The Dog that Dumped on my Doona (11 page)

‘Rose is in the school play,' Dylan continued. ‘And we said we'd meet her at school after her rehearsal.'

My brain was starting to clear. Dylan often surprises me. Normally in very unpleasant ways. But not this time.

‘Rose Hill?' said the teacher. ‘You're Rose Hill's brother?'

I nodded.

‘You look like her,' he said and I resisted the urge to kick him in the nuts. I wasn't in the right position to do it, no matter how bad the insult. ‘She's one of my best students. A lovely girl.'

I was used to this. Everyone loves Rose. They won't when they wake up one morning and find that green alien slime has taken over the world. No rays of sun shining from her bum then. Until that happens I have to keep the truth to myself. It's a burden being Marcus Hill sometimes.

Actually, being Marcus Hill is
always
a burden.

‘But that still doesn't explain what you are doing in my classroom. The rehearsal is in the Drama Studio on the ground floor.'

I opened my mouth, doubtless to rumble at him again, but Dylan was on a roll.

‘I'm so sorry,' he said. ‘She told us to come to the second floor. Probably a joke. You know what a kidder she is. Anyway, we were looking for her and we couldn't help but notice the tanks in here. So we slipped in to have a peek. You have some magnificent specimens.'

Magnificent specimens
? Where did Dylan drag that phrase from? He normally specialised in words with no more than four letters in them.

‘Aren't they, though?' said the teacher. He was smiling now. Dylan had clearly found his weak spot. ‘You like animals, then?'

‘Passionate about them,' said Dylan.

Passionate
?

‘Any one in particular?'

‘The pygmy bearded dragon. Wonderful creature.'

Creature
?

‘Ah, yes,' said the guy. ‘Just got him. Yesterday, as a matter of fact. Isn't he great?'

‘Marvellous,' said Dylan.

Marvellous
?

The teacher bustled over to the tank, his suspicions apparently forgotten in his enthusiasm.

‘Fascinating reptiles,' he said. ‘And this one is particularly interesting. You see the markings?' I'd joined him at the tank, but I noticed Dylan hung back. ‘They are quite rare in a bearded dragon. I am hoping to mate him. But really, as with all the animals here, they are for my students. So they can observe their habits. I am a firm believer that students learn best by direct observation, by being hands-on with the care of animals. Don't you agree?'

I rumbled in what I hoped would be interpreted as agreement.

‘Yes,' he continued. ‘He's the pride of my collection.'

‘You don't think he looks a little … sick?' I said. I was relieved that my voice had managed to turn up.

‘Not at all. Not at all. In fine fettle. Should live for ten years at least.'

I couldn't begin to explain how I knew that God could measure his life span in days, rather than years. I didn't try.

‘So you wouldn't think of selling him?' I said. It was a desperate question. But I was desperate.

‘Of course not. I only just bought him. Excuse me!'

Something out of the corner of his eye must have caught his attention. The teacher turned to where Dylan was fiddling with a roll of sticky tape. He had a mass of it wrapped around his hand and arm.

‘Can you stop messing with that?' the Science teacher snapped. His voice had lost that friendly tone. ‘That is
my
sticky tape.'

‘Oh, sorry,' said Dylan, trying to get the stuff off his hands. Finally, he managed to screw up the tangled strips and dropped them in the rubbish bin. ‘I can't help myself.' He grinned sheepishly and held up his arms. ‘I see sticky tape and I just have to play with it.' This was true. I had seen him do it many times before. But it kind of destroyed the good impression he'd spent so much effort creating. The teacher frowned.

‘We'd better go,' said Dylan. ‘We have taken up too much of your time already and we really need to find Rose.'

