Time's Long Ruin (48 page)

What? I thought.

‘You wait and see.'

Silly old bitch.

‘Thank you.'

I walked across the yard, towards a transportable building backing onto Cedar Street. Two boys, one of them, Ashley, a friend from grade two (before he found someone else), sat on a fallen log that had become a seat because the groundsman couldn't be bothered moving it.

‘Hi, Henry,' Ashley said.

‘Hi.'

‘Haven't seen you.'

‘I've had time off.'

‘Wanna play chess at lunch?'

‘Sure.'

The second boy looked at Ashley and said, ‘I'm not playing chess.' He stood up and walked towards the main building.

‘It's fun,' Ashley called to him.

‘Suit yourself.'

But Ashley wasn't the independent type. He stood up and chased after his new friend. ‘See you 'round, Henry.'

‘At lunch?' I asked, but he didn't reply.

I wasn't the independent type. I was a funny sort of fella. I'd chop off an arm for a friend, but I hardly ever got that far. I had criteria, and people sensed this. I was a junior version of doesn't-suffer-fools-gladly, and since this wasn't the Australian way (and since everyone assumed they were just a little bit foolish) they didn't bother with me. But if they'd only taken the time . . . so I was left with my books, and my too-adult view of the world, and soon I would become a sort of sage in corduroy pants (running a bookshop that lost money from the day it opened).

My class was already lined up outside room seventeen. I joined the back of the line and a girl turned around and looked at me. ‘I've got lice,' she said. ‘And you're sitting next to me.'

The sun always rises.

We were taken in and sat down but Mr Meus didn't seem to notice me. When it was time for everyone to change readers and write in their diaries, I went up to him and said, ‘My name's Henry Page.'

‘Ah, Henry, I didn't even notice you. You'll be next to Judy.'

‘I know,' I replied, looking back at her, as she smiled and waved. ‘She says she's got lice.'

‘Yes, I've sent a note home.'

So? I thought. Without elaborating he showed me where to put my bag, store my books and leave my lunch order. ‘Sport uniform on Thursday and Friday,' he said. ‘Can you remember that?'

‘I can't run.'

‘Why?'

‘My foot.'

‘What's wrong with it?'

‘Didn't they tell you?'

‘What?'

‘It doesn't matter. I'll get Mum to write a note.'

He started the day by telling us about Jesus and how we were all his children. Somehow this led to grammar, and then long division. Then he said, Pens down, and everyone looked up.

‘Today we've got a new student,' he said. ‘Henry . . .' He checked his roll. ‘Henry Page.'

Everyone looked at me. ‘He's not new,' a boy at the front of the room said.

Mr Meus stared him down. ‘Allan, hand up to talk. He's new to our class. Now, let's make him welcome.'

The class attempted to applaud. I looked at the front and there beside Allan was an empty seat that I supposed was Janice's. She turned and looked at me too, applauding, saying,
Oh, aren't you special, Henry?

Yes, I am
, I replied.

‘Henry,' Mr Meus continued, ‘would you like to come forward and tell us a little bit about yourself?'

‘Like what?' I asked.

‘Sports, hobbies.'

I slowly walked to the front, and everybody watched my every move. ‘My name's Henry, and I live in Thomas Street,' I said.

‘Good, and what do you like doing?'

‘Reading. I used to sort books for Doctor Gunn.'

‘Doctor Gunn?'

‘The chiropractor, in Elizabeth Street.'

Allan sat up and leaned forward. ‘Dad reckons he killed himself,' he said.

‘Did not,' I shot back.

‘Did.'

‘Allan,' Mr Meus barked. ‘Hand up.'

Allan put his hand up but didn't wait to be asked. ‘He hung himself with an ironing cord.'

‘He had a stroke.'

‘Didn't.'

‘My dad knows, he's a detective.'

‘So?'

Mr Meus went and stood in front of Allan. ‘Corner.'

Allan screwed up his face, stood up, walked to the back of the room and sat on a stool facing the corner. ‘An ironing cord,' he grumbled.

Mr Meus returned and sat on his desk. ‘Go on, Henry.'

‘Doctor Gunn was making a library for his customers, and I was helping him. He gave me books to read.'

‘And what sort of books do you like?'

‘Anything . . . adventure mainly.'

Janice was staring at me, grinning.
Go on
, she said,
tell
them about your little stories, in your diary.

What diary?

Her eyes lit up.
Ah
, she half-sang, tapping the side of her nose.
What about the story of the boy in the box . . .

All of your stories sounded like
Little Women.

Least I had mine read on the ABC.

I paused.
You think I should?
I asked.

Go on.

‘I've written some stories,' I told the class, ‘and I'm gonna try get them read on
The Argonauts
.'

‘Just cos Janice did,' Judy interrupted, scratching her head.

‘Hand,' Mr Meus said.

‘Janice was his girlfriend,' she continued.

‘Was not,' I said.

‘Was.'

Janice got up from her chair and walked back to the girl.
Take that back
, she said.

But Judy wasn't finished. ‘Janice was the one got kidnapped,' she explained, ‘and now she's dead.'

Mr Meus walked back to the girl, took her by the ear and led her out of the room. Then he re-entered, slamming the door.

‘You can't do that,' Allan said, looking around to him.

‘Quiet.'

There was silence.

‘She was just sayin' the truth,' Allan continued. ‘It was in the papers, everyone knows.'

Janice was gone. I looked for her but all I could see were thirty empty faces staring at me. So I returned to my seat and sat down.

