No Stars to Wish on

by Zana Fraillon

  Sister Maxine showed me the nails that stick through the leather straps. ‘This is what happens when you mess about in here.’ She didn’t need to show me. I don’t mess about, anyway.

  Charlie said the real Number 49 was working in the laundry when he got sick. It was the day after the doctors came and took his blood and gave him the injection. Sister Maxine didn’t believe he was sick. She thought he was messing about.

  But soon even Sister Maxine had to believe he was sick because he didn’t flinch when she hit him with the strap. He just sort of toppled over, almost into the copper, so Sister Maxine told Charlie to take him to the hospital wing.

  Charlie looked straight ahead when she told me all this, as if I wasn’t really there and she wasn’t really telling. ‘So I took him to the hospital wing. That was when he was hot and his eyes kept rolling back into his head. I was allowed to sit with him for a bit. Just until the doctor got there. It was that one with the moustache. He wrote in his black book and shook his head when he saw how sick he was. That was the last time I saw him.’

  The moustached doctor. I knew him. He’s the one who gets cross when kids are sick.

  The doctor put a curtain around the bed and sent Charlie away. One of the kids from the hospital wing said the Sister and Doctor didn’t take the real Number 49 to a real hospital. In the morning he was gone, and no one ever saw him again. The real Number 49 never came back.

  The Nuns said he had just pretended to be sick so he could run away. But No One and Never are pretty powerful. You can’t argue with No One and Never.

  ‘Then I found his shoe.’ Charlie looked at me now. Now she wanted me to know. She wanted to make sure I could really see her lips, really understand. ‘The next morning. His shoe dropped out of a sack the Director was carrying. I was in the laundry. I wasn’t meant to be, it was too early, but I knew the copper would be heating up, and it was so cold that day. So cold. I didn’t care about getting caught. All I could think of was warming up enough so’s my toes and fingers didn’t ache so much.

  ‘I was hiding between the copper and the table, and I heard footsteps on the stones outside. It was still dark, but I knew it was the Director. You know the way his shoes tap?’

  I didn’t know. Not for myself. I saw the way other kids looked, though, when they could hear the tapping. Samson told me only the Director’s shoes tap. The Nuns’ shoes don’t tap. They have silent shoes so they can sneak up on you.

  Charlie said the Director carried the sack right past the laundry. He was just by the window when something fell out. ‘I saw it fall. I saw it lying there, in the dark. I waited a long time, until I knew the Director had gone. And then I went out to see what had dropped from the sack. And it was a shoe with the number 49 written on it.’

  Charlie stopped talking then. She stopped talking and went on ironing. She looked the way I did when Janey was in the Line-Up. If she concentrated hard enough on the iron going back and forth she might press out all the thoughts that were crinkling up her mind. That was what she was hoping, I could tell. But she was angry too. She stopped ironing, even though Sister Maxine could come back any minute, and turned to me again. ‘Listen, Jack. Listen. He was sick and they didn’t even take him to hospital. They left him there. They didn’t take care of him. They just left him. And then he was gone.’

  Except Charlie didn’t say ‘gone’. She said ‘dead’.

  I don’t like working in the laundry now. Not after what Charlie told me. She showed me where the real Number 49 fell near the copper, and where his shoe dropped out of the sack. When I look at those places now, it makes my stomach curl up.

  Charlie also showed me where the Director took the sack. Over to the rubbish tip. Although it wasn’t the rubbish tip, back then, it was just dirt and not much else. Charlie says the next day was when the Nuns said to move the rubbish over there – to make room for the pigs that never came.

  And as Charlie is talking and telling me, I don’t want to see the words. I want to close my eyes so I can’t read her lips. But she’s in front of me, making sure I’m reading her lips so I know what really happened. And I know why she wants me to know. Because we mustn’t forget each other. Even though I didn’t know the real Number 49 before, I do now, and I will never forget.

  After Charlie found the shoe, she waited and waited, then followed to see where the Director had taken the sack. She saw him put it into a hole in the dirt. And then the rubbish was moved on top and the pigs never came and the real Number 49 was gone and a week later I arrived, wearing his clothes and sleeping in his bed. The Nuns said he hadn’t really been sick. They said he’d run away. But he had and he didn’t.

  When Charlie helped move the rubbish to make way for the pigs, she put his shoe on the spot where the Director had buried the sack. She said she sang a little bit, just softly, a song to help his soul find its way, back to their cubby and the river and the rope swings. Back home.

  Charlie said I even looked a little like him. Just a little. And now, even though I’m ironing and it’s hot with all that steam and everything, I feel cold. Right down at the bottom of my stomach, as if I’ve eaten a whole brick of ice. My teeth even start chattering from the cold. I don’t know why. I don’t know the real Number 49. Not really. I just think I do. Sometimes thinking can feel like knowing, though.

  I guess the real Number 49 knew more about the lines on his hand than I thought he did.

  AMREI refused to give in. Not that she had much choice. She had come this far; to turn and go back would have been pointless. She left the hospital under the darkness of night and continued on her way as though she had never been stopped. If she was too late, so be it.

