Matty and Bill for Keeps (7 page)

‘What did she say?' asked Bill.

‘Luck is with the brave,' said Crispin, sighing deeply with relief.

‘I told you the family honour would be restored,' said Mat as she led the way into the house.

The rest of the week was the smoothest run of days that Bill, Mat and Crispin had experienced since term started. Mrs Facey started the auditions for the Hills Inter-Primary Extravaganza. Lots of kids auditioned and everyone seemed to get a part no matter how small, but it was the major roles that got the most attention. They went to Mat and Crispin.

All the children at Dewey Creek Primary – except for Isabelle Farquay-Jones and her remaining two friends – were happy for Mat and Crispin. The children already knew Mat was a natural on the stage with acting, singing and dancing. It seemed fair that she should get a lead role. As children often do, most of them now accepted Crispin's oddities – his choir-boy accent, fairytale name, ruined tower home and somewhat witchy-looking aunt – as just one of the quirky things about life.

Since the story had got out about Crispin's tricks to avoid both eating oysters as well as kissing Isabelle, he now had hero status – especially amongst the boys. Most of the students at Dewey Creek Primary saw that it was natural Crispin should become a stage celebrity.

As for Bill, far from being jealous of Crispin playing a lead role opposite Matty, he was immensely relieved. He'd ‘done his time' (as his elderly neighbour, Mr Herbert Riley, liked to put it) only a few weeks back when he'd starred in the role of Romeo in Mat's rap film version of Shakespeare's play.

The Extravaganza required immediate rehearsals for Crispin and Matty. Three after-school sessions a week were held in the assembly hall. On his walk home, Bill would wander past the open double doors and catch glimpses of children singing and dancing. Once, he saw Crispin, dressed in a T-shirt and black tights, leaping across the stage – like a deer jumping midair. Bill was deeply, joyously glad and grateful it was Crispin up there and not him. He took a long breath of fresh mountain air. He was a free man.

By the end of the week, a southerly had blown in and brought with it cool, wet weather. On the Friday night, Aunt Victoria rang the Grubs' house and asked if she could bring supper over as a thankyou to Matty and Bill for their support of Crispin during his Farquay-Jones ordeal. Under directions from Mat's dad, Donald, the children laid a fire in the Grubs' sitting room. They pulled the heavy curtains shut, put a white tablecloth over a circular table near the fire and arranged comfortable chairs in a semicircle. At Mat's request, her mum, Tessa, put candles around the room.

When Aunt Victoria entered the candlelit room with its glowing, crackling fire and inviting chairs she exclaimed with delight, ‘Aladdin's cave!' Bill had always thought the room was special. This was where Nan had taught the children to make a fire using firesticks. On many wintry Sunday nights, this was also where the Grub and O'Connell families would toast bread over the open fire and eat soft-boiled eggs. In the sitting room, the grown-ups left behind their daily busyness; they slowed down and would tell stories, the firelight flickering across everyone's faces.

On this particular Friday night, with the cold rain beating against the windows, the sitting room (with the help of Aunt Victoria's delicious home-cooked food) worked its magic again. The Grub, O'Connell and de Floriette families and Marguerite Bell (who seemed to pop in more and more to see Mat's brother, Tom) drank Donald's homemade ginger beer and munched their way through meat and vegetable pasties, banana muffins and oven-hot apple turnovers with homemade ice-cream.

Crispin proudly explained that he had been the cook's help for every delicacy. The ice-cream was his greatest achievement. Aunt Victoria despised electrical gadgets in her kitchen, so Crispin had made the ice-cream by hand. He explained how creamy custard was put into a billy, then the billy was placed in a bucket of ice; next, coarse salt crystals were poured over the ice. This melted the ice, but kept the water at a freezing temperature. Crispin had to stand there for three-quarters of an hour, twisting the billy back and forth until the ice-cream formed. He had very sore wrists, but everyone raved so much about the creaminess that you could tell he thought the effort was worth it.

When the eating slowed down, the talking increased. Only two members of the family were quiet – Uncle Len had fallen asleep with his hairy snout lying across Donald's feet and Donald, too, had fallen asleep, his chin resting on his chest. Tom and Marguerite were making plans to hold a local music festival; Tessa and Pam were sharing gardening tips; and Crispin was knitting a hat. He sat with his socked feet propped on the metal fire fender, casually knitting one and pearling one while he discussed with Bill and Mat the five items they'd choose to take with them to live on a desert island. Nan and Aunt Victoria were the loudest of the bunch. They had so much in common. Aunt Victoria had brought a large bag of dyed wools. She was explaining which plants she'd experimented with to get the colours. Nan was advising Aunt Victoria about the best plants for dyes as well as telling her about some of the other uses for those plants as foods and medicines. Aunt Victoria took out a notebook and pen to write it all down.

