‘We owe you an apology, Mr Meredith,’ I said.
I was so relieved when he popped up in class first lesson, seeming happy and relaxed and most definitely not like someone who was working out his notice. But we had to wait until recess for the opportunity to speak to him privately. Now he looked at us over his glasses, head bowed. I could see a small bald patch on the very top of his scalp. It was sprinkled with dandruff.
‘I believe you do,’ he replied. No smile. He wasn’t going to make this easy for us and I couldn’t blame him.
‘Sorry, Mr Meredith,’ I said.
‘Sorry, Mr Meredith,’ said Aiden.
‘We’re so glad you didn’t lose your job,’ I added.
‘Hmmm.’ Our teacher took off his glasses and cleaned them with a small cloth he took from his trouser pocket. ‘It is easy to say sorry,’ he continued, ‘and even easier to accept it. Which I do, by the way. Apologies accepted. But …’ He put his glasses back on and regarded us. ‘I do wonder if you are really sorry or if an apology is just something you feel should be offered.’
I opened my mouth to assure him we were genuine, but he held up a hand.
‘What you did was … not safe. My job is not really that important compared to your safety.’ He smiled for the first time. ‘That’s not to say I’m not glad to still have it. And I’m grateful to your parents for ringing up the school board and pleading my case. But you could have died out there. And I would have spent the rest of my life knowing I should have prevented it. You’d be dead, so your suffering would be over. The suffering of your parents, your family and friends would just be beginning. Think about that, Ashleigh and Aiden Delatour, before you do anything like this again.’
We promised we would.
‘Then we won’t mention it anymore. But I should tell you that you are first up for the oral presentation after recess. You decide which of you is going first.’
Aiden and I glanced at each other in alarm. An oral presentation? This was the first we’d heard of it.
‘The first you’ve heard of it?’ said Mr Meredith as if reading our minds. ‘That’s because the assignment was given out yesterday afternoon. You know, when your father had taken you home. I think you’ll find that if this comes as a surprise, it’s your fault and your fault only.’
‘But we haven’t prepared,’ I said.
‘No,’ said our teacher. ‘So you’d better use the next fifteen minutes wisely. A two-minute talk on something about you that stands out from the crowd. Now go. The clock is ticking.’
I hate oral presentations at the best of times. Aiden doesn’t seem to mind and I figured he wouldn’t be fazed by this bombshell. But I could feel my face flush with the first symptoms of panic. We went out to the verandah.
‘What are we going to talk about?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘We’ll think of something. Just don’t go on about how wealthy we are, okay? Don’t talk about the pool or the library or how Mum has her own company and travels the world. People don’t like that. They think you’re bragging.’
I knew he was right, but it also occurred to me that if I didn’t mention those things then how were people expected to know? Anyway, he wasn’t helping. I wanted to know what I should talk about, not what I shouldn’t. I was going to tell him this, but he beat me to it.
‘I’ll go first to give you a bit more time to prepare. You tell them what it’s like to be the eldest of identical twins. That’s a subject very few people can talk about.’
For two minutes? I’d be lucky to get to fifteen seconds before running out of stuff to say. I can talk an awful lot at home, according to Mum and Dad, but when I’ve got loads of people staring at me, I dry up. It’s embarrassing. But Aiden was right. I was probably the only expert on this subject for a fifty-kilometre radius. At least.
‘The thing that really makes me stand out from the crowd is that I have Klinsmann’s disease,’ said Aiden.
He stood by the teacher’s desk, his hands clasped in front of him. He didn’t fidget and his voice was clear and steady. The words didn’t pour from his mouth either, like happens with so many kids. His gaze roamed the class, made contact with everyone.
‘This is a condition that affects one in approximately twenty million, though most people who have it don’t have it as severely as I do.’ He held up a hand. ‘But don’t worry. It’s not something you can catch by sitting next to me or by breathing the air around me. You’re safe.’ He paused and allowed the class to digest this. ‘Some of you might think that if I have this disease, then Ashleigh must also have it, since it is generally believed that identical twins have identical DNA.’ He looked at Charlotte as he said this. ‘But that’s not actually true. Sometimes, very very rarely, one identical twin can have a genetic disorder that the other doesn’t have. That’s because Ashleigh and I have different karyotypes and that means we are not genetically identical, though we are in every other way. I’m glad my sister doesn’t have this disease, because it’s not very pleasant to live with, to tell you the truth.’
He paused again. The class was completely silent and it occurred to me that, although Aiden tends not to say very much most of the time, he certainly knows how to use words when he does. He was keeping the audience guessing about what Klinsmann’s disease actually involves. Even Mr Meredith was leaning forward and concentrating and he must have known about Aiden from the medical records Mum and Dad had to provide the school.
‘I used to have to go into hospital every few months for treatment for this disease when I was younger,’ he said. ‘Now that I’m older I don’t have to go so often. Once or twice a year. And the surgeons put me to sleep and they operate, cleaning out almost all of my lower intestines.’
I glanced around the class. A few kids grimaced at the mention of intestines, but they were still fascinated.
‘You see, that’s what Klinsmann’s disease does,’ Aiden continued. ‘It makes it impossible for me to digest food in the way that everyone else can. I could eat an apple, for example, and it would just sit in my stomach. If I ate more, then I would start to feel very uncomfortable. Pain would follow. But most importantly, even with food in my stomach, I’d be starving to death.’ He smiled. ‘That’s not a very good thing, by the way.’ A couple of the kids laughed.
