Belly Flop (3 page)

I'd better go and bang her on the back.

Hope you don't mind me sending my thoughts to you like this, Doug.

It helps me keep my mind off the clock.

If me yakking on like this is making it hard for you to concentrate on saving any of the other kids on your roster, don't listen, OK?

It's twenty-seven past three.

Mum and Dad are looking a bit stressed.

Pity angels only do rescues.

We could do with something to break the tension and give us a laugh.

One of the balloons popping or Dad sitting on the pikelets or something.

Dad's been showing me the features of the calculator they gave me for my birthday.

‘Look,' he said, ‘it calculates loan repayments to six decimal places.'

Gran had a coughing fit.

I decided I'd better try and help everyone relax.

‘Don't worry,' I said, ‘the kids have probably been held up.'

‘I doubt it,' said Gran, ‘seeing as it only takes thirteen and a half minutes to walk from one end of town to the other, fourteen in a dust storm.'

Poor old Gran.

She gets a bit grumpy sometimes.

It's from being ancient.

I reckon she's remarkable for her age, but she does have one habit that gets her into a bit of strife.

Remember how she's always been a heavy smoker, Doug?

Well now she eats while she does it.

I don't blame her, but.

If I was in my twilight years I'd want to pack as much as I could into each moment too. I'd probably do something dopey like watch videos in the shower.

There goes Gran now, puffing away and choking on a chocolate crackle.

She's always choking on chocolate crackles.

It's her fault, she knows she should pour hot milk on them first. She knows they don't get soft enough when she dips them in her beer.

What makes it worse is she's pretty tall for an old person so she's got long pipes. That means when food gets stuck it's got a fair distance to travel and she needs a lot of thumps on the back.

It's OK but, she's pretty solid.

S'cuse me Doug.

It's nineteen minutes to four.

Mum and Dad are looking very stressed.

Dad's put his elbow in his beer three times.

A couple of secs ago a thought hit me.

Perhaps they're worried that when the kids arrive, they might all try to bash me up.

‘It's OK,' I said, ‘if things get out of hand I can give Doug a hoi.'

Mum and Dad looked at each other and pretended they hadn't heard.

‘I probably won't have to,' I said, ‘but he's around if I need him.'

Gran coughed a Cheezel across the room.

Mum and Dad looked at each other again and I could tell from their pained expressions they'd heard.

That's when I remembered.

Don't be offended, Doug, but Mum and Dad don't believe in you.

It's one of their few real faults.

If they can't see a person, and offer them a cup of tea or something cold, they don't believe in them.

Try not to hold it against them, Doug.

It's seventeen minutes to four.

If a spaceship's landed in Memorial Park and everyone's down there, you'd let me know, eh Doug?

It's OK, Doug, I'm not crying.

My eyes are just a bit drippy, that's all.

Us humans get drippy eyes sometimes if we're tired or we've been watching too much telly or we get toothpaste in them.

Or we have a birthday party and nobody comes.

I still can't believe it.

I wasn't expecting every kid in town to trample the door down, but I thought some'd turn up even if it was just to see Gran cough bits of corn chip out of her nose.

Not a single one.

Not even Andy Howard, who'd normally walk naked through bull ants for a free feed.

Poor old Mum and Dad, it was good of them to try and cheer me up, even if they aren't very good at it.

Just now, when Mum said ‘Never mind, love, they've probably got the wrong day,' and Dad stared at the Cheezel on top of the TV and said ‘They'll probably turn up next Sunday', I had to bite my tongue really hard.

I wanted to yell something really angry.

Something about how some parents' jobs make it really hard for a kid to have a birthday party.

I still do, but Gran's coughing and they probably won't hear me.

Anyway, it wouldn't be fair.

Dad can't help . . .

What was that?

Doug, quick.

The window just exploded.

There's glass everywhere.

What's happening?

Is someone shooting at us?

Are there farmers out there with guns?

Doug.

Help.

HELP.

 

 

 

 

It's OK Doug, it was just a brick.

Don't get me wrong.

That's bad enough.

We've never had a brick before and we're all shaking like a truckie's gut.

But at least it's not as bad as a bullet.

I just wish I'd seen it coming, then I could have got you to stop it.

But I didn't see it till it had smashed through the window.

The noise made us freeze and we just sat there like stunned fish fillets watching the brick land in the Cheezels and bits of glass bounce off the walls and tinkle across the floor.

Then everyone moved.

Mum dived protectively across Gran.

It was good of her, but a bit of a waste of time cause she's about half the size of Gran and her skin is still quite soft except for her elbows and Gran's is like leather-grain vinyl.

Still, you can't blame her for trying.

She's got diving in her blood from Grandad.

Poor old Dad hasn't.

When he tried to throw himself protectively on top of me he got the angle wrong and bounced off the rocker recliner and landed on the food table.

That's when I unfroze and yelled for you, Doug.

I know guardian angels are really only meant to protect kids, so it was good of you to make sure Dad's head missed the cutlery and landed on something soft.

All those swear words he came out with while we were getting the taco dip out of his eyes weren't about you, I promise.

They were about the person who chucked the brick.

We're out in the street now, but we can't see anyone.

Doesn't matter.

We know who did it, don't we Doug?

I've just told Mum and Dad about Troy and Brent Malley.

They were pretty shocked.

Mum gave me a hug.

Dad looked as though he was going to cry, though that might have been because of what he'd just seen.

My calculator.

Smashed to bits.

Dad reckons we mustn't jump to conclusions, but.

He could be right.

I've just noticed something scratched on the brick.

The word
MONGREL.

I'm not sure if Troy and Brent Malley can spell that well.

