The Betrayal of Bindy Mackenzie (32 page)

PS Also, you may like to know that I am a member of the Castle Hill Gym. Lately, I've been going regularly, and sitting at the rowing machine. If you'd ever like to join me, I have some visitor passes. They have classes inaerodance, aqua-gymnastics and kickboxing. I wonder if these might interest you?

The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie
Monday morning, early
Yesterday, at the gym, I sat as usual in my rowing machine, and I rowed.

As I rowed, I saw this: a personal trainer with three plump people. He was showing them around, pointing out changing rooms, equipment, and weights—and the three plump people, dressed in jackets and jeans, looked nervous, awkward and self-conscious. They glanced at us—they glanced at
me
—and what they saw were
members
of the gym, people in sports attire, pushing and pulling at various pieces of steel. Occasional grunting and groaning. (I even grunted once, a little, myself.) They glanced at us with respect, and I realised, as I watched:
they are tourists.
They are tourists,
but I belong.

The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie
And then I realised this:
I have never felt like this before.

I have never, to the best of my recollection, thought to myself:
I belong.

So that was a shock.

Telephone Messages for Bindy Mackenzie . . .
While you were
. . . in the shower just now.
You received a call from
. . . a guy who says he works for a law firm (Elroy, Lexus & Thai (Tie?)). His name is Blake Elroy, so he claims. (He called on your mobile phone, and I answered it for you. Is that okay? Sorry.)
In relation to
. . . something about an
incident you
witnessed at Ashbury last year! He wants you to call him and arrange to come in to give a statement! WHAT DID YOU WITNESS?
Further notes
. . . Hey Bindy, look, I found your Phone Messages stationery. Hope I used it right. Come downstairs and tell me what this is about. Love, Auntie Veronica.

The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie
Wednesday, not sure of the time. After recess? In the Year 11 wing, at a desk, by the window, amongst lockers.
My telephone message must be about that minor assault I saw from my shadow seat outside the library last year. (The substitute teachers arguing—one slapped the other across the face.) I remember it vividly! I will make an exquisite
witness! I phoned back and left a message, assuring the lawyer that I would make an exquisite witness.

The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie
How strange, what a marvel, what a twist! Last year, when I witnessed the assault, I felt such a foolish outsider—so unwanted, even by the victim, who swore at me when I offered support. But now she wants me, after all! She has seen the error of her ways! All this time she must have
kept
my contact details! And now I am going to play a key role in the dance of the legal system.

I belong! Once again, I
belong.

The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie
A shrill, strange sound tears through my head! High-pitched!
A dazzle of noise!

What is that?! What is that sound?!

The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie
Oh. It is the school bell.

I know it well.

And here the doors are thrown open, and students pour into my space, as if staging a surprise attack! An attack on the lockers! A lesson ends, a lesson begins. Or perhaps it is the start of recess? Or is it lunch?

The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie
A few minutes later . . .
Oh. Funny. It turns out it was neither recess nor lunch. It was just the short pause between two classes.

Just now, a hand landed on my shoulder. I gasped and jumped out of the chair. It was Miss Flynn, my English teacher. She waited, patient, while I calmed myself.

(Miss Flynn is, coincidentally, a substitute teacher, just like the fighting women I witnessed last year. And yet she does not seem to be going anywhere. Can a substitute remain for so long?
Why you are still here?
I almost asked.)

The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie
But I did not want to hurt her feelings.

She herself did not spare mine.

‘Bindy, I just finished teaching an English class, and I'm sure you
belong
in that class. Just as you
belonged
in my class on Monday. What's going on? This isn't like you. And another thing, Bindy, see this briefcase of mine? Right now, it's full of
Pride and Prejudice
essays, and that means your essay
belongs
here, too, and, as far as I know, it's not.'

The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie
I explained that I have been distracted by FAD.

‘I've been writing portraits of my FAD group,' I said, ‘which has sometimes required me to
follow
the FAD member around, thereby forcing me to miss classes of my own.'

It was a shame, I said, but could not be avoided.

I promised I would get to her essay as soon as I could.

The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie
As I spoke, I noticed that Miss Flynn was drumming the fingers of her right hand onto the palm of her left. There was something distracting about that. And then I looked at her face, at the sharp little curl of her mouth, and I remembered. She drums her fingers like that whenever somebody speaks nonsense. It's her technique. She meant I was speaking nonsense!!!

The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie
I have never been treated with such disrespect.