In the Real World

By Nonen Titi

For sixteen-year-old Jerome and Mariette, wars were the stuff of history and faraway places. Until, during an Anzac Day family reunion, their boys-against-girls prank war gets totally out of hand, and Mariette vows revenge.
When the stand-off spreads to the school and becomes a revolution for student rights, they begin to learn that conflict is never that far from home – or school – and that it isn't the acts of people but their emotions that are ultimately responsible for the difference between war and peace.
Yet once the principal involves the police, a whole new war begins...

• Language: English
• Publisher: N Titi Publishing
• Release date: Mar 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9780473214067

Nonen Titi

I started my career in physical and mental healthcare, tropical nursing and midwifery, including an assignment with Medecins sans Frontieres to Columbia and four summers in a camp for children with type one diabetes. Those experiences still provide a lot of the material for my books. More recently I added hypnotherapy to my healthcare training.After my children were born, I changed to education and worked a few years as a Montessori teacher before opting to educate my own children at home. That was one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. In the meantime we had moved from Europe and the UK to the USA, Australia and now New Zealand.Nearly twenty years ago I became interested in the theory of psychological types of Carl Jung (and of Myers-Briggs and David Keirsey) which has changed my perspective on life completely and which I have made my special interest of study. When my children went off to university, I decided to join them and get a degree in philosophy. Since then I have been a writer of both fiction and non-fiction books inspired by the inborn differences that influence the beliefs, behavior and natural talents of every person on Earth.Although I enjoy writing non-fiction books, I believe that fiction is best suited to help bridge those natural differences. Hence, my books portray human nature to a depth where the study of psychology cannot reach, each character an easily recognizable personality and together in pursuit of a positive future.

Book preview

MARIETTE

I can’t remember not visiting the Paterson homestead on Anzac Day weekend. That four-day reunion is sacred to our family. Dad grew up on the farm, together with two sisters and six cousins, and all of them still gather there once a year.

I envy him having all those siblings and I would have preferred the empty fields over the stinking city. Or maybe not the city itself, but we’re stuck in a suburb full of snobs; dead forgotten, even by the public transport on Sundays.

Anyway, the reunions make up for it. Everybody brings food and drinks, there is music and dancing in the barn, games to play and storytelling, while TV, radio, newspapers, phones and computers are strictly forbidden. Grandpa Will confiscated three phones last year; one was Aunt Ellie’s.

For me, by far the best time comes with the sleepovers in the garden. There just aren’t enough rooms inside for all the Patersons – though nobody goes by that last name anymore – so only the toddlers sleep with their parents. Mum and Dad camp out in the summer room with eight aunts and uncles, while Miranda and my younger cousins share the attic. But we’re the lucky ones – Gabi, Jacqui, Lizette and I – because we get one of the tents, as do the four oldest boys.

Last year we told ghost stories until two in the morning when the boys scared us out of out wits with flashlight shadows and sound recordings. Of course, we had our revenge the next night when we filled their tent with dried leaves and grass. They retaliated with plastic-glove water balloons until we took refuge in the tool shed and then found ourselves locked in there for the rest of the night.

The battle lasted the entire four days with flour balloon and ice cube exchanges. The girls – of course – won the war. We managed to push the garden hose into their tent zipper and turn it on full blast when the boys were sleeping. I can still hear the squeals.

That’s why I’m now packing about a billion changes of clothes. I’m going to sleep with my gumboots on. My books are wrapped in two layers of plastic and I have a waterproof cover for my sleeping bag. I can’t wait until we get there.

JEROME

It seems that we’re the last ones to arrive, after having finally left late this morning. Dad drove way too fast, as usual. Rowan was carsick most of the way and I’m sure he’s as relieved as I am to be able to get out.

Over near the house the relatives are busy talking. The barbecue is burning and the music that’s blasting from the barn speakers can probably be heard in the village two kilometres away. The smell is familiar and reminds me of cow patties. A bouncy castle is dancing on air at the side of the barn for the youngest children, but even Rowan, at twelve, still likes those things.

To the hellos, and the My, my, Jerome, haven’t you grown?, and Did you hear from your mum this Christmas? questions I just smile and say yes. The various aunts and uncles then turn their attention to Dad, who is the youngest of the nine farm children. I’m sure he’ll wallow in their attention. Good, that’ll give me space to find my cousins and prepare for tonight. The cease-fire will be at an end and this time victory will be ours.

