Belly Flop (6 page)

My side started throbbing harder.

‘No,' said Mum. ‘Noel's had enough today. Head office just rang. Mr Grimmond reckons Noel's reports are too soft. Told him he's making too many excuses for the farmers. Told him to get tougher or else. He's taken a Panadol and gone to bed.'

Poor old Dad.

He's probably feeling as bad as I am.

I'm in the bath now, checking out the damage.

Few bruises mostly.

Nothing that'll get in the way of diving practice.

What I need is some softer gym mats.

Gran's just been in.

I wish she'd knock.

She might be good at handling bullies but she's got hopeless manners when it comes to bathrooms.

She told me to run more water and soak my bruises properly, but I didn't cause we're getting low and the next delivery's not for ages.

Plus she's already used a bucketful out in the street.

Thanks, Gran,' 1 said. ‘You really put the wind up the Malleys.'

Gran waved a letter at me.

‘I wouldn't have done it,' she said, ‘if I'd known you'd been stealing my mail.'

I stared up at her.

‘It was in your school bag,' she said. ‘Dunno how a person's meant to manage their investments when letters from their bank get left in school bags.'

I realised what had happened.

This morning, when I was at the mail box checking for birthday cards and I panicked about Dad and the Malleys, I must have stuffed her letter in my bag.

‘Sorry, Gran,' I said.

She grunted.

I saw her looking at my bruises and I could tell she was blaming Dad.

‘It was my fault,' I said. ‘I wanted to fight the Malleys and get it out the way so I can concentrate on being a champion diver.'

She stared down at me.

‘I knew I wouldn't get too bashed,' I said, ‘cause Doug's back looking after me.'

Gran's stare turned into a frown.

I hope I didn't hurt her feelings, letting her know she didn't save me single-handed.

I hope she was just frowning cause Grandad's been dead seven years and it's a long time since she's seen a willy.

 

 

 

 

G'day Doug.

If you've got a sec, I'll explain what I'm doing up here on the roof.

And what all the mattresses and pillows and cushions from the house are doing piled up down there on the ground.

It's like this.

Last night before I went to sleep I decided to get a bit of diving practice in.

Mr Tristos is always saying that to learn something new you've got to do it several times.

Trouble is, it's really hard doing a double somersault off the top of a wardrobe onto a bed.

The most I could do was a single somersault with a half twist.

I hadn't even planned the half twist, I had to do it to avoid the bedside lamp.

For a double somersault you need extra height, so now Mum and Dad have left early for work, I've decided to use our roof.

The reason I'm telling you all this, Doug, is I'm a bit worried that if I bounce off the mattresses at the wrong angle there might not be enough pillows and cushions to stop me splitting my skull open and scattering teeth all over the driveway.

I don't want to wake Gran up to ask her for her pillow, so I'm asking you to keep an eye on me.

Thanks, Doug.

OK, I'd better stop yakking and get a few dives in before my soles melt and stick to the roof.

I don't want to be up here scraping my thongs off the tin when Gran wakes up.

If Mum and Dad find out about this they'll go mental.

Mum and Dad have gone mental.

I've tried to explain to them it's partly their fault for coming home only ten minutes after they left.

They should have told me they were just going to Conkey's for tights and aftershave.

But they won't listen.

They're too busy yelling things up at me like ‘don't move' and ‘step back off the guttering' and I'm gunna tan your hide' and ‘don't jump, we love you'.

I'm trying to tell them about my diving career and how I was never in serious danger and neither were the lounge room cushions because you were protecting me, Doug.

I know they don't believe in you, but I don't know what else to say.

I've got to calm them down somehow.

Oh, no.

Dad's climbing up the ladder.

Help him, Doug, please.

No, it's OK, I can handle it.

Once I've unhooked his trouser leg from the TV satellite dish and unjammed his shoe from the bathroom window, he'll be fine.

Doug, are you feeling hurt?

You know, by the things Mum and Dad have just been saying about you?

They weren't really about you.

When Dad said ‘Oh God, not again', it was mostly because when I got him off the ladder he was so tense he sat on the four-wheel drive winch and ripped his daks for the second time this week.

When Mum said ‘Mitch, I thought we agreed three years ago you were too old for all this invisible friend nonsense', she only used the word nonsense because she was tired and stressed and wondering how she could get two windows fixed before work.

When Dad said to Mum ‘It's all your mother's fault for filling his head with loony hairbrained gibberish in the first place', he was just letting off steam because of the unkind things Gran says to him, and possibly because the winch had irritated his upper thighs. I hope that makes you feel better, Doug.

Now we're all sitting at the breakfast table and there's some silence at last, I'm gunna try and work it out.

The thing that's puzzling me.

Doug, why didn't you delay Mum and Dad a bit?

To give me time to get at least one dive in?

After they left Conkey's you could have made them drop into the Gas ‘N' Gobble for some touch-up paint to cover the rude words people have scratched on the side of Dad's four-wheel drive.

You could have inspired them to come home via the scenic route past the abattoir.

Why didn't you, Doug?

Was it cause you're angry with me for having parents who don't believe in you?

Hang on a sec, Mum's just started to cry.

‘You could have been killed,' she's saying.

Poor thing.

I feel terrible.

I wish I could make her feel better.

All I can do is hug her.

‘For God's sake speak to him,' she's saying to Dad.

We're all waiting.

Dad looks pretty upset too.

‘You could have been killed,' he's saying.

He's just knocked the milk over.

‘Hopeless,' Gran's saying.

Everyone's silent again.

I reckon I know the answer, Doug.

I reckon you're not angry.

Mum and Dad can't help what they believe, you know that.