Dad's on the phone now giving Sergeant Crean a list of the people he reckons would chuck a brick through our window. Dad hates dobbing, but he's had to mention most of the town.

I'm still shaking, Doug.

My guts feel like they've been through a sheep feed machine.

Mum's still shaking too. Even her shoulders are trembling, and I don't think it's because she's picking up broken glass. She's normally very relaxed handling sharp objects, that's why she's so good at darts.

Gran usually shakes a bit, but not as much as she is now.

She wouldn't admit it, but I think she's a bit scared. You can tell by the words she's yelling at Dad.

‘Get a different job, you hopeless bugger, before we're all killed,' for example.

Normally she's much ruder to him than that.

Mum and Dad have gone to give a statement about the brick to Sergeant Crean down at the bowls club.

Poor things.

It won't be easy for them, walking into that place with everyone throwing glances at them and muttering things.

I'm on my bed trying to fit my calculator back together.

It's not easy with my hands shaking so much.

Gran's just been in.

‘Good on you for having a punt,' she said.

At first I thought she meant the calculator.

I'd just spent ten minutes trying to straighten a bent battery terminal and wondering if angels are any good at electrical repairs.

She didn't.

‘That was a brave try, the party,' she said; ‘You had a punt, that's the main thing.'

Gran reckons if a person won't have a punt, they might as well just lie down and let a cattle truck run over them.

‘Thanks, Gran,' I said.

She went to her room for a rest.

Poor thing.

She's too old to be hated by an entire town.

Specially when her and Grandad used to be so popular.

Once Gran was president of the bowls club four years in a row.

And Grandad, before he died, was the most loved swimming pool attendant this town's ever had.

And the best diver.

It says so on his retirement medal.

The one Mum keeps in her bedside drawer for when she needs a cry.

I'm gunna stop wasting my time on this calculator, Doug.

I've got more important stuff to do.

Like come up with another plan to make everything in our lives OK again.

 

 

 

 

Last night wasn't a good night for coming up with plans.

My brain kept getting distracted by other stuff.

Worrying about school today, mostly.

Having to face all those kids.

Specially two of them in particular.

I'd have been awake all night if it hadn't been for you, Doug.

When I was little and Gran used to tell me about you, she always reckoned guardian angels were better than hot milk drinks for getting to sleep.

She was right.

Thanks, Doug.

I feel a bit better about the Malleys this morning.

I think it's because I dreamed about you, just like I used to.

Boy, I was glad to see you.

Well, not actually see you of course, but feel your breeze.

It was a top dream.

I was in the main street and I was pretty upset, party cause Dad had just stuck his elbow in my ice-cream and party cause the town was surrounded by hundreds of angry farmers with guns who wanted to kill us.

Me and Dad knew we were cactus.

Even if we ran as fast as we could, there was no way we'd make it to Conkey's, buy guns for ourselves, unwrap them and load them before the farmers started firing.

I wanted Dad to hold my hand tight, but he was busy wiping peach and mango ripple off his elbow.

Then the posters started flapping outside the newsagents and I knew it was you, Doug.

As usual you were amazing. In less than thirty seconds the farmers remembered some urgent fence repairs they had to do and went home in an orderly manner.

And I've woken up with a really good feeling.

That ripper peaceful feeling of knowing you're looking after me.

 

Emergency call to Doug.

Emergency call to Doug.

Dad's in a bad way.

I've never seen him so clumsy.

He usually has one accident on his way to the car, maybe two, but I've never seen him have four.

Getting his keys tangled up in his hanky, dropping his briefcase, tripping over the garden hose and banging his knee on the carport all on the same morning'd be a record, I'd say.

I was at the mail box when he came a cropper over the hose, which he'd have to be pretty tense to do as it's been in the same spot untouched for eight years.

Then, when he was in the car, I understood.

Mum came out and before she got in the car herself she asked him if he needed some goanna oil for his knee.

‘I'll be right,' he said. ‘I'll just be doing desk work most of the day. I'm not due out at the Malleys with their eviction papers till three.'

My insides plummeted.

I went stiff with shock.

If there had been any birthday cards for me I'd probably have dropped them.

Mr and Mrs Malley are just as muscly as Troy and Brent, and taller, and they own about six guns each.

They shoot things for fun, not just sick sheep.

Doug, I know you're busy and I know guardian angels are really only meant to look after kids, but could you keep an eye on Dad this arvo?

He needs you, Doug.

Don't worry about me.

I'll have come up with a plan by then to win the hearts of everyone in town, including Troy and Brent Malley.

I know I will.

 

Thanks, Doug.

By the time I got to school I was so tense I couldn't think straight.

I couldn't stop imagining Dad's bullet-riddled body stuffed in the Malleys' sock drawer.

It took me a couple of minutes to notice Troy and Brent weren't around.

Even then I had the awful thought that perhaps they'd been kept at home to help load the guns so Mr and Mrs Malley won't have to stop to do it this arvo and lose concentration while they're shooting at Dad.

Then I realised it wasn't that, it was you, Doug.

You've made Troy and Brent late so I can get into class in one piece.

Simple and clever.

Which is also how I'd describe the idea I've just had, even though I say it myself.

It came to me while I was hanging up my bag.

I saw the permission form for the school excursion sticking out the top.

Have I told you about the school excursion?

A school way over on the coast has invited our school to go and take part in their swimming carnival on account of us being drought-struck. Someone must have told them about us not having any water in our town pool for the last eight years.

I was meant to get Mum or Dad to fill out the form over the weekend.

Poop, I thought when I saw it, and started filling it out myself.