So Feral! (11 page)

James is their eldest. He’s probably the same age as Tezza and me but he acts like
he’s been here before
, if you know what I mean. There’s a little squirt, too. A brother, William. Every day, Mrs Bartholomew tucks a folded hankie in William’s pocket. Waste of time, if you ask me. William makes enough snot to start his own swamp.

Having Andy around sometimes gets right up my nose (Tezza never seems to mind). But with James now trying to muscle in on my turf, Andy’s looking good!

So, what does Andy’s bum have to do with the Bartholomews? Patience. I’m getting to it.

I call Andy the Mobile Zoo.

That’s a clue, y’know. The first one.

Andy holds the record for head-lice plagues at school. I
love
watching his hair go ballistic. Reminds me of me when I ride the dodgems. I reckon Andy’s working on inventing a super-breed of nits that’ll one day take over the world.

You know how I call Andy the Mobile Zoo? Nits aren’t his only problem. Every animal, from the tiniest bacteria to the biggest bull ant, seems to make a bee-line for Andy. Bee stings and March-fly
bites, sucking leeches, he’s had them all. And not just animals love Andy — vegetables and minerals do, too. Stinging nettles, tinea, stubbed toes, lead poisoning. You name it, Andy’s either already had it, has it now, or is about to get it.

Mrs Shermin goes spare with worrying. So spare that her hair’s falling out and you can see through to her scalp.

I sorta feel sorry for Andy. But only sometimes. Sometimes I think he’s a huge joke.

Take last Thursday. I’m waiting for the school bus when Tezza rocks up, but solo. ‘What’s Andy got?’ I ask. ‘Don’t tell me. Malaria? Leprosy? Bubonic plague?’

‘What’s it to you, Caroline?’ asks Tezza.

James is waiting for the bus, too. He stops reading his book, clears his throat and makes this big announcement. ‘Leprosy is an infectious disease that attacks the skin and nerves and makes your fingers and toes drop off!’

‘See!’ says Tezza, turning on me. ‘You’re so mean.’

I hate the way James knows everything. And I hate the way he ganged up with Tezza against me.

But then Mum’s voice leapt into my brain, accusing like.
Caroline! How dare you be unkind to someone less fortunate than yourself!

And then I felt bad ‘cause I’m never sick. ‘Sorry,’ I said to Tezza. ‘Maybe I should visit Andy after school?’

‘What?’ Tezza snorted. ‘And play nurse?’ I hate it when Tezza snorts. And I extra hate it when he’s sarcastic.

James snorted, too. So hard that, if it had been William, it would have filled an ice cream cone. ‘The method of transmission of leprosy is not clear,’ James droned on. ‘Perhaps you should not visit.’

‘I can fluff pillows and offer sips of water,’ I said. ‘I’d make a great nurse!’ I hoped the punch I gave Tezza would give him a dead arm.

It didn’t. It must’ve tickled, because Tezza laughed. Boy, how he laughed. But at least we were mates again.

I shot James a look that could kill an army, but he was too busy reciting a poem from his book to notice.

That afternoon I did call in.

We were lying around playing a computer game when Andy got the fidgets.

We’re onto the second clue, now, about Andy’s bum. Here’s what happened.

Andy’s pawing at his shorts and wriggling fit to burst.

Tezza’s lining up for a shot at my alien when Andy starts to moan.

‘Stop distracting me,’ yells Tezza. ‘Cut it out. You’ll make me lose.’

He’s right. My alien has nicked off and Tezza’s shooting at zippo. We’re battling to the death, scores even. Our platoons have been blasted into cyberspace. We’re down to one raider each. The game’s anybody’s.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door.

‘Answer it, Andy,’ snaps Tezza.

Andy doesn’t move. From the corner of my eye I can see that he is gripping the arms of the chair. He’s going blue and sort of looks bug-eyed. A bit like the aliens, I think, getting back to the game. I’m fighting to stay alive when the doorbell rings again.

‘Get the door!’ shrieks Tezza as I get
that close
to taking him out.

But Andy’s not going anywhere. He’s sitting there squirming like a yabby on a piece of string.

Whoever’s at the door, they’re persistent.

‘The door!’ yells Tezza. But he’s distracted and his finger slips.

I go in for the kill. ‘Take that!’ I cry, in a way that means,
I win!

Tezza screams, ‘I hate you,’ at Andy and hurls the pillow at him.

Andy cowers in his chair, looking more miserable than a goalie who’s let one through.

