If only I’d known.
The clapping has stopped. Under the table Felix is still clenching his hands. And now two tears are rolling down his face.
Poor Felix.
I don’t know what to do.
Felix takes some deep breaths and dries his eyes on his serviette.
‘Sorry,’ he says to the people at our table. ‘It’s OK, I’m fine.’
He smiles at everyone but his eyes are still red.
Everybody smiles back. I can see they think he’s just feeling happy and tearful because of all the gratitude and how well everyone’s stitches have healed.
They’re wrong.
A person doesn’t clench his hands like that out of happiness.
Now we’re in the taxi and I’m going to say sorry to Felix about the book.
Right now.
I take a deep breath.
‘Would you like some cheese?’ I say. ‘Or a potato?’
Oops, that’s not what I meant to say.
Felix is looking puzzled, so I unfold the paper serviettes in my lap and show him the leftovers I’ve saved from lunch.
‘There’s frozen chocolate cheesecake as well,’ I say. ‘It’s melted a bit.’
Felix smiles, but in a tired and weary sort of way.
‘Thank you, babushka,’ he says. ‘I’ll just have a piece of carrot.’
He pops one into his mouth.
I pick up a cold potato, but I don’t really want it. I’ve got a lump in my stomach that feels like I’ve already swallowed it.
My phone buzzes in my pocket with another text. Whatever it says I probably deserve it.
Suddenly I wish Tonya had taken William’s Happy Days instead of the locket. And flung it under the wheels of a truck or put it in a blender or taken it out to sea and fired torpedoes at it.
Anything to stop me giving it to Felix.
Felix puts his arm round me.
‘You’re very brave,’ he says.
I look at him.
Does he mean the leftovers?
‘That conversation you had with the other folk at our table,’ says Felix. ‘Not many people your age would be game to tell hospital bosses to stop wasting money on hair transplants and spend it on curing shaky hands and painful legs.’
I don’t know what to say. I did it while Felix was talking to some of his ex-patients and I didn’t think he’d heard.
‘It wasn’t that brave,’ I mumble.
‘I think it was,’ says Felix.
He kisses me on the cheek. I force myself to be as brave as Felix thinks I am.
‘Felix,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry I gave you that book.’
I look at him anxiously. I hope I’m not upsetting him again by mentioning it.
Felix stares at me.
‘I’m sorry it was a bad present,’ I say.
‘Babushka,’ he says. ‘It was a lovely present. Don’t think that.’
‘But,’ I say, ‘it made you sad and upset.’
Felix looks like he’s going to say it didn’t.
Then he sighs.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘It did remind me of some sad things. But only a bit.’
‘It didn’t look like only a bit,’ I say. ‘At lunch it looked like you were upset a lot.’
Felix doesn’t reply for a moment. When he does, his voice is very quiet.
‘I got upset today because of what everyone was saying about me,’ he says. ‘I’m not a hero. I’m not a saint. I don’t deserve to be called such things.’
I gape at him.
I can’t believe he’s saying this.
Not a hero?
Try telling that to the man at the front table who was born with some of his heart missing and Felix fixed it up with tubes from the man’s feet and bits of his bottom muscles.
‘Felix,’ I say. ‘Just because you’re old and you can’t do operations any more, that doesn’t mean you’re not a hero. You should be proud of what you’ve done. Heaps proud.’
Felix gives me a sad smile.
‘Thanks, babushka,’ he says. ‘But even when I was in my prime, I wasn’t the hero everybody thought I was. In fact, people couldn’t have been more wrong.’
I don’t get it.
Is Felix saying he’s done bad things?
Impossible.
‘Why were they wrong?’ I say.
Felix stares out the taxi window.
‘One day,’ he says, ‘when you’re older, perhaps I’ll be brave enough to tell you.’
I think about this.
I decide not to ask him to tell me now because it’s his birthday and you shouldn’t have to say things you don’t want to on your birthday.
Anyway, I think I know already.
I know that when your parents go off and leave you, even when they love you and they’ve got a good reason to go, it makes you have a niggly feeling in the corner of your mind that maybe you’re not good enough.
Poor Felix’s parents left him for years, and then after the Nazis killed them, for ever.
How could you feel like a hero after that?
But Felix is a hero, and he deserves to be proud and happy.
He just needs a bit of help.
The birthday present I gave him didn’t help at all, so when we get home I’m going to give him something even better.
Now, one last check of the food to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.
Cheese sandwiches with tomato sauce faces.
Jam tarts with jam I made myself.
Lemonade with licorice straws.
A lamington birthday cake in the shape of a hospital, with candles.
I’m glad I left Felix having an afternoon snooze in his armchair. It’s good for him because in this heat he needs the sleep, and good for me because he can’t see what I’m doing.
Making him a surprise birthday tea in our favourite picnic spot in the forest.
I do a final check of the thank-you letters I’ve stuck to the branches around the clearing. Hundreds of them from hundreds of Felix’s patients over the years. All real letters, not just texts or blogs. They look really good up there. Much better than stuffed away in that old folder in Felix’s study.
I felt a bit guilty when I crept in to get them. It’s the second time this week I’ve taken things without asking.
