's having trouble with his navigational equipment and I have to set fire to some chicken kebabs to guide him in.

Dad'll be so hurt when nobody bids.

I can picture his face now.

Good grief, someone's just bid.

Two dollars, that's an insult.

Haven't these people got any feelings?

And now four dollars from Doug Walsh's parents.

What are you trying to do, destroy my father's self-respect?

Dad's grinning, but inside he must be feeling awful.

Stack me, Ms Dunning's just bid ten dollars.

Why's everyone laughing? At least she's doing her best to make him feel better.

Oh.

The ten dollars is for him not to sing.

Mr Fowler has banged his auctioneer's hammer and declared her the successful bidder.

Everyone's laughing and clapping, including Dad, but inside he must be bleeding.

Four twenty-seven.

Andy, this is getting desperate.

I know skywriting is just a hobby for you, but it's a matter of life and death down here.

Now Ms Dunning's trying to persuade Dad to go in the sack race.

That woman is incredible.

Even though he's taken the sack off his feet and put it on his head and she must be burning up inside with embarrassment, she's still pretending she's enjoying herself so she doesn't hurt his feelings.

Definitely a saint.

Four twenty-eight.

Where is he?

If Andy Peck has flown to Western Australia with my two hundred and ninety dollars I'll track him down even if it takes me the rest of my life because it took me hundreds of hours helping Dad in the orchard to earn that money.

There's Amanda.

She must have just arrived.

Oh well, at least now I've got someone to moan to about the Peck family.

Oh no, if she's here, that means . . .

Mr Cosgrove.

There he is.

He's seen Dad.

Don't do it, Dad, don't take the sack off your head.

He's taken it off.

He's seen Mr Cosgrove.

They're staring at each other.

Oh no.

Wait a sec, what's that noise?

Is it . . ?

Yes.

It's a plane.

Andy Peck turned out to be a really good skywriter for an amateur.

Though as I'd paid him two hundred and ninety dollars I suppose that made him a professional.

Anyway, he did a great job and I'm really happy.

Fairly happy.

I think.

His letters were big and clear, huge swoops of white smoke against the blue sky.

As the plane started buzzing overhead, Mr Fowler stopped the charity auction. ‘We'll take a breather,' he said, ‘and enjoy the spectacle.'

Most people were already looking up.

‘What's he writing?' asked a woman near me.

‘The Parents and Teachers Committee asked him to write the school motto,' said a man.

‘I didn't think the school motto began with “Pull”,' said the woman.

‘Nor did I,' said the man, frowning as he looked up at the huge PULL hanging in the sky.

‘It doesn't,' Amanda said in my ear. ‘The school motto's “Forward Not Back”.'

‘He's not doing the school motto,' I said. ‘He's helping me save my dad's social life.'

Amanda stared at me.

I looked over at Dad.

He wasn't even looking up. He was walking towards Mr Cosgrove.

That's when I got mad.

I wanted to yell at him.

‘Listen, you cheese-brain,' I wanted to roar, ‘I'm trying to tell you something.'

But you can't yell with your hands across a crowded school oval.

I was nearly exploding.

It was an emergency.

I put my fingers in my mouth and gave three of my loudest whistles.

Dad stopped and looked around and saw me.

I glared at him and pointed up.

He looked up.

Andy had almost finished the YOUR.

Dad stared.

So did Mr Cosgrove.

So did Amanda.

So did everyone.

Nobody spoke until Andy had finished HEAD, then a buzz of voices started.

Amanda gripped my arm. ‘You didn't?' she gasped.

I was still glaring at Dad.

He was still peering up, puzzled.

Andy finished the IN.

‘“Pull Your Head In,” ' someone read. ‘That's not the school motto.'

‘It is now,' someone else said, ‘so pull your head in.

Everyone laughed.

I wanted to scream at them. Couldn't they see this was serious?

Andy finished the DAD.

Everyone went quiet again.

Dad was staring up, not moving a muscle.

Then he turned and looked at me.

I looked back at him as calmly as I could, even though my heart was thumping like a ten-million-watt compressor.

It was so loud I could only just hear the plane flying off into the distance.

Then everyone started talking in puzzled tones and Amanda grabbed my arm again.

‘How did you do that?' she said.

The people around us stared.

‘I wish I could get my Dad to pay attention like that,' said Amanda wistfully. ‘Gee, you're clever.'

I looked at her wide-eyed face and hoped she was right.

Because when I looked back over at Dad, he'd gone.

I knew that would probably happen. I knew he'd need a few moments to think about it. Before we talk.

The other parents were whispering and pointing at me and frowning, but I could tell that inside they knew it had to be done.