The guy didn't argue. I glanced at the tank and then back to Dylan. This was my last hope. If I walked out of there I knew I had failed. This panicky feeling was lodged in the pit of my stomach. It wasn't just that I would have to face Blacky's anger. I could deal with that. But I wasn't sure I could deal with my own guilt, the sense I had been given a chance to do something good and had blown it. I was useless. Maybe I should just make a grab for God and do a runner. But I knew that wouldn't work. I would have to get the lid off the tank, snatch God and get out of the door, then down two flights of stairs and out of the school. It was too much to hope that the teacher would be paralysed while I was doing all that.

‘Come on,' said Dylan.

I went. But my shoulders sagged with the weight of failure. I had never felt worse in my entire life. I slunk along the deserted corridors, following Dyl. Blacky appeared on the first floor. I had no idea how he got out of the Science lab. He didn't say anything, just trotted a few paces to my right. I almost wished he would say something. Maybe I would feel better if he just told me exactly what kind of a worthless human being I was. Not that I needed reminding.

Dylan said nothing either. He got outside the school gates and sat on a bench by a bus stop. I flopped next to him as he pulled out yet another can of cola and popped the ring-pull. Blacky jumped up next to me. I shrank from him a little. I thought it was entirely possible he was about to rip my throat out.

He didn't. But he did lick my hand.

‘Why did you do that?' I asked in my mind. ‘I have failed. God is going to die in there and it's all my fault.'

‘No, it isn't,' said Blacky. ‘You tried. You did your best.'

‘My best wasn't good enough.'

‘That's true,' he said. ‘But I can't ask more of you than you do your best. God couldn't ask more of you. I tell you, tosh. I thought you were a pathetic excuse for a human being, a sad loser, a dropkick, a drongo, a moron, a gutless wonder. But you've got guts. I'll give you that.'

‘But the rest is right, huh?' I said. ‘The loser, dropkick stuff.'

‘Pretty much,' said Blacky. ‘But you're a drongo with guts.'

For some reason, I thought this was as high as praise was likely to go. I nearly smiled. I would have smiled, but the thought of God in a small tank stopped it. I put my hand on Blacky's head. When I took it off I still had all my fingers attached.

Maybe I'd miss him a little.

‘Thanks, Dylan,' I said. ‘You were good in there, mate. Really good. Pity I couldn't have matched you.'

‘No worries, Marc,' he said. ‘When the chips are down the tough get going.'

I was almost relieved to see his language skills had returned to normal.

‘But that's game over,' I said. And just saying the words made me taste them. They felt dry and shrivelled on my tongue.

Dylan snorted.

‘Not yet, it isn't,' he said.

‘You don't get it, Dylan. God has to be out of there tonight. If he isn't, then Blacky won't have time to get him back to his family. Even now, it would be touch-and-go. Freeing him tomorrow is no use. He'd die on the journey.'

‘I'm not talking about tomorrow,' replied Dylan. ‘I'm talking about getting him tonight. I have a plan. Do you want to hear it?'

I did.

It was a surprising plan.

It didn't involve a brick.

And it stood a chance of working.

Mum was in a frenzy.

I wouldn't have minded that so much, but most of her frenzy was directed at me. She had ironed my best pants until I was in danger of cutting myself on the creases. She had insisted on me wearing one of those shirts that feel as if they are made from plastic sheeting. And my shoes were so highly polished I'd blind motorists if I took them out in the sun. Then she combed my hair for me! I put up with all this only because I didn't have a choice. But I was prepared to draw the line if she wanted to sprinkle talcum powder on my bum.

Dad wasn't much better. He looked as if he was dressing for a dinner date with the Pope. Mum had her very best outfit on. It was scary. We looked like religious fundamentalists about to go door-knocking.

Then Rose got back from the final rehearsal.

She was wired.

Nervousness and excitement came off her in waves. She tried to eat something that Mum had saved for her – we had eaten earlier, so we'd all be ready on time – but couldn't get more than a couple of mouthfuls down. I almost felt sorry for her.

Almost.

I still couldn't get my up-close-and-personal experience with the toilet out of my mind.