Bill paused in his conversation with Mat and Crispin to take it all in. No one in tonight's gathering was left out or lonely. Then he thought about his dad, Troy, who was missing from the group. But if he had been here, would he fit in? Would he say something foolish? Would he try to impress everyone with some harebrained scheme? His dad was safe up in Sydney, doing his computer course and living in the monastery. On the other hand, Bill thought about what Mrs Mabel Flint had said recently about men not managing for long without a woman in their lives. His mum really should hurry up and use the aeroplane ticket that he and Mat had given her after the film night.

When Bill picked up the phone the next morning, he recognised the squeaky, rasping voice immediately. It was Maggot – his dad's criminal connection. Hearing that voice had the same effect as seeing a cockroach. You felt sick, repulsed and you wanted to get rid of it – squash it. But Bill knew it was hard to squash a cockroach. You'd think you had squished it with your shoe or something hard, and then that nasty beast would scurry off again. Maggot was like that. He kept coming back and dirtying his surroundings and everyone else's. Bill had thought Maggot had been scared off, but here he was straight out ringing the O'Connell family.

‘How's it, mate?' asked Maggot.

Bill was irritated by everything about Maggot, including his way of speaking. What did ‘How's it?' really mean? Bill was sure it did not mean, ‘I really want to know how you are.' Maggot couldn't care less about Bill, his mum or his dad. The last time Troy had come out of jail, Maggot had been very happy getting him involved in another illegal activity. Mind you, Troy was the weak one who had rung Maggot first, but you'd think a true friend would say, ‘You've been given a second chance at life. Don't wreck it.' No, Maggot's shifty, dishonest way of living was never going to change. And that word ‘mate'? Bill was not Maggot's mate. Not ever.

‘Alright,' answered Bill. He was cross with himself for bothering to answer. Why couldn't he have thought of something cold to say, something that would warn Maggot away?

‘Troy about?' asked Maggot.

‘No,' said Bill. This was dangerous. He must not give away his father's whereabouts.

‘Just out for the moment?' asked Maggot.

‘Can't say,' said Bill.

‘Sounds like he's not around at all,' said Maggot more forcefully.

‘Can't say,' said Bill again. He wished he could be quick thinking, but all he could do was stall the questions.

‘You're not being very friendly to an old chum of your dad's, are you?' said Maggot.

Silence.

‘I know you're still listening, mate. I want you to pass on to your dad my kind regards. Tell him I'm feeling a bit hurt. He owes me one for letting me down with our last project. Things went a bit wrong from my end, too. But I have another project for us both. All above board.'

Silence.

‘If you don't tell him, mate, I'll track him down myself. I had his mobile number on one of my phones, but it's not working at the moment. Sooner or later, I'll get to my address book. You can be sure of that. Have a good one.'

Maggot hung up. Bill wished that much earlier in the conversation he'd been the one to hang up. The hanging up bit gave Maggot a kind of power. He'd had the last say. Once again, Maggot's way of saying goodbye, ‘Have a good one', made Bill cringe; they were meaningless words – or at least, they did not mean that you truly wished good things for the person you were speaking to.

Bill felt dirtied by the whole business. And he was scared. How possible was it to track down someone who was interstate? Could Maggot get to his dad? Would his dad still be so weak as to easily fall in with Maggot's plans? How would his mum cope, knowing that crook wanted to contact Troy again? No, his mum must not be worried by this. Bill knew he would have to deal with Maggot on his own. Or sort of on his own. Matty needed to be in on this, too.

Bill ran straight across to Mat's place. She was in her bedroom, a book open in front of her on her desk, and she was making strange gestures with her fingers. ‘What on earth are you doing?' asked Bill.

‘Learning sign language,' explained Mat. She held up fingers from both hands. ‘See, this means, “Do you need help?”'

‘Well, that's why I'm here,' he said. ‘I need help.'

‘For real?'

‘Yes. In one word – Maggot,' said Bill.

‘You're kidding,' said Mat. ‘He's making trouble again?'

Bill nodded.

‘Serious stuff,' said Mat. She looked out at the rain falling steadily. ‘Too cold and wet for the Think Tank. We'll have to meet in the attic.'

‘Can't we just talk here?' asked Bill.

‘We need to be absolutely private,' said Mat. ‘Even the most innocent person who wandered in here and heard us might endanger our plans.'

‘Can we go up there now, then?' asked Bill.

‘First we have to make contact with our Associate Member.'

Bill knew Matty meant Crispin. But he really did not want Crispin to be part of this. He wondered why he felt this way. It wasn't that he didn't like Crispin or was jealous. No, he and Crispin were good friends now. Gradually Bill realised why he felt like he did: despite knowing Troy was making a clean break by doing his computer course, he was still worried his father could weaken and give in to one of Maggot's harebrained schemes. It would be embarrassing to talk about that in front of Crispin.

