Maybe

by Morris Gleitzman

The office window is open slightly and the nun’s voice drifts in.

  ‘You poor child,’ she’s saying. ‘Such a burden for one so young. But it won’t be much longer and then others will shoulder the burden for you. Eat your breakfast, pet, and I’ll come and collect the tray when you’ve finished.’

  I peek through the window.

  The nun is putting a tray onto Anya’s bed.

  ‘Good breakfast,’ mutters Gosling.

  He’s right. On the tray is a breakfast almost as delicious-looking as the one I had at the air base.

  ‘Take your time, pet,’ says the nun to Anya. ‘Ring the bell when you’re ready.’

  What a nice nun.

  At least Anya’s well cared for here.

  But Anya doesn’t look happy. She’s scowling.

  I’m guessing that’s because of what the nun said about others shouldering her burden.

  Meaning her baby.

  The nun turns to leave.

  Gosling and I duck down again. We wait till the nun’s footsteps have faded away along the corridor, then hurry into Anya’s dormitory.

  Anya is slumped in bed, not even looking at the breakfast.

  She sees us. She sits up, eyes wide with delight.

  The tray almost slides onto the floor. She grabs it with one hand, grinning at us.

  ‘Took your time,’ she says.

  I go over and give her a hug. The longest hug we’ve ever had. Both my arms round her, one of hers round me.

  ‘There’s a car waiting for us outside,’ I say. ‘And a friendly reporter. Let’s go.’

  Anya gives me a look. She pulls back the bed-clothes. Her other wrist is handcuffed to the metal bed frame.

  Me and Gosling stare, shocked.

  ‘Mongrels,’ says Gosling.

  ‘I tried to escape,’ says Anya. ‘Didn’t get far in the heat. A blacksmith gave me a lift. Brought me straight back here. I think he supplies the nuns with their prison equipment.’

  Anya yanks angrily at the handcuffs.

  I feel the same as her, but we have to stay calm.

  ‘Have you got a hairpin?’ I say.

  ‘Hairpins aren’t allowed in this dump,’ says Anya. ‘Only visitors can have them and I haven’t had visitors until now.’

  She looks Gosling up and down.

  ‘Pity you’re not a girl,’ she says.

  ‘I’ve got a toothpick,’ says Gosling. ‘I carved it

  out of very hard wood.’

  He hands me a small black toothpick.

  It feels pretty hard. I kneel down and slip it into the keyhole of the handcuffs. I did this quite a lot when I used to repair locks with Gabriek in the city. Just not with a toothpick.

  ‘This is Gosling,’ I say to Anya, while I jiggle his toothpick.

  Anya looks at him for a long moment.

  ‘Thank you, Gosling,’ she says. ‘I’m glad you’re not a girl.’

  ‘Tyrone,’ says Gosling. ‘Tyrone Gosling.’

  As the handcuffs click open, I stare at him.

  Tyrone?

  We creep out the way we came in, through the milking shed at the back of the girls’ home.

  As soon as we step into the shed, I see there’s a problem.

  A dog is in among the cows. Not a cattle dog. A local stray, by the look of it, crazed with hunger.

  The cows are about to stampede. They’re milling towards us with wild eyes.

  ‘Get to the car,’ says Gosling. ‘I’ll look after this.’

  I hesitate, but he’s right.

  For a start, Anya doesn’t know where the car is. And having to run with a tummy the size of hers, she needs somebody with her.

  Gosling walks slowly towards the cows.

  He growls softly, his big hands splayed in the air like a giant starfish.

  The cows back away. Sort of.

  Anya and I slip past Gosling and the cows. We hurry through the door at the other end of the shed. Behind us we hear barking and grunting and the thud of hooves.

  I grab Anya’s hand.

  Just as well. A couple of times on the way to the car she looks over her shoulder, which makes her stumble.

  I open the car door, but Anya hesitates.

  ‘Hello,’ says Neal from the driver’s seat. ‘You must be Anya. Probably best if you get in.’

  I can see Anya wants to go back for Gosling. In her condition, she shouldn’t even be thinking about something that risky.