Rose didn't say anything on the journey to her school. I had to sit in the back of the car with her, of course. Normally, I wouldn't look at her, particularly after a large meal. But she was muttering to herself, so I stole quick glances. She was going through the lines of the script, frowning in concentration. Maybe this wasn't going to be too bad after all. Maybe, up there on stage, she'd freeze. Her mouth would open and close like a goldfish while she searched her small brain for her lines. Then everyone would see what I already knew. That Rose was a fake, a fraud, a loser.

But I didn't think about all that very much. My mind was too focussed on Dylan's plan.

We got there way early. Rose had to be backstage at least half an hour before curtain-up time and, given she was so hyper, it was closer to an hour that we had to wait. Rose hugged Mum and Dad at the entrance to the theatre.

‘Oh Mummy! Daddy!' she wailed.

‘Break a leg, sweetie,' said Mum.

Now that was more like it! Someone who thought like me about Rose. Then Mum saw my puzzled expression and explained that you couldn't say ‘good luck' to an actor since, apparently, that wouldn't bring good luck. So you had to say ‘break a leg' which
would
bring luck.

I wrestled with this in my head. The world of adults is a mystery most of the time.

‘Yeah. Break
two
legs, Rose,' I said, but she just wrinkled her face at me. She knew I meant exactly what I had said.

Then there was
more
hugging and even a few tears before Rose disappeared backstage. You'd think she was going on a trek through the Himalayas for two years, rather than acting in a dumb play for an hour or so. My family is seriously weird.

‘Well, what should we do now?' asked Dad, glancing at his watch. ‘Fifty minutes before the show starts and I'd be willing to bet there's no bar here.'

‘Well, of course not,' said Mum. ‘This is a school.'

‘So what shall we do?'

‘You guys could go in and find the best seats,' I said. ‘If you just give me my ticket, I'll join you after I've visited the bathroom.'

I said this really casually. It was a brilliant bit of acting. But it didn't work.

‘I'll come with you,' said Dad. ‘I could do with watering the horse myself.'

Watering the horse? Made as much sense as breaking a leg.

But that put paid to my plan. Dad and I trotted off to the boys' toilets, which were pretty smelly. At least there'd be something familiar when I moved to this school. Dad stepped up to the urinal while I went into a cubicle. One of the cubicles was occupied, but the others were free.

I sat on the toilet and waited. I could hear Dad give one of those groaning noises of satisfaction as he apparently watered the horse. Then there was the sound of running water as he washed his hands.

‘Come on, Marcus,' he called.

‘You go ahead, Dad,' I replied. ‘I might be some time here. Just slip my ticket under the door and I'll see you in there.'

‘Don't be silly,' he replied. ‘I'll wait. Anyway, your mum has the tickets. Hurry up, son.'

I sat there for about another five minutes. Maybe he would get bored and leave. But he didn't. He just whistled. So, in the end, I unlocked the door and left. There wasn't anything else I could do. But that didn't mean I had given up.

I had been given one more chance and I wasn't going to blow it.

I tried to encourage Mum and Dad to take their seats while I went for a walk, but that suggestion didn't have any legs either. I don't know if they thought I was going to be kidnapped by a year nine student or borrowed by a librarian or something, but they point-blank refused to let me go anywhere by myself. So we stood outside the doors to the theatre until it was a quarter to seven and the crowd was starting to gather. Mum and Dad nodded to a few teachers and parents.

We handed over our tickets to a girl in school uniform on the door. She was revoltingly nice and polite but I suspected that in the privacy of her own home she would stick her younger brother's head down a toilet at the drop of a hat.

My experiences have made me very mistrustful of people.

Inside the theatre, the seats were starting to fill. Mum and Dad led me to the fourth row and we settled down. Mum flicked through the program and showed Dad Rose's name at the top of the cast list. She was excited. So was Dad. Me, too. But not because I was going to watch a loser make a fool of herself. For once I had other fish to fry.