Finding Darcy Read online

  ‘How are Maddie and Dec? It’s ages since I saw them.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Boof. ‘Linda said they might be able to come and stay over the school holidays…’ He looked distracted.

  ‘Cool.’ I said, wishing I hadn’t asked about his kids. ‘I guess Shepparton’s so far away.’

  ‘As your grandmother likes to remind me.’ Boof cleared his throat. ‘So, you’ll ring if you need me?’

  ‘Thanks Boof. I will if Granny lets me use the phone.’

  He leaned against Mum’s car. ‘Max still resisting?’

  ‘No mobile phone until I have a part-time job and can pay the bill myself.’ I screwed up my nose. ‘I am so the only one in my year—in the whole universe—without a mobile.’

  ‘Be glad, Darce. Bloody thing drives me nuts.’

  I opened the car boot. ‘The stuff on the right is mine. The rest is Mum’s,’ I said. ‘And, ah, I know what you’re doing.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘It’s obvious you’re only out here to avoid the dishes,’ I said with a smile.

  ‘And you don’t avoid things?’

  ‘Never.’

  Boof reached for my case and backpack. ‘So what do you call not talking to your mum?’

  My face burned. ‘I’m not avoiding her. I just have nothing else to say about her going to Melbourne.’ I grabbed my pillow and shut the boot.

  ‘Darcy, this isn’t easy for her.’

  ‘She’s talked to you about it, hasn’t she?’

  ‘She was trying to make a decision without unsettling you,’ said Boof, holding open Misery’s screen door.

  ‘And living here won’t be unsettling?’ I led the way down the hall to Boof’s old bedroom. ‘I’ll be lucky to be alive, let alone sane, in three months.’

  Boof tossed my case on the bed. ‘I survived it.’

  I checked out his sad eyes and craggy face. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Darcy, I know it’s tough…’ He shifted from foot to foot. ‘Ease up on Max.’

  I chucked my pillow on the bed. ‘Think I’ll unpack.’

  Boof watched me unzip my case before leaving the room.

  Once he’d gone, I looked around. It was hard to imagine this had been Boof’s room. Like the rest of Misery’s house, it had white walls, carpet the colour of dying grass and floral curtains. Shiny green bedspreads covered the twin single beds. Between them stood a bedside table. At the foot of the bed to my right, was a chest of drawers with a doily and vase of fake yellow flowers on top.

  I wondered if Boof had covered his walls in motorbike or footy posters, the way mine were covered in posters of rock bands and footballers. Or if his footy boots ever crashed into the wardrobe doors when he kicked them off, like my runners did after basketball. Or if Boof used to shut his door and just hang out here. It sure didn’t feel like a cool place to hang out.

  ‘Darcy,’ said Mum, standing in the doorway. ‘I have to go.’

  A lump bulged in my throat. ‘So you’re really doing this?’

  Mum crossed her arms. ‘Did you think if you stopped talking to me I wouldn’t go?’

  I stared at the dying-grass carpet.

  ‘I have to, Darcy, for us.’ She kissed the top of my head and walked down the hall. The screen door slammed.

  ‘Hold on.’ I raced after her.

  Misery, Batty, Boof and Mum were gathered on the lawn beside Boof’s red dual cab.

  Boof hugged Mum. ‘She’ll be fine.’

  Mum nodded.

  ‘I’m going, too. Stuff to do,’ said Boof. ‘Darce, ring me if you need me.’

  ‘Why would she need you?’ said Misery, frowning.

  Boof winked and climbed into his ute.

  ‘Do you think “stuff” might involve a girl?’ asked Misery, watching him reverse out the drive.

  ‘Leave him be,’ said Mum, her voice light. She kissed Batty, then Misery’s cheek. ‘Thank you.’

  Misery waved a hand, dismissing her. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. This will do Darcy good.’

  ‘Hope it goes okay, Mum,’ I said, looking at my hands.

  Mum clutched my shoulders, forehead resting on mine. ‘I’m sorry, Darcy. I wish we didn’t have to do this.’

  ‘Me, too.’

  Tears wobbled in the corners of her eyes. ‘I’ll come right home if you need me, I promise.’

  ‘I know.’

  Misery moved between us and gave Mum a little push towards the car.

  ‘I love you, Darce.’ Mum sniffed and wiped her eyes.

