Twenty-Four Hours

by Margaret Mahy

  There was silence. Ellis, looking from face to face, saw that everyone else was looking from face to face, too. The two girls seemed to be seeking some sort of permission from one another to speak out while, at the same time ordering the boy, with scowling looks and head-shakings, to remain silent. However, he was the one who finally spoke.

  “Could be Mystique took her back,” he suggested cautiously.

  “Mystique!” exclaimed Ursa. “No way!”

  “Might have!” Jason insisted.

  “Mystique was at our place last night and she didn’t once ask about Shelley,” said Ursa, sounding sure of herself at first, yet growing a little more doubtful as she went on.

  “She might have changed her mind,” cried Leona. “Where is Mystique?”

  “Winston might’ve taken her,” said one of the girls.

  “Winston!” Ursa exclaimed scornfully. “Oh, sure! Winston loves babies, doesn’t he?”

  “Mystique’s taken up with Winston,” said the girl, apparently indignant at having her suggestion rejected. “And Winston’s got it in for you lot. He told Mick he was going to bring you down. Because of him!” She jabbed her finger towards Jackie.

  “Me?” cried Jackie, his expression dissolving into childlike innocence. He risked a quick glance in Ursa’s direction.

  “Mick says you hassled Winston,” said the other girl. “He said you’d better watch out. He said …”

  Jason interrupted her.

  “No way does Mystique want that kid back, but she might … like … pass her on to someone else if Winston told her to. Winston says you lot think you own everything around here and you’d better watch out.”

  Ursa looked down at Leona, then at Jackie. Everyone ignored Ellis, already knowing he had nothing useful to say.

  “OK! Next question!” said Ursa. “Where does Winston hang out these days?”

  “We don’t have to tell,” said Jason.

  “Please!” begged Leona, crouched on the branch at Ursa’s feet. Ellis could see things were changing. The children had begun to feel that they were the people in power.

  “I didn’t pick it was you that was after us – not straight off,” the boy said in a placating tone. “I thought it was some other guys.”

  “Social workers!” said one of the girls, and they started laughing, glancing at each other.

  “Well, you were silly to climb the tree,” said Ursa. “Some of those social workers can climb like monkeys. They’d zip up here after you, no trouble at all.”

  The bigger of the two girls grinned and pointed.

  “Go along that branch and you can get into another tree,” she said. “No social worker can get me, man.”

  “Look! Just tell us where we can find Mystique and we’ll leave you alone,” said Leona. “Come on! Tell us!”

  “We already know she does a bit of dealing,” said Ursa. “We’re not after her because of that.”

  “Who’s the egghead?” asked the boy, staring at Ellis.

  “Just a friend,” said Jackie. “Come on.” He moved further into the cage of branches and leaves. “We haven’t got all day.”

  “Yeah, but we have,” said Jason.

  “They’ve crashed in Burton Street,” said the older girl, looking past Ursa to Leona.

  “What number?” asked Leona.

  “What number?” said the younger girl mimicking her a little warily. “How do we know what number?”

  “It’s a blue house,” said the older girl, her face lighting up. “High fence, and that!” She stretched her arm up over her head, illustrating just how high the fence might be. “They don’t want no one looking in at them, the things they get up to.”

  “Is it a gang house?” asked Jackie sounding, Ellis thought, apprehensive.

  “No way!” said the boy. “Nothing heavy! Just …” He seemed stuck for words and looked sideways at the girls.

  “Private,” said the older girl. “It’s private. Nothing wrong with being private, is there? No law against it?”

  “No!” said Ursa. “I’m glad they’re private. OK! Thanks! We’ll call in on them.”

  “Don’t let on we was the ones telling you,” said the younger girl. “And don’t say Mick told us. Just shut up about it, eh?”

  “Silent as the grave,” said Jackie, giving an eerie laugh. “And that’s really silent, right?”

  “Yeah, but Winston …” said Jason. He pulled a comical face and held both hands in front of him, forefingers crossed. “Eh?” he said, glancing at the others who laughed and nodded.

