The Dog that Dumped on my Doona (12 page)

For a while there I thought my luck was completely in. We were sitting at the end of a row, just one empty seat between me and the aisle. Then Mrs Bird turned up and perched herself next to me.

‘Hello, Mrs Bird,' I said.

‘Hello, Sonny,' she replied. ‘What are you doing here?'

This struck me as a strange question. What did she think I was doing? Practising for the one hundred metres butterfly event at the local swimming carnival?

‘My sister is in the play, Mrs Bird,' I said.

‘Just a touch of arthritis,' she replied. ‘I'm a martyr to my knees. I'm eighty-two, you know.'

I sighed and wondered what sense she was going to make of the play. Mind you, I wondered what sense
I
was going to make of the play.

Just when I thought I'd spent most of my life so far in this school, the lights dimmed and the audience hushed. The curtains drew back and a spotlight lit up the stage. The scenery was really sad. The backdrops looked like they'd been painted by a four year old. A blind four year old. But I didn't pay that much attention to the set. Because Rose appeared on stage. She crossed into the light and sat down on a chair by a table. She put her head into her hands.

Bet you can't remember your opening lines,
I thought.

Then she started to cry. That made me feel slightly uncomfortable. I mean, this was what I had been praying for but, nonetheless, it was a little sad seeing her get so upset about having a serious memory loss in front of four hundred people. But then she talked.

She hadn't forgotten her lines after all. This was part of the play. I was amazed. Never let it be said that I have
ever
praised my sister for anything. But, though I hate to admit it, she was good. She could act. As far as I could tell, she didn't forget one line or stumble over anything.

I quickly glanced over at my mum. She was on the verge of tears, she was so proud. This was the time. The time for Plan B. I leaned towards her.

‘Mum,' I whispered. ‘I have to go to the toilet.'

‘What do you mean, Marcus?' she whispered back. ‘You've only just been.'

‘I know,' I said. ‘But I need to go again.'

‘Oh, for God's sake. Are you feeling sick?'

‘Bit of a tummy problem.'

‘Well, hurry back.'

I knew Mum wouldn't challenge me too much. The more talking she did and the more questions she asked, the less time she could devote to the vision of Rose on stage. I tried to slip out of my seat, but the presence of Mrs Bird meant I was trapped. It's not that she was a big lady. She wasn't. But she had a walking stick across her legs and I couldn't get past.

‘Excuse me, Mrs Bird,' I said.

‘Certainly,' she said. I waited, but she didn't budge.

‘I need to get out,' I whispered. There was no reply, though I waited a while. So I got into a half crouch and tried to duck under her stick. I was halfway through when she brought the stick down with a clunk on the top of my head.

‘Ouch,' I whispered and fell onto my belly. At least this allowed me to crawl the rest of the way into the aisle. I was very careful not to look up. I'm not sure I could have coped with the sight of Mrs Bird's knickers.

Rubbing my head, I scurried towards the exit. The suspiciously nice girl at the door let her mask slip. She looked at me as if I was something you'd find under your shoe. Yep, definitely a toilet flusher.

Speaking of toilets, I slipped into the boys' and tapped on the closed cubicle door.

‘Dylan,' I said. ‘It's me.'

‘Took your time,' came a muffled voice. The door opened and Dylan emerged, blinking. ‘Right,' he added. ‘Let's go for it.'

The inside of the cubicle was littered with empty cola cans.

‘Where's Blacky?' I said.

‘He's already up there. He spent some time in the toilet with me. Boy, that dog has a fart problem, hasn't he?'

I opened the door out of the toilets carefully, put my head around and checked to see if the coast was clear. It was. Everyone was watching the play. Time was really important. I reckoned I had, at most, ten minutes before Mum would wonder where I'd gone. I wouldn't put it past her to send Dad to find me. Mind you, it would take him another ten to get past Mrs Bird.

The corridors were dark, but we knew the way. The sound of my footsteps on the stairs was loud, another disadvantage of wearing shoes that would have been more at home in the Armed Forces. Dylan was wearing sneakers, so at least he didn't sound like someone in a tap-dancing competition. But I didn't bother too much about the noise. There was no one to hear. And, anyway, this had to be done and it had to be done now.

Blacky was outside the Science lab, sniffing and whining at the dark line where door met floor. Dylan and I joined him. At the door that is. Not with the sniffing and whining.

‘You sure this is going to work, Dylan?' I said.

‘We're about to find out.'

He peeled a thin strip of sticky tape from the doorframe. The rest of the tape disappeared into the crack. Dylan pulled the tape firmly. Another five or six centimetres slid out. He took a deep breath, held it and pushed against the door. I was aware I was holding my breath as well. I think Blacky might have made it three of us.

The door opened.

‘Piece of cake,' said Dylan.

He explained it all to me later. How, while I was talking to the Science teacher, he had been placing a strip of sticky tape into the lock mechanism, smoothing it down so no one could tell it was there unless they looked very closely. He knew the door would be locked. But Dylan knows about locks, particularly school locks. It is one of his specialities to be able to get into locked classrooms, hide in cupboards and then scare the poo out of teachers who think they are alone by leaping out and yelling like a lunatic. Doing what comes naturally.

As Dylan told it, pulling on the tape would force the wedge-shaped metal piece back into the doorframe, thus opening the door. A bit like the way burglars are supposed to be able to use credit cards to force locks. He swore it would work. And it had. I shouldn't have doubted him.

We all started breathing again and made our way over to the tanks lined up along the window. It was dark in here, but the window gave some light. This time I didn't mess around. I opened the tank and God slithered out. He was like a flash of shadow, disappearing down the side of the bench towards Blacky. I felt an amazing sense of relief.

‘Good job, Dylan,' I said. I meant it, too. I could never have done this without him. ‘Now let's get out of here.'