  It wasn’t until Mum opened her car door that I found my voice. I stumbled forward. ‘I love you, too.’

  Mum wrapped her arms around me and cried.

  Misery grabbed the hood of my jacket and dragged me out of Mum’s grip. ‘Off you go, Maxine. You don’t want to be driving through the city at night.’

  As Mum drove down the street a dark and heavy feeling settled behind my heart.

  I trudged up the path to the front door.

  Misery helped Batty up the stairs. Misery stopped to scrape the moss growing between the bricks and concrete verandah with her toe. ‘Darcy, while you’re here, I expect you to do chores.’

  ‘Sure, Granny.’

  My throat was tight and my eyes stung.

  ‘I have a list.’

  I braced myself.

  ‘You’ll set the table, and do the dishes. Sweep the kitchen floor every evening. Peg out and bring in the washing.’ Each job was punctuated by a scrape of her foot on the concrete. ‘Fold the washing. Empty the kitchen bin. Take the wheelie bin out on collection nights. And clean the shower.’ She lifted her head. ‘There’s washing on the line that needs to come in now.’

  Is that all? I thought.

  ‘I’m on it, Granny.’ I forced myself to sound cheery.

  That night, lying under the crushing weight of what felt like thirty blankets, I stared at the shadows on the ceiling, wondering if Mum felt like a gaping hole had opened in her heart, too.

  Extract from letter … dated 12th August, 1940 from Trawool VX23813 DC FLETCHER 2/22 INF Batt. Camp Site 26 Trawool …The tents are next to useless in the constant rain. Everything—even our socks—is soaked through and most of the company have hacking coughs. But don’t worry, I’m as fit as a trout. The good news is we’ll be moving to a new camp up north soon. Let’s hope this place has hot water! Must go. We’re about to march up the hill behind camp wearing full packs and gas masks. We should be a sight. Did I tell you a couple of the boys have written 2/22 in rocks on the side of the hill? It looks terrific. Even the brass like it. Must go. Stay well, my darling. Not long now until our new baby arrives. Love and kisses to Margaret and Alice. As always, Your Charlie x

  Chapter Six

  Laura dumped her SOSE textbook, folder and pencil case on the desk. ‘What’s the latest disaster at Misery’s?’

  Laura and I usually caught up on the way to school, but with Misery living in the opposite direction, I had to walk to school on my own.

  Almost on my own. Nathan Neanderthal Thackery, who lived a street from Misery, followed half a block behind. He kicked stones in my direction and whistled tuneless songs. At least he didn’t call me ‘Amazon’ or ‘Mantis’. He was too pathetic to do that unless his gang surrounded him.

  I’m not sure what was more annoying, the names or the fact they’d gone on for so long. It had started when we were in Year 7 science. Mr Tatchell put us into groups to research and write reports on insects. I was stuck with Josie Veloski, Patrick Birrell and Neanderthal. Our topic, decided by Mr Tatchell, was the praying mantis. When Neanderthal discovered the female praying mantis bit off the male’s head after mating, he asked if that was why there were no men in my family. Pointing out I had two uncles, Boof and Uncle Art in America, didn’t stop him from going on and on about it.

  The next morning he sauntered into home room, huge smirk across his face. He dumped his books on the table in front of me and said, ‘Nice haircut, Mantis.’

  Laughter had boun
ced off the windows.

  From there, Mantis developed into Amazon.

  Neanderthal must have seen a TV show about the warrior tribe of women called Amazons. No way would he have read about them. The nicknames didn’t catch on, but that didn’t stop Neanderthal. Though, he only called me Mantis or Amazon when he had an audience.

  So instead of walking to school with Laura, Neanderthal and his stones kept me company.

  ‘Come on, spill. What disasters?’ Laura tucked her dress under her as she sat. She wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding her smile.

  ‘Oh ha, ha.’ I dumped my books on the table and a bang echoed around the room. ‘You have no idea how bad it is, Laura. Everything is timetabled. Breakfast at seven-thirty. No TV after nine o’clock. Three-minute showers, but only after dinner. Washing off the line by four-thirty. And the meals—last night we had silverside, cabbage and mustard sauce.’ I fake-gagged.

  The rumble of voices around us died down.

  ‘Timetables. Rules.’ Laura grimaced. ‘Sounds like school.’

