Miss Understood (18 page)

‘How was your second day at the charity shop?’

‘Good,’ I said, even though I got a tiny pang of something that didn’t feel very nice when I thought about taking the cutlery set. ‘How was the restaurant?’

‘Three stars, Betty.’

‘Did you remember Mum’s special Singapore rice?’

‘The chicken rice? Yes, I did.’

‘She’ll be happy,’ I said.

‘She will. Well, it’s late, Betty, so you should try to get some sleep.’

But I couldn’t sleep. Even though I felt a bit better after talking to Dad, I felt wide awake, so I got out of bed and did some homework. I know I said before that I didn’t usually have homework, since all of my schoolwork was done at home, but that night I did do a bit.

The thing is, when you have a sudden and really quite brilliant idea that you can’t push out of your head, I think you should do something about it, even if that means that you get so into it that your mum has to come in and tell you to go to bed.

‘It’s really late, Lizzie,’ she said. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Something to do with school,’ I said, covering my writing with one hand. ‘But I’m not ready to show you yet.’

‘Fair enough,’ she replied. ‘But have you forgotten that it’s Saturday night? In fact, it’s almost Sunday morning.’

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘but it was a great idea.’

She leaned down and kissed me on the top of the head. ‘Well, it’s late. Don’t be up too much longer, all right?’

But after I’d climbed into bed and switched off my light, I thought some more about what I’d written, and changed my mind. That was why I crawled out of bed, grabbed the piece of paper I’d started writing my letter on, screwed it up and threw it in the direction of my bin.

‘That was a dumb idea,’ I said as I climbed back under the covers and closed my eyes. Because it was.

*

Remember how I talked about how you can be half-asleep and think something is an awesome idea, but when you wake up it’s a dumb one? Well, I reckon that sometimes the opposite can happen. I went to sleep thinking that the idea I’d had was so stupid, but the next morning, when I woke up and saw Muppet under my desk chewing on the crumpled piece of paper I’d written the idea on, it all started to come back, and I began to feel as though it might work. So I rescued it from Muppet (it was a bit soggy, but I could still read it okay) and put it inside my HSIE exercise book.

I was going to watch some cartoons while I ate my cereal, but then I heard Mum in the dining room and went to be with her instead.

She was sitting at the table with a steaming bowl of yellow rice beside her laptop. (It smelt amazing, by the way.) She didn’t even notice me come in, because she was too busy talking to the screen. ‘Oh, you can’t be serious!’ she said. (Of course, the computer didn’t say anything back to her, because computers can’t really talk.) ‘But we’re already doing that!’ she said next. Then, ‘Oh, come
on
!’

I peeked over her shoulder to see if she was chatting or Skyping with someone, but she wasn’t – she was really just having an argument with a screenful of writing.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

She just shook her head. ‘All this government stuff we have to tick off to homeschool you, Lizzie – it’s a nightmare!’

That seemed a bit dramatic, I thought. Unless she was about to discover five-headed snakes or angry dragons or something about drowning on that webpage, it couldn’t be anything like any of the nightmares
I’d
had!

‘So I guess it’s lucky that you’re going to send me back to Sacred Wimple,’ I said. ‘You won’t have to worry about that stuff.’

‘That won’t be the only thing we don’t have to worry about if you go back to that school,’ she replied.

‘What do you mean? You said something like that the other day, too.’

‘It’s nothing,’ she said, and the way she leaned in and looked more closely at the screen told me that she didn’t want to talk any more about what that nothing was. ‘Besides, it’s not even definite that you’ll be able to go back there.’

That was when Dad came in. He was wearing a grotty T-shirt, stained shorts and old sneakers.

‘Where are you going?’ I asked.

‘The lawn needs mowing again,’ he said. ‘That fertiliser works too well.’

But the mower wouldn’t start. I could hear the engine going
splutter splutter splutter
out in the front yard, but there was no
vroom.
He kept trying, but no
vroom
. Mum sat there with a frustrated expression on her face, listening to the
splutter-spluttering
but not the
vrooming
, and looking like she was about to start shouting or screaming or something.

‘It’s not starting, Mum,’ I said.

She shook her head slowly. ‘No, it’s really not,’ she said.