  But finally she sensed that her journey was coming to an end. She stopped on the crest of a hill. Her hand dropped to pat Dog’s head, before she remembered she was alone.

  Already Amrei could recognise parts of the landscape from her Visions. She would be there by midday, perhaps before.

  She had no idea what she was going to do once she arrived. While her Visions could show her memories of the future, they couldn’t help solve her problems.

  Amrei didn’t pretend that she would be able to demand her family back.

  But here she was. Small steps was all it took. One foot in front of the other. Over and over again. She just had to reach the red house in the distance. She had no need to ask for directions. Her Visions had become so strong that she’d begun Seeing them while she was awake and walking. They were not so much like memories, now; more like hallucinations.

  She was really close now.

  THE police should know. But I don’t think they do. Because if something happened to the real Number 49, something that shouldn’t have happened, even if it was a mistake, then the police would come to investigate. That’s what police do.

  I met the police when the people next door to our house had all their things stolen. The police came and talked to everyone. They asked everyone what they had seen or heard. They even asked me, but only about what I’d seen. Those police were nice.

  And no police ever came here. No police ever asked any questions here. They don’t know the Truth.

  Samson does, though. He said he didn’t want to tell me because he knew I was hoping the real Number 49 had escaped, and that I would escape too. He thought I would be sad to know I was wearing a dead boy’s clothes.

  I don’t mind. Wearing his clothes makes me feel I’m keeping a little bit of him alive. When I was at home, I sometimes used to squeeze into Petey’s favourite T-shirt.

  And I’m still going to escape. I already have my Escape Plan. Now I just need to work out the exact spot to get away. If I was going to school I could just run from there. But before I escape I need something to take to the police. Evidence, to make them come here and ask questions. It’s what the real Number 49 would want. He was determined.

  I don’t know what to take to the police, though. I don’t have the shoe any more. But I will find something. Mark My Words, as Great Gre
at Aunt Jess would say. I’m going to bring them some loud Evidence. I’m determined, now. Just like the real Number 49.

  I wonder if Janey has her shoes.

  FROM the gate, Amrei watched a woman move through long grass at the edge of the brick wall. Bucket in hand, she was clearly searching for something.

  Amrei whispered again to the lapful of crickets held in the threadbare remains of her skirt. She wasn’t sure why she had called to them, or why she kept them quiet in her lap. She just knew it was what had to be done.

  And without quite knowing why, Amrei whistled. A single note, soft, clipped by the wind. The woman looked up. She did have kind eyes. They reminded Amrei of the Greats’ eyes. Amrei could see an eternity of experiences and knowledge surging in the woman’s gaze.

  ‘What have you got there, poppet?’ the woman asked.

  Amrei looked down at her lap. She opened her skirt.

  The woman smiled. ‘He was right, after all,’ she said, more to herself than to Amrei. ‘I thought we were going to have to squeeze out what tiny bit of goodness was left in those few scrawny carrots and sticks of celery that were granted to us this week. But how on earth he knew…’ She shook her head. ‘Best not to ask, hey? If the Mother Superior knew the goodness I smuggle in every day she would have a fit, she would.’ The woman paused, looking around to make sure no one was about. ‘Look at you, so thin and all. It’s a wonder I saw you. You could easily be a trick of the light, blending in with all the dirt and grass around this place. Especially in that get-up.’

  The woman fiddled with keys hanging from her belt. ‘If anyone sees you, I’ll tell them you’re my niece, here to work, right? D’you know how to cook? I’ve got no one in the kitchen helping me today. It’s only soup, nothing special. But you can have an extra big serve in return for your stirring. Then tonight we can work out just what to do with you.’

  ‘Thank you, Cook.’ Amrei paused, then whispered in Cook’s ear, making her laugh.

  There was no one about. No one to see Cook unlock the gate and lead Amrei inside, leaving the gate unlocked after.

  And no one except Cook to see the way that Amrei sang into the soup.

  THERE isn’t another shoe. I know because I’ve spent ages going through the rubbish pile. This morning, just after breakfast, I found Sister Augusta, and the next part of my plan clicked inside my head. I asked her if I could clean the Hole again. I think she knew I was up to something, because her eyes were poking into mine, trying to see right inside my head. I made my face go blank and thought of sums so she didn’t get much – maybe just the answers: 37, 54, 169.

  It worked. She nodded and took me back down into the Hole. I still haven’t cleaned one of the Holes. It’s always taken. The other two Holes were filthy again, so I cleaned one of them, fast. I didn’t take as much care as last time, because I wanted to get out to the rubbish pile. But I needed the Hole to be clean so the Nuns would think I’d been working in there rather than sorting through history out the back.

  I couldn’t find the other shoe in the pile, not anywhere. I asked the real Number 49’s spirit to help me, but he must have listened to Charlie’s song and flown home already, because I got nothing.

  Someone else was listening and watching, though. I’d just broken a mousetrap and thrown it on the tip. Quick as a blink, a small grey mouse scuttled out of the rubbish. He turned and looked straight at me. For a second I thought it must have been the ghost of the mouse that Mother Superior squashed, because real mice don’t do that. But it wasn’t a ghost mouse. It had silvery whiskers and a white dash on its tail. It was the mouse from the washroom. And it was showing me the way. When it was sure I was watching, it began to climb the wall. It climbed right next to a drainpipe that runs down from the top of the building. I could climb that drainpipe too.