  ‘What sounds like school, Ms Tanaka?’ asked Mr Newtown, our SOSE teacher, strolling into class, glasses perched on the tip of his nose. Everyone called Mr Newtown ‘The Newt’, not just because of his name, but because of his poppy eyes and sharp face.

  ‘Living with Darcy’s great-grandmother and grandmother. Very educational, sir.’

  ‘Is that so, Ms Abbott?’

  ‘Absolutely, Mr Newtown.’

  The Newt dusted the teacher’s desk with a hankie and spread out his books. ‘How fortunate for you, Ms Abbott. The projects we’re about to commence involve your grandparents.’

  ‘God hates me!’ I slumped forward, my head thudding against the desk.

  ‘Ms Abbott, this is SOSE, not drama.’ The Newt walked around to the front of his table. He rested against the edge, ankles crossed and arms folded. ‘So, my fine people, what do you know about World War II?’

  ‘The Australian Diggers walked down the Kokoda Trail and the Americans bombed the crap out of Japan,’ said Neanderthal, slouching in his seat.

  Patrick Birrell cleared his throat. ‘To be exact, Nathan, the US bomber Enola Gay dropped the world’s first atomic bomb on Hiroshima on 6 August, 1945, to send a message to the Japanese that they were defeated and that the war was over.’

  ‘Go Birrell,’ muttered Bailey behind us.

  ‘Excellent, Mr Birrell. But let’s start at the beginning, shall we?’ The Newt began pacing in front of the whiteboard. His voice had the same effect as listening to the ocean’s waves—both lull me to sleep. The occasional word—Germany, Europe, Hitler and Japan—registered in my brain. When he started describing our project, the gentle waves turned into dumpers.

  ‘We’ll be studying this in more detail, but first to the project which Ms Abbott reminded me of.’

  Neanderthal stuck out his bottom lip and slapped his forehead. ‘Good one, Amazon.’

  The Newt ignored him and burst into a spirited explanation of our project. The Port Avenel RSL, which had burnt down last July, was being rebuilt and would reopen at the end of the term. The Newt had arranged for us to complete living history projects, which involved collecting our family’s stories and memories of the war. The projects would be part of the opening ceremony and remain at the RSL as a permanent display commemorating the Port Avenel community during World War II. ‘Two of you will present your project at the opening.’

  The class filled with groans. My stomach clenched.

  ‘Any questions?’ asked The Newt, taking Jack Ng’s spit-pen from him and tossing it into the bin.

  I raised my hand. ‘Mr Newtown, it’s not a question, more a problem.’

  ‘Do tell, Ms Abbott.’

  ‘Well, Dad’s parents are dead, so I can’t interview them. And…’ I glanced around me. ‘I’m, um, not meant to ask Granny or Grandma about the war.’

  Neanderthal and Jack Ng sniggered.

  The Newt smiled, but not in a friendly way. ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I shrugged. ‘Mum said.’

  Neanderthal mimicked my voice. ‘Mummy said.’

  Now half the class was giggling.

  I slid lower in my seat.

  The Newt stalked to the front of the room. ‘Ms Abbott, I’m sure your grandmother would concede to discussing it this once. It is, after all, a school assignment.’

  Neanderthal sneered, a look of triumph on his face. ‘Be fair, Sir. The women in her family mate then kill the males. The men never made it to the war.’

  The class erupted in peals of laughter. Even Laura stifled a giggle.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Thackery. Another outburst like that and you’ll meet me after school.’

  The laughter died.

  ‘Ms Abbott, you will do this project. I’m sure the results will be compelling.’

  ‘Having your head ripped off would be compelling.’ Neanderthal’s voice was like nails down a blackboard.

  ‘Last warning, Mr Thackery.’

  My blood chilled. ‘Mr Newtown, seriously, I can’t—’

  ‘Uh uh, Ms Abbott.’ He raised his hand like a policeman directing traffic. ‘At our next SOSE class, which is…’ he peered over his glasses at the timetable inside his diary, ‘Friday. I expect you all to have an outline of how you intend to proceed with this project.’

  The school bell droned over the speakers. Beats me why we call it a bell. It sounds more like a little kid hitting a piano key over and over.

  ‘And so to the end of another enlightening lesson.’ The Newt slipped his books into his brief case and pranced out the door.

