Jellicoe Road (5 page)

The boy in the tree in my dreams comes calling again. His visits are more frequent these days. I ask him why and he tells me it’s because he’s waiting for someone. For the first time ever I feel a chill slice through me. I ask him who it is he is waiting for but he doesn’t answer. For some freaky reason, Hannah comes to mind and just when I’m about to ask him another question, I sense that there is someone else in the tree with us. Someone at the edge of the branch, like a shadow, but I can’t quite see their face. The boy stands up tall on the branch and dives into the water below and I hear a whimper from the shadow at the end of the branch. It frightens me so much that, with shaking legs, I stand as well. Ready to jump. Just about to.

“Taylor?”

I look at my clock. Six
A.M.

Raffaela is standing by my bed. “It’s Ben. You should see what the Cadets have done to him.”

They went for his fingers like they knew how much he needed them. His House leaders would always do that to him, too. Ben’s a muso. Loves anything that produces a tune, so naturally it’s always his fingers that get smashed when someone is pissed off with him, and Ben has one of those personalities that invites pissed-offness. Raffaela has his fingers taped and it’s a while before he looks up at me. I flinch at what I see.

I’m presuming the eye will go a purply colour and that it will be difficult for him to eat for a day or two, judging by the amount of blood around his mouth. Raffaela cleans him up with the practicality of someone who has spent a lifetime doing it and I try to keep my mind on the semi-carnage in front of me but I just can’t help thinking back to my dream.

“So you made the offer,” I say.

He nods but even that seems painful.

“And they didn’t like it?”

“He wanted the negotiations to take place
between him and
the girl.
‘Isn’t she in charge over there?’ That’s what he said. Like I thought he would. Remember that part where I said he’ll want to speak to you?”

“And he’s a coward who gets his thugs to do the dirty work for him.”

“Oh no,” Ben says, trying to shake his head and pushing Raffaela’s hand away. “He did all this himself. You’ve got to hand it to him. He does his own dirty work.”

I can tell Ben’s angry.

“I am allowed to delegate,” I say to him, speaking more sharply than I should.

“Yeah, I know. But you weren’t delegating. You were avoiding someone and I got caught in the middle. Look at me. I’m five foot four. I’m a weakling. My specialty is medieval jousting and violin. I’m not built for pain. He, on the other hand, is a ten-feet-fricken-tall unit.”

“Then we try again and give him want he wants for the time being,” Raffaela says.

“We have no idea what he wants.”

“Did this happen on our territory or theirs?”

“Does it matter? It hurts the same. They have
booby traps everywhere. It’s like one of those bad Chuck Norris–Vietnam War movies from the eighties.”

“So they’re bored?” I ask.

“Out of their tiny brains. They just worked out that you can’t get mobile coverage out here. So no text-messaging means more terrorising. You can’t walk a metre without a trip-wire getting you. You need to call a meeting with Richard and the other leaders. Remind them of exactly where the boundaries are because if one of the younger kids gets caught in the wrong area, there’ll be casualties and the teachers will start asking questions and the other Houses are going to go apeshit.”

“Then we’ll go check the boundaries later today.”

“I’m not going!”

“Yes you are, Ben. You’re my second-in-charge.”

“Only chosen because you didn’t want Richard. Don’t think for one moment that I thought you picked me for any other reason. I don’t get chosen for things unless there’s a motive. You know why I’m head of my House? Because Number One Son found Jesus Christ and is now a happy clapper with
those Hillsong People in Sydney, and I’m about this close to joining him.”

“I’ll get Richard, then. He’ll be the best of a bad bunch of backstabbers. Is that okay with you?” I snap. I walk out and slam the door, thumping furiously down the stairs.

The teacher who has replaced Hannah is calling the roll in our dining room and everyone acts as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Everyone except for me and Jessa McKenzie. She sits at the bottom of the stairs wrapped in her nightgown, with that perfect yearning concern on her face.

“Go get some breakfast,” I say firmly.

“Are you going to Hannah’s?”

“It’s none of your business where I’m going,” I mutter, slamming out the front door.