‘Should we see if he needs any help?’

Mum laughed. ‘He’ll be right.’

‘Can I go and ask?’

‘Sure, if you like,’ she said. ‘It means I don’t have to go out there.’

I got to the front door just in time to see Dad kick the mower. He actually kicked it, as if he was trying to get it into the next street. I think he must have stubbed his toe, too, because he hopped around for a while and said a couple of words I’d heard before, but never quite understood.

I stopped just inside the screen door. I had been planning to go out there and tease him a bit, maybe ask if he wanted me to pull the starting rope if he couldn’t yank it hard enough to make the mower start. But when I saw him using interesting words and kicking the mower and hopping around with an ouch face, I decided I’d wait right there.

Besides, there was another reason to stay where I was – Miss Huntley. She was in front of her garden bed with all the roses, digging with her little spade, and when Dad started jumping around like Richie having one of his tantrums, she looked up, jammed the spade into the dirt, and walked towards Dad. Then she just stood there, on the edge of the driveway, waiting for him to notice her.

He did notice her in the end, and turned so his back was to me. She said something that I couldn’t hear, and I guess he must have answered her, because she was nodding. But then she did something that seemed to make him really angry all over again. She reached out and touched his arm, and spoke quietly to him. It must have been pretty mean, because he shook her hand away and said something that sounded like ‘Mind your own business’, before turning around and stomping up the driveway towards the house.

I was trapped. I couldn’t head off down the hallway, because he was about to come in through the front door, and he’d see me leaving and know I’d been watching. But if I just stood there he’d still know that I’d been watching. The only thing I
couldn’t
do was disappear.

He flung the screen door open. I guess he knew I was there, because he stepped around me. Plus he would have heard me when I said, ‘Dad, are you okay? What did she say?’

But he didn’t answer me. He just kept going, stomping through the house muttering something.

‘Marty?’ I heard Mum call out as Dad went past the dining room. ‘What’s going on?’

She asked me the same thing when I came back to the table. ‘What’s going on?’

I shrugged. ‘Miss Huntley said something to him, and he got all mad.’

Mum sighed. ‘Watch your brother, Lizzie.’ Then, as she pushed her chair back and headed upstairs, I heard her murmur, ‘Man, we really gotta do something about this.’ And because I knew that she wasn’t talking to me, I didn’t ask what it was she had to do something about.

‘This is so annoying,’ I said to Muppet. Or was it to Richie? Maybe both. They both looked at me without understanding what I was saying. (Actually, Muppet was probably closer to understanding.) And it
was
annoying, the way Dad kept losing his temper so easily, but then he’d be lovely again a couple of hours later, or sometimes the next day. He’d say he was sorry for shouting, but then a day or two after that, or maybe even less, he’d do it all again. To be honest, I was getting pretty sick of it.

I saw Miss Huntley the next day, while I was eating my lunch on the front lawn. (Dad was right, by the way – the fertiliser was working really well. But I was also kind of glad that he couldn’t get the mower started, because I really liked the grass when it was a bit longer and spongier and more comfy.)

Miss Huntley had just pushed her wheelbarrow around the side of her house. She saw me sitting on the lawn and waved to me, so after I’d waved back, I got up and crossed the street.

‘Oh, you’re just in time, Miss Elizabeth,’ she said. ‘Would you be a doll and put those empty pots into the barrow? My back is giving me the rounds today.’

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I did understand about the pots, so I started loading them into the wheelbarrow. As I did it, I asked her what she’d said to Dad the day before.

She looked a bit confused, and stopped raking up weeds. ‘When did I say something to your father?’

‘Yesterday, when he was mowing the lawn. Or when he was
trying
to mow the lawn.’

‘Ah,’ she said, and she gave this big nod and went back to raking. ‘The infamous non-starting mower. That was quite the paddy he threw, wasn’t it?’

‘What’s a paddy?’

‘What he did. Like a tantrum.’

‘What did you say to him?’ I asked again. ‘Because it only made him madder, I reckon.’

She stopped raking again, and gave me this long look. ‘I know you only have his best interests at heart, Lizzie, but to be honest, that was between your father and me. But I can reveal that I did give him a tiny taste of the old Matron Huntley wisdom.’