But I don’t think Felix will mind. Not when he sees them flapping proudly in the breeze and I remind him how, since phones were invented, only a very special person gets three hundred and seventy thank-you letters in his life.
He’ll have to feel happy and proud of himself when he sees all this evidence. We’ll probably end up doing dancing or cartwheels or something.
OK, time to go and fetch Felix and Jumble before it gets too dark.
Hang on, what’s that?
Over there, behind that bush.
Somebody watching me.
‘Yes?’ I say. ‘Can I help you?’
Oops, I didn’t mean to say it out loud. I can’t even see who the person is. It could be a bully. Or a council ranger. Or a picnic thief.
‘G’day,’ says the person, stepping out from the shadows.
It’s the boy from my class.
‘Hello,’ I say.
The boy doesn’t reply. He’s too busy gazing at the picnic. Particularly the tarts. This is probably the first time he’s seen jam made from carrots, cabbage and turnip.
I can see he thinks it’s a pretty good picnic tea, specially the way I’ve spread it out on my bedroom curtain, even if the heat from the candles is making the licorice straws droop.
The boy looks up at the thank-you letters.
‘Wow,’ he says.
I think that’s what he says, but he might just be having trouble breathing.
I don’t know what he wants, but I’m pleased he’s here. For a sec I think of inviting him to the picnic.
Except I can’t. Me and Felix have got personal things to talk about.
The boy peers at the candles.
‘I
s this a party?’ he says.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘It’s private.’
The boy looks hurt.
I wish I hadn’t said it that way. He’s wheezing more loudly now.
‘Are you OK?’ I say.
‘Yeah, thanks,’ says the boy. ‘Just a bit of asthma. Comes and goes. I’m used to it.’
He must be. Some of the kids at school laugh at him when he wheezes, but he never cries or attacks them with classroom equipment.
‘Ms Canny calls me Puffing Billy,’ says the boy.
I give him a sympathetic look.
‘In my family,’ I say, ‘we don’t think people should make unkind jokes about other people’s medical conditions.’
The boy looks at me earnestly.
‘It’s not unkind,’ he says. ‘Cause my name’s not Billy, it’s Josh.’
He grins. I can’t help smiling too. His face is one of the friendliest I’ve ever seen.
‘Maybe I can help,’ I say. ‘My grandfather’s got heaps of medical books. I could look up asthma and see if there are any cures your doctor doesn’t know about.’
‘Really?’ says Josh. ‘Thanks.’
A sudden gust of hot breeze makes the candles flicker and I remember I’m running out of picnic time.
‘I have to go and get my grandfather and our dog now,’ I say. ‘If you hang around for a couple of minutes I can introduce you.’
Josh looks uncertain.
‘I really just came to say sorry,’ he says.
I’m puzzled.
‘Sorry?’ I say.
‘About my sister,’ he says. ‘I brought you this to apologise.’
He holds something out to me. It’s a T-shirt. It says Carmody’s Pest Removal.
I stare at it, stunned.
‘Your sister is Tonya?’ I say. ‘The bully girl?’
‘Don’t call her that,’ says Josh. ‘She’s not usually like that. I dunno what got into her yesterday.’
Suddenly I realise the danger I’m in. What if this is a trap? What if Tonya has sent him to distract me? Right now she and her mates could be creeping up, getting ready to wreck my picnic.
I peer anxiously at the shadowy forest. I can’t see them, but bullies have probably had a lot of experience of creeping.
‘Bring your grandfather over for a swim in our dam,’ says Josh. ‘When Tonya sees you’re a friend of mine, she’ll be really sorry she was mean to you.’
As if.
I’m not that stupid.
‘I can’t,’ I say to him. ‘You have to go now.’
My mind is racing. If the bullies are here already, watching me from behind the trees, I’m history. But if they aren’t here yet I might just be able to get the picnic safely back into the house.
‘Tonya’s not a bad person,’ says Josh. ‘Those two friends of hers are psycho, but she’s not. Give her a chance.’
‘She didn’t give me a chance,’ I say. ‘Now go.’
I hate how unfriendly my voice is. But it’s how you sound when you’re being threatened by strangers.
Josh grabs my hand and stuffs the t-shirt into it.
‘Take it,’ he says.
Desperately, I try to pull my hand away. But he’s holding on too tight. I yank my arm even harder. It gets hooked in the T-shirt. Josh stumbles forward and bangs into me and we both fall over.
I scramble to my feet, ready to dodge away if he tries to grab me again.
But Josh is on his feet as well, running off into the forest.
As the sound of his wheezing fades, I crouch down, trembling, my arm throbbing. I listen for other sounds.
Sniggering.
Sneering.
The squeaks of bush mice being captured and killed.
But there isn’t anything like that. Just a strange crackling sound behind me.
I turn round.
And stare in horror.
Flames are rushing up the bark of one of the trees. Tufts of grass are on fire. At first I don’t understand what’s going on.
Then I do.
Struggling with Josh, I must have knocked a candle over.
I grab my bedroom curtain, food flying everywhere, and use it to try to beat the flames out. But it’s no good. Everything is so dry and the hot breeze is stronger now and one of Felix’s thank-you letters is alight and now the flames are leaping from letter to letter.
