by J A Mawter
‘You’ll see.’
Mio got a plastic bowl out of her school bag and tipped the dry noodles into it, being careful to tease apart the ones that had stuck together. Next she poured some buttery liquid into the bowl. ‘Melted marshmallows and butter,’ she said as she mixed the ingredients together. The van smelt like a bakery.
A great big glob of drool pooled on Clem’s leg. ‘Bella!’ she scolded. Taking a tissue from her pocket she wiped Bella’s muzzle.
‘You’ll be brushing her teeth next,’ joked Bryce.
‘I already do.’
Darcy cocked his head, then drew circles in the air as if to say, She’s cuckoo.
‘I am not!’ snapped Clem.
Mio ignored them, as usual. Using a spoon she scooped up some mixture and lined each patty case, careful to leave a dip in the middle. ‘These are the birds’ nests,’ she announced, then tipping a small number of jelly beans into each one she continued, ‘And these are the eggs.’
‘Jelly bean nests! My favourite,’ declared Bryce and he sang to the tune of ‘Old McDonald’, ‘And on that tree there was a branch, swish-swash-swish-swash-swish. And on that branch there was a nest, swish-swash-swish-swash-swish. And in that nest there were some eggs…’
‘Enough!’ snapped Clem. ‘No more singing.’
‘In Vietnam, we have bird nest soup. Very good.’
Mio tried not to, but she pulled a face. ‘I heard that those birds’ nests aren’t made from twigs, either. They’re made from the saliva of swallows.’
‘Gross!’
‘Yuck.’
Tong’s face fell, but he cheered up when Bryce handed him a jelly bean nest.
‘I love to go a-wandering along a mountain track. And as I go, I love to eat, a bird’s nest for a snack.’
Before Bryce broke into ‘Val-der-i, val-der-a’, Clem threw the empty noodle wrapper at him saying, ‘Cut it out or you’ll regret it.’
‘Ohh, I’m scared.’ Bryce pouted then tucked into his bird’s nest with gusto.
Mio reached for the dirty bowl but her fingers touched something soft and silky. ‘Eeech!’ she said, pulling her hand away.
‘Bella’s washing up,’ said Darcy with a grin, but his grin faded as he added, ‘You’re going to have to watch her around food, Clem. Beagles are notorious for getting fat.’
‘I do watch her,’ protested Clem. But just as she said it, Bella turned and scoffed down an empty patty case that was smeared with butter.
‘What did I tell you?’ gloated Darcy.
The kids left The Van and headed for the railway to practise. As they neared the station they could see some boys working, caps jammed low on their heads. A council worker supervised half-heartedly.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Mio as they drew near.
One boy was dipping a wire brush into a tin, then scrubbing the wall in a small circular motion as he tried to scour the paint from the stone. The paint stripper fumes made his eyes water. With the other hand he held a large white piece of gauze over his mouth, stopping every so often to cough. The council worker’s face showed no sympathy.
Another boy was scraping paint off the glass at the ticket office with the help of a rag and some solvent, but the spray paint was being extra stubborn, refusing to dissolve as it was meant to. The air smelt toxic. Fumes of turpentine floated over to the group, and Darcy joked, ‘Nobody strike a match.’
‘What did they write?’ asked Clem, screwing up her eyes as she tried to decipher the letters.
‘Hard to tell,’ said Darcy. ‘It’s like their own code.’
‘Not code,’ said Bryce. ‘Style. They write with their own style.’ He pointed to one and said, ‘That white one says Tagster.’ Darcy, Mio, Clem and Tong squinted at the wall. It looked like slashes on a page; it was impossible to even make out the ‘T’.
‘It could be Chinese for all we know,’ said Darcy.
‘No, Japanese,’ said Mio. ‘Some of it is.’ She pointed and said, ‘That one——means “respect”.’
‘Wow,’ said Darcy. ‘You can read that stuff.’
Mio gave him a withering look. ‘Uh, duh!’
Tong nodded and said, ‘For Vietnamese people, respect very important. Respect parents. Respect ancestors.’