I
stop dead in my tracks. Tezza never loses his temper with Andy. For once I take Andy’s side and say, ‘It’s only a dumb game. He didn’t mean it.’ I do a bit of pillow hurling of my own.

Tezza and I get to our feet, eyeballing each other, waiting to see who’ll strike first.

It’s a short wait ‘cause the doorbell puts a stop to it.

‘I’ll get it!’ says Tezza, yanking the door open in disgust and adding at the same time, ‘Waddya want?’

James is standing there. ‘Hello,’ he says with this smarmy grin. ‘I was wondering if you and your brother would like to come in for afternoon tea?’

I am not included in the invite.

‘My grandmother has made us a sponge cake.’

Afternoon tea and sponge? Where does James get off? I’m not sure whether to be narked or pleased at missing out.

Tezza looks like he’s been hit with a stun gun. And Andy? He’s crawled off the chair, flung himself on the lounge and is writhing again.

‘Terence?’ asks James.

Hah! No one’s called Tezza ‘Terence’ since Sam Webber got a chipped tooth for his efforts in Grade 1.

I take a step forward. I am beginning to love this.

I look from James to Tezza to Andy. Andy’s got his hands down his shorts.

‘My family would enjoy it if you and your brother will join us for tea,’ repeats James, although the wattage on his smile is starting to dim.

A moan distracts all of us. Boy, is Andy giving his rear-end a caning.

Tezza’s looking at Andy like he’s about to deck him. James’s invite must’ve really thrown him. Normally, he would’ve answered by now.

At last, Tezza says something. ‘Stop playing with your bum!’ is what he says.

I don’t know who looks more shocked — Tezza or James. It’s a cert it’s not me. This is better than the ‘Comedy Show’ on Saturdays.

James blushes. Seriously! ‘Excuse me!’ he says, staggering a couple of steps back. His jaw is hanging open and his eyes have popped out. He looks like our dog ten seconds after she drank the weed killer.

And in the middle of this is Andy, not listening to anybody. He’s pulled down his daks. There’s this
wild look in his eyes. I don’t think he can see us. He’s too busy spreading his cheeks on the lounge cushion and rocking.

I make a mental note to
never
sit there again.

Then Mrs Shermin comes skidding into the room, concern turning to anger as Andy leaps to his feet and chucks a beauty of a browneye.

Tezza leaps sidewards, trying to block James’s view.
‘Muuum!’
he groans.

‘Mu-u-u-m!’
imitates James with his voice all wobbly.

Who’s a big girl, then?

James does a bolt. As he heads down the drive, I start to feel good. The enemy is retreating. I hope it puts him off Tezza for life!

I look at Andy, who’s still bum high. I have to fight the urge to shout, ‘Bottom’s up,’ like my uncle does when he’s making a toast. Instead, I do what I always do when situations get awkward. I start to giggle.

Mrs Shermin, however, does not.

‘Andrew Shermin!’ she roars, grabbing him by the arm and almost launching him into the air. ‘That’s disgusting!’ The last thing I see is a pair of pink cheeks and a vertical smile disappearing through the bathroom door.

By this time I’m cacking myself. I laugh so much I want to wee, but Mrs Shermin is still locked in the bathroom with Andy so I have to cross my legs and sit down.

Have you worked out what it is with Andy’s bum and the new neighbours? Have I given enough clues?

You should get it with this next bit.

Yesterday, I saw lights before my eyes. Not the clunk-to-the-head sorta lights, the flashing-on-and-off sort.

Lights? you might ask.

Patience. It’s all to do with Andy’s bum. I’m getting to that. Oh,
and
the neighbours.

I have to stay at the Shermins’ for the weekend. Mum’s visiting Grandad in hospital in Melbourne and will be gone for a couple of days and I can’t stay with Dad, ‘cause he’s working night shift.

That’s how I’ve ended up at the Shermins’, seeing lights.

It’s Friday night and it’s bedtime. There I am, lying on the bottom bunk with Andy up the top and Tezza in a single bed opposite. I’m desperately trying to go to sleep, which is pretty hard ‘cause Andy keeps flipping and flopping like some sort of stranded fish and keeping me awake.

Suddenly, I hear the door open. I freeze, pretending to sleep, wondering who it is.

Through this tiny slit of my left eye I can see this flash of light sweeping around the room. It’s a torch. I wonder who’s attached to it and why they’re coming in. The beam of light bounces off the mirror. I see wild hair with a reflector scalp.

Mrs Shermin!

What’s she up to?

I lie doggo, thinking she’s gonna leave in a minute. But she doesn’t.