  ‘I’ll go back,’ I say.

  But Anya gives a whoop.

  ‘There he is.’

  We scramble into the back of the car as Gosling sprints towards us.

  Gosling throws himself into the front seat and even before he gets the door shut, Neal has the car sliding and rattling down the road.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I say to Gosling.

  He doesn’t seem to have any serious injuries. Just a few scratches and scrapes on his hands and face. No dog bites that I can see.

  ‘I’m fine,’ says Gosling.

  He grins at me.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Should have brought back a few steaks.’

  Anya leans forward in her seat and puts her hand on Gosling’s shoulder.

  ‘Thank you, Tyrone,’ she says.

  I’m feeling a bit dizzy. I don’t know if it’s all the stress, or Gosling’s name.

  ‘That poor old dog,’ says Gosling. ‘Didn’t look like it had seen tucker for days. Lucky I had a bit of old sandwich in my pocket.’

  Anya leaves her hand on Gosling’s shoulder. She’s gazing at him with an emotional expression.

  Very emotional.

  OK he deserves it. But still.

  ‘Settle back, everyone,’ says Neal. ‘Hang on tight. Melbourne here we come.’

  we don’ t have to worry,’ I say. ‘Maybe the nuns won’t call the police.’

  We’re driving fast along a rough dusty back road. It’s so we can keep out of sight. But I wish we were on a main road. All this bumping isn’t good for Anya’s tummy.

  ‘They probably won’t call the police just yet,’ says Neal. ‘They’ll probably want to keep the whole thing quiet till they’ve worked out how to explain it. But we can’t be too careful.’

  I look at Anya. She’s very pale.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she says, touching my arm.

  She pats her tummy.

  ‘We both are.’

  Anya and I start answering Neal’s questions

  about our journey from Poland.

  Gosling is sitting in the front next to Neal, and sometimes he has to hold the steering wheel so Neal can scribble things on his notepad.

  A few times I see him looking at Anya in the rear vision mirror.

  Neal, that is.

  Well, Gosling too.

  ‘No offence, Anya,’ says Neal, ‘but now I’ve met you, I’m not surprised the government wants to bury this whole thing. A girl of your age, about to give birth, flying in a military aircraft. It’s a major scandal.’

  ‘To be fair,’ says Anya, ‘I did stow away.’

  Neal gives a laugh that’s more like a snort.

  ‘So much for military security,’ he says. ‘Doesn’t fill a nation with confidence when a sixteen-year-old girl can waltz onto an RAAF bomber with the dried beef.’

  I don’t think that’s totally fair towards military security. What Neal’s saying is true of most sixteen-year-old girls, but he doesn’t know Anya.

  ‘Neal,’ I say. ‘For your article, why don’t you let Anya tell you a bit more about herself. She’s had a few experiences that the sixteen-year-olds you know might not have had.’

  ‘Good idea,’ says Neal. ‘I’d be grateful, Anya.’

  ‘Hang on,’ says Gosling. ‘Anya might not want to talk about personal stuff.’

  Anya smiles.

  ‘Thanks, Tyrone,’ she says. ‘But it’s OK.’

  Anya is proud of the things she’s survived. Plus talking like this is probably helping to take her mind off the bumps in the road.
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  ‘Neal,’ says Anya, ‘do you know what a Sauer 38H is?’

  ‘No,’ says Neal.

  Anya gives a wistful sigh.

  ‘It’s a very good gun,’ she says.

  We finally arrive at a town. Which, I’m relieved to see, has a railway station.

  First Neal buys us all some clothes and boots.

  Australians are very generous.

  Most of them.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say to Neal. ‘We’ll pay you back.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘My editor’s good with expenses. He likes people to look well dressed in his photos. And less like they’ve just escaped from a children’s home.’

  He smiles at Anya.

  ‘Hospitals prefer it too,’ he says.

  ‘Please thank your editor for us,’ says Anya.

  She seems a bit better now she’s out of the car, but still very pale.

  Neal takes us into a cafe and buys us a meal.