‘In a minute,' he said, pulling something from his pocket and putting it into the now empty tank.

‘What is that?' I asked. Even though I was in a rush to get back to the play before Mum got suspicious I put my face to the glass and peered into the gloom. Sitting in the corner of the tank was a green plastic crocodile, one of those toys you can get at the local nothing-more-than-two-dollars shop.

‘It's a decoy,' said Dylan. ‘I bought it on my way here.'

‘Dylan,' I replied. ‘That's a green plastic crocodile, mate.'

‘I know,' he said. ‘But I was hoping that from a distance it might look like a pygmy bearded dragon.'

‘Maybe from a distance of about two hundred kilometres. But anyone closer would spot it in a instant. For one thing, it's green. For another, it's plastic. And thirdly – I hope I'm not being too picky here – it's a crocodile.'

‘Well, I know it's not going to fool anyone for too long, but I just thought that maybe if the teacher was a bit short-sighted he might not notice for a day or two.'

‘Dylan, he'd have to be totally blind. And he's not. Anyway, it doesn't matter, because I'm also leaving this.' I took an envelope from the inside of my jacket pocket. Yes, I was wearing a suit jacket. It doesn't get much sadder than that. Inside the envelope was two hundred and sixty dollars in cash. And a note saying sorry. The way I looked at it, I was doing the school a favour. The teacher could get a replacement, a replacement that wasn't going to cark it in a few days. No one was going to be a loser.

I propped the envelope against the glass of the tank. They might as well keep the green plastic crocodile, I thought. At least it wouldn't cost a fortune in food and you didn't need a licence.

We stepped outside the Science lab and closed the door. I tested it. Locked. Part of me was pleased at this. How would they solve the mystery of the disappearing dragon? ‘The door was locked, Superintendent. Yet the thief managed to get into the lab, spirit the animal away and leave a made-in-China plastic crocodile in its place.' Sherlock Holmes would have difficulty getting to the truth of this one.

‘A quick word, tosh, before we leave.'

I squatted down at Blacky's side. I could see God on his neck, legs splayed, holding on, I imagined, for grim death.

‘How are you going to get out of here?' I asked.

‘Can't see that being a problem,' replied Blacky. ‘I mean, it's not like they're going to lock the door to keep us in when I pad down there. A mangy dog. A smelly dog. I think they'll just open the door and be glad when I've gone.'

I couldn't fault his logic. I figured much the same would apply to Dylan's getaway.

‘Good luck on the journey,' I said. ‘I'll … I'll miss you. A bit.'

‘If I'm back this way, I'll drop in to say hello.'

‘No more dumping on my doona.'

‘Promise. I'll even shake on it.'

I smiled.

‘God wants to say thank you,' said Blacky. ‘He thinks it's going to be okay, that he'll get back to his family, warn them, move them. He wants you to know that you have done a good thing. And he also wants to know if there is anything he can do for you, before we head off.'

I looked at God. His hard, cold eyes were fixed on mine. I hadn't really got to know him. But somehow, as we locked eyes, I could see a mind and a world in there. A mind and a world that was very different from anything I could imagine. But as important as my own, in its way. The world was a messed-up place and I'd only tidied a tiny, tiny part of it. But I can't tell you how good I felt about myself.

‘It's funny you mention that, God,' I said. ‘But there is one thing you could do for me, if you have time.'

And, pressing my mouth to the side of his scaly head, I told him.

I set fire to Mrs Bird's walking stick with a blowtorch so I could get back in to my seat.

Actually, I didn't. I crawled under her cane again. She glanced down when I was halfway through.

‘Hello, Sonny,' she said. ‘What are you doing here?'

‘Twenty-five past seven,' I said. Two can play that game. Mum gave me a hard stare, but I kept my eyes fixed on the stage. Rose was still on it, talking to some guy with gelled hair that fell in a wave over one eye. This, I assumed, was the poor loser she had the hots for. He couldn't act to save his life. That was clear within thirty seconds. The words came out of his mouth as if he'd just learnt them, which of course he had. But there was no expression in his voice. Rose, in the meantime, was going for an Oscar.
Everything
she said had expression in it.

I had no idea what was going on. People wandered on and off the stage, talking. Boy, was there a lot of talking! But nothing seemed to be happening. Laughter. A few tears, mainly from Rose. The occasional waving around of arms. And words. An endless stream of words.

‘Isn't it good?' Mum whispered in my ear.

It wasn't. It was sad. Maybe I'm old-fashioned but I reckon stuff should happen, whether it's in a TV program or a play. A car chase. Okay, I know that's difficult on a stage. A bomb. A train crash. Even more difficult on a stage. Something. Anything. If I wanted to simply listen to people natter on, I'd pay attention in class, that's all I'm saying. After ten minutes, I'd have given anything to see Dylan up there with a brick in his hand.

So, when it happened, I think I did the audience a huge favour.

Rose was with the gelled guy. They were having a passionate conversation. I have no idea about what, since I'd given up listening at that point. There was just the two of them on stage, face to face, a spotlight picking them out. And that's when I saw him.

I doubt if anyone else did. It was just a dark flash across the stage floor, like a small shadow. It stopped at the gelled guy's foot. I held my breath.

The play was obviously set in the past because all the actors were wearing weird costumes. And plenty of them. Rose, for example, had a huge dress on. The guy had heavy trousers, a thick shirt and a padded waistcoat. It must have been like carrying around his own personal sauna. This probably explained why he didn't notice a pygmy bearded dragon climbing up his leg, scuttling across the waistcoat and settling by his collar. Rose didn't notice anything either. I suppose she was too busy putting expression into her voice. They were looking deep into each other's eyes. There was a pause. Dramatic.