Adults Only

by Morris Gleitzman

  But all he could feel was sick and sad.

  It’s probably normal, he thought, turning away from the window. It’s probably what any kid would feel after hearing his parents say he doesn’t exist.

  Jake lay on his bed wishing he was someone else in his class.

  Anyone.

  It’d be so good, not to have to hide away when visitors came. Just to go up to them and say ‘G’day, I’m Jake, this is Crusher, how was the drive from the front gate, do you want to come and help us remove some testicles?’

  Jake sighed and rolled over. Wishing wasn’t getting Crusher rescued.

  He knew Crusher would prefer a rescue plan involving helicopters and wire hangers and lots of explosions, but Jake had a feeling that pleading and grovelling would probably work better.

  After a bit, he heard Mum and Dad’s angry footsteps coming down the cellar steps.

  ‘Incredible,’ thundered Dad as soon as he was through the door. ‘Incredible. Incredible. Incredible.’

  ‘All we asked of you,’ said Mum, white-faced, ‘was to stay in your room. That’s all we asked.’

  ‘The magazine people went to the cave,’ said Jake quietly. ‘They’d have drowned if I hadn’t rescued them.’

  ‘Not this nonsense again,’ said Dad. ‘Incredible.’

  Mum looked around the room as if she wanted to break something.

  Finally she turned back to Jake.

  ‘Don’t make it worse,’ she said. ‘You’ve just come that close to destroying everything we’ve got. Don’t make it worse by lying.’

  Jake felt his eyes go hot with the injustice of it.

  Him lie?

  What about them?

  They were the liars.

  He forced himself not to yell at them. He knew that’s what Crusher would have advised.

  ‘Just think yourself lucky,’ said Mum, ‘that they only saw Crusher and not you.’

  She and Dad turned to leave.

  ‘Mum,’ said Jake. ‘Can I have Crusher?’

  Mum looked at him, furious and weary and sad.

  ‘Jake,’ she said. ‘When will you grow up?’

  Jake knew he should have been working on the rescue plan, but there was something nagging at him that wouldn’t let him concentrate.

  What if he was wrong? What if Mum and Dad hadn’t saved the business? What if the magazine people were so angry at nearly being fish bait that they were planning to write really nasty and vicious things about the island’s caves and tidal movements and coastline in general?

  What I need, thought Jake, is a way of drawing their attention to all the island’s good features. Something that doesn’t look like it’s come from me.

  He knew Crusher would understand that he had to do this first.

  He wished Crusher was there to give him ideas.

  After a lot of thinking, he came up one of his own.

  Dear Maureen and Frank, he wrote.

  Thanks for a wonderful stay on your island. We liked it much better than testing people’s eyes. We specially liked the weather instrument box on top of the hill. It was very historic. And the sand dunes next to the main beach are great for rolling down. And that tree that the wind has bent that looks like a cat standing on its head is really funny. We particularly liked the seaweed, particularly how you can dry it and make really good wigs and false moustaches. The oysters are really good too, specially if you prod them with sticks.

  Yours sincerely,

  The Optometrists

  That should do it, thought Jake as he put the letter on the floor outside the magazine people’s room. They’ll think it blew off the table further up the hallway.

  It was only as he was hurrying back to back to his room that Jake remembered he’d forgotten to mention how good Mr Goff was at yodelling.

  9

  Jake opened his eyes and looked around in alarm.

  It was dark.

  Where am I? he thought.

  He realised he was on his bed. He must have fallen asleep. The last thing he could remember was trying to come up with a rescue plan for Crusher.

  Poor Crusher. Stuck on a shelf in public without any tatts. He must feel naked.

  Sorry Crusher, whispered Jake. I think I’m suffering stress exhaustion. He knew Crusher couldn’t hear him, not up in the dining room, but he felt better saying it anyway.

  He switched his lamp on and looked at his watch.

  Nine twenty.

  That’s weird, thought Jake. Mum hasn’t brought me any dinner.

  Then he remembered how angry she’d been. The angriest he’d ever seen her. Angry enough, he contemplated sadly, to leave a kid confined to his room without food.

