On the Jellicoe Road Page 6

  “Guess what?” Fitz said.

  “I don’t know,” Jude said. “What? Narnie smiled?”

  He glanced at her for the first time.

  “When you guys see a Narnie smile, it’s like a revelation,” Webb said, gathering her towards him.

  Jude stopped in front of her and, with both hands cupping her face, tried to make a smile. Narnie flinched.

  “Leave her alone,” Tate said.

  “I need a revelation,” Jude said. “And you’re the only one that can give me one, Narns.”

  “Let’s get back to ‘Guess what?’” Fitz said, hyped beyond control.

  “What?”

  “Phase one of the tunnel,” Webb said in a low voice. “It’s finished.”

  Every year the town puts on a welcome for the Cadets and invites us along for the gala event, if one can give a sausage sizzle and rugby league game such a title. I get word halfway through the day that a meeting is to take place between the three factions after the official part of the ceremony. I send Ben around to gather the other House leaders and we work out our strategy, which none of us can agree on. In the end we decide that a rental of the river may be allowed; however, the numbers of Cadets using it at any one time is to be no more than twelve.

  As usual, the Cadets are in their fatigues and the bulky frame of Jonah Griggs stands out among them. He surveys the field and beyond, handling his team as he would his troops. I can tell that his team is first-class. Santangelo is tenacious and what his team lacks in skill, they make up for in endurance and speed. Our league team is abysmal and, halfway through the round robin, I realise that we are not even players in this whole territory war.

  When the games are over, the official part of the ceremony begins. Behind the microphones, a band sets up and I see the Mullet Brothers tuning their guitars alongside a girl with dreadlocks and heaps of piercings.

  Santangelo’s mother is the mayor and I hear her whisper, “Behave,” to her son as she lines us up for a school captain photo. She’s indigenous, which makes sense when I think of his colouring. Even for an Italian, his skin seemed dark. We have photos taken with her and then they place the three of us in front of the stage and take more photos.

  “Chaz!” Santangelo’s mum is trying to get his attention from where she’s standing with some of the school officials. She mouths smile, waving her fingers under her mouth.

  “Chaz,” Jonah Griggs says snidely. “Your mum wants you to smile.”

  “And yours wants you to eat shit and die.”

  I’m standing between these two intellectuals while the local photographer snaps away, asking us to say words like holidays and pornography.

  “Yours thinks you should loosen up,” Griggs continues to bait.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. She told me last night.”

  The first strains of the national anthem screech across the stage, causing everyone to wince.

  “What did you say?” Santangelo asks quietly.

  “Your mum. Nice lady. Really nice.”

  Santangelo flies into it first. Fist straight into Jonah Griggs’s stomach and next minute they’re both rolling on the ground pounding each other. Then there’s a war cry and it’s a free for all, present company excluded, of course, and believe me, I do feel excluded but there is no way I’m joining in. The leader of Murray House goes flying through the air and lands at my feet, groaning. I try to help him up but then I realise he’s getting off on this. They all are. It’s like some Neanderthal skirmish for the pathetic. Some of the Townie teachers try to stop it. Big mistake. It gets boring for at least four more minutes and even the girls from Jellicoe High acknowledge me with a roll of the eyes. Judging by Santangelo’s mum’s expression, I wouldn’t want to be at her dinner table tonight.

  Then the police arrive. I recognise Santangelo’s dad, who saves police brutality for when he gets to his son. Then I see Ben disappear under a heap of bodies and I go in to assist because the Mullet Brothers have fallen into the body jam with their guitars still attached to them, causing more pain than is necessary. Except just as I’m about to pull Ben’s head out of the scrum, a whistle shrills in my ear and this cop is grabbing me by the arm. And then it’s over.