If Toine didn’t murder his older sister, as he said he would after the deluge last year, I’m sure he’ll be ready. No doubt Stuart and Glen are also in. But first I’m going to say hello to Grandpa Will. He’s my real grandfather and the youngest of all the ‘grans’, as we used to call them when there were still five of them. He’s only sixty-nine, but I don’t think he looks it and he often acts like a boy. That’s what Granannie says. I’ve got to get him on our side this time, because I’m pretty sure he was responsible for the flour balloons.

Whatever we do, we’ll have to find a weapon better than water to defeat the girls with.

MARIETTE

I find my gran in the kitchen lifting a tray of cookies from the oven. Just in time, Mariette; I need a tester, she greets me.

I carefully bite a piece off, trying not to burn my lips and nod approvingly.

You’d tell me they’re good even if they were made of wax, she says.

I give her a hug. How are you, Granannie? You’re looking younger every day.

She’s actually nearly eighty, but still kicking hard. Stubborn as shit, Grandpa Will says. She insists on doing her own cooking and only after her sister died two years ago did she agree to get a washing machine. Dad calls her an old hag sometimes – in good fun of course – and she’s my favourite.

I help her make a carafe of lemonade and carry it out to the patio where Grandpa Will is already in the middle of a story for the younger kids. He loves to repeat the tales of how our parents got in trouble when young and we kids love to hear that.

When Grand-maman and Grandpa Glenn were still alive we also had recollections from their childhood, but Granannie doesn’t tell stories. A dark shadow travels over her face when I ask about when she was my age. They lost three brothers during that time; one of them was her twin. She doesn’t want to be reminded. I have it all written down. Once I’m gone, you can read it, she tells us. But when Grandpa Will recalls the others times, she sits by with a smile around her wrinkled mouth and her eyes get that faraway look that always makes me want to travel with her.

This time I put the lemonade on the table and go in search of my companions, so we can get started making our tent boy-proof. This assumption slaps me in the face when Jacqui and Gabriela, being two and three years older than Lizette and I, tell us that they’re not interested in a repeat of last year’s ‘childish games’.

Jacqui had a fight with Stuart on the way over. They’re not speaking, Lizette says about our twin cousins.

That should be more of a reason to get protection from boy-attacks. I’m sure Stuart won’t give up on the idea of getting revenge.

Apparently Gabi’s arranged with Grandpa Will to have the water turned off for the night, but we don’t really need water for a night-time war, do we? Lizette waves her hand at the barn.

So it’ll be just the two of us against four boys?

They might have the numbers, but we have the brains, Lizette answers. Unless you want to invite the younger kids?

I consider that. Lizette’s brother is fourteen and pretty tough. Rowan can also hold his own, but Gabi’s younger sister is kind of reserved and Miranda, though a darling, is only eleven and can’t keep a secret. At any rate we’d still be outnumbered.

I reckon we can handle the four of them alone, but we’ll have a fight, if only to teach those old women that we won’t be talked down on, I tell Lizette.

We retreat to the kitchen to collect our thoughts. We’ll have to be clever about it; a guerrilla war. They often win because they battle with sneak attacks, not proper war rules, Lizette says.

Wars have rules? How can you have rules about killing people?

Sort of. We had a pretend war at our school for civics. Each of us had to play a role.

Cool. So far for civics we had some boring lectures about equality and democracy, I say.

What are you girls up to? Granannie asks, coming in with a plateful of cake slices.

Secret warfare, Lizette tells her.

JEROME

My hopes are not disappointed. Stuart is especially keen on the battle and he’s usually the leader of our foursome, being the oldest. Glen and Toine are just as eager, seeing their camera and CD-player were ruined along with my diary last year.

That’s why we won’t have a water ballet this time, Grandpa Will tells us when we ask why he’s switching off the supply. I have no problem with you kids having some fun, but it has to be exactly that: Fun.

Of course we don’t need the taps. There’s a whole dam out there, Glen says when we wait in the tent for the lights in the big house to be dimmed.

We’ve pitched our tent near the tool shed to keep the girls from having access to its contents. They’re uphill near the barn. The dam is below us, much nearer than they would like.

No water tonight. That’ll be our final move. I have a better idea, Stuart says and waves for us to follow him.