  Jake stiffened.

  Was that whispering outside his door?

  It was.

  Low voices, hissing and rasping and moaning.

  Jake crept over to the door and pressed his ear to it. The voices stopped for a bit, then started again, quieter this time, but still with an eerie urgency to them.

  Jake reminded himself he didn’t believe in ghosts and pulled the door open. Even as he did a horrible thought hit him. What if it was the magazine people? What if they were still suspicious there was a kid on the island? What if they’d found his room?

  Too late.

  The door was open.

  Jake peered into the gloom.

  Standing there, looking startled, were Mum and Dad.

  ‘What are you doing?’ croaked Jake.

  ‘We didn’t want to wake you,’ said Mum. ‘I stuck my head in hours ago and you were fast asleep. After what you’ve done today, we thought you needed the rest.’

  Dad was glancing anxiously up the cellar steps. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s move it.’

  Before Jake could ask any more questions, Mum and Dad grabbed an arm each and propelled him up the steps and along the passage. Jake recovered enough to start a question as they were passing the kitchen, but Mum put her finger over his lips.

  ‘Shhh,’ she said.

  Jake could hear the distant chatter of the magazine people in the dining room, and the clink of cutlery. He hoped they were being nice to Crusher.

  Mum and Dad sped Jake down the passage. As they passed the stairs, he glanced up. A lamp was on in the upstairs passage and Jake caught a glimpse of the patch of floorboards outside the magazine people’s door.

  The optometrist letter was gone.

  Jake felt pleased for a moment, then a scary thought hit him.

  What had Mum meant, ‘after what you’ve done today’? Had she found the letter? Did she know he’d written it? Were they dragging him off for some terrible punishment?

  The three of them were almost at the end of the passage. Up ahead was a door with a padlock on it.

  Oh no, thought Jake. Surely they’re not going to lock me in the storeroom? They can’t be, Mum and Dad don’t do things like that.

  They didn’t. Suddenly they steered Jake to the right and up the side passage into their bedroom.

  Jake looked at them, confused. Then he saw that in the bay window at the other end of the room was a table with candles burning on it and knives and forks glinting and proper napkins.

  Three places.

  ‘Jake,’ said Mum, frowning, ‘we’d like you to have dinner with us.’

  Jake was even more confused. Was this the punishment? Were they going to make him eat sea slugs?

  ‘It’s our way of saying sorry,’ said Dad.

  ‘And thankyou,’ said Mum.

  Jake looked at them, head spinning. What was going on? Had the pressure of having the magazine people here made Mum and Dad get that brain thing old people got?

  ‘We should have believed you,’ said Dad, putting his hands on Jake’s shoulders. ‘About the rescue. In the cave. What you did was a very brave and incredibly –’

  Dad stopped.

  Jake heard, in the distance, the tinkle of the dining room bell.

  ‘You go and give them their dessert,’ said Mum to Dad. �
�I’ll do this.’

  Dad squeezed Jake’s shoulders. ‘Well done,’ he said and hurried off.

  ‘Come and sit down,’ said Mum. She steered Jake into a chair and sat down at the other side of the table.

  Jake struggled to make sense of what was happening. His thoughts felt as blurred as the candlelight.

  ‘This afternoon,’ said Mum, ‘after we got cross with you, Dad went down to the cave, just to see. And he found your rubber dinghy. And a pair of purple socks drying on a rock.’

  Jake stared at her. Suddenly his chest felt so light with relief it could have been a rubber dinghy as well.

  Mum reached across the table and took his hand. ‘You saved two people’s lives,’ she said. ‘We’re very proud of you. And very sorry. And when Dad gets back I’m going to serve you up a very special thankyou dinner.’

  Jake struggled to speak. ‘Did you… have you talked about it with the magazine people?’

  Mum looked startled. ‘Heavens no,’ she said. ‘They haven’t said anything about it, so they obviously don’t want us to know they ignored a warning notice and nearly drowned. We don’t want to embarrass them.’ She squeezed Jake’s hand. ‘You do understand?’

