Louis Beside Himself (17 page)

I yawned – I couldn't help it. Sometimes when I get very emotional and don't know what to do, these terrible fits of yawning come over me. It's a bit like sneezing – I never do just one, I have to do at least ten in a row.

Cordelia rubbed a hand over her face. ‘I'm sorry. Raving on, aren't I?' Then she reached down and touched Elena's book. ‘Tell her thanks.' She tried to smile. ‘And thanks for
Mockingbird
, Louis. You're great. You better get some sleep.'

I mumbled something, reaching over awkwardly to pat her shoulder. When she didn't say anything more, I crawled out of the tent.

I WALKED
back across the lawn, through the
L
AMBENT
patches of moonlight. That way I'd see any snakes lying in the grass. I wished I could take back my yawns. That had been the worst part of the conversation. The best part was the way her face had looked when she'd said, ‘You're a word man'. I turned it over and over in my mind, like a mint in my mouth.

But then I heard the ragged sound, like cloth ripping. Soft. I stopped and held my breath. The sound again, followed quickly by another. Crying. I stood paralysed in the moonlight, hooked like a fish. It was the loneliest sound I'd ever heard, like crying from the bottom of the sea.

My feet turned around and took a step towards the tent. My mouth twitched. I yawned. No, no, no. What could I do? What could I say to help? I just didn't know. I pictured Cordelia, hands over her face, pressed into the sleeping bag, trying to cry quietly.

I made my feet walk back across the porch, past the table, towards the house. With each step the noise of the crying grew quieter until, as I opened the back door, it vanished completely.

HAVE
you ever deliberately walked away from someone who is crying? I don't know a worse feeling. At least when
you
are the person who's upset, you might have an idea when you'll reach the end and start feeling better. When it's someone else, you haven't got a clue.

I sat on my bed. 2:13am. I felt water ping off my chin. I hadn't realised I was crying, too. It was as if her feelings had run into mine.

I knocked my fists against each other until they hurt. My blood panicked. I paced up and down the length of my bed (only three paces before each turn). I had to keep moving.
Think!

I thought about what it was like when I felt helpless, as helpless as Cordelia's crying. It happened when words failed me. It had happened in the kitchen when Cordelia was a burglar, in the garden when she was a friend, at the corner shops with The Clothesline. In all those places, I'd have given anything to be saved by words. Imagine if someone had magically appeared who could explain and comfort with just those same words that were hiding inside me.

For Cordelia, there was no such person. I knew it now. And she knew it.
That's
what was so terrible about her crying. It was crying without hope.

A cold feeling crept over my back, like Antarctic spiders walking up my spine. Each one of my vertebras was brushed by their icy, hairy legs. I shivered. I knew these spiders. They warned that no one else was going to suddenly appear, to help. They warned that something was lying ahead of me, something big and dark and frightening. Something I had to do.

Oh, no, we're not going to Cordelia's house are we?
said a small voice inside me. Beside me.

Yes
. I patted my knee kindly.
Cordelia has no one else. So
you will be perfect.

I wasn't convinced.
How will we know what to say?

Well
,
Cordelia's already told you. You just have to tell
her mum. Cordelia can't find the words for herself. But you
can, because you have the words in you. You're outside her
D
ILEMMA
. So it's easier for you.

I cracked my knuckles.
But we're not the man we used to
be. We don't have faith in words anymore.

There was silence for a minute, while I tried not to feel the spiders.
Just remember what she told you, and what
made her happy. You can do it. She said you are a word man.
You don't have to make anything up. Think of yourself more
like a messenger than a storyteller.

I snorted at myself, as if this was all a huge joke. But I didn't make us laugh.

Well, I thought, I could write out what I was going to say. Make a plan, as if preparing an essay for school, or making a speech on prejudice. That way, if my mind went blank, I could whip out my piece of paper, like a politician.

That's it, just make a few notes. You can use them like
palm cards.

I turned to a new page in my exercise book, right after the food review of Afghan curry. A fiery energy was spiralling up my back, burning a trail under my skin, vaporising the spiders. I could feel them falling off, one by one, back into the snow.

14
THE PLAN

I must have slept through my alarm. When I woke up, Dad had gone and Rosie's door was closed. Maybe she had a free first period, I thought, and was sleeping in. I didn't want to be the one to wake her. She'd bite my head off.

Even though I was running late, I glanced over what I'd written. I couldn't leave it alone.

When you first meet Cordelia's mother, compliment her
on having a nice daughter. All parents like to be told something
good about their child, don't they?

I nodded, agreeing with myself. What could be more true? And it would be easy to praise Cordelia – she had so many excellent qualities. But I couldn't help thinking then about
my
parent. What pleased my father about me? Straight away I remembered the fixed gate, the work in the garden, his delight. My stomach shrank. I tried to think of another time he'd looked at me with that glad, proud expression, but nothing came to mind.