In the tool shed is a huge vessel filled with worms – part of Grandpa Will’s fishing supplies, though most go onto the compost heap. We fill a bucket with the wriggling mass and make our way uphill. I can’t wait for the screaming, Glen says.

Shh. Stuart uses two hands to try and open the zipper of the girls’ tent, but even then it won’t budge.

Who’s there? asks Jacqui’s voice from inside.

Damn, let’s go. Stuart motions to the back of the barn where we can watch from.

A light inside shows two silhouettes struggling with the zipper. They can’t open it either.

Even better, we’ll help them a little, Toine suggests.

With the girls gathered at the front it’s quite easy to help the tent topple over. Cursing and yelling from inside sends us running back downhill. I crash into Toine when he suddenly comes to a stop. Our stuff! he cries, pointing.

The tent is gone, or rather, it’s floating on the dam. Our things have been dumped on the bank and the mattresses deflated. Bitches, Glen groans. Now what?

We’ll get the worms and fill their sleeping bags with them.

We never get that far. The moment we leave the tool shed after putting our things there, we are met by Uncle Rory and four furious girls.

What is this about you boys sewing their tent shut? Uncle Rory asks.

We did not!

Well, it wasn’t done by elves.

Our tent is on the dam. That wasn’t elves either, Stuart says.

"We never did that!" Jacqui shouts at him.

Uncle Rory doesn’t wait for more explanations. I don’t care who did what. I’m going back to bed, but those tents had better be fixed and dry by morning.

Let’s go, Toine whispers.

I follow them, relieved that Uncle Rory doesn’t remember his threat from last year to have us separated and supervised at night. We take some long rods and hooks to the water’s edge to try and retrieve the tent. In the meantime the thickening fog is making my clothes wet and my hands so cold I drop the rake twice.

After a while, Stuart throws down his hoe. This is dangerous. We can’t even see where the bank ends. We’ll wait until it lifts.

My dad will come and check in the morning, Toine warns him.

I’d rather risk trouble with your dad than one of us drowning. Let’s go inside.

Oh no, Glen says, again coming to a halt, we forgot the worms.

We climb the hill again, but the bucket isn’t where we left it. Too aware that we might find our own sleeping bags filled, we return to the shed, but nobody’s touched our stuff. We sit around, cold and unable to sleep, speculating on when and how it happened until the early light starts showing the outline of the dam and we can rescue our tent.

MARIETTE

Oh bless you, we’re so lucky. This has to be an omen. The great oracle is telling us we’re sure to win this war, Lizette proclaims when we find the bucket behind the barn. Breakfast anyone?

We tiptoe through the kitchen of the house to get to the staircase down to the cellar, where we hide both the bucket and the contents of our bags for safekeeping. We spend the last hour before dawn in the barn wrapped in horse blankets – there’s all kind of interesting stuff here even though the horses have long gone – and by the time it’s fully light act two is written and approved.

It turns out to be a little difficult to go anywhere unseen during the day. The boys, after having searched in vain for their precious worms, watch us like hawks. Gabi and Jacqui do nothing but bitch about having to fix the tent and the whole family is informed about the mishaps. Our break comes when they all gather in the summer room to watch the video Aunt Ellie made of last year’s reunion.

We don’t wait long that night. Lizette is the first to scream really loud when she ‘discovers’ the worms in her bag. Jacqui soon does the same and then swears she’ll kill her brother. No doubt Gabi would like to do the same to Toine, but she satisfies herself by striding to their tent – with us behind her – and slapping him in the face. The looks the boys send us are worth every minute of lost sleep. Nobody summons the adults this time.

Jacqui and Gabi spend the entire night trying to free their clothes of worms with the accompanying shrieks of disgust while Lizette and I just take our bags out of the tent. The boys might be plotting a counterattack, but they don’t make a move that night, probably because they know we’re all awake. I’m having as good a time as last year, if not better. Lizette is the best ally I could wish for and we still have twenty-four hours left.

In the morning the adults are informed once again and the boys end up being told off for the worms, the evidence of which was discovered, to their own surprise, just inside their tent. Jacqui and Gabi spend hours washing their clothes while Lizette and I make this a pyjama day, adamant that our possessions were stolen from the bags when the boys deposited the worms.

JEROME

Isn’t it fishy they seem to come out clean every time? Jacqui and Gabi get locked in the tent and worms in their clothes and we get blamed.

And the adults believe their innocent faces. You’re right, Jerome. Our sisters are as much victims as we are, Stuart agrees.