  “Bug Winston and he’ll rip your face off,” said the younger girl.

  “Got any money?” asked Jason, changing the subject so abruptly that Ellis blinked.

  “Oh, come on!” said Ursa. “Do we look as if we have money?”

  She vanished backwards through the curtain of leaves. Ellis glanced behind him and saw Jackie retreating as well.

  “Come on,” Leona called, her voice floating up from somewhere below.

  Ellis looked at the three children. Suddenly they seemed desolate, their faces filled, in spite of their toughness, with momentary longing.

  “Don’t give them anything,” Ursa called, apparently able to read his thoughts even though she was on another branch of the tree. But Ellis had already pulled out a five dollar bill and passed it to Jason who took it without a word of thanks.

  Then Ellis, too, began to retreat, dropping cautiously on to the grave below. For the first time he noted the name on the stone – Norah Prendergast: 1856–1902 – sadly missed.

  Somehow, Ellis had expected to find Ursa and Leona already making for home, but they were both standing outside the spiked fence of the grave, curiously fixed like women caught in a spell, staring around them at stones and grass and trees. For the moment, both Ellis and Jackie were excluded.

  “Weird, isn’t it?” Ursa said to Leona. “Almost homely!”

  “Let’s go!” said Leona. “Let’s go down and climb over the wall into Moncrieff Street. And then we’ll check Winston out.”

  Jackie and Ellis followed the sisters, winding down between the old graves.

  “What was all that about?” Ellis muttered to Jackie.

  “What was what about?” asked Jackie, muttering back.

  “Something was going on,” Ellis said.

  “There’s always something going on for someone,” said Jackie, who looked, Ellis thought, unexpectedly pensive – even, perhaps, a little sad.

  11.10 am – Saturday

  They jumped over the low stone wall into Moncrieff Street and set off for the Land-of-Smiles, Ursa hurrying after her sister, but continually glancing over her shoulder at Jackie.

  “Have you and Winston really had a go at each other?” she asked at last.

  “Words only,” Jackie replied in a slightly subdued voice. “I thought it finished on fairly good terms. I mean, he didn’t beat me up or anything.”

  “The thing is,” said Ursa, “he could be counting you and me as an item. He could have decided to get at you through us. And if they’ve grabbed Shelley, there mightn’t be much we can do about it. I mean it’s always been – well, an informal arrangement, hasn’t it?”

  “Shelley’s mine,” cried Leona. “Ours!” she added.

  “She only seems like ours,” said Ursa. “And you know how keen those Children’s and Young People’s workers are on the natural right of the birth mother. Oh, well, we’ll check them out.” She came to a sudden stop. “Oh, shit!” she exclaimed. “No car! Monty’s old wreck is off the road.”

  “We could walk there,” began Jackie doubtfully. But then his eyes swivelled towards Ellis. “Salvation!” he cried, pointing. And suddenly all three of them were looking at him with various kinds of supplication.

  Without quite knowing it, Ellis found that a definite agenda had been forming in the back of his mind. He had been planning to find a lavatory where he could vomit up the coffee he had recently drunk. He had also planned to drive home. After ac
cepting criticism from his mother over the terrible state of her car (though he might counter her inevitable anger by pointing out his own good judgement in not driving home the night before), he planned to shower, climb into a clean bed and to sleep until late afternoon. Ursa seemed to detect something of these private ambitions flitting over his face.

  “You owe us for a room for the night and a cup of coffee,” she said. “Plus all that free booze.”

  “You got it back again. I threw it all up,” said Ellis with a slight smile. He felt this comment was worthy of Jackie himself.

  “You had the fun of it, though,” said Ursa ruthlessly, “and it’s not as if we can recycle it.”

  Ellis felt his stomach twitch and tighten.

  “Oh, please,” said Leona. “Just hurry!”

  “Well, OK then,” said Ellis weakly. “Is it far?”

  “Not if you’ve got wheels,” said Ursa. “And then you can flick us away like used socks.”

  “No, I don’t want to do that,” began Ellis. “I want to help. I’d better ring my mother, though.”