  They separate us into groups. The Ringleaders and the Others. I belong to the Ringleaders because my weak, pathetic, traitorous, fundamentally base peers point to me when someone asks them who is in charge. The only positive thing in this whole situation is that because this stupid town is so small, you don’t have to actually get into the paddy wagon to be taken to gaol. They march you there. The worst thing is I’m placed in the same cell as Jonah Griggs and Chaz Santangelo and they are still so filthy with each other that I know it’s not over and somehow I’m going to be caught up in it. In the cell next to ours there are about thirty other kids, combinations of all three factions. I look for Ben but can see only some of the other House leaders, who are proudly comparing scars.

  In my cell I don’t even seem to exist. The dust and grime begin to get to me and I feel a shortness of breath that I know spells trouble. On the other side of the cell Jonah Griggs and Santangelo are too busy sizing each other up like two demented pit bulls who have to prove who’s got the biggest…attitude.

  I lean against the bars that separate us from the others. “So let me get this right,” I say to one of the Townie girls. “All it takes is to insult someone’s mother?”

  “No,” she explains. “That’s the beauty of it. They don’t actually have to insult. The words Your mother are enough.”

  “So if I said to you, ‘Your mother is a…?’” I shrug.

  “Just ‘Your mother.’” But it doesn’t work if girls say it to each other,” she continues. “You have to have a penis for it to affect you in such a way.”

  “Oh funny, funny,” Santangelo says.

  The bonding with the Townie girls is a highlight. I spend my first hour of incarceration in conversation with one of them—who happens to be the girlfriend of one of the Mullet Brothers—about the myths around eyebrow piercing. When I have the courage, I ask her the burning question about why the Mullets but I’m short of breath and I can recognise the tell-tale signs of an asthma attack coming on, so I have to go and sit down and don’t get to hear the answer.

  The first lot of parents come in at around five P.M., including the House master of Murray House, so within half an hour the cell next door is empty and it’s just Griggs, Santangelo, and me. They put me in the cell next door on my own and we get to order takeaway for dinner.

  “You promised us a negotiation about the Club House,” Santangelo says, still eyeing Jonah Griggs, but speaking to me.

  “Negotiations are over,” I say flatly.

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Any which way, we’ve got the Club House and you can’t stop us from getting there,” Jonah Griggs says arrogantly.

  “Watch me.”

  “If we make a deal over the Club House, it will be profitable for all of us,” Santangelo says.

  “Come within an inch of our property…”

  “And what?” Jonah Griggs calls over to me.

  “Unfortunately the state persists in using our school as a juvie centre when it suits them. We have arsonists.”

  “So you’ll burn us down?” he says, feigning fear.

  “No, but we will burn down every single building you own on our property. Beginning with the Club House.”

  Now I have their attention.

  Raffaela is allowed to see me based on the fact that she knows how to sweet-talk Santangelo’s father, who I find out is her godfather.

  “We’ve called Mr. Palmer but he’s at some Rotary Club do and Mr. Grace from Murray House says he’s not authorised to bail you out so we have to wait until Sal—sorry, Constable Santangelo,” she says, looking up at him and smiling, “speaks to Mr. Palmer…which could be after midnight.”

  “Where’s Ben?” I ask.

  “I think I saw him go after the Mullet Br
others.”

  “As if he can take on the Mullet Brothers. Is he insane? Find him, Raffaela. He could be hurt.”

  “I’m staying with my parents tonight so he can bunk at my place.”

  I hear the sound of heavy boots enter the station and the next minute Jonah Griggs jumps to his feet saluting, a shocked look on his face. Santangelo mocks the salute behind his back.

  “Hey!” his father bellows, and Santangelo sits back down, sulking.

  I strain my neck to see what has surprised Jonah Griggs so much and my heart begins racing wildly.

  It’s the first time I’ve seen the Brigadier this close since he delivered me back to Hannah’s place three years ago. In my memory he has always been a giant but today I notice that Griggs towers over him. I slouch against the gates, watching the interaction between him and Griggs.

  “I don’t think it will kill you if you stay the night,” he says to Griggs in a tone that isn’t open for negotiation.

  I don’t know how it is that a voice I’ve only heard once can stay in my mind, but it’s as recognisable to me as Hannah’s.

  I see a flicker of shittiness on Jonah Griggs’s face but he holds the salute. “Yes, sir.”

