Bill Rules (6 page)

‘That's one of the things I like about you most, Mat,' Bill smiled down at her. ‘You're a fighter. And you fight for good reasons. If there was such a thing as a female knight in shining armour, that'd be you.'

‘Yeah, but I lost you. So it wasn't worth it.'

‘Mat, you weren't going to lose me. I just needed to be by myself for a bit.'

‘And now?'

‘Now what?'

‘Do you still want to be on your own?'

‘Well, have you chucked your plan?'

‘If I have to choose between you and the plan,
then I choose you,' said Mat. Two large tears spilled over the rims of her eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks. Bill wiped them away with his index finger. He lightly touched the end of her little nose.

The thought of loyal Mat once again putting her friendship for Bill ahead of anything else that was important to her reminded Bill of his own lack of loyalty the year before. Sure, he'd tried to make up for it, but maybe he should do this one thing more. At the same moment, it occurred to Bill that Mat's idea was totally whacko and probably would be a gigantic disaster. The cost for him, personally, might be huge. His school mates were pretty easy-going types, but he could understand if they were going to find it hard playing cricket or footie with a boy who attended Girl Guides. But if Mat had died today, Bill would never have forgiven himself for disappointing her yet again. What the heck, he would stand by Mat.

‘No choosing. We're still best friends and I'll give the Guides a go. But only for a bit and only if they don't kick up a fuss.'

‘Promise?'

‘Promise.'

The deal was that Bill did not have to say a word.

He'd just stand a little behind Mat. It was a Monday evening, little more than a week since the ant bite ordeal. Bill suspected that Mat was not going to let any more time pass in case he weakened and backed out of his promise. Bill accepted his fate the way a man condemned to death might feel on the day of execution – sort of stony calm and pants-pooing terrified at the same time.

Donald Grub dropped off Bill and Mat at the community hall. The Grubs had always been kind to Bill, but since his heroic rescue of Matty, nothing was too
much trouble.

‘You sure you want to do this?' Donald asked Bill.

‘Of course he wants to do this,' said Mat.

Donald put his hand on Bill's shoulder. ‘You've got guts, mate. But Tom's mobile is in your pocket and I'm happy to come back and get you anytime you say. No man should have to go through what you're facing.'

After Donald drove off, Mat and Bill stood gazing at the timber hall, surrounded by dark, towering eucalypts.

‘This hall has been here since way back before the first world war,' said Mat. ‘The locals built it using hand-adzed Mountain Ash from the forest.'

‘Oh, yeah?' said Bill numbly. ‘What's an adze?'

‘A sort of axe,' answered Mat. ‘You wait 'til you're inside. The timber panelling just glows.'

Bill would happily have waited a lifetime to see inside, but Mat was leading the way and he obediently followed. Sensation followed sensation. There was a blinding brightness from strip fluorescent lighting; the room was jammed with girls in blue uniforms – berets, short-sleeved tops covered in badges,
neck scarves, and long-legged shorts. The girls were sitting on the floor in groups. In a blur, Bill gained the impression of much noisy knot-tying going on with lengths of rope.

This initial impression turned to horror when Bill saw that one of the girls, at the centre of a tight circle of friends, was Isabelle Farquay-Jones, traitor and gossip. Luckily, she was facing away from the hall's entrance where Bill and Mat were standing. But not for the last time, Bill reflected that even if someone was regarded by others as incredibly beautiful (as Isabelle was), if they were a horrible person, you could never see them as beautiful again.

‘Matty, little darling!'

A pretty young woman in uniform, maybe twenty years old, soft curly brown hair and blue eyes, was greeting Mat. Bill thought to himself, ‘Seriously pretty.'

‘Hi, Marguerite,' said Mat.

‘Who's your friend?'

‘This is Bill.'

‘Nice to meet you, Bill. I'm Marguerite Bell, the Guide Leader.' Marguerite turned back to Mat, ‘I was
just thinking about your family the other day. How's Tom going with the Art Diploma?'

‘He passed with Distinction.'

‘Not surprising,' said Marguerite, ‘He blitzed us all in art at school. And how about you, Mat? You interested in Girl Guides?'

‘We thought we'd check it out.'

‘Fantastic!' said Marguerite, smiling a bright, enthusiastic smile. Then she paused and added, ‘We?'

‘Yeah. Bill and me.'

‘Right,' said Marguerite slowly. She looked at Bill, ‘Interesting.'