  “Leave it until later,” said Jackie quickly. “She’ll talk you out of it.”

  “My mum’s a good sort,” said Ellis, looking at Leona, not Jackie or Ursa. He could see that she had been crying as she walked between the gravestones to Moncrieff Street.

  “OK,” he said wearily. “It won’t take long, will it?”

  “Not with a car,” said Ursa. “Come on, let’s go!”

  Leona’s eyes may have been red-rimmed, but the smile she directed at him was the smile of an angel – a grateful smile promising future blessings.

  11.40 am – Saturday

  Ellis had the strange feeling that he was under observation. As he approached Garden Lane, breathing slowly and deeply, exerting control over his unreliable stomach, the painted figures of Monty, Phipps and Pandora watched him. Monty would be trying to match him up with the Orono Indians. “Hair! Hair!” Pandora would be saying, admiring her own artistry, while Phipps would be offering, “Let me put my mark on you.” Ellis cleared his throat.

  “That Phipps,” he said, “the tattooist …” Then he paused. Something about Phipps was teasing him, but he didn’t know quite what he wanted to ask.

  “His family have lived here round about forever,” Ursa replied. “The Legges NiteClub was once the family home. Phipps lives in part of the building.”

  “He thinks he still owns the place,” said Jackie. “And he likes to mark people with his tattoos. Brand them, really. Autograph them!”

  “Has he autographed you?” asked Ellis.

  “I’d show you right now, but it would lead to gossip,” said Jackie.

  “Turn left,” cried Ursa, who was sitting with the stained map spread out on her knees.

  They twisted through a residential maze, found Burton Street and, finally, slowed down to a crawl at the sight of a high fence made of plywood sheets nailed to heavy uprights. The house beyond the fence was certainly blue.

  “This must be the place,” Jackie said. “That fence is only plywood. Let’s smash right through it, drive straight up the steps and in at the door.”

  “Why?” asked Ellis. “The gate’s open!”

  “It’s more spectacular!” said Jackie. “And we’d score a few points when it came to surprise.”

  But Ellis was already driving calmly into a yard – uncared for, and yet practical, too. He parked beside a stack of firewood covered with a sheet of green plastic. Beside it was a long run for animals made of pipes and wire netting.

  “You should have blocked the drive,” said Jackie, getting out of the car and closing his door very quietly. But there was no way they could hope to take Winston and Mystique by surprise. Suddenly, the yard was filled with furious sound. Two bull terriers burst out of their kennel and began racing up and down the run, barking both threats and warnings. Leona rushed across the yard towards the red front door. She thumped on it with one fist, rattling the handle with the other. Ursa looked at Jackie, shaking her head and pulling a face.

  The sound of Leona’s rattling and thumping filled the yard. Although the door remained shut, Ellis somehow knew the house was not empty. He knew that urgent, furtive movement was taking place beyond the red door, could somehow hear, in between the barking and Leona’s spasmodic thumping, a rapid, secretive sliding from room to room.

  “Open up, Mystique!” Leona was shouting. “I know you’re there.”

  “Shut up!” hissed Ursa, shaking Leona’s arm. “Listen!”

  Silence, and then a sharp, snapping sound. Ellis thought he might have heard a gun shot.

  “Back door!” said Jackie. “Quickly!”

  And without pause or thought, Ellis found himself bolting around the side of the house, running beside Leona who might need protection at any moment.

  “Be careful! Be careful!” Ursa was yelling behind him, but he could not tell which of them she was warning.

  The area at the back of the house was dominated by a black car, luridly painted with scarlet and orange flames along both sides. Even at rest, this car seemed to be smouldering. Ellis blinked. He thought he saw the flames actually flicker, but perhaps the flickering was somewhere behind his eyes. Someone – Winston, he guessed – was already seated behind the wheel, and the same young woman he had seen talking to Ursa the night before was sliding something on to the back seat. Ellis glimpsed a tartan rug and saw a tuft of white hair at the top of the bundle.

  “Give her back!” yelled Leona. “Give her back, you bastards!”

