Read Online Will by Maria Boyd - Free Book Online Page A

Holdens
    The little guy gave a running commentary as we made our way over to Chris’s place.
    In between nodding and throwing the occasional
yep, nope
in his direction, I tried to remember what Chris and I were like at his age. I’d forgotten how hard-going we found the first couple of months at St. Andrew’s. That move from primary to high school is pretty big and I don’t reckon many kids handle it half as well as they pretend to. At primary school you think you’re kingpin; then you arrive at a place where you’re nothing, a tiny, insignificant, lowly bit of nothing. You’re bullied into standing down the front of the bus, harassed into lining up all of lunchtime to buy food for ten people you don’t know and threatened into giving over your lunch money to some guy who’s got his fist in your face.
    In the beginning Chris and I just used to take off. It wasn’t planned or anything, it was like we both knew. We’d get out at lunchtime, look around for the teacher on duty, who was normally yelling at some kid to pick up papers, and then, when no one was looking, we’d walk out the gate. Dead easy. We’d arrive at the Holdens’ right in time for lunch. It was funny, it was only now that I wondered why we didn’t get in more trouble considering they were always going on about legal permission to leave school grounds. Chris’s mum never said anything. She’d just smile and ask us if we were hungry. Then she’d leave the room and make a phone call.
    Yes, Helen, they are here. Can you pass that on? No, they’ll be fine. I’ll ring Patricia .
    Helen was Mrs. Young, the school secretary; my mum said she was a saint, and she was for Chris and me because it must have been her who smoothed it over with the year coordinator. We would have done that at least once a week in the beginning and then we kind of stopped.
    I reckon it was around then that I developed this thing about the Holdens’ kitchen. It’s one of the places I rate in my top ten. It’s big and warm and cozy and filled with great smells, and there is always someone in there, guaranteed. Five males multiplied by hunger equals a lot of time spent in the kitchen. The Holdens definitely have an open-door policy—everyone is welcome. That’s why I knew it would be all right to take the kid there.
    I could see the screen door hanging open as always, like it was expecting company. Surrounding it was a runners’ shop full of shoes. Once Mrs. Holden made the rule that you washed the floorboards, all of the floorboards, if you dirtied them, the boys figured it saved a lot of time and work if they left their shoes at the door. It worked for the floorboards, but it meant there was always a whiff of bad feet as soon as you came into the house.
    I walked straight in with the kid hopping behind me. There was never any door-knocking at the Holdens’. Chris had obviously had a shower and then not bothered to do much more. His hair was sticking up all over the place; no shirt but he had his footy shorts and socks on. Typically he only looked mildly surprised.
    Willo, mate! I thought you had detention duty at the St. Andrew’s gaol. Did you stage a breakout?
    I raised my eyebrow and indicated the kid behind me.
    Oh great, so you’ve corrupted a juvenile as well .
    Chris stepped forward and shook the little guy’s hand.
    Chris Holden .
    The kid was barely able to contain himself.
    Yeah, I know you. You’re the guy who’s going to be school captain next year .
    Chris looked confused. Right, well, you had better come into the kitchen then .
    I think you’ll find the little guy here has had an accident. It might be better if he goes to the bathroom .
    Bad wording on my part—it sounded like Chris had to go and grab one of Jess’s nappies.
    I mean he had an accident with a Dumpster .
    Chris was watching the kid rather than me. He didn’t know what I was on about but he could definitely see that the kid needed some assistance.
    Sure. You’re just lucky