Bill tried to maintain a manly look. It would be worse than death if this gorgeous Marguerite mistook him for a girl. But she hadn't. ‘So Bill, why exactly do you want to join the Girl Guides? There is a Scout troop over at Mt. Ewart, you know,' she said kindly.

‘I'm just here as a visitor,' said Bill firmly. ‘Just taking a look.'

‘We can't get to Mt. Ewart easily, so we decided to try Guides. We want to go camping and stuff,' said Mat.

Marguerite's lovely white smile was still wide, but
getting stiff. ‘But you do realise, don't you, that this is an organisation just for girls?'

‘But, why?' asked Mat.

Marguerite gave a little laugh as if Mat's question made no sense. ‘Well, sometimes girls need just girl time.'

‘Then how come boys aren't allowed boy time in Scouts?' asked Mat.

Marguerite was beginning to look frazzled. She laughed her pretty laugh again, ‘I've never thought about it. I don't know.'

‘Well, it's only fair you let Bill join,' persisted Mat.

Bill sensed this was his one chance to escape. ‘I don't mind. It's okay. I'll go,' he said.

‘It's not okay!' said Mat.

‘Listen,' said Marguerite, trying to sound calm and cheerful, ‘how about tomorrow I have a little chat over the phone with Head Office and I'll get back to you? Meanwhile, you could both sit over there on that bench and watch.'

‘That's all I want to do, anyway,' said Bill, wishing he could vanish like a magician's trick. ‘This is Mat's idea, not mine.'

At that point, a tall girl came up to Marguerite saying, ‘I reckon this is a Trucker's knot, but the others don't.'

‘Let's put it this way, Annabelle,' said Marguerite lightly, ‘it sort of looks like a Trucker's knot, but it wouldn't save a life. I'll come and join your group.' Marguerite smiled again at Mat and Bill, ‘You really are welcome to stay and see what sort of things we do.'

Mat didn't want to just watch. To Bill's relief, she chose to go, but she told Marguerite that she'd be waiting to hear from her.

Marguerite's phone call came two nights later. Bill was over at the Grubs' place helping Mat with some maths homework. Tom answered the phone. ‘Marguerite Bell! Bella! Bella!' he cried. ‘No wonder Bill wants to join Guides.' Bill felt hot with anger, betrayed by a man of his own sex. You could hear Tom flirting away with Marguerite, and then he handed the phone to Mat. Bill noticed that Mat was being polite but cold.

‘Hell's bells!' exploded Mat when she got off the phone.

‘What's up, Matty? Is Bill not enough of a girl for Guides?' laughed Tom who was in the same room. Of
course, all the Grubs and Pam O'Connell knew about Mat's scheme. She'd had to tell them to get that lift on the Monday to Guides.

‘Head Office says that the organisation's name isn't just Guides, it's
Girl
Guides. Unless you're a girl, you can't join. It's some sort of legal fact. I reckon we'd have to go to court to get Bill in.'

‘Politics!' said Tom trying to sound serious. ‘You're getting a taste of real life, you two! The idea of a legal fight just makes people give up.'

‘They're wrong about me,' said Mat. ‘I don't give up.'

‘Please, Mat. Just leave it,' begged Bill.

‘I've told you before, this isn't about just you and me!' said Mat, turning on Bill with fury in her eyes. ‘This is about equal opportunity.'

Bill lifted his hands up protectively, ‘Alright. But I also don't think this fight is worth it.'

‘What about a petition?' suggested Tom.

‘Not fast enough. I want action now,' said Mat. ‘In fact, I've just had an idea.'

Bill's heart dropped.

Mrs Facey pinned the newspaper cutting to the Grade Five noticeboard. She praised Mat for her initiative in contacting the local press.

‘Equal rights is an interesting topic that we might explore in greater depth later in the term.'

‘Tell us about your state women's cricket and getting your rights and all that, Mrs Facey,' called out one of the boys, Johnny Chan, who was passionate about cricket, but who also knew that if he got Mrs Facey onto the subject of cricket, he could sabotage the lesson.

‘Well, cricket used to be seen as a “gentleman's sport”. That's where we get expressions like, “It's just not cricket” which is what you say when someone is not behaving like a gentleman – honourably and according to the rules. But for longer than you'd realise there have been women playing cricket. Way back in 1874, there was a women's cricket match played in Bendigo. And a proper Victorian women's cricket association started in 1904!'