  Jake nodded. He understood something else too. It must have been Crusher. Crusher must have told Mum and Dad what had happened. They wouldn’t have realised he was telling them, but he must have. That’s why Dad went down to the cave.

  Jake glowed with love for Crusher.

  Dad stuck his head into the bedroom. ‘Kevin and Fiona are asking if you’ve dug out those photos,’ he said to Mum.

  ‘They’re over there,’ said Mum, pointing to the bed.

  Jake saw a photo album lying on the bedspread. On top of it were a few loose snapshots.

  ‘Kevin and Fiona asked earlier if we had any photos of the house before we renovated it,’ explained Mum to Jake. ‘Dad’ll just whiz them down and then we’ll have dinner.’

  ‘They want you too,’ said Dad to Mum. ‘They want to compliment you on your mango cream tarts.’

  Mum sighed. ‘Sorry, Jake,’ she said. ‘Anything to keep them happy.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ said Jake.

  ‘Back soon,’ said Dad

  Jake watched Mum and Dad hurry out with the photos. It felt good, now they knew the truth. They’d have to let him have Crusher back now.

  He looked at the candles. It was really nice of them to go to all this trouble. A hug and a hot dog would have done.

  To pass the time he went and sat on the bed and picked up the photo album. The cover had an unusual squiggly pattern he didn’t recognise.

  The first few pages were mostly blank spaces except for a couple of snaps of Mum, much younger, renovating the kitchen in jeans and an old bra. She mustn’t have wanted the magazine people to see those.

  He turned a couple more pages. There was young Dad standing by the newly-painted front door. He was grinning and holding up a sign with wonky lettering. ‘Open For Business – Adults Only’.

  On the next page was a shot of young Mum sitting on a rock staring out to sea. It was a bit blurry, but something about it made Jake look again.

  Not the paint in her hair. The expression on her face.

  So sad.

  Poor thing, thought Jake. Didn’t she know you can mix turps with shampoo?

  Then Jake remembered where he’d seen that look before. That terrible sad look. On the stairs when he’d asked Mum if he could have a brother or sister.

  He quickly turned the page.

  And found himself looking at a photo of himself. Red-faced. Bawling his head off. Naked.

  Jake smiled. There were lots of photos like that in the other album, the one Mum kept in the living room.

  Why was it, Jake wondered, that I was crying in every one of my baby photos?

  Wind?

  Indignation that they’d made me take all my clothes off?

  A lens cap stuck halfway down my throat?

  Jake saw that this photo had some words written underneath it. Three words, in Mum’s handwriting.

  He read them.

  The smile dropped off his face.

  He read them again, to make sure he hadn’t made a terrible mistake.

  He hadn’t.

  Suddenly he felt numb and sick.

  So that’s why, thought Jake. That’s why I was such an unhappy baby.

  Suddenly everything made sense. All the things in his life that he hadn’t understood. All the things that had brought dread and fear to his days and nights.

  All explained by three simple words.

  10

  Our Little Accident.

  Jake stared at the words, wishing desperately Mum’s handwriting was more untidy. Wishing there was a chance she’d actually written something else under his baby photo. Something that just looked like Our Little Accident.

  But her handwriting was perfectly clear.

  Our Little Accident.

  That’s me, thought Jake miserably. I’m their little accident.

  Suddenly everything from twelve years ago was perfectly clear as well. Mum and Dad moving to the island. Setting up their exclusive adults-only guesthouse. Then disaster. A baby. Unplanned. Unwanted. A mistake. An accident.

  Me.

  Jake closed the photo album. His tears were making the pages wet.

  It explained everything. Why would people want a kid when their dream was to run an exclusive adults-only guesthouse? It would be like an Aussie cricket captain saying ‘Yes please, I’d love a wooden leg.’ Or a skydiver saying ‘A concrete parachute? Mmmm, lovely.’ Or a supermodel saying ‘Big fat hairy buttocks, whoopee.’

  Jake stopped thinking of examples. Each one was making him feel sadder.