  He’s being so kind that I feel bad about what I have to tell him.

  It was hard enough for him on the way here in the car, hearing about how Anya got pregnant. And then everything I told him about Zliv. His steering went wobbly several times.

  But I have to say it.

  ‘Neal,’ I say, ‘sorry, but we can’t come in the car with you to Melbourne. Anya mustn’t be in a car for too long in her condition. We’ll take the train instead.’

  Neal stares at me. I feel terrible.

  I waited till he finished eating to say it, but he still looks like he’s got indigestion.

  ‘It’s only eleven hours by road,’ he says. ‘Less. No more than ten probably.’

  Too long, I’m tempted to say, for Anya to be stuck in a car with a person who smells like Gosling. But I don’t because strangely Anya doesn’t seem to have noticed.

  Instead I pull my envelope out of my shirt and take out the baby book.

  ‘It’s says in here,’ I tell Neal, ‘that car sickness is very dangerous for a pregnant woman. I don’t think we should risk it.’

  I’m not sure if the book does say that. But there’s another reason I don’t want us to go in the car. One I don’t want to tell Neal about.

  ‘It’s for the best,’ I say to Neal.

  Anya gives me a grateful look.

  I’m glad she doesn’t mind me taking over the travel arrangements.

  ‘Which means,’ I say to Neal, ‘we need to borrow some money for train tickets, please.’

  Neal isn’t looking happy.

  ‘Anya can stretch out on the train,’ I say to him. ‘So when we get to Melbourne she’ll be rested and fresh for some really good newspaper photos.’

  ‘We all will,’ says Gosling.

  Neal gives a sigh.

  I hope he’s thinking how bad it would look if his driving made a young pregnant woman sick and his editor made him write about that.

  I’m also hoping he remembers that he owes us a favour. In the car I told him about Celeste’s mother living somewhere in Melbourne. And how, when Celeste and Gabriek finally get to Australia, Neal will be able to write newspaper reports about two very heartwarming reunions.

  If they ever get here. But I don’t want to think about that now.

  Neal still isn’t looking happy.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I say to him. ‘Anya and I know how to look after ourselves.’

  ‘So do I,’ says Gosling.

  ‘Actually,’ I say to Gosling, ‘why don’t you go in the car with Neal? Keep him company.’

  I hadn’t planned to say that. It just came out.

  Gosling looks hurt. Anya glares at me. Hard. I drop the idea.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I say to the waitress. ‘What time is the next train to Melbourne?’

  The waitress frowns and asks the man behind the counter.

  ‘One fifteen,’ says the man. ‘Don’t miss it. Not another one till Thursday.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say.

  I look at Neal.

  ‘We wouldn’t want to wait till Thursday,’ I say. ‘That would be terrible,’ says Gosling.

  Neal obviously agrees, because after a couple more sighs he drives us to the station.

  After we’ve said goodbye to Neal and we’re on the train and settled into a compartment and speeding across the countryside, I tell Anya the other reason I wanted us to travel on our own.

  ‘The hospital in Melbourne,’ I say. ‘Do you want to risk going there?’

  Anya knows what I mean.

  Gosling doesn’t.

  ‘I’m sure it’s a good hospital,’ he says. ‘One of the boys went there to have part of a plough blade removed from his leg, and he was playing cricket two months later.’

  I give Gosling a look. His shoulders sag.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘You’re right. A baby’s not part of a plough.’

  ‘Thanks for being concerned, Tyrone,’ says Anya. ‘But what Felix means is that when you’re my age, people take your baby and give it away.’

  Gosling looks shocked. Then he sets his jaw.

  ‘Just let them try that with yours,’ he says.

  We must all have been exhausted.

  Halfway through talking about the hospital in Melbourne, we all started dozing off. I haven’t got a clue how long we’ve been asleep.

  I’ve been dreaming about Zliv.

  He was just a shadowy figure in the dream, which somehow made him even scarier. My skin feels clammy and my heart is clattering faster than the train wheels.

  I have to stop doing this. No point worrying about Zliv till he gets here. For now, we’ve got something more urgent to think about.