‘So this is what I eat,’ said Aiden. He pulled his dinner flask from his schoolbag and poured a small amount of mush into a bowl that Mr Meredith must have found for him. There was a collective groan of disgust as the green paste settled at the bottom of the bowl. Aiden picked it up and took it to the desk that Charlotte and I shared.
‘Pass it around,’ he said. ‘I know it looks gross, but you could eat it if you want …’ There was another groan. ‘Smell it. Go on, it won’t smell of anything. But it contains everything I need to survive. All the minerals, the calories, the vitamins necessary for survival, but in a form I can digest. Yes?’
A boy towards the back – I hadn’t learned his name yet – had his hand in the air. I almost laughed. They were treating Aiden like he was a teacher. I suppose in some ways he was.
‘Is that goo all you can eat? I mean, ever?’
‘That’s it,’ said Aiden. ‘And for the rest of my life. So next time you have a pizza or scrambled eggs or even just a plain round of toast, think of me. I can never eat any of that. That goo is, for me, breakfast, lunch and dinner. And afternoon snack.’
Mr Meredith had his hand in the air and the whole class laughed.
‘Yes, Mr Meredith?’ said Aiden when the laughter had died down.
‘So why do you have to go to hospital for operations if that stuff provides all your dietary needs?’
‘Because the human intestine wasn’t designed for this. After a while there’s a build-up of … residue, I guess you’d call it. And if left alone it would clog my gut and stop the digestive process, even for the “goo”.’
‘Fascinating,’ said Mr Meredith. ‘An exceptionally good and interesting presentation, Aiden.’
I was disappointed. I wanted Aiden’s presentation to go on forever, so I didn’t have to get up there. Surely the teacher should’ve allowed a few more questions? But he didn’t. The class gave a round of applause as Aiden walked back to his seat.
My turn.
I stood in front of everyone, but I tried to keep my eyes focused on the top of the window frame at the back of the class. Two minutes had never seemed such a long time. The silence was absolute and that just made me more nervous. I swayed a bit, putting my weight on one leg and then shifting it to the other.
‘Ermm,’ I said. ‘My name is Ashleigh, Ash for short, and what makes me stand out from the crowd is the home I live in. It’s more beautiful and more expensive than most people can imagine and I’m going to describe it to you …’
No one applauded when I finished, but at least I got to nearly two minutes. I was so grateful to finally sit down.
Mum’s first flight was cancelled because of severe weather in Melbourne, but she was able to get a later one. She had a car waiting for her at the airport in Sydney and Aiden and I were allowed to stay up late for her return, though after the lecture we’d had I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to.
As it turned out, most of her anger had evaporated over time. She made it plain that she was still upset with us, but it was more disappointment now.
Dad asked about the conference and she told us that there had been good advances on the use of artificial intelligence in helping some developing countries deal with the effects of climate change. She and Dad had a good chat about it, but I didn’t pay a huge amount of attention because it was, to be strictly honest, a bit boring.
Finally, I got the opportunity to bring up the subject I’d been dying to ask about.
‘Mum? You said something about a school camp and that we probably wouldn’t be allowed to go, but Aiden and I don’t know anything about it. What’s the camp?’
For a moment I thought Mum was going to tell us to mind our own business, that she and Dad were still going to talk about it and leave us totally in suspense. In fact I could almost see those thought processes flit across her face. But then she obviously decided to put us out of our misery.
‘When your father and I enrolled you at school, they said they had a camp planned. In about four weeks, as it turns out. The expectation was that you would both go along.’
Aiden and I looked at each other. Going away without Mum and Dad, with Mr Meredith and the other kids from our class? That sounded beyond awesome.
‘And?’ I asked.
‘It’s a five-day camp in the Blue Mountains. Hiking, a bit of horseriding, apparently, and some kayaking. The school has a building up there, very secure against any bad weather that might blow in, as well as trained outback specialists who can keep you safe from wildlife and even gather food if necessary. That’s unlikely though, since they take all the comforts with them.’
Dad took over.
‘Your class teacher goes with you, as well as a nurse and some pretty tough guys who act as bodyguards in case you meet people who … well, who might not be the kind of people you’d want to meet. We were assured it’s entirely safe, that everyone has the best time, that you’ll fish and barbecue and tell stories over camp fires.’ He glanced at Mum. ‘It’d better be special, given it costs an arm and a leg.’
‘Can we go, please? Please?’ I knew Aiden wouldn’t beg. He’s the kind who’ll take his punishment without complaint, but I’m made of different stuff. This sounded totally brilliant and I’d beg on my hands and knees if I had to.
‘We haven’t decided yet,’ said Dad. ‘We told you. Your mum and I are going to discuss it and as you well know, she’s barely been home five minutes.’
‘We’re so sorry that Aiden did what he did,’ I said. ‘Isn’t that right, Aiden?’ I think he nodded. ‘We’ll be good as gold, I swear. And this is not an opportunity that comes up very often.’ That was an understatement. I’d never had an opportunity like this.
‘Your father said we’ll talk about it,’ said Mum. ‘Now go to bed, the pair of you. Any more arguing about it, Ashleigh, and I can guarantee that you won’t be going. You’ve said good as gold, so put up or shut up. Better still, both.’
I shut up.
That night I let Aiden hold my hand and later I dreamed of camp fires and toasting marshmallows and horseriding and kayak rides through white water. I was smiling as I slept. I know because when I woke up to a morning charged with thunderclouds my face was aching.