The arc of light swoops across the room then stops, pointing at Andy’s bed. There’s this glow up the wall. I strain to work out what the old chook’s up to, but I can’t. Her body’s blocking my view. I can’t even see her face. Somehow I know she’s looking like a barracuda at a feeding frenzy.

I can hear her rummaging about in Andy’s bedclothes.

Maybe she’s lost something, I think. Her watch perhaps? Or a ring?

But it’s not that sort of ring she’s looking for, if you know what I mean. That’s clue Number Three.

After a while Mrs Shermin gives up. The rest of the night I sleep.

Today — Saturday — Tezza, Andy and me decide to go down to the river. There’s this really steep bank we’ve carved out to form a slide. It’s our secret place. We’ve packed the mud firm. With a few buckets of water, we can get up an awesome amount of speed.

So, we’re at the river. Tezza and I are seeing who can float the furthest in the current before getting stranded on the bank. I usually win. I’m much lighter than Tezza and can float more easily.

Andy keeps sliding, bucking the whole way down like he’s a rodeo rider. Over and over he does it till I am sure his bum must be raw.

Remember that. It’s another clue.

Floating is thirsty work and we’re starting to get hungry, but every time we call Andy to go home he says, ‘Just one more,’ and runs up the bank.

‘C’mon,’ Tezza calls, getting impatient.

But
just one more
turns into two, then three, then four, till I lose count and lose my patience.

‘I’m starving,’ I say to Tezza. ‘I’m going back without him.’

Tezza looks torn. He’s hungry, too, but he’s also responsible for Andy.

I’m past caring. My stomach is rumbling loud enough to start its own mudslide. ‘C’mon,’ I say, giving Tezza a shove in the direction of home.

Just then we hear voices, laughing and talking and getting closer. I look at Tezza and whisper, ‘Who

is it?’

Tezza frowns. He’s standing with his head cocked to the side. ‘Not sure,’ he says with a shrug.

Andy’s too busy getting bum-burn to notice.

As quickly as we hear them, the voices stop. Mr Bartholomew has walked into the clearing. James and William are with him. They are wearing bright red swimming trunks and carrying floral towels. They look like a brochure for a holiday resort, not the bush.

What are
they
doing in our secret place? Intruding on our territory!

‘Good morning,’ says Mr Bartholomew. He tries to smile, first at Tezza, then at me. He looks like
someone with lockjaw of the lip. ‘It’s a delightful day for a swim, isn’t it?’ he says.

James takes a step towards us. ‘Are you playing, Terence?’ he asks. ‘May we join in?’

‘We’re just leaving!’

Even as I say it I know it’s rude, but I don’t want to share Tezza, or our river, with the Bartholomews.

Tezza tries to soften it but what comes out sounds real lame. ‘Caroline’s right. We
were
just leaving,’ he repeats, softly. ‘We’re hungry.’

‘Hunger,’ says Mr Bartholomew, shaking his head. ‘It is a terrible thing!’

Somehow, I know he doesn’t mean it.

When Andy comes hurtling past for the fifty-millionth time, Tezza tackles him. ‘Here,’ he says, reaching for Andy’s clothes. ‘Put these on. We’re going home.’

‘No!’ cries Andy, pulling away.

Tezza doesn’t let go of his grip. ‘Get dressed,’ he rumbles, his voice building.

James and William sidle up to their father. Mr Bartholomew stands stiffly, saying nothing, like a blow-in at the pub.

Andy flicks his undies back at Tezza, saying, ‘I’m not wearing these. They itch. Mum isn’t doing the washing properly.’

Tezza seems too embarrassed to argue. ‘Wear your swimmers, then.’

We march home single-file, none of us talking.

And all the while I’m thinking, Why does James want to be friends with Tezz? Why did the Bartholomews have to evacuate here? Why can’t they retreat to their fancy city?

That’s another clue.

The rest of the morning is a non-event. The sort of morning you climb a tree and go looking for spaceships.

So I wasn’t prepared for what happened next …

At four that afternoon, Mr Worrell from down the way sticks his head in at the Shermins’. ‘Elizabeth is having her kittens,’ he says. ‘You kids wanna watch?’

Would we? Of course we would!

Now, if I tell you what happened at Mr Worrell’s I’m sure you’ll be able to answer, What does Andy’s bum have in common with the new neighbours? Or maybe you’ve already worked it out. If not, this bit might help.

Tezza, Andy and me fly out the door, across the road and round the bend faster than you can say, ‘Here, kitty, kitty.’