‘And what happened next, Mrs Facey?' asked Johnny. ‘Didn't you once tell us that the First World War stopped it again?'

The class was delighted with this distraction. It was supposed to be a spelling and tables test, but Mrs Facey took about five minutes to answer Johnny's question.

‘And where does Bill O'Connell come into this? Bill is a boy, not some olden days lady in a long dress who isn't allowed to belong to a cricket club,' asked one of Mat's friends, Emily Smith.

‘What Bill and Matty have done is point out that maybe sometimes we think equal rights is just about women when it's really about equal opportunities for
people.'

‘I think we should give Matty a round of applause,' called out another of Mat's friends, Kate Artemis.

The clapping seemed to never stop. Mrs Facey glanced at the clock and laughed. ‘You rascals! You've distracted me again!'

Meanwhile, in the Grade Six classroom, Bill was not enjoying the attention that the article from the
Hills Post
had brought him. Out of consideration for how Bill possibly felt, Mrs Townsend had
not
pinned the cutting on the noticeboard. She knew Bill and Matty well enough to realise that this fight for justice
would be Matty's doing. Mrs Townsend had respect for Bill; the whole community knew about the way Bill had kept a cool head and got help for Matty when she was bitten by the jumping ant. Bill was a sporty kid, into his footie and cricket and, despite his loyalty to Mat Grub, no radical protestor. Some part of the story was not clear.

Despite Mrs Townsend's attempt to protect Bill from the limelight, Isabelle Farquay-Jones had different ideas. She brought her own cutting of the article, ‘Local Boy Mis-Guided', from the
Hills Post
and made sure it circulated round the class. The boys were confused, but most of them shrugged their shoulders and went no further than teasing Bill with, ‘Want to play cricket, mate, or will you be playing with the girls?'

Bill had rehearsed some of what he was to say next, but the first bit was off the cuff. ‘Well, we all know that cricket promises you maidens to bowl over, but I'm telling you there is one hell of a maiden up there at the Guides. Ever seen Marguerite Bell around?'

Shane Storey's mouth was hanging open, ‘Little Bonnie Bell's big sister?'

Bill nodded.

‘Have I ever!' said Shane

‘What does she do?' asked Johnny Chan.

‘Runs the show,' said Bill.

‘And how does she rate?' asked Andrew Cann.

‘Hot,' said Shane.

‘Can we all come with you next Monday night, Bill?' joked Johnny.

‘No way,' laughed Bill, ‘She's all mine.'

After this, the boys played cricket and not much more was said.

Isabelle Farquay-Jones, on the other hand, was determined to make Bill suffer. The year before, she had thought that letting the whole school know about Bill's father being a jailbird might have kept Bill under control. But there was something about the way Bill didn't try to lie his way out of his embarrassment that seemed to win him even more friends. This time, with the Guide business, she couldn't believe Bill had got off so lightly from the boys. As far as Isabelle was concerned, Bill was a spineless wimp to let Matilda Grub lead him into such a ridiculous experiment. If those two dared to show up at Guides again, she'd show them.

Mat and Bill did dare to attend Guides the next Monday. Like everyone else in the community, the Scout Mistress, Marguerite Bell, had read the news article ‘Local Boy Mis-Guided'; she obviously didn't want to become part of a front-page story by refusing to let Bill into the Hall.

‘You can be our “special guest” tonight, Bill,' said Marguerite smiling her warm, sweet smile that captivated all the young men in Dewey Creek. ‘Then we'll have a little chat at the end of the night and sort something out.'

‘Special guest is fine with me,'said Bill. ‘Don't worry about sorting anything.'

Because the Girl Guides would soon be going on a camp, the activity for this night was emergency first-aid with a special emphasis on CPR and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Isabelle Farquay-Jones drew attention to herself by squealing with mock disgust, ‘I refuse to do that with Bill O'Connell and Grubby Mat.'

There was a tittering of girlish laughter. Mat's shoulders slumped and she tucked her chin close to her chest.

‘What did you say about Mat, Isabelle?' asked Marguerite, truly shocked.

‘Nothing,' said Isabelle tossing her golden hair about her shoulders.

‘Guides and Scouts are expected to be honest and loyal,' said Marguerite frowning. ‘Rosemary Tyler, you were standing near Isabelle, what
did
she say?'

‘She called her
Grubby Mat,'
said Rosemary, ‘but it was a joke, miss.'