  “You, too,” Santangelo’s dad says, pointing at his son. Santangelo swears under his breath.

  “Sorry, what was that?” his father asks loudly.

  “Nothing,” Santangelo mutters.

  And then the Brigadier is looking at me and I hold his stare, despite the fact that a part of me feels sick. He looks younger than I’ve remembered him to be all this time. Younger than Santangelo’s dad, anyway.

  “Do you want me to take her back to the school?” he asks Santangelo’s dad.

  “No!” I almost yell.

  Santangelo’s dad shakes his head. “John Palmer’s coming down soon. She’ll be fine.”

  The Brigadier continues to hold my stare, like he’s taking in every detail of me and it seems like a million years later that he turns to go.

  “I hear you’re going to be sticking around for a couple of weeks,” Santangelo’s dad says to him as they both leave. Only then does Jonah Griggs relax.

  “Since when do real army brigadiers run the Cadets?” Santangelo asks.

  “They don’t.”

  I can tell that Griggs is confused about the Brigadier’s presence. He looks at me and I walk over to the other side of my cell, settling myself as far away as possible from both of them.

  Gaol’s not that bad, especially when you’re used to crap food at school and you get Thai takeaway.

  “How’s Hannah these days?” Santangelo’s dad asks me as he hands it over.

  “You know Hannah?”

  “Since she was your age.”

  I shrug. “She’s away.”

  The phone rings and the other police officer comes in holding it.

  “It’s Clara,” he tells Santangelo’s dad. “She wants to talk to Chaz.” Santangelo takes the phone through the bars and Jonah Griggs snickers and makes himself comfortable on the bunk while Santangelo tries to speak as quietly as possible.

  “Hi…look…I know…Yeah, like I did it on purpose, Mum…. Okay…you’re what? Don’t go to their place…. She’s a liar…. She only pretends to be that sweet in front of…Oh, good, believe her over your son…. No. He’s being an a-hole…. I didn’t say “arse,” you did…. Fine, take his side….”

  He hands the phone to his father. “She said not to forget to pick up the bread.” He sulks.

  By ten o’clock I make a pact with myself that I will never commit a crime because gaol is the most boring place on earth. Even more boring than the Jellicoe School on a Sunday afternoon. It’s so boring that when Santangelo comes over to my side of the cell, I welcome the conversation.

  “Chewy?”

  I reach over and take a stick. Up close he is truly a good-looking guy and I’m curious about the Raffaela connection but don’t dare ask him about it. Santangelo has this way of looking at me, not in a pervy way or like someone who’s interested. He’s staring at me like he did in the negotiating hut. Like he has a question to ask or something to say, but doesn’t quite know how to say it.

  “Spit it out,” I say.

  “Spit what out?”

  “Whatever you want to say.”

  He’s about to deny it, but then he seems to change his mind. “The guy…the Hermit? My dad used to take me out there sometimes, to see how he was going.”

  I move closer. No one at the Jellicoe School has ever mentioned the Hermit. Their way of dealing with it has always been to pretend it never happened.

  “You knew him?”

  He nods. “He was a bit mad. Like obsessive compulsive, you know. He’d stand on a tree branch and dive into the river in the same spot all the time and just let the current take him away. I thought he’d die doing that, not…”

  We don’t say anything for a while.

  “Do you remember much about that day?” he asks.

  Only that when I woke up I was in Hannah’s bed and I heard someone crying like an animal. I remember opening my eyes and seeing the blur of her body holding on to another—a man. He was clutching onto her with grief and they were both so distraught. I wondered if he was a friend of the Hermit. I remember that I never saw the clothes I was wearing that day ever again, which was a pity because I so liked my Felix the Cat T-shirt and grey cord jeans and whenever I asked Hannah for them, she’d just shake her head.

  I don’t answer. “What did your dad say?” I ask instead.

  He doesn’t look at me. “I don’t know. Just that it was messy,” he mumbles.

  “How messy? What do you mean ‘messy’?”

