It isn’t helped by Caylon declaring war on me. I’ve been shoulder checked so often by lunch that I head out to the sports field for a break, hurting hard enough that I expect bruises by morning.
My respite doesn’t last long. The rugby team takes to the field for practice and even when I move to the farthest corner, members and onlookers find me, point to me, make me wonder what fresh hell they’re planning.
Soon, I give up on the chance of a peaceful lunch and head back towards the main school blocks.
Then Kerry pulls a face at me, and I change direction, heading for my car instead. I might have told myself I’ll never use Wilbur’s petrol card, might still be bleeding from the last time he punished me, but I can’t be bothered to think of consequences.
Not when my mind is already bubbling over with the strain of just getting through the day. Not when I might have lost the only friend I had left.
I fill up at the nearest station, my throat so tight when I hand the card over that I rub it, like I’d rub at a cramp in my leg. The exchange goes through with so little fanfare that it’s almost possible to believe it might go unnoticed. That I’m not building up a list of debt to Wilbur. A debt he only takes payment for one way.
Once I’m up in the hills, I drive the car further than normal. If I were conserving petrol, I’d stop in Victoria Park, maybe take one of the walking tracks to get to a spot with a peaceful view.
Since I’ve already thrown caution to the wind and filled the tank to the brim, I drive along the hilltops, going as fast as I can along the winding roads, punctuated with cattle grids and occasionally having to stop to open and close gates when the throughway cuts midway across a working farm.
There’s a rhythm to the drive. Curve. Straight. Curve. Straight. The magnificent panorama of Lyttelton Harbour soothes my soul, the way only the most beautiful landscapes can. At Governors Bay I stop for a muffin and coffee at the café there, eating it while perched on the bonnet of my car, braving the cold of the day. Trading comfort for an unobstructed view.
But I can’t drive forever.
When it’s school closing time, I steer back home, parking three houses along the road since there’s a car in the driveway already. I expect Mum to be home but she’s out, only Ratty and Maz are there, slumped on the couch, watching the telly.
“You okay?” Ratty asks the moment I’m through the door, patting the seat beside him. “Your mum got a call from the school, saying you hadn’t turned up to class.”
Narcs. “I turned up to some classes.” I curl up on the seat beside him and don’t object when he drapes an arm around my shoulders. “Did she have to go down there?”
“Nah. She just cursed them out some and said if she sends you to school it’s up to them to ensure you stay there all day. She’s got a shift at the workingman’s club.”
Thank goodness. That’ll mean tips as well. It mightn’t be customary in New Zealand but the men down at the club love a good chat and my mother can bullshit better than most of them. They’ll pass her extra to make sure she has enough to cover whatever bullshit she’s selling them. Extra nappies was one excuse I overheard that made me double up with laughter. The only person around here qualifying for those is Maz after he spends a weekend on the turps.
“There’s a meat pie on the bench if you’re hungry.”
“You want to split it?” I ask and, when he nods, I head across the room to get it. Our rental is the garage for what used to be one enormous house but is currently split into a dozen tiny flats. Ours is the smallest by volume but the back part of the structure is a split laundry toilet which means we have far more facilities than our last place. The large sink can almost double as a bath and the room has a lock on it.
Compared to some places we’ve lived, here I practically feel part of the bourgeoisie.
“You want anything, Maz?”
He grunts out something I interpret as a no, and bring back the dollar pie, using the brown paper bag it comes in as a plate.
Ratty and Maz used to drive me crazy. They’ve been friends with my mother for so long, it’s hard to remember a time when they weren’t kicking about, and by the time I turned ten I thought they were imbeciles.
To be fair, neither of them is particularly blessed in the brain cell department, but they’re loyal. They’re also big enough to ward off more dangerous suitors. Despite my fears growing up, seeing the company my mother hung with, they’ve kept me safe.
Neither one of them has ever struck me, something Mum can’t claim, and they’ve certainly never tried anything on sexually. Part of that is due to their fondness for heroin and the resulting dip in libido; mostly it’s because they’re stand-up guys.
They’re also two friends more than I’ve got right now.
“You okay, sprog?” Ratty feeds me the last two bites of his half, his interest in food waning the moment the rest of it hit his stomach. He’s probably got an ulcer growing in there but he can’t get organised to get up some mornings, let alone make an appointment, get to it, and actually tell the truth to a doctor.
“I’m fine.”
“You usually like school.”
He’s right. I do. The sadness nips at my heels again. I like school when I’m strutting along the corridors like I own the place. If what happened today is going to continue to happen, I’ll need to find a new refuge.
“Dee thinks I did something I didn’t do.”
Finished eating, his arm slips around my shoulders again, giving me a one-sided hug. “Something bad?”