  But the car was already moving. As the young woman ran beside it in a desperate, crablike fashion, Ellis noticed, once more, the purple streak in her black hair and thought that Pandora, as well as Phipps, must enjoy autographing people.

  “Watch out,” called Jackie, flinging out his arms to block Leona as the car came shooting back towards them. Mystique now leaped into it, slamming the door after her. Leona ducked under Jackie’s arm and made a futile grab at the door handle. Ursa screamed, Jackie swore. But Ellis seized Leona and swung her away as the car shot past them, struck the corrugated iron fence that marked the boundary of the drive, then lurched forward, clipping the edge of the building this time. Gears clashed. The car reversed once more, striking the fence for the second time before swinging successfully around the corner of the house and vanishing from sight.

  “Quickly!” cried Leona, apparently unaware that Ellis might have saved her from injury, might even have saved her life.

  And Ellis, having anticipated her response, was already racing for his mother’s car, so caught up in the action that, this time, he was ahead of both Jackie and Ursa. Yet he found he was still aware of Leona’s smell, a scent both sweet and tangy.

  Then they were piling into the car, Leona slamming the front passenger door with desperate fury, Jackie and Ursa, tumbled and tangled in the back, crying out incoherently. Reversing, Ellis swung into Burton Street, ready to pursue the retreating car which he saw swinging out recklessly around a distant corner. Instructions burst in on him from three different directions, but Ellis was already accelerating into a pursuit that terrified him, even though he was the man in charge.

  “Put on your seat belts!” he yelled, the sort of good advice his mother might have given.

  “Just keep them in sight!” cried Jackie. “Jesus!” he exclaimed a moment later as Ellis cornered fiercely, flinging everyone in the car violently to the right. Instructions and abuse exploded around him as he swerved and swayed through a garden suburb, struggling desperately to keep Winston’s car in his sights.

  “Have you actually got a licence?” cried Jackie plaintively.

  “Hey, that was a compulsory Stop sign!” howled Ursa.

  “Don’t lose them,” shouted Leona.

  The painted flames ahead continued their illusory flickering as Winston flung the black car around a corner and into an avenue lined with oak trees.

  “Quickly!” commanded Leona, and Ellis, hearing her voice a
bove the other voices, accelerated, horrified by his own rashness and yet, at the same time, thrilled by it. It was as if he had suddenly turned into the hero of a story which he knew by heart.

  They struck a ridge running across the road – a traffic bump intended to slow the cars of reckless drivers like Ellis – and became briefly airborne before crashing to the road again.

  “Oh, my suspension!” moaned Jackie. The burning car ahead of them, encountering a second traffic-calming bump, similarly shot into the air before thumping down.

  “I can’t … I just can’t …” groaned Ellis, but he found he could. For the second time in a minute his mother’s car flew and thumped, recovered, and then raced onward. Ellis forced it to round the next corner so quickly that the back wheels slid sideways and his three companions cried out in alarm yet again.

  “Faster,” gasped Jackie, in a parody of Leona’s voice.

  “Do you want to drive?” Ellis shouted back. Jackie was momentarily silenced. “Then, shut up!” Ellis cried. He suddenly realised they had reached the point where the city took to the hills, cutting into them and rising in a series of uneven terraces, punctuated by the exploding green of summer trees.

  “Give it heaps!” yelled Jackie. “Floor it!”

  Ellis shot through the roundabout and up the first steep slope, well aware that he should have given way to an oncoming car which blasted him in strident reproof before vanishing around the foot of the hills.

  “You’ll kill us all,” Ursa was crying, alarmed by this near-collision, but Ellis was stamping down on the accelerator, and the car, as if given the chance it had often longed for, seemed to take a breath and then surge forwards, losing a little power only at the top of the rise. Ahead of them, their quarry swung out wide, passing a blue Peugeot.

  “Don’t get trapped behind this guy,” hissed Jackie, straining forward in his seat belt. Ellis, resisting the temptation to shut his eyes, swept out wide around the Peugeot, even though a blind corner was rushing towards them.