I reckon you stopped me diving this morning for their sake.

In a town this small, they'd find out sooner or later about me diving onto gym mats and lounge cushions, and the stress would be too much.

Look at poor old Dad.

He's so stressed he's just shut his tie in the fridge.

Now he's glaring at the fridge door like he's planning to write a report on it.

OK, Doug, I get the message.

From now on I'll only dive into water.

I just wish the excursion was tomorrow instead of next week.

When the bus gets to the coast, I'm gunna spend half a minute having a squiz at the sea, just to check out what it looks like, then I'll go straight to the pool and start practising.

Doug, please make Dad's heart valves stand the stress until the excursion.

 

 

 

 

The excursion's been cancelled.

Ms Dorrit just told us in assembly.

Kids are almost in tears.

Me included.

Leaving the hall we were all numb, just sort of staring at the ground.

Well, I was staring at the ground.

The others were staring at me and muttering how it was all my fault.

Luckily I didn't have to go into class with them. Ms Dorrit sent me to stand here outside her door after what she reckoned was my outburst in assembly.

I reckon an outburst's only human with news that bad.

What got me was she didn't even look sad.

When a school principal stands up in assembly and comes out with news that crook, you'd think she'd at least look sad, eh Doug?

I've got some very disappointing news,' she said after we'd finished singing.

I reckon she's not disappointed at all.

I reckon she's glad.

I reckon she never liked the idea of a school excursion in case Cathy Saxby chucked on the bus.

'Regretfully,' she said, ‘we haven't had enough bookings for the excursion and I have no alternative but to cancel it.'

My insides did a dive.

No somersaults.

No twists.

Just a straight plummet.

I looked around.

I've never seen a hallful of kids so sad.

Most of the kids in this town can't even swim and that trip to the coast was their only chance to learn.

I could see what they were thinking.

Andy Howard was thinking that if he ever visits a Mexican food factory and falls into a vat of taco dip and finds he can't eat it fast enough, he'll drown.

Sheena Bullock was thinking that if she and her dog join the police force and chase smugglers and her dog gets hit on the head with a surfboard stuffed with jewels, she'll never be able to swim over and rescue him.

Danielle Wicks was thinking that when she becomes Prime Minister, if she falls into that lake in Canberra she'll be history.

Carla Fiami was looking sadder than any of them.

I reckon she was thinking about her childhood growing up on the coast and how she'll probably never get to have another swim ever again.

I knew what they were all thinking because I was thinking about my future life too.

Not a life of international sporting glory and having my picture taken with Dad for the bowls club newsletter.

A life of being hounded from town to town and only being spoken to by the kids of dentists and parking inspectors.

A life of brooding how close I'd come to saving my family.

And how I'd failed.

I looked up at Ms Dorrit on the stage.

‘You can't,' I said.

She looked stunned, then glared down at me.

My mouth was dryer than a lawn sprinkler.

‘You can't cancel the excursion,' I croaked. ‘Do you have any idea what it's like to drown in taco dip?'

It was a pretty dumb thing to say, but it didn't matter because Ms Dorrit ignored it.

‘I didn't choose this, Mitch Webber,' she said. ‘It breaks my heart too.'

I didn't know I was gunna say the next thing till I'd said it.

‘Bull,' I said to Ms Dorrit. ‘If you really cared you'd get our pool here in town filled so the kids and dogs of this district could learn to swim and we could have our own swimming carnival.'

Ms Dorrit's eyes narrowed.

‘And diving competition,' I said.

She opened her mouth.

For a sec I thought she was gunna say, ‘Good idea Mitch, I'll order the water today.'

Instead she just pointed to her room.

As I walked out, she turned back to the assembly.

‘It's not my choice,' she said. I've been contacted by many of your parents. They've told me they just don't have the money for an excursion, not with the drought on, not with all their other financial problems.'

As soon as she said that, every kid in the hall stopped looking at her and turned and looked at me.

Not just looked at me, glared at me.

Suddenly I couldn't breathe.

All around me, eyes were ripping into me like bullets.

Not just Troy and Brent Malley's, everyone's.

I've never seen a hallful of kids looking so mean.

If they'd had cattle trucks they'd have driven them over me there and then.

My guts did a slow belly flop as I realised what they were thinking.

I opened my mouth to try and explain, then gave it away.

I knew they'd still be thinking what they were thinking even if I explained for hours.

Even if I yelled till I was blue in the face.

The excursion's off, they were thinking, because of Mitch Webber's dad.

Oh well, thanks for making Ms Dorrit not expel me, Doug.

I know you couldn't do anything about the excursion.

An angel's job is to protect people, not fix up their travel arrangements or fill up their swimming pools.

Some problems can only be solved by us people ourselves.

That's why instead of going back to class I'm squeezing through this hole in the school fence.

 

 

 

 

Mayors should be more polite and considerate, that's what I reckon.

If a person comes into their video store for a meeting, they should turn the volume down on their TV.

How can anyone be expected to discuss serious council business with
The Little Mermaid
blaring in the background?

Mr Bullock couldn't even hear what I was saying at first.

‘The swimming pool,' I shouted.

He turned the video down.

‘I reckon,' I went on, ‘if that pool was filled it could save this town. Truckies would stop off for a dip and spend money at the kiosk and tourists would come and pay fees at the campground and the local economy would boom and the bank wouldn't have to chuck families off their properties and who knows, someone from round here could become an international diving champion and really put this town on the map.'

Mayors ought to be more dignified, too.

When someone suggests something really important to them they ought to look serious and say ‘I'll make sure the council gives it their fullest consideration next time we're having a drink at the bowls club'.