Hannah’s house has begun to lose her scent. These days it smells musty and still. I walk to her room in the attic and lie on her bed. It’s been a week since I’ve seen her and I know that it’s time to go and speak to one of the teachers. To ask casually where she is. I bury my face in her pillow. I can’t remember one day in the last five years that Hannah hasn’t been around
and for a moment I want to cry. I’m angry that I want to cry because I feel like I’ve been manipulated by the soundtrack in my head—the same one that made me cry in some shit sentimental movie with Julia Roberts where the mum is dying of cancer. I get off the bed and walk down to the kitchen. Hannah’s manuscript is there on the table, but it seems thinner and the pages are spread out like someone’s just read them, like someone’s just been here, which makes me feel uneasy. The pages aren’t numbered, so I don’t know whether I have the beginning or end or whether it’s in sequence but these days I’m not really looking for continuity.

All I’m after is something that makes sense to me.

In between setting up a bilateral agreement with the enemy, banning rumours about serial killers, and fobbing off an attempted coup d’état by Richard and the other House leaders, I go to see our Principal about Hannah and realise that in the whole time I have been at the school, I’ve been in this office only once. John Palmer moves from behind his desk and sits me down in one of his “guest” seats like he’s promoting the notion of some
kind of warmth and familiarity. It’s not that I don’t like the adults around here; it’s just that they don’t stick around long enough. The Jellicoe School is their stepping stone to some other place and there have been three Principals since I’ve arrived. That’s what makes Hannah different. Rumour has it that Hannah went to school here and just never left. That’s another of what I call the Hannah mysteries. Why would a woman who’s not even in her mid-thirties hide herself away from the world out here? Worse still, why would she choose to leave out of the blue and not tell me?

“You’re not privy to that type of information, Taylor,” Mr. Palmer says gently but firmly.

“She’s been my House co-ordinator for five years, sir. She brought me to this school. I think that entitles me to be privy to something. Added to that, I have a House of kids who need her.”

He’s nodding, like it’s all occurred to him already. “Ms. Morris will be staying at the cottage just outside Lachlan House, so anything you need, you just call her.”

“Do you know whether Hannah’s coming back? Did she put in notice or warn you? Anything?” I am
desperate for something.

“Let’s just say that she was in a rush. She left a letter saying that she had something to attend to in Sydney and that she’d contact us when she knew her plans. She apologised for any inconvenience and signed it.”

“Can she just do that? Walk out on her job without an explanation? Has she been picking up her salary?”

“Taylor,” he says, a perplexed look on his face. “Hannah’s not an employee. She doesn’t work for the school. She owns the property by the river and has helped out around here for as long as anyone can remember. She can come and go as she pleases, something she hasn’t elected to do in the past, so I’m certainly not going to turn around and demand that she return here, even if I did have her number. You know Hannah better than I do; it would have had to be something important for her to have left. She’ll ring you at your House any day now. You’re panicking for nothing.”

“Did she mail the letter?”

“It was hand-delivered by a friend of hers.”

“Who? Who’s her friend? I know all her friends.
I promise. Ask me any question about her and I’ll be able to answer. Just let me speak to this friend of hers.”

He leans forward in his seat. I am humiliated by the pity in his eyes. “I promise you that if she contacts me I will tell her that you want to speak to her.”

I nod again, swallowing. “Can I just see the letter?” There’s a pleading tone in my voice and suddenly I am every pathetic kid who has ever been dumped in this place. I’m the pining in Jessa McKenzie’s face and the desperation in those poor kids who would hang off every one of Hannah’s words just because she took notice of them. I always felt that I was above that. I’m not sure why until this moment. From the day Hannah picked me up from that 7-Eleven I knew I meant more to her. That we were somehow connected.

Mr. Palmer walks away for a moment and retrieves something from a filing cabinet. He returns with an envelope in his hands, which he shows me and I take in every detail. On the envelope, in writing not belonging to Hannah, are the words
TO BE GIVEN TO JOHN PALMER
. The writing
is amazingly neat and precise. Mr. Palmer sees the look of doubt on my face and takes the letter out of the envelope and I recognise the handwriting instantly. Hannah’s.

I stand up, nodding again. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s there to be sorry about Taylor? That you miss a friend?”

There’s been too much sentimentality for me already, so I walk to the door. “If you hear from her…”

“You have my promise.”

When I get back to the House the juniors are doing their homework.

“If Hannah rings,” I say from the door, “you make sure you call me.”

