On the Jellicoe Road

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

In between setting up a bilateral agreement with the enemy, ba

“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 Ha

“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. “Ha

“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 Ha

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 Ha

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 Ha

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.”

Chapter 7

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. Ha

“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.’”