  Now he understood.

  Mum and Dad hadn’t wanted him.

  They’d made a brave effort to hide it. All that time they’d put into washing him. Dressing him. Playing with him. Teaching him to read and not to eat insects.

  They’d tried.

  But they hadn’t wanted him.

  No wonder Mum was always so sad.

  Jake dropped the photo album onto the bed. He stood up, went over to the table and blew out the candles.

  ‘Tell me it’s not true,’ he whispered tearfully in the dark. ‘Mum, Dad, tell me it’s not true.’

  Then he went downstairs to find out.

  Mum saw him before he made it into the dining room.

  She said something to the magazine people about a chocolate liqueur she wanted them to try, then hurried out into the passage, grabbed Jake and bundled him into the kitchen.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she hissed frantically. ‘They could have seen you.’

  Jake looked at her sadly. Next door he could hear Dad telling the magazine people his joke about the two rabbits and the lettuce crisper. The magazine people laughed for a long time. Things seemed to be going well.

  ‘Mum,’ said Jake. ‘There’s something I…’

  Mum slapped her forehead.

  ‘Your dinner,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry love, I clean forgot. Kevin and Fiona suddenly announced they wanted to interview me and Dad for the magazine. It’s going really well and…’

  ‘Mum,’ said Jake, ‘I need…’

  ‘I know,’ said Mum, ‘I know. You must be starving, you poor love.’

  She grabbed an oven cloth, handed it to him, turned to the oven, took out a plate and pressed it into his oven-cloth-covered hands.

  ‘Fillet steak and chips,’ she said. ‘Your favourite. Go and start without us and we’ll be there as quickly as we can. But if you get too tired, love, and you want to go to bed, we’ll understand, OK?’

  She kissed him on the head and hurried away.

  In the kitchen doorway she stopped and looked back.

  Jake saw the sad look on her face again.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. Then she was gone.

  Jake stood there, not moving. He remembered a movie he’d seen on satellite TV. A movie about som
e explorers. There were three explorers at the start, then two of them shot the third. They said he was ‘surplus to requirements’. Jake hadn’t understood exactly what that meant.

  He did now.

  Slowly he turned and dropped the plate into the bin.

  ‘Class 5F, are you receiving me?’

  Nothing.

  Jake fiddled with the frequency knob, turned up the transmitting volume and tried again.

  ‘Jake Robinson to 5F.Mayday, mayday. This is an emergency. Don’t come. Don’t come. Don’t come.’

  Still nothing.

  He wasn’t really surprised. He hadn’t really expected any of the class to be hanging around their radios at midnight in the school holidays.

  ‘I know, I know,’ Jake said to Crusher. ‘An e-mail would have been better.’

  Then he remembered Crusher was still a prisoner in the dining room.

  He hunched over the radio again.

  ‘Wake up 5F, this is important.’

  Silence hissed in his headphones.

  At least I’m trying, thought Jake miserably. That’s all I can do.

  He’d tried getting into the magazine people’s room, storming up there from the kitchen to send the e-mail, but their door was locked.

  He’d tried going to sleep, cramming his head under the pillow, but every time he’d closed his eyes he’d seen the photo album.

  This was all that was left.

  ‘Don’t come, 5F. Do not come to this island. Mr Goff was right. This island is not a good place for kids. In fact it sucks.’

  More silence.

  Jake didn’t care. In a strange sort of way he was feeling a bit better.

  ‘This island is a crap hole for kids. A spew bucket. Snot city.’

  He knew nobody was listening, but his mouth didn’t seem to mind.

  ‘Kids would be better off going to a major war zone than coming here. A major war zone with unexploded bombs and really bad TV reception. Or a poisoned planet swirling with toxic gases and plastic bags. Or a jungle full of vicious snakes and deadly spiders and killer monkeys and desolate parched deserts.’

  ‘I agree,’ said a girl’s voice.

  Jake jumped so hard his headphones almost flew off.

  ‘Pardon?’ he said.

  ‘I agree,’ said the voice. It was coming over the radio.