I don’t care. Gabi deserves payback for that slap, Toine says.

Maybe later. For now we concentrate on the other two. This is our last chance and they have it coming. I bet it was them last year as well, Glen replies.

No more games. This is it. We have to teach them tonight or we’ll never hear the end of it in this family; those stories will be told for years to come. Never mind what Jacqui tells the girls at home, Stuart agrees.

How the girls outsmarted the boys? I say never, right Jerome? Glen asks, punching Toine on the arm.

Right. We deserve a bit of justice. We’ve been falsely accused, I answer.

And we’ve been unjustly made to fix and dry our tent and pick worms.

And we’ve almost caught a cold in that fog, Toine adds.

And we didn’t get any sleep at all.

And Gabi hit me because of them.

This is turning into a labour camp for us.

That’s true. We can’t let them. We didn’t start this and they keep attacking us.

I bet you they’re planning to sink our stuff. The tent was only a warning.

Right, because they can’t get to the hose they’re taking it out on us.

"That’s girls for you. They play mean. They ruin our things and they’ll stand by laughing when we dive to the bottom of the dam to retrieve them."

"And of course they’ll go into tears when asked, so we get the blame on top of it and we didn’t do anything!"

They’re born evil, I tell you. Girls can’t think fair; they’re hormonal.

We need to protect ourselves. Make sure they can’t get to us.

Yeah; if we wait any longer they’ll attack and it’ll be too late for our things.

Let’s make a stand; the four buccaneers, Glen says, getting to his feet.

Crusaders for justice for the male gender, Stuart adds.

Avengers of abuse, Toine agrees.

Next they all look at me. We rise as one against the woe of man?

What? Glen asks.

The woe of man, woe-man, woman.

Oh, I get it. That’s good. We’ll drink to that. Glen raises his can of Coke and we all join him.

MARIETTE

It’s a lot of fun to have an excuse not to get dressed all day. The boys call us ‘pyjama kids’ and we respond with demands for our missing clothing for which they have searched high and low. Not just them, but the adults as well. Uncle Alistair even interrogates the boys since his family will leave early morning. Lizette needs to pack tonight, he says, but our things stay lost.

The younger boys, Marc and Rowan, have been employed, eager for a part in the war, but nobody thinks of looking inside the empty barrel. Lizette and I lounge around the kitchen and listen to stories. Granannie spoils us a little extra. She knows just fine what’s going on. What she doesn’t know is that the tree behind the tool shed is decorated with the boys’ underwear, which will be in plain view once the motion-detector light goes on, which it always does when the boys walk downhill. No doubt they’ve already got an attack on our tent planned, so they’ll be more eager and less cautious about where they step. All we need is for one of them to move slightly toward the side of the tent and trip over the wire Lizette connected to a remote control, which in turn will switch on the power to the cassette player that’s attached to the sound system inside the barn and the speakers. The entire farm will be treated to a conversation between our tent buddies about boys in general and their brothers in particular. To top it off we’ll distribute some lovely printouts made from old photographs, featuring Glen in nappies, Jerome puddle naked in the bath, Stuart equally so and covered in paint and Toine on a potty. These baby bodies, however, have their current heads attached.

First on the distribution list are the attic rooms, since Miranda and Bettany won’t need encouraging to show them around. We leave some in the photo albums, but the last four we carry with us to put in the barn for Jacqui and Gabi to find when they run in to switch the tape back off.

I wish we could see their faces, I whisper when we carefully avoid the hidden cassette player next to the barn door.

We’ll be lucky if we can see anything from here. Look at that fog coming in, Lizette answers, reaching for the handle.

The moment I step inside something thick pulls me backward. A muffled sound alerts me to Lizette falling to the floor before my vision gets blocked by what smells and feels like a blanket over my head. I try to yell, but my mouth is filled with fluff. I try to kick against the weight of the person pinning me down but without success. Next something pulls my ankles together so tight it hurts my skin and then my hands.

I know it’s the boys; it has to be and I shouldn’t give them any pleasure out of this. Trying to stay calm I wait for them to start accusing us, but they’re not speaking. All I can hear is shuffling and the occasional moan from what must be Lizette. I can’t see or speak, nor walk or defend myself when they pull me to my feet. Suddenly I’m lifted off the ground, unable to stop them. I’m helpless and it makes me furious. I’m jolted one way and the other. They must be climbing over stuff. Where to? I feel so stupid, so out of control. This can’t be. This isn’t funny and why don’t they say something?

