Girl Underground by Morris Gleitzman

Author:Morris Gleitzman
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781742280981
Publisher: Penguin Group Australia
Published: 2004-03-10T05:00:00+00:00

I tap on Menzies’ bedroom door and creep in.

His room feels about six times bigger than his one at school. At first, in the gloom, I can’t see the bed. The muffled sounds tell me where it is. As my eyes get used to the darkness, I see Menzies lying with his head under his pillow.

I’ve been pretending we’re in prison and I’ve been giving him his space. Gavin reckons when the other bloke in the cell has a cry, it’s really important to give him his space.

I don’t know how Gavin does it. Menzies’ muffled noises coming through the wall were so unhappy I could hardly bear it. I tried to think of other things to take my mind off it, but all I could think of was Jamal lying awake at night listening to Bibi cry from toothache.

Now I’m in Menzies’ room, though, I realise it’s not sobbing he’s doing under his pillow, it’s something else.

Angry frustrated swearing.

I sit on Menzies’ bed, switch on his lamp and shake his shoulder.

‘Menzies,’ I say. ‘Put your glasses on. I’ve got something important to ask you.’

Menzies pulls the pillow off his head and rolls over and looks up at me.

‘Politics has turned my father into a monster,’ he says. ‘He used to be a hero. He used to help people. Pensioners and war veterans and people who didn’t have enough parking spaces in their office blocks. He used to care.’

‘Menzies,’ I say, ‘when your mum said your dad was going back to the house tonight, did she mean your other house?’

‘No,’ mutters Menzies. ‘Our other house is hundreds of kilometres away. She meant parliament house.’

‘So everyone’s still at parliament house,’ I say. ‘Working all night.’

Menzies nods.

‘Good,’ I say.

‘No it’s not,’ he says. ‘I don’t want my father to be in politics any more. Next time there’s an election, I want him to lose.’

Suddenly Menzies sits up and grabs my shoulders. Little reflections of the bedside lamp make his eyes even brighter than usual.

‘Your family can help,’ he says. ‘Your family can send thugs to every voting booth to threaten to bash people if they vote for my father. Your family can kidnap my father’s campaign manager. And burn down the place that prints his how-to-vote cards. And then…’

‘Menzies,’ I say sharply. ‘My family don’t do that sort of crime.’

Menzies sinks back onto his pillow.

‘But,’ I say, ‘we can still help Jamal and Bibi.’

‘How?’ says Menzies gloomily.

‘By asking the right person,’ I say.

Menzies looks at me. I can see he doesn’t get it.

‘Just now we asked the wrong person,’ I say.

‘I know,’ says Menzies, even more gloomily.

‘Your dad reckons he’s just a member of a team,’ I say. ‘The government team.’

Menzies looks at me again. He still doesn’t get it. Anger does that to your brain. Turns it into Turkmenistan border mud.

‘Who’s the boss of the government?’ I ask.

Menzies’ eyes widen. Now he gets it.

‘The Prime Minister,’ he says.

‘Exactly,’ I say. ‘That’s who we have to go and see.’

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