I snatch the lemonade and soak my curtain with it and beat at the flames on the ground and the ones on the tree trunks. My arms are killing me and my eyes are stinging and my throat is rasping as I swipe and stamp and desperately try to smother the flames.
On and on till gradually the grass is just smoking and the bark is just black and I’m on my knees, gasping for air and shaking so much I can hardly hold the curtain.
I smother the grass some more until it’s not even smoking and I peer at the tree trunks to make sure there are no more flames. Then I roll onto my back and take some big breaths and try not to think how close I came to causing a huge disaster.
After some deep breathing I start to calm down.
But not for long.
The blurriness in my eyes clears, and suddenly I see some flames I’ve missed.
I jump up, frantic, but there’s no point.
There’s nothing I can do.
High above me, swirling gracefully in the breeze and floating away into the dark sky, are hundreds of burning thank-you letters.
Now. I have to tell Felix so he can phone the fire brigade now. And the state emergency service. And a lawyer in case I get arrested.
I sprint through the dark trees and into the front yard.
Jumble comes round the side of the house to meet me. He jumps up and wags his tail. He probably wouldn’t be so welcoming if he knew what I’ve done.
‘Sorry, Jumble,’ I say. ‘It’s an emergency. I think I’ve started a bushfire.’
I rush to the front door.
Before I can go in, something catches my eye.
Through the living-room window I can see Felix in his armchair. He’s sitting forward with his head in his hands.
Does he already know?
Then I see he’s not alone. Several people are sitting with him. One person has their hand on his arm.
My thoughts swirl like burning bits of paper.
Is Felix being questioned by the arson squad? Plain clothes investigators whose job is to track down fire bugs and make sure they get seriously punished?
I duck down onto the verandah.
I have a strong urge to creep away into the forest and hide there for years. Except Felix lived in a forest once when he was a kid and he reckons it’s really hard finding enough to eat. One birthday picnic tea wouldn’t last long.
Anyway, get real Zelda, you can’t hide in a forest if you’ve set fire to it.
I peek through the window again to see if Felix is OK. I can’t leave him at the mercy of the investigators. I have to go in and confess.
Then I recognise the person sitting next to Felix. It’s the man from the Holocaust survivors group I met at lunch.
I look closely at the other people. They don’t look much like arson squad investigators either. They’re all elderly and they’re watching Felix like they’re concerned about him rather than interrogating him.
I realise what must have happened.
The survivors group must have dropped in as a birthday surprise.
Felix looks up and sees me and waves. I wave back, and move away from the window.
Mum and Dad explained to me how important the survivors group is to Felix, and how private. When you’ve been very seriously bullied, there are sad things you can only say to other people who’ve been very seriously bullied too, because only they really understand what you’re talking about.
I hope Felix can tell them how he’s feeling. Including the reason he doesn’t think he’s a hero. So they can tell him he’s wrong and cheer him up.
I don’t have time to do it at the moment.
I?
??ve got a fire to worry about.
I get a torch from the car and head back into the forest with Jumble.
He and I can phone the fire brigade ourselves if we have to.
I look around for flames.
I listen for the crackle of burning.
I ask Jumble to sniff for smoke, which he does in several places, including down a couple of wombat holes.
Nothing.
Just dark trees all around us, sighing and groaning in the hot breeze.
I pick Jumble up and give him a relieved hug.
‘Maybe I was wrong about the fire,’ I say.
He licks my face.
There must be a chemical in dog saliva that helps you think more clearly, because suddenly I know what I should do.
Be like Felix.
Don’t dwell on the bad stuff.
Wait and see if there actually is a fire, rather than jumping the gun and panicking everybody.
‘Thanks,’ I say to Jumble. ‘That’s really good advice. Come on, let’s go and see what’s happened to the birthday picnic.’
When I get back to the house, the visitors are leaving.
I ask Felix to put his fingers in his ears.
‘Would you like to share Felix’s surprise birthday picnic tea?’ I whisper to the visitors.
They say that’s very kind but no thanks because it’s getting late and they have to go all the way back to the city.
‘I understand,’ I say. ‘Thanks for visiting Felix on his birthday.’
After they’ve gone, I ask Felix to put his hands over his eyes. I go out to the carport and get the picnic and lay it out on the living-room floor.
‘Wow,’ says Felix when he’s allowed to look. ‘That is the best birthday picnic ever.’
I can see Jumble agrees.
We have the picnic.
‘Clever idea,’ says Felix. ‘On a hot day like today, very smart idea to wait till evening and have the picnic in front of the fan. You’ve got a great future in the birthday tea industry, babushka.’
He gives me a grin. He seems much happier after his chat with the survivors.
I manage to grin back.
Some of the sandwiches have got twigs in them and the lamington hospital is a bit demolished and the jam tarts smell of smoke. But Felix doesn’t seem to have noticed. Or if he has, he’s not saying anything because he’s so kind.
I wish I could give him another birthday hug, except I don’t want him to notice I smell of smoke too. And I don’t want him to feel how stressed I am.