…What if it isn’t the boys? Where’s Lizette? I don’t want this. I pull my knees up and jerk as hard as I can.

Ouch, damn, I hear as my legs drop down followed by a loud clattering noise that frightens the life out of me. There’s a stifled giggle: It is the boys.

I can’t keep them from picking up my legs again, though I fight and kick as good as I can. Eventually I end up being dumped face down on top of something hard and round – a saddle. How stupid! I force my mind away from the image but the questions come anyway. What are they up to? Their silence and calm spooks me. I just want to get out of here.

JEROME

Stuart puts his finger to his mouth to remind us to be silent while ordering Toine and Glen to take Mariette to the other side of the barn. With a gesture he says that he likes the girls this quiet.

Serves them right too, embarrassing the life out of us. Stuart knew right away that the tree was a diversion, so we left it and ran to our tent to make sure our stuff wasn’t accidentally swimming, but it wasn’t. We came back out just in time to see them coming out of the house.

They won’t go to their tent. They know we’ll be after them, Stuart said and then deduced that the barn was the most logical place. So we grabbed some towels and pillow cases and ran around the back of the shed to get into the barn through the back doors. There was plenty of equipment there for our purpose and it wasn’t long before the girls walked straight into our arms, so to speak.

Stuart still uses sign language when he lets us know that we’ll attack Lizette first, since Mariette seems to put up a bigger fight. Toine unties her legs and arms so each of us can sit on one of her limbs. She’s pretty much nailed to the floor that way. Stuart pulls down the towel from her mouth but leaves the blanket over her head. You are now in enemy hands. The only way out is to beg our forgiveness and tell us where your clothes are, he whispers.

Some enemy who hangs their dirty washing out in the tree, Lizette answers.

Tickle her, Stuart orders.

No, stop! Enough, please stop! Lizette begs, laughing.

We stop on Stuart’s command. Now can you tell us where your clothes are?

You took them.

Tickle her.

No, please stop! She squirms away from our hands, but with that her pyjama top moves, at which Glen tries to reach inside it.

Stuart tells us to stop. Beg our forgiveness.

Never.

This is no joke, Lizette. Do it or we’ll string you to that tree.

You do that, she answers.

Tickle her.

This time Stuart tells us to continue when she begs. Only when she turns her voice to a sudden loud screech does he put the gag back on.

Number two, Toine grins as we follow Stuart to the other end of the barn.

MARIETTE

I can’t see. Wriggling doesn’t help; I can’t make the cover come off. I’m frightened that if I move too much I’ll fall head-first onto the ground. The sounds I do hear are muffled and don’t promise much good. I’m cold, my legs hurt and I’m scared; that about sums it up. Scared, but also angry. This isn’t a joke anymore. I hate them for hurting Lizette, for doing this. I’ll kill them. I need to go home.

My heart starts racing when I hear them nearby. I have to act calm. It’s only the boys. Yes, four of them and nobody can hear us.

The relief from the string being removed from my hands and feet lasts only a few seconds. It’s like they all descend on me. As soon as my mouth is free I shout at them, Let me go! This isn’t funny. Leave me alone!

Only if you admit you’ve done us wrong and beg for our mercy and tell us where you’ve hidden your things.

I can’t make out who is who through the cover. Nowhere. Go away. It was only a prank.

So is this, baby.

I can’t stand tickling at the best of times. I realize how stupid it is to think that right now. It makes me angry, but no matter how I try I can’t move away. I try biting, but my head can’t reach their hands. You bastards! I yell, because I just can’t be calm.

They stop then. Where are your clothes?

I don’t know.

Tickle her.

No, no, don’t. I do know. Please, I’m on your side. We only wanted to get Gabi and Jacqui. It wasn’t my idea. Please let me go.

Whoa. This one squeals before she’s attacked. So where are they?

In the cellar.

She’s lying. We searched the cellar. Tickle her.

I can’t stand this. I twist and turn; I shout and I can feel angry tears in my eyes but I can’t stop them. They’re in the barrel.

Their hands stop moving but they lurk nearby and I’m frightened.

Do you guys believe her? I think she’s having us on. Besides, we’re here to get a bit of justice.

No, please, ask Lizette. I don’t want this. I’ll do anything – just stop.