‘We saw her dad on the news,' another girl said.

‘Quiet.'

I bowed my head. Mr Meus waited until everyone was quiet. All I could hear were the broken cries of crows and the hum of a dozen fluorescent lights. ‘Well,' Mr Meus said, ‘maybe it's best to talk about it . . . When I drew up my seating plan this is where I had Janice.' He pointed to the empty seat beside Allan's. ‘But you all know what happened.' He pinched the tip of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. ‘It's been a few weeks now and they might still come home . . . but the thing is, some people will be missing Janice and Anna, and it's up to the rest of us to be understanding.'

Allan bowed his head.

At recess time I sat in the milk-shed, watching a game of soccer on the bitumen (we didn't have an oval, just yellow boundary lines painted on the ground, as though we might not notice). Judy came in and stood staring at me. ‘Mister Meus went crook at me,' she said.

I didn't reply.

‘Said I had to say sorry.'

I looked up. ‘She might be alive,' I whispered.

‘Hope so. She was okay. Just what it said in the paper . . . sorry.'

I unwrapped the greaseproof paper from my fairy cakes. ‘That's okay.'

And then she sat next to me on the bench. ‘Don't worry,' she said. ‘I haven't got lice.'

I was confused.

‘It scares the shit out of people,' she explained.

‘Good,' I sighed. ‘I've had them before. The shampoo didn't work so Mum was gonna shave my head. But Dad wouldn't let her. He just kept washing it.'

She touched her head to mine and said, ‘Trust me?'

I looked at her and she grinned. ‘I know every capital in the world,' she said.

‘Rubbish.'

‘Ask me.'

‘Chile?'

‘Santiago.'

North Korea?'

‘Pyongyang.'

‘Arabia?'

‘Yemen.'

And that's where we sat, working our way around the globe, waiting for the bell that ended little-lunch.

I arrived home just after four. Judy had taken me on a detour past her cousin's house on Harriet Street and her nan and pop's bungalow on Government Road.

‘This is where I cracked my head open,' she'd explained, showing me a blood stain on a Stobie pole, claiming she'd tumbled from the window of her dad's car when she was five. Then we went to her house and her mum met us on the porch and said, ‘Get your blue frock on, we gotta get your father.'

‘From the pub,' Judy had explained, where he stayed most nights until six o'clock.

As I walked up my own driveway I met Bill in the front garden. ‘It's all on,' he grinned at me.

‘What is?' I asked.

He used his fag to indicate the boxes of books in our hallway. ‘You oughta seen your mother when the truck came. They're not for here, she screamed, take them back. And the bloke says, Nowhere to take 'em, lady.'

‘They're Doctor Gunn's,' I said. ‘His mum said I could have them.'

Bill smiled. ‘Lucky you. Now you've just gotta convince – '

He was interrupted by Mum's screams from deep inside the house. ‘I never will . . . never.'

‘The honeymoon's over,' Bill said.

And I knew what he meant. As I approached the door he asked, ‘How's school?'

‘Good,' I replied, wondering how much I should tell him. ‘They've still got Janice's spot, at the front . . . waiting.'

He smiled. ‘Who's she sitting next to?'

‘Allan, he's a dickhead.'

‘She'll soon have him sorted out.'

There were boxes stacked six high down both sides of the hallway. There were more in my room, wrapped in paper and tied in bunches with twine. One of the boxes had broken open and there were books scattered over the rug, under the phone table and into the lounge room. Mum appeared at the other end of the hallway with her hands on her hips. ‘Well?' she asked.

‘They're Doctor Gunn's.'

‘You can't have them here.'

‘His mum said – '

‘You can't have them here.' She walked towards me, turned and picked up a heavy box. ‘You can help me put them out front, I'll call the Salvation Army in the morning.'

She went through the front door with the first box. ‘Come on,' she said, looking back at me.

‘I'll keep them in my room.'

‘And where will you live?'

‘We can build some bookcases.'

‘Who can?'

Dad appeared from the kitchen. ‘I can.'

Mum almost laughed. ‘You? With what?'

Bill stubbed out his fag, jumped up onto the porch and took the first box from Mum. ‘I've got tools,' he grinned.

Mum kept looking at Dad. ‘And wood . . . skills . . . time . . . and the will?'

‘Yes,' Dad replied.

She took the box back from Bill. ‘Henry, help me.'

Dad approached her and held the box so she couldn't move. ‘Calm down, it'd be a shame – '

‘He didn't even ask.'

‘Listen, sometimes an opportunity arises, and you can't um and ah, eh, Bill?'

‘No, believe me, he who hesitates is lost.'

I stepped forward. ‘Mum . . .'

She dropped the box. ‘No,' she shouted, looking down at me. Then she blinked, waited a few seconds, and said, ‘How was your first day?'

‘Good,' I replied.

But then it was on again. ‘Bob,' she said, turning to Dad, ‘I've gotta keep this place in order.'

She picked up the box, walked down the steps and dropped it on the grass. Then, as we all stood watching, she went back for another. ‘Well?' she barked, picking up a carton-full of magazines, this time throwing them onto the lawn.

‘Ellen, listen to yourself,' Dad reasoned, stepping towards her.

She didn't respond. She just kept picking up boxes and throwing them through the door. Dad watched her with his defeated look. Then her leg gave way and she fell down the front steps, landing bum-first on the verandah. Dad went over to her, knelt and said, ‘You okay?'