Jessa McKenzie looks up and, like every single time she looks at me, I get a sense of familiarity. She holds up her hand and gives a small wave. Unexpectedly, a fierce sense of protectiveness comes over me. Except I fight it back because I can hardly look after myself these days.

I lie in bed and words silently tumble out of my mouth. Some people say their prayers at night. I
don’t. What I say is always the same.
My name is Taylor Markham. I live on the Jellicoe Road
.

In the tree hanging over the ridge, Webb made his plans to build a house. He’d make it out of gopherwood, like Noah’s ark, two storeys high, with a view he could look out on every day with wonder. His father had built their home on the farm. It was one of the things Webb had loved about him and the times he missed him most were when he remembered the sounds of hammering and the humming of a saw and his father’s voice joining in the harmony of some song that seemed to play in all their minds. Webb remembered how he and Narnie would hold nails between their teeth just to be like him, tapping away with their hammers, knowing they were part of something big.

He told Narnie and Tate his plan. Sitting in that tree, he told them he was going to build a house and that he needed their help. For a long time Narnie didn’t say anything. She just curled up around the branch, staring into the valley below. She told him that from this angle the treetops looked like cauliflower and she had once heard them beckon her
to jump, promising her that if she did, they’d bounce her back in the air again. Some days, like today, he was petrified she’d listen to them.

So he made them both stand on the branch, tightly holding their hands.

“Don’t worry. I’ll never let go.”

“What can you see?” Narnie asked.

“Nothing.”

“Know what I can see?” Tate said. “From this distance everything is so bloody perfect.”

The next afternoon I walk to Clarence House to find Ben. With hands shaking, I knock on the door and wait. The kid who answers looks at me nervously and I wonder why, until I remember how often I’d come across the UC leader in the past. Rarely. They didn’t do house calls. Even within their own Houses they became deified. The kid doesn’t move, still staring at me, and thankfully Ben appears and puts his hand on the kid’s shoulder.

“Go back to study,” he tells him. “I’ll be in soon.”

Ben doesn’t say anything to me, but his look says,
And?

“So what did you tell your House co-ordinator,” I ask, pointing to his face, “about that.”

“That I’ve taken up football.”

I nod. “Naturally. You look like a footballer.”

“He was very grateful for the lie. Means he doesn’t have to investigate.”

We look at each other for a moment and for once I feel awkward. It’s not that I’m not into humility; I’ve just never had to practise it.

“You want me to come out there with you?”

“Yes I do,” I say honestly, realising there is no point beating around the bush.

“Year eight have assignments due tomorrow,” he says, pointing behind him. “It’s not really a good time.”

“You do homework with them?”

“I’m their House leader.”

“My House leaders never did homework with us. Hannah did.”

“And my House leaders used to flush our heads down the toilet. Consequently I’m going for a more pastoral approach.”

“Consequently? I would have used ‘naturally.’”

“You’ve already used it. Anyway, as a consequence of how I was treated I have chosen to act in the exact opposite way, so I’m sticking by ‘consequently.’”

“If I send Raffaela over to help these kids, then will you come?”

“Raffaela’s probably sitting there helping your year eights.”

“Naturally.”

More silence. Humility now has to give way to begging.

“Ben, my first seven days on this job are over and I have nothing to show for it. In the past, our leaders have always made contact with the Cadets and succeeded in at least re-establishing boundaries. I don’t even know what to say to these guys. I’m admitting that to you, and I don’t know why I’m admitting it to you.”

“Because you have no respect for me and you don’t care whether I think you’re weak or not.”

I resign myself to the fact that I’m down to one ally: Raffaela. But Raffaela isn’t a House leader, she’s my second-in-charge, and there’s no way she can save me from defeat at the hands of Richard and his five signatures.

“Fine,” I say, turning away. I make it to the bottom stair and turn to find him still there at the door. “And for your own information, I don’t know whether I have respect for you. But I chose you over Richard and the others because I trust you. That’s my motive
and at this moment, trust is beating anything else in my life and if it’s not good enough for you then I don’t know what to say.” I begin walking.

“What’s in it for me?” he calls out.

“Nothing,” I call back to him. “I’m not even going to pretend there is.”

He catches up with me. “No. That’s what you have to say to them when you negotiate. I always used to hear the leader say it. ‘What’s in it for me?’”