Anything? The intonation makes me shiver.

No, I- A towel covers my mouth and, after tying my hands to my feet, they leave me lying on the floor. I’m so aware of what I’ve just done. Bastards! I’ll kill them, I swear. One day I will.

Suddenly I can hear Lizette. Don’t Mariette; don’t tell them. They can’t- The rest is muffled. I hear something fall over. I want to go home.

JEROME

She isn’t talking, Glen says.

The tickling and threats don’t work with Lizette. She talks back to us every time. She says she doesn’t care what we do; she won’t be bullied. Not by a bunch of worm-brains.

Mariette’s told us where your stuff is, so you don’t have to play the hero, Stuart tells her.

I’m not playing hero. It just so happens you’re a bunch of cowards.

Give it up, Lizette, surrender. Your buddy squealed.

You’re just saying that. Tell me where they are then.

In the barrel in the cellar, Toine says, only to get kicked by Stuart for handing out information.

See, you’re making it up. There isn’t even a barrel in the cellar.

We could take away her pyjamas; maybe then she’ll talk, Glen suggests.

Yeah, I will. I’ll go straight to your fathers. Toine and Glen glance at each other. Lizette is right. She can get us in major trouble.

Toine figures we could use Mariette to get Lizette to talk. We’ll put her life in your hands. See if you can be brave then.

Stuart pulls at my arm. Get the worm bucket from the shed, he whispers.

What for?

I’ll tell you when you come back.

I leave the barn. A deep silence hangs over the farm. The fog is thick and eerily still. I sense more than see my way to the shed and pick up the bucket we filled earlier.

When I get back I see that they have Mariette on the floor at Lizette’s feet, and Lizette is still tied to the pillar in the centre with a blanket over her head. Mariette’s wrists and ankles are fastened with the leather reins to the different pieces of furniture stored here.

I put down the bucket. What are you doing?

Just a little convincing tactic. Police use it all the time, Glen says and scoops up a handful of worms from the bucket before pulling the blanket off Mariette so she can see them. He swings his hand right in front of her face. Hungry?

Mariette squirms away and moans.

Do you hear that? Stuart asks Lizette. Will you ask us forgiveness now or shall we worm your buddy?

You don’t impress me with those games. I’m one in ten. I know the tricks, she replies. Instantly Glen drops his handful of muck into Mariette’s pyjamas.

I don’t think this is much fun anymore.

We agreed this wasn’t a game, Jerome. They had this coming. You drank to it, Toine says.

Whose side are you on? Glen asks, offering me the bucket.

I can’t do that.

Just one handful. We’ll make her eat a few, Glen says scooping again. How about it, Lizette? he asks, holding his hand almost on top of Mariette’s face.

She squeals, her eyes begging me. I turn away to avoid them. Lizette can’t see, but she must hear that this is for real. Give in, Lizette. For her sake, I try.

You’re bluffing. This is all an act.

I look at Stuart. Take off the hood. Let her see for herself.

First you had better prove to us that you’re no deserter.

Just remember what they did to us, over and over, Glen adds.

But those were jokes.

Your diary wasn’t a joke. My camera wasn’t.

Hurry up, Jerome. Don’t be so sensitive. They deserve it and so will you if you’re a traitor, Toine says, throwing a handful of worms at me.

They scoop again. I turn away so I don’t have to look at Mariette while they fill her pyjamas.

You promised. This isn’t the time to run, Stuart says, holding the bucket up to me.

It isn’t dangerous, is it?

Nah, just a bit of protein; it’s good for her, Glen says. It’ll guarantee us peace next year.

"We’re only teaching them a lesson, but you have to do this. It’s your job to feed her if you’re part of our team," Stuart says and pulls the gag away from Mariette’s mouth. She immediately starts pleading for my help, tears in her voice. I try not to hear them. Lizette still doesn’t waver, but this isn’t about Lizette anymore. Even if she’d talk now….

I dig up a handful of the moving mass and look at it; a hundred little worms, wriggling over and under each other, close together. Not one of them is ever alone. The guys count on me. I’m on their team. And the girls deserve it, after all. They still have their mothers. They ruined my diary. They started this war. We’re only defending ourselves. If we don’t act now, they’ll soon run the show. They asked for it, really, parading in their pyjamas in front of us all day, blaming us, challenging us.