When Crispin spoke about his father it was obvious he was proud of him – he was a scientist who had lots of colourful ideas, but somehow he didn't come to ruin. Unlike Crispin's father, usually everything to do with Bill's dad ended up in a mess. Only a few weeks back, Troy was stupid enough to think he could make some easy money by receiving and hiding stolen goods. Bill and Matty had foiled the whole plot and they were the ones who had forced Troy to go up to Sydney to make a new start. Crispin knew a bit of the story, but Bill didn't want him knowing all the details.

With his eye firmly on the future, Bill had enjoyed talking hopefully about his dad's computer studies. Maggot's reappearance was dragging up all the misery and worry again. Bill realised that this wasn't very fair on his father who almost certainly didn't know about Maggot's plans. But this didn't change the fact that Bill would have to talk in front of Crispin about his father's weaknesses: that Troy could be influenced by bad company and that he was attracted to so-called easy ways of making money.

While these thoughts were going through Bill's head, Mat was looking closely at him. ‘Three sets of brains are better for a tough case like this one,' she said. ‘Every family has its secrets, Bill.'

Bill realised Mat understood his reluctance. He nodded. ‘I'll give Crispin a call.'

An hour later, the three club members were sitting in the attic. This time, Matty had brought along some of her mum's choc-chip biscuits and a bottle of her dad's ginger beer because she knew Bill needed cheering up.

‘I call this meeting to attention,' said Mat, taking a large bite of biscuit. ‘We have evidence of criminal activity being planned that will affect some or all of us.'

‘Are you just making this up, Matty?' asked Crispin. ‘Because it's a wet Saturday and there's nothing much to do?'

‘She's for real,' said Bill miserably, ‘although I wish she wasn't.'

‘Do tell!' said Crispin.

‘A so-called friend of my father's is trying to make contact with him,' said Bill sadly. ‘His name is Maggot and he's a criminal. He's got some scheme he's cooking up and he's determined to get my dad involved.' Bill outlined the details of the telephone conversation.

‘Sounds like a thoroughly nasty type,' commented Crispin. ‘Reminds me of my second cousin once removed, Rupert de Floriette.'

‘Tell us,' said Mat.

‘Well, Rupe was always in trouble. He was expelled from kindergarten at the age of four. When he was five, he was caught stealing the Christmas presents for the orphans and poor children from under the church Christmas tree, and when he was seven he persuaded my father (who was also seven) to borrow my grandfather's Daimler motor car and take it for a drive in the nearby village.'

‘You're kidding me,' said Bill.

‘It was quite late at night. They took turns driving the big, old car, barely able to look over the steering wheel. They might have got away with it, but when it was my father's turn, he nearly ran over the local policeman who was taking a last stroll around the village, checking on things, before he went home.'

‘Disaster,' said Mat.

‘Yes,' said Crispin. ‘Of course, everyone from the village knew Lord Greenthorpe's car. The policeman ran to his own car and took pursuit. My father tried to speed away, but lost control and drove the Daimler into a ditch. The car was a write-off, as they say; there was no chance of escape, and Rupert and my father had some nasty bumps and cuts.'

‘And then?' asked Bill.

‘The long and the short of it is that my grandfather gave the policeman free reign to punish both boys in any way he thought proper.'

‘What did he decide to do to them?'

‘He locked them in the village jail for two days.'

‘Your father has done time, too?' asked Bill.

‘And a tough sort. Porridge for breakfast and bread and water for dinner. I overheard Daddy telling my mother it was terrifying. You see, the jail is five hundred years old and has a ghost that was a prisoner who died in there. A few times my father heard it rattling its chain.'

The children shivered with fear. In the dimness of the attic, the lumpy suitcases and battered boxes seemed to take on human shape. Once again, the torchlight did strange things to Mat, Bill and Crispin's faces. The lower halves of their faces looked brighter and bigger; their eyes were shadowy and hollow.

‘Spooky,' whispered Bill.

‘You'd never forget an experience like that,' said Mat. ‘I wonder if your father got PTSD.'

‘What's that?' asked Crispin.

‘Post traumatic stress disorder,' Mat explained. ‘Soldiers get it and people who have been tortured or traumatised in some way.'

‘Maybe he did get PTSD,' said Crispin. ‘It would explain why my father didn't get his driver's licence until he was thirty years old. And he drives very slowly and carefully now. It also might be the reason why Mother is not at all warm and welcoming when cousin Rupert comes to visit.'

‘So this Rupert is a bad influence on your father in the same way Maggot is with my dad,' said Bill, almost speaking to himself.

‘Precisely,' said Crispin. ‘When cousin Rupert comes to stay, Daddy becomes rather silly. My family experience might just come in handy to assist you in your current predicament.'

Waves of relief swept across Bill. It seemed all families have their problem relatives.