  The hospital.

  I open my eyes.

  Gosling is still asleep. He’s slumped with his head on Anya’s shoulder. Which I think is a bit rude when you’ve only just met someone.

  Anya is awake and doesn’t look too happy about it either.

  I give Gosling a nudge and he sits up, blinking.

  Anya still doesn’t look happy. She’s frowning at me. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps she liked having Gosling’s head on her shoulder.

  I change the subject.

  ‘Have you had any more thoughts?’ I say to her. ‘About the hospital in Melbourne.’

  Anya doesn’t say anything.

  Just shakes her head.

  ‘I reckon,’ says Gosling fiercely, ‘we should let that hospital know right at the start that taking and adopting is not on.’

  ‘I feel the same,’ I say. ‘But what if they take the baby anyway? I don’t think it’s worth the risk, not even for a clean bed and some expert doctors.’

  Anya doesn’t seem to think it is either.

  She’s looking pale and her forehead is still scrunched up.

  ‘Do you agree?’ I say to her.

  ‘I don’t think we have to worry,’ she says, he voice strangled with pain. ‘I don’t think the baby’s going to wait that long. I think it’s coming now.’

  if you’re having a baby on a crowded train, the best place is in the luggage van.

  There’ll probably be more space there and it’ll be more private. And with a bit of luck there’ll be soft bags Anya can lie on.

  I go to have a look.

  As I head along the corridors towards the back of the train, I see how lucky we are to have our compartment completely to ourselves. Most of the other compartments are full.

  It would be very embarrassing for Anya to have strangers in our compartment. Specially now her waters have broken and the floor is flooded. The other passengers might not have a baby book and might not know why the water is there.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  That’s a shame.

  The luggage van isn’t as private as I’d hoped. There’s a guard sitting at a small table in the corner.

  I’ll have to switch to Plan B.

  ‘When do we get to the next station, please?’ I say to the guard, trying not to look like I’m panicking, which I am.

  The guard looks at a sheet of
paper.

  ‘Twenty-eight minutes,’ he says.

  I hope Anya can wait that long.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say.

  I go back to our compartment and tell Anya she has to hang on for twenty-eight minutes.

  ‘Can you do it?’ I say.

  ‘How would I know?’ she snaps. ‘You idiot.’

  I remember what the baby book says. That when women have babies, they can be a bit grumpy and short-tempered.

  ‘I’ll help her hang on,’ says Gosling.

  Strangely Anya doesn’t call him an idiot.

  I fetch some drinking water from the corridor for Anya, then go back to the luggage van to get started with Plan B.

  Which is to distract the guard so that when we get to the next station, Gosling can help Anya off the train without the guard seeing. We don’t want him spotting her labour pains and calling an ambulance.

  I start off by pretending I need to check the name of the next station.

  The guard looks a bit irritated, but tells me.

  I tell him about Polish station names for a while, but I can see he’s losing interest.

  ‘Do you have any children?’ I say him.

  He looks surprised.

  ‘Four,’ he says.

  ‘Can I ask you a question about them?’ I say.

  ‘S’pose,’ he says.

  ‘When they were born,’ I say, ‘did the doctor seal the end of the umbilical cord using heat or a suture?’

  ‘We’re in luck,’ says Gosling.

  After the train has chugged away, we come out from our hiding place behind the waiting room and look around at the deserted station.

  Gosling’s right, we are.

  We’re in luck that the guard was so interested in my baby book. Mostly because each time one of his was born, he was in the pub.

  We’re also in luck that Gosling got Anya off the train without the guard seeing. Plus he brought the cushions from two seats, the water bottle that’s usually chained up in the corridor, and the metal hand-washing bowl from next to the train toilet. Also without the guard seeing.

  The train driver and the assistant train driver didn’t see either. This station is mostly a water stop for the engine, and they were busy with the hose from the big tank on the platform.

  Which was also lucky.

  What’s less lucky is that the waiting room door is locked.

  ‘I need to lie down,’ groans Anya.

  Gosling and I arrange the seat cushions on the platform so Anya can stretch out on them.