No! Mariette begs when I look at her. Something about that sends a rush of hot blood through my body. My knees almost bend on their own accord. I sit on top of her and hold her face to stop her pulling it away. Aware of the guys watching behind me, I feed her the worms. I meet her eyes at the exact moment that the surge hits my groin. Her body jolts and it almost knocks me over – then she starts choking.

Stuart yanks me out of the way and pulls at Mariette, trying to roll her over and slapping her on the back. Everything goes silent. I know without looking that the boys are rushing to untie her. Then Glen chuckles. It’s almost like she was waiting to be fed. Well done, Jerome. I didn’t think you’d be up to it.

Hey birdie, make sure to chew your food next time, Toine adds.

I keep my eyes closed for as long as I can. I don’t want to see. To my relief they leave me alone. Stuart tries to convince Lizette again and then takes off her blindfold so she can see that we weren’t joking. She glares at him. "So you really are a coward then?"

Do you want us to do the same to you or will you talk?

I’m not scared of a few worms, but you’d better be scared of me from now on.

Why doesn’t Lizette give in? This is wrong. I can’t be part of it, but I am. I feel dirty and sick and I stand by while Lizette clenches her teeth and refuses to yell when they fill her pyjamas. Toine and Glen force her mouth open by squeezing her nose, but she spits the worms right back in their faces.

Admit it; you failed because your worm is swollen to bursting and bigger than your head, she says to Stuart. He turns away from her aggressively and kicks the bucket.

MARIETTE

I try not to breathe too hard, more relieved that they’re leaving me alone than feeling sorry for Lizette. I don’t want to hear what’s going on. I don’t want to think or I’m going to be sick. I want to go home. Through the blur I only notice Stuart and Jerome above me right before the blanket is dropped over my head. I beg them to leave me. I don’t care anymore if they hear me cry, I just want them to leave me alone. The moment they pull me to my feet I feel the blob of wet muck start to slip down my pants. I kick my legs to try and get rid of it. I don’t want to walk, but my legs move anyway. The air changes; we’re outside, going downhill. Where to? The dam, oh shit, the water! I try to yell but a hand covers my mouth. I try to bite and then pull up my feet so my weight jerks them to a halt. The blanket falls off me.

Right there in front of me is the dam, a soft shape in the fog. Lizette’s voice alerts me to the three others nearby. Last chance, Lizette, Stuart says.

Coward, she replies.

Okay, go ahead, she asked for it, he says.

I’m not sure how fast my brain puts the pieces together, but the air mattress they put Lizette on is already floating away into the fog before my voice goes off all by itself. No! Help! Help us! A moment later a splash makes my heart stop.

Shit. Stuarts drops me onto the bank and starts running, shouting to the others. They follow him into the fog. I sit and stare at where they disappeared, aware of Jerome standing motionless next to me, but it’s not until the sound of splashing and voices reveals four shapes, all walking, that my brain registers that I have a chance to get away. I’m so scared, just so scared. I hate this place.

Scrambling and falling and despite the muck, I start running toward the safety of the house and when I finally see the hall light through the mist it’s only metres away. I burst into the kitchen intent to get to the cellar where I can be alone and where my clothes are, but I come face to face with Uncle Charl sitting at the table.

"Your son tried to drown me and they’ve just now drowned Lizette and I’m calling the police and it’s all your fault he’s a murderer and I hate you!" I yell at him, for no real reason other than to make him stop staring at me. It works. He jumps up and runs out the door.

I climb down the steps, losing bits of the slippery mass all the way. I miss a step and scrape my shin on the drop down. Sitting on the ground, I pull off the filth and then attack the barrel looking for a cloth to wipe away the worms, shuddering at the thought of them crawling over my skin. I can’t stop crying and I’m so angry I can’t get enough air; I feel like I’m choking on a lump of anger. I don’t ever want to go out there again. I put on the first clothes I can find, struggling to see in the darkness. I kick the dirty clothes into a corner and crawl over some crates to be far away and out of sight. There’s a pile of newspapers and I lay down on top of them. I don’t know why. I’m shivering. I don’t want to ever see anybody ever again. I hate them all. I hate Jerome.

JEROME

I think my brain only starts working when the boys and Lizette are back on the bank, alive.

The first thing they ask is, Where’s Mariette?

She ran before I could stop her.

She’ll tell, you idiot, Toine says.

We’ll have to tell. Untie her hands, Stuart orders.