  The mouse climbed all the way to the roof. And with my head pressed right back against the bricks I could see that a branch had fallen from a tree and was making a sort of bridge from the top of the roof to the top of the fence.

  The little mouse waited until it was sure I was watching, like a cardboard-cut-out mouse perched on the roof. Then it scurried straight over the branch bridge and down the other side of the wall.

  It was a Sign. I never would have seen the branch bridge unless the mouse had shown me the way. Never in a million years. And I’d never be able to get over that fence without the bridge. The fence has barbed wire rolled all the way around it. The first week I was brought here, one of the girls tried to climb over. She cut herself so badly she had to stay in hospital for a week. She got herself tangled in the wire, and the more she tried to free herself the more the wire cut into her. We could hear her screams from right across the grounds.

  The Nuns called a handyman to cut her loose. Some of the big kids threw rocks at her while they waited. They made a game out of seeing who could get the most hits. The Nuns didn’t stop them. The scars on her face are massive. I don’t think the doctors tried very hard to make them heal well. Maybe they thought that the scars would be like warning signals. They were probably right. No one tried to climb the fence after that.

  The branch isn’t big but I’m not big either. If I was very brave, I could make it over to the other side, and go home. And even though my body was screaming to get going up the drainpipe and start running home straight away, I knew I couldn’t. First I needed to get strong Evidence about what happened to the real Number 49, so I can help all the other kids who don’t have mice showing them the way.

  I didn’t know what to do then. I didn’t have my Evidence. But Sister Augusta must have known what I was up to. I think perhaps Sister Augusta isn’t really a Nun at all. Maybe she’s some sort of angel sent to help me, in Nun disguise.

  When she came to collect me for lunch, she didn’t take me to the Eating Hall. She gave me a bowl of soup and told me to take it to Samson instead. She told me that Cook had made it especially for Samson, and it was full of extra goodness to help him heal. That ‘extra goodness’ meant extra ground roast cricket, but I didn’t say anything to Sister Augusta.

  Samson was still in bed. The doctor with the jiggling red moustache was checking on him. He was taking Samson’s temperature and tisking his tongue and wriggling his moustache. He didn’t even notice when I came in with Samson’s soup.

  And just like that I saw how I could get Evidence. Even better Evidence than a shoe. Real Evidence.

  I felt like Phiny, then, just before he goes into a fight, when he gets that great big grin on his face. I think I even had that grin on my face, because this was sure going to be a big fight. There was no way I could win, but I didn’t care. I didn’t have to win. Fighting was enough. Fighting would get me what I needed. And for a moment I felt as strong and determined as the real Number 49 must have been.

  The doctor finished writing in his little black book. He put the book in his doctor’s bag. He was about to walk away. I had to do it now. I could feel my legs shaking, my arms shaking, as the strong and determined laughed at me and ran away. But perhaps a bit of the real Number 49’s spirit was still hanging around because I felt an invisible rope was pulling me forward.

  I carried the soup and, just as I got close to Samson, close to the doctor, I tripped. I tripped the biggest trip I could trip.

  If someone had slowed down time, they would have seen the bowl of soup rise up into the air. They would have seen it come crashing down right over the doctor in his shiny, clean black suit. They would have seen shock and anger jump across his face. They would have seen him grab me and shake me and throw me to the floor.

  They would have seen Sister Augusta arrive just in time. They would have seen her push the doctor towards the bathrooms to get clean. They would have seen her flick her head at me to get going. They would have seen me wait until Sister Augusta turned away. And they would have seen me reach into the doctor’s bag, grab his little black book, and shove it down my pants.

  If someone had slowed down time they could have seen all that. B
ut in real time it sped up so it was more like a dream where bits jump forwards so fast you can hardly keep up.

  Samson grabbed my hand as I walked away. He squeezed my fingers and nodded. He smiled the biggest smile I have ever seen him smile.

  I only hope I can see Samson again.

  I looked in the doctor’s book. A terrible thought crept into my head. What if this was the wrong book? What if this book didn’t have anything about Number 49 in it? If I was the doctor and had given a kid medicine that made him sick enough to die, and then told the Director to bury the kid in a hole and then put rubbish on top so no one would find him, I would have changed books. I wouldn’t want to be reminded of that dead kid every time I opened my book.

  So, I hid in the bathroom and looked. And the thought that had crept into my head shot straight back out again, because the doctor hadn’t been clever or sorry or worried about being reminded. This was the same black book. It took a long time, but I found the real Number 49. It took a long time because the doctor doesn’t just come to this Home. He goes to other Homes too. He even went to the Girls’ Home that Janey is in.

  He put the name of a Home at the top of each page. And under the name of each Home is a list. Next to the list is the name, number and age of each kid.

  There’s a measurement, too. I guess that’s how much medicine the doctor gives each kid. There’s also a column called ‘Results’, filled with letters and numbers that don’t really make sense. They must be in doctor talk.