Читать книгу The Styx - Patricia Holland - Страница 35

Miss Ellis, the Regional Education Director, was cruising the Mango Downs neighbourhood checking up on things. The town of Man­go Downs was named in the 1880s after the chestnut racehorse, Go Mango, who lay down at the start of THE bush race of the season, and refused to budge until the race was over. The racetrack, originally on the edge of a cattle station, was dubbed Mango Downs, and the name still stuck when it grew into a town.

I’m not sure what it was like back then, but these days, Mango Downs isn’t really the sort of town you cruise to for fun. When you drive into the outskirts, your brain is primed for relief after an hour of one paddock of cows after another, after another, after another. But the relief response dries up when you’re faced with hot, dusty, scumbag-looking houses, shacks really. They look abandoned, but they’re not. Lots of dead cars, lots of skinny dogs, mostly related. Lots of fat women, probably mostly related too, in stretched to cruelty dresses, too short, far, far too short (the dresses, not the women). The only other female dress option is the I’ve-given-up dress, the low socio-economic version of the filmy, hostess dress that has relaxation in mind. In this case, it simply has heaps of relaxation room in mind, for future expansion.

I can never understand the high pregnancy rate among the towns­women. But I suppose the blokes aren’t much better—worse probably. Even more of them is on show. Gut-popping bellies flopping over stubby shorts, bra-less man-boobs, arse-crack lined with black and yellow cheesy bits. Sometimes, when they bend over, you’re sure you get a glimpse of scrotum. And they all wear dirty thongs on their feet—heavy-duty double-plugged flip-flops. You get the picture. And they drink a lot. A lot, a lot. And don’t smell nice.

Miss Ellis rang to let Mr Stephens know she was coming. Even good people need a watchdog to keep them honest (not in the pinch­ing money sense). She would have her assistant, Brad Jenkins with her, she said. Brad was hot and young and ambitious and smart, and he was Miss Ellis’s right-hand man. They both seemed to like it that way.

Miss Ellis had been around. She was in her early sixties, never married and looked as if she still wore the same well-cut, fine wool skirts and sensible shoes from back in the fifties. She had an aura of capable assertiveness, laced with compassion. Perfect for her job of ensuring things were done her way.

“How are you settling in, Sophie?” she quite genuinely asked me.

Miss Ellis was not patronisingly asking as if there was no way I could answer. She sought my answer in my eyes, and knew there was something wrong. She looked at Mrs Stephens.

“How are the students going? Learning the ropes of the computer?” Miss Ellis asked.

No kids had touched it, not even me. It was still in the box.

“We are going to set it up in the staffroom.” Mr Stephens sounded a bit defensive.

“We will be very careful to make sure it stays safe,” Mrs Stephens said.

Miss Ellis was having none of it.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “It belongs in the classroom. All the students should be using it, taught to use it. Sophie, of course, has priority, but the others need to be able to use it too, so they can share skills and enjoy it as a class—all the classes. There are drawing programs, games, quizzes, cartoons. The programs are exceptional, but some take considerable learning time.”

By the look of her, you’d never have thought Miss Ellis was so groovy.

But she hadn’t finished. “It’s endless,” Miss Ellis said, “and it will change the way we do things. When you get it set up, Brad will show Sophie and the aides how to be Sophie’s hands and read her eyes. Then he’ll run through a few things with some of the other students, and then with you and the remainder of staff. It’s a resource primarily for Sophie, but one to assist in integrating and involving her with the others. It’s imperative it’s used to death. If anything breaks, the funding includes a provision for maintenance and updating. Just ring Brad. He’ll sort you out.”

And that’s exactly how it happened. That’s exactly what happened, how I went from vego victim to having freedom and friends and power. And the sweet, sweet taste of revenge.