Tell the mother how much Cordelia loves her and misses
her. Only when you've said all this, and she's smiling at
you, maybe getting you a nice cold drink and showing you
Cordelia's bedroom, only then tell her about how awful Jimmy
is really, and why she ought to throw him out like stinky
garbage and rush to find her daughter like lost treasure.

My eyes filled up at the last bit and I had to go and wash my face. Then I saw the kitchen clock and realised I was going to miss the bus. I raced past the tent and didn't look back.

AT
recess, Hassan and Singo were lining up at the canteen. I managed to
I
NVEIGLE
my way into the queue beside them, which means I slunk in, sucking in my cheeks so that I looked like a starving person. Luckily I had an extra two dollars from Dad for fixing the gate.

You can't see me now, but actually I'm cringing while I write this. I felt guilty, of course, and unworthy, but I was also very, very hungry.

I ordered a custard tart and a chocolate milk, and guzzled them down. By the time we'd wandered over to a bench under the only gumtree in the playground, I felt slightly sick. I avoided the mashed caterpillar near my thigh.

‘Hey, guess what, I scored three times at practice yesterday.' Singo puffed out his chest like a gorilla and made deep hooting noises.

I put my head on my knees.

‘What's up with you?' Hassan turned to me. ‘You're as white as an onion.'

I made a face. I didn't want to think about onions, which are essential in most Afghan curries. Bile rose up at the back of my throat. ‘I was awake nearly all night,' I said.

‘Is Cordelia all right?' asked Hassan.

I shook my head. ‘We've got to do something – she's really unhappy. So I've come up with a plan.'

‘What?' said Singo quickly. ‘I can't do anything for the next two days after school, remember.'

‘No, I'm not asking you to.' I stretched out my legs. ‘This is something I have to do alone.'

Singo stared at me. ‘Uh-oh.'

‘I'm going to go and see Cordelia's mother,' I announced. ‘Oh no!' cried Singo and Hassan together. Then of course they had to do the pinky-linking thing because they'd said the same thing at the same time.

‘When you've finished, boys,' I said in Mr Mainprize's voice. ‘Now listen, you don't have to worry. I know exactly what I'm going to say.'

‘What, to
Jimmy
?' Singo scoffed. ‘Have you forgotten he still lives there?'

I
had
forgotten, actually. I'd been so obsessed with what words I'd say to Cordelia's mother that I'd forgotten about the wild animal at home. But I wasn't going to let on. I fiddled with my shoelace to take up a bit of time. ‘As I remember,' I said slowly, like a lawyer in court, ‘Jimmy is out every Friday night. Isn't that what Cordelia told us? So I'll go then. And anyway, I'll be able to tell if he's home because his blue van will be parked there.'

Singo and Hassan looked at each other. ‘Today's Thursday.'

Oh no! I'd thought I'd have a little time to get used to the idea.

‘And how do you know where she lives?' asked Singo. ‘She hasn't told you, has she?'

‘No.' Damn Singo, always with the details. He should have been supporting me instead of finding all these silly problems. I tapped my nose and tried to look sly. ‘I have my ways.'

Hassan ran his hand over his face. Now
he
looked like an onion. But he said nothing.

‘I think this is a bad idea,' said Singo. He cracked his knuckles. ‘Cordelia's mother will just try to find out where her daughter is. She'll interrogate you. She could even torture you. Or Jimmy will.' He giggled nervously. ‘No, what we should do is get more evidence about Jimmy's criminal activities. If he ran away with that briefcase, you know, the night Cordelia came, he's obviously a thief. Maybe there were jewels inside or . . . or money from a bank robbery. Or a gun. We could report him to the police, ask them to keep an eye— '

‘No.' Hassan stood up. Then he sat down very quickly as if he was light-headed. ‘We'd have to make a proper statement and give our names and addresses. Jimmy would know it was us, he'd find out – people like that always find out, and the police wouldn't bother following it up because what real evidence do we have? And then we'd have an enemy living right near us. You don't know, Louis, you don't know what that's like. It's very bad. I remember. You don't want to make enemies. You live scared all the time.'

Singo and I sat quietly. I didn't look at Hassan. Singo's knuckles cracked loudly in the silence. Hassan took a deep shuddery breath. ‘Louis, let's just wait a bit longer. If Cordelia is so upset and missing her mother, she will return home, you will see. We must give it a few more days and . . .'

Just then a shadow fell over our knees. Elena was standing in front of us, looking from one face to the next, a frown deepening between her eyes. ‘Hey, you guys, what are you talking about?'