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Part Two – your
Part One: THE SLOBBERERS
Before the wedding I'd been scared three times in my life. Really scared. The sort of scared where people sit you down. Give you hot drinks. Say 'take deep breaths, Dawn' and peek to see if you've wet your pants.
The first time was when I saw Dad crying just before he told me Mum had died.
The second was at Mum's funeral when I heard Mrs Lecter from the newsagents whispering to Mrs Gleeson the librarian. Whispering that Mum had killed herself on purpose.
The third was when Gramps told me that a rotting beam at the Wilsons' place had crushed a shearer and I thought he meant Dad.
What happened in the bus after the wedding made it four.
I ran out of that wrecker's yard faster than I'd ever run, even faster than I'd run after biting Mrs Lecter at Mum's funeral.
When I got home I threw myself onto my bed. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I couldn't stop shaking. I could still see it, there on the floor of the bus.
Worm Boy probably thought I'd screamed because of the slobberers.
I hadn't. I'd screamed because of the shoe.
It was under the driver's seat. I'd never noticed it before, probably because I'd never had my face that close to the floor before.
It was covered in dust and mildew, but I'd have recognised it anywhere.
Mum's shoe.
She was wearing it the day she died.
Even after five years you don't forget your mum's favourite bus-driving shoes. Specially when you used to spend so much time spitting on them and polishing them with the tea towel.
It didn't look polished now. It looked twisted and scraped and sad, and it made me think of what Mum's body must have looked like when the police divers pulled her out of the river.
That's why I had to get out of the bus.
I yelled something and pushed past Rory, who was busy with his dopey worms, and jumped out and ran.
All the way home I told myself the shoe wasn't real. It was the stress I'd been under lately. The stress of a wedding and a new step-family and trying to push Rory through the metal floor of a bus. Stress could make you see things, I'd read it in a comic about an alcoholic astronaut.
But when Rory got home, I was still shaking and still seeing that shoe.
'Chicken,' he said, still clutching my Milo tin. 'Scared of a few grubs. Pathetic.'
I should have got him in a neck-lock and grabbed my tin. I almost did. But I knew Mum wouldn't have approved. So instead I took a few deep breaths and told him how in my opinion Tasmanian souvenir manufacturers who use worm-infested apples should be reported to the health authorities.
Then Dad got home and yelled at me for a bit.
'Children do not disrupt their parents' weddings,' he shouted. 'And they go to the reception whether they like it or not.'
Stuff like that.
When he'd calmed down, we talked.
'I know it's not easy, this step-family lark,' said Dad. 'But I want you to give it a go, love, okay?'
I told him I would.
We hugged each other.
While Dad had his arms round me, I saw Rory watching from the doorway. As soon as our eyes met, he turned away. There was something about his expression that made me feel sorry for him. Just for a sec. Until I saw he was still clutching my Milo tin. And I remembered he's got a mum who's perfectly capable of hugging him if she doesn't mind getting a bit of worm poo on her.
Dad launched into making a lamb stew for him and Eileen to take on their honeymoon camping trip, and I helped him.
I like cooking with Dad. Being a shearer, he's best at peeling, so I get to use the cleaver.
Once the stew was bubbling away, we went out onto the back verandah for a lemonade. I almost told Dad about the shoe, but I decided not to. No point in upsetting him. Not on his wedding day.
Dad spotted Rory skulking about in the kitchen.
'Hey, Roars,' he called. 'Want a lemonade?'
Rory jumped guiltily. He'd probably already had about three cans while we weren't looking.
Then Eileen arrived with Gramps.
'That was the best wedding I've ever been to,' said Gramps. He reached into his pocket. 'Anyone want a curried-egg sandwich?'
I was the only one who did.
Then I helped Dad get the camping things together while Eileen and Worm Boy unpacked their moving cartons and got Rory's room straight. Assembled his bed and hung all the little worm clothes in the wardrobe, that sort of stuff.
Soon it was time for Dad and Eileen to go.
I hugged Dad again. Rory hugged his mum. Then there was the tricky bit. I took a deep breath and gave Eileen a quick squeeze. Luckily I'm taller than her so our faces didn't have to touch.
Dad sort of half hugged, half patted Rory.
Gramps kissed everyone.
'Have you got the shovel?' Eileen asked Dad.
I sighed. It didn't seem very romantic. Most people went to Bali or Sydney or some other exotic place for their honeymoon, not camping on Bald Mountain where there weren't any dunnies. Oh well, I thought, it's what they both like.
'Be good kids for Gramps,' yelled Dad. 'See you in three days.'
It felt really strange, watching Dad drive off with another woman. I mean I'd seen him driving places with Eileen hundreds of times, but this was different because now we were stuck with each other and our lives would never be the same.
The weird stuff started almost straight away.
Gramps said, 'Okay, kids, let's have lunch,' and we had to remind him it was dinner time.
While he and Rory had a look in the freezer, I grabbed the opportunity to get my tin back.
It was sitting on Rory's bedside table. I took the lid off and emptied that ugly little apple-man onto the floor. Its evil-looking eyes peered up at me.
Then I heard a scratching sound. Another pair of eyes was watching me. From the top of the chest of drawers. Rory's mouse in its cage.
I stuck my tongue out at both of them. Mum used to do her sewing and charity book-keeping in that room and nobody else had the right to invade it.
Back in my room I hid the tin in the bottom of my wardrobe under the abseiling ropes Dad gave me for my birthday.
'Don't say a word,' I whispered to Finger, my goldfish. 'There are invaders in the house and we've got to be on our guard.'
After dinner, while me and Gramps washed up, I took a chance.
'Gramps,' I said, 'have you ever seen a shoe that you thought was there but it actually wasn't?'
Gramps thought about this.
'Once,' he said, 'I didn't see a shoe that I thought wasn't there but it actually was. Work boot, next to my vegie garden, in front of the wheelbarrow. I tripped over it and squashed my sprouts.'
I decided not to continue with the conversation, partly because Gramps was chuckling so loudly, and partly because Rory had stormed into the kitchen, red-faced.
'You stupid idiot,' he shouted. 'You let them out of the tin. Do you have any idea what you've just done?'
'It's my tin,' I said.
'Tin,' said Gramps. 'That's right. I squashed my tobacco tin too.'
Rory rushed out and I finished the drying up. Stupid idiot yourself, I thought. They're only a bunch of worms. If you're that worried about them, train them to come when you whistle.
Then I went to my room.
As soon as I walked in I could feel something was wrong. It took me two seconds to spot it.
Finger, floating at the top of her tank.
Heart pounding, I scooped her out and peered at her gills. She was dead. It must have just happened because she was still loose and floppy.
Even as my eyes filled with tears I felt rage eating into my guts. That vicious mongrel. Just 'cos I let a few of his crummy worms escape, he kills my pet.
Still holding Finger I headed for the door.
That mouse was dead meat.
Rory appeared in the doorway. I decided to pound him first, then do the mouse.
'You killed my – ' I yelled, then stopped because he was yelling too.
And he was holding something out. It looked like a small brown bag. I was confused. Why would a kid who'd just killed my fish think I'd care that he'd found a bag to keep his dopey worms in?
Then I realised it wasn't a bag, it was a mouse.
Rory was sniffing and blinking. He was still angry but I could tell he was upset as well.
'He's... he's...' Rory struggled to get the words out.
He didn't need to.
I could see what he was trying to say.
The mouse was dead and it didn't have any bones.
Continue to Chapter 4
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