Belly Flop, Page 2
Morris Gleitzman
And both my legs.
And most of my bottom.
Doug, you did it.
You broke my fall.
Jeez, I’d forgotten how good you are at this angel caper.
It must take years of training to make a person who’s falling that distance land exactly on a pile of empty cardboard boxes and not on the concrete floor or the rusty old sheep feed machine.
Thanks, Doug.
Troy and Brent can’t believe it.
They’re staring down with their jaws hanging loose.
Even from this far away I can see that their races have gone pale and their legs are quivering.
They look like stunned sheep.
I’m shaking too.
On the inside as well.
My heart and liver and guts are quivering more than the stuff in the butcher’s window when a cattle truck goes past.
Not because of the fell, Doug.
Because I’m so happy and excited.
You’ve come back.
It’s amazing, Doug.
Now I’m a client of yours again, I feel totally different.
I can even run faster.
I’ve just made it home in a couple of ticks and the Malleys weren’t even in sight.
Thanks, Doug.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
This is the best birthday present I’ve ever had.
Did I mention today’s my birthday?
That’s why I’m catching my breath on the front verandah.
I don’t want to burst into the house panting and looking like I’ve just been chased three times round town by a pair of psychopaths.
Mum and Dad have got enough stress as it is.
And they’re about to have some more.
My birthday party starts in twenty minutes and there’s something about it I haven’t told them yet.
Something very important.
I haven’t been game to tell them in case they chucked a fit.
But now you’re back, Doug, it’ll be fine.
What I’ve got to tell them is that my birthday party’s not just a birthday party.
It’s the event that’s gunna make everything in our lives OK again.
When I got inside, Gran was having a go at Dad as usual.
Three more families heaved off their land by that bank of yours,’ she was saying. ‘Don’t take it personally, but I reckon you’re lower than the flap of skin on a sheep’s rear end.’
Dad was ignoring her as usual and pretending to look for something in his briefcase.
‘Mum,’ said Mum wearily to Gran, ‘do us all a favour and change the subject, eh?’
Gran got herself a beer.
Mum plonked a bowl of taco dip down with the other party food and then saw me.
‘Mitch,’ she said, ‘we were wondering where you were. Did you get the extra corn chips?’
I tried desperately to think of an answer that wasn’t a lie.
‘Couldn’t,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’
Mum ran a worried eye over the food table.
‘Oh well,’ she said, ‘we should have enough.’
I took a deep breath.
I don’t know if you were ever a kid, Doug, but if you were you’ll know how hard it can be telling your parents stuff that might hinder their breathing.
‘Mum,’ I said, I’ve invited some extra kids to the party.’
Mum frowned.
‘I thought we agreed,’ she said. ‘Five or six and no horses in the house.’
‘Too many and it’ll put a strain on the furniture,’ said Dad, ‘and the dunny.’
I took another deep breath.
I’ve invited a few more than five or six,’ I said.
‘How many?’ said Gran through a mouthful of peanuts.
‘Seventy-three,’ I said.
Mum dropped a plate of chocolate crackles.
Dad went so stressed he looked like a city person.
Gran had a coughing fit and sprayed peanuts across the room.
‘I did it for all of us,’ I said, banging Gran on the back. ‘So we can show them our human side.’
Mum and Dad stared at me.
‘That’s why I asked you to rehearse your card tricks, Gran,’ I went on, ‘and you to learn some good jokes, Mum, and you to practise juggling ping-pong balls with your mouth, Dad. When all the kids see how much fun we are at parties, they’ll tell their parents and everyone’ll stop hating us so much.’
Dad jumped out of his chair so fast you’d never guess he’s a bit overweight.
‘Mitch,’ he said, grabbing me and knocking the tomato sauce bottle over, ‘stop that talk. The people in this town don’t hate us. They just get crook with me because of my job. They certainly don’t hate you. You’re a good kid and it’s just your bad luck to have me as a dad.’
I couldn’t speak, partly because what he’d just said had made my throat go funny and partly because he was gripping my shoulders so hard.
If I hadn’t already known him I’d have been amazed to discover he was a Bank Liaison Officer and not a professional arm wrestler.
There was another pause while Gran wiped tomato sauce off the jelly and Mum gave Dad a worried squeeze.
Then I told Dad he was wrong about the bad luck and that he was the only dad I’d ever want, even if we lived in a huge city where there were millions of other dads.
I put my arms round him as far as I could and gave him a hug.
He is wrong, but.
Not just about me, about all of us.
We’re the most hated family in the district.
Dad knows it.
That’s why a tear ran down his face and sploshed into Gran’s beer.
And that’s why I’ve invited every kid in town to my party.
We’re all sitting here watching the chocolate crackles melt and waiting for the kids to arrive.
They should be here any minute.
Mum and Dad have just had a private conversation in the kitchen and they don’t seem so worried now about the extra kids.
When Mum and Dad came back in I had a thought.
‘Let’s drag my bed in,’ I said, ‘for the kids at the back to stand on so they can see the card tricks and the ping-pong balls.’
Mum and Dad looked at each other.
I think they could see the sense in it.
‘And we’d better put some more mashed baked beans in the taco dip,’ I said.
‘Good idea,’ said Mum. ‘We’ll do it after they get here.’
Dad nodded and spilled his tea.
I think we’re all pretty excited.
Except Gran.
She seems to be frowning a lot, though that could because her cigarette ash has dropped down inside her bra.
They shouldn’t be much longer now, Doug.
You probably think I’m a bit mental, having a party when everyone hates me.
I’m not.
I’ve thought about this for weeks and I reckon it’s a good plan.
You work with kids, Doug, so be honest.
What kid can resist a party?
None in this town, it’s a known fact.
Plus I’ve made it really easy for them.
I hand-delivered the invitations to their school lockers so they wouldn’t have to make conversation with me.
I chose three o’clock as the starting time so they wouldn’t have to gobble their lunch.
And I made it fancy dress so they could come in disguise if they were embarrassed to be seen here.
They’ll arrive soon, you wait and see.
Oops.
Gran’s choking on a Cheezel.
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?
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.