‘If both parties think it's funny, then it might be a joke,' said Marguerite Bell, ‘but if only the joker thinks it's funny, I call that bullying. Isabelle, over here, please.'

Isabelle wouldn't budge. Bill knew her better than anyone in that hall. No adult had ever caught out Isabelle in her cunning sort of nastiness. This mild telling off would be a first for Isabelle. She crossed her arms, narrowed her shark-cold blue eyes, and tightened her lips so they were small and turned down at the corners, ‘It's called a
pun,
miss. Verbal humour? Grub, grubby? Get it?' Isabelle rolled her eyes as if frustrated with the Guide mistress's ignorance.

Marguerite said gently and quietly, ‘Isabelle,
everyone here knows that it's not just what we say, but
how
we say it that makes the difference between kind and cruel. Now, please come here.'

The whole room watched as Isabelle sauntered across as slowly as she dared to the Guide mistress. Bill noticed that Isabelle's uniform had an enormous number of badges sewn on the front and down the sleeves. She was queen of badges. It was only because Bill was quite near that he heard what Marguerite next said in a low voice. ‘Your Citizenship badge, Isabelle. I think you need a little longer to learn about being welcoming and inclusive before you're ready to do the test. Please go back to your group and invite Bill and Matty to join you.'

Isabelle bristled. Her back went stiff. She did not reply to Marguerite Bell. Instead, she chose to sit on a chair in a corner of the hall all by herself. No amount of coaxing would get her to join in the activities. Bill could tell she was pretending to look bored and unconcerned. Bill knew better. Isabelle would be in a whirlwind of fury. What Marguerite had done to Isabelle was like – Bill struggled to find a comparison – a red flag to a bull? Far too mild. Maybe it was like
throwing yourself into a pit of scorpions, deadly spiders and snakes where you'd die, but only after hours of agony.

In Bill's short, but much-regretted friendship with Isabelle, he had seen her in her home environment. His memories of visits to her mansion were a blur of scenes – a heated indoor pool where Isabelle treated the housekeeper like a servant, ordering drinks and special meals for herself and Bill; Isabelle's all-pink bedroom fitted out with a fridge, TV, computer and an array of the latest toys and gadgets; Isabelle getting her way in every situation, including with her socialite mother and jet-setter, businessman father; and, worst memory of all, the dinner party thrown for American business guests where Bill, in order to make up for betraying Matty, purposefully let it be known that his dad was a jailbird.

Bill always squeezed his eyes shut when he thought of that humiliating night when Mr and Mrs Farquay-Jones suddenly excluded him and virtually threw him out into the night. And then there was school the day after the dinner party. After an atomic explosion, scientists talk about ‘fallout' – days and days of shocking
effects from the bombing. Isabelle's vicious gossip about Bill was like that fallout.

Did that sweet Girl Guide leader, Marguerite, realise the dangerous thing she had done by rebuking Isabelle? For the moment at least, the snake had been de-venomed. Marguerite turned a cheerful face to everyone in the room and clapped her hands, ‘Now, Bill, how about being our patient? Who wants to save Bill's life?' A sea of hands went up and laughter rollicked round the hall, but it wasn't a cruel laughter. It was the sound that young people make when they are having fun.

Tom Grub picked up Mat and Bill at the end of the night. They sat together on the front seat of the combi. ‘And was it any better this week?' he asked.

‘Yes and no,' said Mat.

‘What's the “yes”?'

‘A whole lot of girls gave me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation,' said Bill.

‘They didn't actually put their mouths on you, but,' said Matty.

‘Nope, but my mates will enjoy hearing about it at school tomorrow,' said Bill cheerfully.

‘And what's the “no”?' asked Tom laughing.

‘Well, Marguerite says Bill probably can't join Guides. Not without causing a lot of fuss; she says that would be damaging for Guides and that would make her very sad. And...'

‘And what?' asked Tom.

‘Isabelle Farquay-Jones. Bill and I have to put up with her five days a week at school. I don't think I want to share the same space with her on Monday nights as well. I don't think it's worth fighting to get Bill into Guides. What do you think, Bill?'

Bill could have kissed Isabelle Farquay-Jones. Life had such twists and turns. Here was this gross girl, his worst nightmare, whose presence at Guides meant he just might make his escape. He chose his words carefully, ‘Why don't we put our plans for Girl Guides on hold and wait to see if Isabelle gets more bearable?'

‘Good idea,' said Mat.

Bill smiled to himself. Waiting to see Isabelle change would take years. He was a free man.