I do what he says while Lizette kicks at me. They’re all dripping wet. All I can think is that it’s too cold for this.

Why didn’t you help us? Glen asks.

I shrug my shoulders. They walk by me, turn their backs and start toward the house, Lizette between them. I watch them go all the way. I deserted them after all. I can’t even come up with an excuse for myself. I’m no longer one of them. They’ll get in trouble together and I’ll be alone again.

How could you do this to me? You rotten shit!

As I turn to the voice a burning shock rips through my arm. Dad?

He raises his hand. I recognize the rein I took off Lizette just before it hits my face. I fall. No Dad! Stop! It’s me! I try to crawl away.

There’s a whistling sound and it hits my chest. It makes me gasp. It can’t be Dad. Dad doesn’t hit… only he’s doing it. I roll away and try to make myself as small as possible.

"You’ll make me lose Rowan too. You did it to spite me! he yells. You’re just like him!" He laughs but it sounds forced and he hits again but misses.

He’s gone mad. I need to get up before he kills me. Please Dad, stop. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t say anything; they did.

He keeps swinging the rein wildly, screaming, crying and shouting that I hate him.

No Dad, I don’t. Please stop! I manage to grab the end of the rein when it hits the ground next to me and yank so he stumbles, giving me time to get up and back away. Aware of him, afraid of him, I turn and run – headlong into Uncle Alistair.

Where’s Mariette?

Suddenly there are more voices; many people. I see two of them stop Dad, who is still yelling.

I didn’t do it. It was an accident, I tell Lizette’s father.

Where’s Mariette? he repeats.

She went inside.

Inside where?

The house.

Oi! Uncle Alistair hollers to the other men. She’s safe. She’s in the house.

The men all stop and turn. My uncle makes me walk, his hand around the back of my neck. I feel like a criminal. I’m not even sure if she went to the house. I didn’t want this. They forced me. I’m sorry, I tell him and I keep saying it.

More people appear when we get to the hallway. They’re all talking but I can’t make out who is who, forced to look down by the fingers around my neck. I don’t want to be here.

I’m only released when Mariette’s mother takes my hand. I let her lead me to an upstairs bathroom. There, in front of the mirror, I’m confronted with what I hadn’t yet felt: My face, arm, sides and legs are covered in welts caused by the rein… Caused by Dad! Everything is wrong suddenly, so terribly wrong. I only realize that I’m crying when Aunt Karen pulls me close. Just like that, in the middle of the bathroom, she holds me the way I think Mum sometimes did when I was little. I can’t stop shaking. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.

It is over, Jerome. It’s over.

MARIETTE

Footsteps in the kitchen and then coming down the stairs make me shudder. I don’t want people. I roll as far as I can into the back corner and try not to breathe. I don’t want to remember.

Dad’s voice announces that he’s found me. I hear him move the crates.

No. Go away! Leave me alone.

More bodies come closer. Are you okay? they ask.

I scream at them to stop touching me. I kick at their reaching hands.

Tell her everybody is okay, Gerard, someone says.

Dad repeats the words. I don’t care. I’m not coming out.

Let me handle this, Gerard. She’ll want a shower.

Aunt Alison tries to pull me up. No, let go of me! I yell.

Girl, you smell like fish, she says and puts her arms under mine and around my chest and drags me away from the corner. Suddenly I can’t fight anymore. I keep my eyes shut tight. When we reach the stairs she loosens her grip and I’m pulled up from above by my arms. I sense people in the kitchen but don’t open my eyes. I’d like to run, but I let it all happen. I can’t think straight. I don’t want to.

Stuart told me everything, Aunt Alison says when we’re alone in the back bathroom.

No.

He did, Mariette. I know Stuart. We won’t talk about it for now. We’ll just get you cleaned up.

She gives me no choice and I can’t fight her. I let her undress me and follow her instructions: I shower, dry off, put on another set of clothes, rinse my mouth, comb my hair and I still feel just as dirty. I’m choked up, unable to speak, unable to cry anymore and I don’t want to be in the kitchen but she makes me sit in front of the stove. Granannie hands me a cup of steaming chocolate milk. The smell makes me sick but I keep holding it. It’s something to do, to look at. I try to not see anybody else, but I know Stuart is there, on Aunt Alison’s other side.

I look then anyway, through my lashes; Dad, Grandpa Will, Glen, Uncle Rory and Toine are on the other side of the table. The big clock says half past four in