  He looks up at me. “You know…messy.”

  I see Jonah Griggs get up from his bunk and walk towards us. “Why are you telling her this?” he snaps at Santangelo.

  He ignores Griggs. “My father cried…. I’d never seen him cry…. He told me that the Hermit had a kid….”

  I feel sick. Up till now the Hermit had never possessed a life. He was just this madman who lived in the bush. But to know that he left someone behind…And then a horrific thought enters my head.

  “Was he my father?” I whisper. “Is that what your dad said?”

  “Why would you think that?” he asks, surprised.

  Griggs grabs Santangelo by the arm. “You’re stressing her out.”

  “Why is this your business? You don’t even know her.”

  I feel my windpipe constricting and I know what’s about to happen. I’m trying to work out where my backpack is so I can get my inhaler but I realise that it’s out there with the cops.

  Jonah Griggs looks at me for a moment and I see a frown appear on his face. “Sit down. You’re going to faint.”

  The chewing gum makes my mouth feel sweet and next minute I’m throwing up mucus that is making me gag.

  “Look what you’ve done, you arsehole!”

  I can see them both glued to the bars that separate us. The retching never seems to end, like it’s carving out my insides and I can’t breathe. My windpipe feels like it’s choking me and I can smell the Hermit’s blood, the sickly sweet smell of it, and suddenly I see it, plastered all over my clothes, and I see the Hermit out there on that day when the sun was so hot and I hear his whispers and I try to keep my eyes closed, but I can’t and there are parts of him around me and the blood smacking at my face and I can’t breathe and I can hear Jonah Griggs shouting and Santangelo calling out, “Dad, Dad, get in here.” I’m making this gurgling sound because I just can’t breathe and although I’m bent over away from the bars I feel hands grab hold of me, pulling me towards them. I feel arms around my chest, a mouth against my ear whispering…whispering…Jonah Griggs whispering, “Just breathe, just breathe, come on, Taylor, just breathe…just breathe.”

  Mr. Palmer is wiping my face. Santangelo’s dad is there as well, placing a glass of water in my hands and helping me drink. I’m gulping it down, feeling weak and pathetically tea
ry.

  “We’re going home,” John Palmer says quietly. “Can you stand?”

  I nod. “I’m sorry about the mess,” I tell Santangelo’s dad.

  He smiles. “We’ll live.”

  As I walk past the other cell I see Santangelo sitting on the floor with his back against the bars, his head in his hands, and Jonah Griggs standing, watching me. Like he did on that station platform. Like he did those times we lay side by side on our way to Yass. Staring like he’s never stopped. For a moment the mask slips from his face, but by that time I’m almost out the door.

  It’s not until we reach the Jellicoe Road that Mr. Palmer speaks.

  “Hannah’s fine.”

  “How do you know?” I ask, raising my head from where it’s been leaning against the door.

  “I spoke to someone who knows her. She’s in Sydney looking after a friend…who’s sick.”

  All of a sudden Hannah has all these “friends.” Friends who have known her since she was seventeen. Friends who hand over letters. Friends who are sick.

  “Who? You don’t understand. I know everyone she knows.”

  He is keeping something from me. I can tell by the way he can’t look me in the face and that scares me. He seems to sense this and once again I’m surprised by his kindness.

  “She calls her friend, ‘Mrs. Dubose.’ That’s all I know.”

  Mrs. Dubose.

  “Have you heard of her?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say sleepily. “She lived in the same street as Jem and Scout Finch.”

  Chapter 9

  I’m riding as fast as I can. The faster the pace, the less thought-process, and being thoughtless suits me fine. I pedal hard, my face sweating, my hands clenched on the handlebars until I feel the blood stop in my fingers. I pedal on with eyes closed and we travel, the bike and I, as if it has a mind of its own and I have no control. I skid suddenly to the side and realise that I’ve reached the ridge, an inch away from going over the edge. My face is drenched with perspiration and I look at the space below. The world sways and I sway with it until it’s like being in a hypnotic dance, almost enticing me to step over.