  Laura, Bailey and I walked towards home room. Ahead of us, Jack Ng and Neanderthal wrestled across the asphalt.

  ‘Darcy, are you serious about not being allowed to talk to your grandparents about the war?’ asked Laura.

  ‘Sounds pretty psycho,’ said Bailey.

  I glanced at Bailey and Laura’s faces. They both frowned.

  ‘It’s complicated,’ I said.

  Bailey shook his head. ‘Sounds like they’re living in denial.’

  ‘Isn’t that a river in Egypt?’ I attempt a joke.

  ‘What?’ Laura looked puzzled. ‘Oh. I get it.’

  I sat beside Batty, cushion clutched to my chest. Batty’s head lolled against the back of the sofa. Squeaky snores escaped her open mouth. Misery, face passive and feet on the recliner’s footrest, watched a TV documentary about the human brain.

  I stared straight at the gas heater, trying to figure out how I knew the war was a taboo subject in my family. Memories prickled the back of my brain. The thick silence that blanketed Misery’s house around Anzac Day.

  Her increased speed and turned head when the old guys sold poppies outside the post office.

  The scowls and tuts at newspaper articles about returned soldiers.

  I guess it was about halfway through Year 6 that I knew for sure World War II was not to be mentioned. I was staying overnight with Misery while Mum went to a hospital fund-raiser. After dinner, Misery had mopped the kitchen floor, as she does every night. In Misery’s house, it was the ABC or nothing, so I was in the lounge, watching a documentary about World War II. The pictures of injured men staggering through the jungle and women packing ammunition into boxes started me thinking.

  ‘Granny,’ I called, breaking Misery’s ‘don’t-yell-from-room-to-room’ rule. ‘Where did your dad fight?’

  The mop sloshed. Misery charged into the lounge room and snatched the remote control from the coffee table. She pressed a button as if she were detonating a bomb. Face set in a scowl, she marched back to the kitchen, leaving me to watch commercial TV. From where I sat, it was hard to tell if Misery was washing the floor or beating it up.

  When she returned, her face was white and wisps of hair had escaped her bun. She sat in her chair, back rigid and hands in her lap, staring at the TV, not moving, even when I kissed her cheek goodnight.

  And there was no reminder to brush my teeth.<
br />
  The next day, when we were driving home, I told Mum about Misery’s reaction.

  ‘What did you do?’ She pulled the car left as she spun to face me, just missing two kids waiting to cross the road.

  ‘Nothing,’ I squeaked, eyes on the road. ‘There was a TV show about the war, and I asked where her dad fought.’

  Mum gripped the steering wheel tight. ‘Don’t ever ask her again, Darcy.’

  ‘What’s the big—?’

  ‘I mean it, Darcy. Never.’

  Now my family’s strange rule was on a collision-course with my schoolwork.

  If Mum were here, or if she’d tear herself away from study to ring me, I could ask her what I should do. But she was in Melbourne and hadn’t phoned since she left yesterday.

  A sigh burst from me.

  ‘Don’t sigh, Darcy,’ snapped Misery.

  ‘Actually, Granny, it was more of a yawn. Think I’ll go to bed.’

  ‘Clean your teeth, properly.’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Seats, thank you. Close the door, Jack,’ said Mrs Broadkin, settling behind the teacher’s desk. ‘Before I take the roll, we have a few matters to clear up. It seems I need to remind you of Star of the Sea’s uniform policy. Again.’

  Every time Broady started the uniform lecture, the whole class, guys included, went into a bizarre dance ritual, hiding hands under the desks, pushing bracelets up arms, taking out long earrings and slipping off rings.

  While the others danced and Broady lectured, I stared out the window at the Norfolk pines, wondering if Mum hadn’t called all week to punish me, or if there was something wrong. Last night, when I asked Misery if I could phone Mum, she’d kind of snorted and walked away.

  The bell crashed through my thoughts. Broady dismissed us for the weekend.

  Laura, Ava and I strolled out of the locker room into the after-school crush.

  ‘She should give up,’ said Laura, dragging her bracelets out from up her sleeve.

  Dylan and Bailey wheeled their bikes beside us.

  ‘Broady give up? Yeah right,’ said Dylan.

  ‘That woman’s part Rottweiler,’ added Bailey.

  Ava giggled.