He keeps on walking farther away from his House and I experience a sense of relief when we reach the clearing and he’s still with me. My stomach begins to twitch and I realise I’m nervous about the prospect of the Cadets.

“We could be lucky,” Ben says, sensing my nervousness. “They might be carving up a pig they’ve just slaughtered for dinner and ripping the flesh off the bones with their teeth as we speak and—”

“—as a consequence?”

“—Won’t be interested in us lurking around.”

I’m unconvinced.

We’re out there for quite a while, marking the map with all the important checkpoints. For most of the
year we don’t have to worry about boundaries, but come September the map is our bible. I follow its instructions and I don’t realise how close I am to the edge of the ridge until Ben grabs my shirt and pulls me back. But I like being this close. Just one step and those cauliflower trees below could bounce me right back up again.

Ben is staring at me. “Are you blind? You almost went over.”

I’m about to tell him not to be ridiculous when he holds up a hand.

“Did you hear that?” he whispers.

“What?”

“That?”

He looks at me and I open my mouth to say something but he puts two taped fingers to his lips. “I think we’ve crossed the boundary without realising,” he continues, whispering.

“According to the map, this eucalyptus tree is the boundary.”

“According to the map there are two trees this size and we passed the other one about ten minutes ago.”

I stand still for a moment. Birds sing, trees rustle
in the wind, but there’s something else. The feeling of being crowded in, despite one hundred acres of bush around us, stretching as far as the eye can see.

I hold up one finger, then two, then three, and we bolt. But not even one step later I’m flying through the air. I make contact with the ground in no time, face first in an exfoliation of dirt, leaving my face feeling scratched and bruised.

I try to kneel but I realise that some kind of trap has grabbed hold of my foot and then I see the boot in front of me. Big, black, laced-up, army regular, polished clean, with the ability to wipe out a whole universe of ants in one step. I look a tiny bit farther up and I see the khaki pants tucked in but I stop there. This is not the position I want to be in for this meeting. So I keep my eyes forward as I slowly raise myself, and then we’re eye to eye, give or take the ten centimetres he has on me.

Jonah Griggs is a tank. His face is blunter, meaner than I remember. Hair cropped. Eyes cold. Arms folded. He has perfected the art of looking straight at someone while avoiding eye contact.

Two of his Cadets have Ben by the arm and I can tell by the look on Ben’s face and the angle of their
strongholds that he’s in pain.

“Let him go,” I say.

Jonah Griggs looks over my head, as though he’s contemplating my request. As if. He ponders for a moment, placing his thumb and finger on his chin, and then shakes his head.

“Maybe another time,” he says, his voice so unlike the one about to break three years ago.

“We might just take him around for a tour of the boundaries and when he comes back, he can pass them on to you,” his second-in-command says.

“I’d prefer you took me for that tour.”

Jonah Griggs feigns contemplation again and leans forward as if he didn’t hear but still there’s no eye contact.

So I grab his face and look straight in his eyes and it’s like a punch in the gut holding that stare. “You want to make this personal, Jonah? Then let him go.”

I don’t know what possesses me to say his name but it slips off my tongue easily and I watch him flinch.

“No deal,” Ben calls out. “I don’t go without you.”

“That is very touching,” Jonah Griggs says, shaking free of my hand. “There is so much love in this space.”

Ben blows him a kiss and all hell breaks loose. The impact of boots on fingers makes it clear what happened the night before. I jump on Jonah Griggs’s back but I can’t even pull his hair because Cadet regulation haircut doesn’t allow for it. He shrugs me off easily and I land on the ground for the second time in less than five minutes.

“What happened to the scary folk that we were warned about?” he mocks, looking down at me. “You and the Townies are making this too easy for us.”

“You want scary? We can do scary.” I pick myself up. “Let’s go,” I say to Ben, who is almost speechless from the pain.

“Scare me, then,” I hear Jonah Griggs say.

I turn around to face him. “The treaty? The one that says we control any access with water? The one that you guys have been able to violate for the last four years because there has been no water? Well, while you were away it rained. That means there’s a river. That means you have no access unless we give it to you. That means you are restricted to a tenth of
the land you’ve been used to using in the past.”

“So what are you saying?”

“This is war.”

Griggs shrugs arrogantly. “Well, I guess we’re better dressed for it.”