The Betrayal of Bindy Mackenzie (28 page)

I hope you will forgive me for mistaking you for a cane toad. I am enclosing a small gift: a complimentary set of personalised memo stationery.

Very best wishes,
Bindy Mackenzie

A Memo from Bindy Mackenzie

 

Dear Try,
Congratulations on your excellent FAD session on fear last week. It was thought-provoking! I was glad you persuaded me to return to FAD.

I am writing now to make a humble offer.

Would you like
me
to present a FAD session on study management? Perhaps it would give you a break?

I admit, I never wanted to share my study strategies before. I've always guarded them closely. But now, this term, for you, for FAD? It would be my honour.

Kind regards,
Bindy Mackenzie

A Note from the desk of Try Montaine
Dear Bindy,
Great idea! Come by my office and let's discuss.

Best wishes,
Try

TO:  
[email protected]
FROM:  
[email protected]
SENT:   Wednesday, 10.30 am
SUBJECT:   Re: Decisions . . .

Hi Bindy,
Sorry for delay—still interstate as we speak. By all means, quit Kmart. Diversify. Managing a bookstore sounds like a step up the ladder to me—assume it pays better too.

How's your brother? See him around the house much? I never hear from him.

As for renovating tips: cheap chrome shelves from Ikea, white towels, scented candles, imitation clawfoot tub. You know the tricks. Have coffee brewing when buyers come by, & bowls of green apples everyplace.

Best,
Dad

PS Hey, if you're in the mood for renovating—that old place on Gilbert Rd—closer to you than me. Drop in whenever you feel like it and work on the wallpaper? I've stripped back about five layers so far, and looks like we're down to the last. You know the one? Key's in the pipe above the door. Big help.

TO:  
[email protected]
FROM:  
[email protected]
SENT:   Thursday, 3.30 pm
SUBJECT:   Dad and Anthony

Dear Mum,
Dad keeps asking about Anthony. What should I do? Maybe we should just tell Dad?

I took the day off school yesterday, to go to the doctor's, as I've still been feeling tired, cranky, headachey, etc, and I couldn't get your suggestion out of my head. You know when you said it might be glandular fever? (I apologise for shouting at you about that.)

I was sitting in the waiting room for half an hour, looking at the chairs. They have green upholstery patterned with four-leaf clovers. I looked up at the frosted glass walls, at the posters about cholesterol, at a woman with a baby on her lap. But I could not resist looking back at those green chairs. And each time I looked, I thought:
those are not four-leaf clovers, those are little fat hands. Those chairs are covered with little fat hands.

Then I felt the glands around my neck and they didn't seem very swollen to me.

So I got up, cancelled my appointment and went home.

Anyway, if I do have glandular fever, I'll just talk myself out of it.

Got to go, I'm late for Maureen's Magic.

Best,
Bindy

TO:  
[email protected]
FROM:  
[email protected]
SENT:   Thursday, 6.05 pm
SUBJECT:   Re: Dad and Anthony

Bindy Mackenzie, answer your phone! Why do you
never
answer it?! I'm calling you right now!

Love,
Mum

A Memo from Bindy Mackenzie

 

Dear Frau McAllister,
Just a note to apologise for not handing in my translation today. I will get it to you tomorrow. I'm afraid I've been very busy over the weekend putting together a PowerPoint presentation for another course.

Best wishes,
Bindy Mackenzie

FROM THE TRANSCRIPT FILE OF BINDY MACKENZIE
Wednesday, 8.45 am
Students arriving at school, passing my shadow seat. There are Astrid and Emily.

Astrid:
Can you effin believe she's taken over the whole f. . .n FAD group now, after what she said to Sergio, and how she tried to get you off her debating team and everything, and how she called us all names on posters, and then she just doesn't turn up the next week, and now she's back she thinks she can
teach
us.
Emily:
I know.
Astrid:
And I'm, like, are you kidding me? Excuse me? You think you can just, like, take Try's place? And I had a really good talk with Try about it, and she was being so
nice
about Bindy, which, can you believe it? We talked about other stuff too, like where Try comes from and that? And you can tell she's really trying to change her accent so she can fit in, can't you? It's so cute the way it goes all over the place? Cause she travelled so far to get here to us, and it's, like, Bindy's making us go to
her place
instead of the Blue Danish cos she wants to do a
power-
f
. . .
n-point presentation, and it's, like, Try's already travelled far
enough,
hasn't she? To get here? From America, I mean. We're not going are we?
Emily:
Yeah, no, I know . . . Um, but when you think about it, it's kind of the main thing Bindy has to offer. I mean, her brain. Aren't you kind of interested to see what she does to get marks like she always gets, and maybe get some ideas?
Astrid:
Sergio said practically the same thing yesterday cos he wants to get into uni and shit. I'm, like, a lost cause, but— shut
up,
she's right there again. She's always effin sitting on that seat.

Night Time Musings of Bindy Mackenzie
Wednesday, 11.25 pm

Today, here at Aunt Veronica's house, I taught the FAD group study management. I was terrified that no-one would show up.

But they did.

It was strange, seeing them in the living room, embarrassed at first, but soon throwing themselves onto the couches, and bringing in chairs from the kitchen so they could put their feet up. Finnegan set up the screen for me, and also he found the light switch to make it dark when I began.

I told Try she should take a break, so she sat out on the verandah and enjoyed the sun. (I wondered if she might mention my Life, or the framed cartoon, but she did not.)

Most people listened! As I talked, I looked around and saw some concentrating faces. (Some frowned, and others were lost in their own distant thoughts.) They did laugh, sometimes harshly, and when they grew bored they simply talked amongst themselves.

At one point I told them that my favourite mathematical formula is

That formula, I said, makes my heart sing.

There was silence.

‘So, if a guy wants to get you going,' said Sergio slowly, ‘he whispers the quadratic formula in your ear?'