‘So you’re not going to tell me?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I’m not. But whatever is worrying you, I’m sure it will all turn out well in the end.’

I frowned at her. How would she know?

D
ad wasn’t at home again that night, but he wasn’t reviewing a restaurant. He was out with some of his friends. They weren’t even doing anything fun like seeing a movie – they were just having a drink or something just as boring.

Mum hadn’t been all that happy that he was going out two nights in a row, especially since she hadn’t been to dinner or had drinks with her friends for a while. (I knew that because they talked about it
very
loudly while Dad was having a shower, and I could hear everything through the bathroom door
.
) Mum thought that Dad got to go out a lot for work, and he reckoned that going out and eating at a restaurant for work was different from relaxing with his friends. And Mum wondered why he couldn’t relax with her.

Mum went to bed early that night – I wasn’t really sure why. But she did give me some jobs to do before I went to bed, and one of those was taking the kitchen scraps around to the worm farm.

As I went around the end of the house, I heard Muppet barking like mad near the gate that led next door.

‘What is it, boy?’ I asked, but of course he didn’t answer me, except to do some more barking.

‘Sorry,’ I heard a man’s voice say from just on the other side of the gate.

You know how sometimes people say they almost died of fright? Well, that’s how I felt when I heard him speak. Of course, I recognised the voice almost straight away, but that didn’t stop my heart from racing like I’d just run all the way home from the shops. I dropped the bucket of vegetable peels and apple cores and bread crusts and turned to run.

‘It’s okay,’ the man said. ‘It’s me, from next door.’

I stopped and turned around. I couldn’t see much at all past the shadows around the bin and the gate. Besides, he was on the other side of the fence – all I could see was the shape of the top of his head.

‘It’s me, from next door,’ he said again, like I was stupid or something.

‘I know who it is, but you still scared me!’ I said. ‘What are you doing there?’

‘I was just using your bin – I hope that’s okay.’

‘Well, it’s not,’ I said.

‘Oh. I’m sorry you feel that way.’

‘Quiet, Muppet!’ I said, and he stopped barking and started quietly growling instead. ‘You know, you’re a bit mean.’

‘Me?’ the man said. ‘Why would you say that? You don’t even know me!’

‘You’re mean because I brought you knives and forks and things, and you didn’t even say thank you.’

‘Yes, I did!’

‘No, you didn’t.’

I heard him sigh. ‘Well, I did, but in case you didn’t hear me the first time, thanks for the cutlery set. It came in very useful.’

‘It did?’ I asked.

‘Yes. I appreciate it.’

‘Even though you didn’t really need it?’ I said.

‘That’s right. It was the thought that counted.’

‘Yeah, my mum says that all the time. But I still think you’re mean.’

‘You do?’

‘Yes. You told me to get lost, after I did something nice for you, and now you want to use our bin.’

‘Oh, so this
is
your house?’

He had me there, so I changed the subject. ‘You know, if you sneak around at night like this, someone might shoot you.’

‘Do you have a gun?’ the man asked.

‘No. But someone might. There’s that man who drives around in the little security car – he might have a gun.’

‘I’ll take my chances,’ he said.

‘Why are you even living in that display house?’ I asked. ‘And why isn’t anyone allowed to know?’

‘Because it’s called squatting. And you’re not meant to do it.’

‘So why
are
you doing it? Quiet, Muppet!’

The man paused. Then he said, ‘It’s going to sound pathetic, but I’ve got nowhere else to stay at the moment.’

‘Why not? Don’t you have a house?’

‘No, not any more. My wife and I separated, you see.’

‘Are you getting a divorce?’

I heard him sigh. ‘I think so, yes. I’ve already lost my house. I mean, I’ll get some money when we sell it, but for now . . .’ Then he stopped talking, and cleared his throat.

‘But why do you have to stay here? Don’t you have, like, a brother or anyone you could stay with?’

‘No.’

‘A sister?’

‘No.’

‘No friends?’

‘Not really,’ he said.

‘Oh. That’s sad,’ I said, because it was. Even though Richie was little, I kind of knew that if the grown-up me ever needed somewhere to sleep, the grown-up Richie would let me stay at his place.