‘In Japan, too,’ said Mio, then she pointed to another word with a puzzled look on her face. ‘That one——says “toy”.’
‘Ha!’ scoffed Bryce. ‘That’s a good one. When you write “toy” in graf it means the total opposite. It means you disrespect someone.’
‘Opposites. You mean like yin and yang?’ asked Clem.
It was Mio’s turn to laugh. ‘Sort of, I guess.’
‘What about that one?’ said Clem. ‘The red and green one with the yellow outline?’
‘That one says, “Sleepin’ coz”.’ Bryce laughed. ‘I know him. Real hard to get out of bed.’
‘I thought you used to hang on the other side of town,’ said Clem. ‘What are your mates doing here?’
‘They’re not my mates!’ growled Bryce. He yanked up his collar and jammed his beanie further down on his head.
‘But you know them?’ probed Mio.
‘Some.’
The council worker’s voice sliced through the city hum. ‘If it won’t come off you’re going to have to paint the whole wall.’
The kids continued to watch from a distance when Clem asked, ‘What was your tag, Bryce?’
‘Not telling.’
‘Please,’ begged Clem.
‘Nuh.’
‘Promise to keep it a secret.’
Bryce thought for a moment. ‘Promise?’ he asked, looking around the group.
‘Promise,’ they chorused.
‘My tag was,’ and he spelt, ‘P H R E E. Being free.’ He shrugged away the memory. ‘We always want what we can’t have…’
The kids pushed on, wheeling their bikes down to the abandoned sidings. Here the track was far from the main line. It ran parallel for several hundred metres then arced away to finish in a dead end. The practice course from yesterday was just as they’d left it.
‘Once we’ve mastered this we’ll go up to The Peak. The more we practise up there the easier it’ll be on the day,’ said Darcy.
Clem’s voice was hushed as she said, ‘I wonder what it’s like up there. The Peak.’ She shivered. ‘Sounds dangerous.’ Then she leant forward, drawing comfort from stroking Bella’s silk-like ears. Bella dipped her head so Clem could reach further. At the same time her wagging tail swept the bottom of the basket.
‘It is dangerous,’ said Mio. ‘Or so I hear.’
All of a sudden Bella jumped out of Clem’s basket and started to-ing and fro-ing with excitement. As she scooted along she did a little hop that made her look as if she was skipping. ‘She’s so funny,’ said Clem, as Bella, tail up and nose down, ran in a zig-zag, trying to find a scent.
The kids did some warm-up track stands. Tong and Bryce were improving all the time, Clem had mastered track stand one-handers and Mio had progressed to track stands no hands—with difficulty. Darcy had conquered all of them and was feeling pretty cocky. ‘Might try some wheelie walking,’ he called to the others. But his wheelie refused to walk, and instead he did a wheelie-to-ear-plant on the ground.
‘Ouch!’ he yelled, rubbing his throbbing ear as he stood up. Clem just laughed, saying, ‘Serves you right.’
‘That was wheelie successful,’ joked Bryce. Even Tong laughed.
Clem scanned the railway yard, her voice clipped as she asked, ‘Where’s Bella?’
‘There!’ Tong had spotted Bella’s paws and tail tip in the distance, white against a backdrop of grease and grunge.
‘Here, Bella!’ called Clem. She reached into her pocket for one of the treats she had been using for training. Being a dog who thought with her stomach, Bella came. ‘Good girl,’ cooed Clem, handing her the tasty morsel. ‘Sit!’ Bella sat, scoring another titbit. ‘Down,’ commanded Clem, and as Bella lowered herself to the g
round she was told to ‘Stay’. Clem walked back a few steps. ‘Stay-y-y-y.’ Bella didn’t move.
‘She’s getting really good, Clem,’ exclaimed Mio.
‘Clem good teacher,’ said Tong beaming at her, but just as the words were out Bella leapt to her feet, barked and bolted off.
‘Bella!’ called Clem.
‘Bella!’ yelled Darcy.
But Bella was stopping for no-one. On she ran, exploring, every so often doing her funny little skip and yelping with delight.
‘That dog!’ moaned Clem, jumping on her bike and giving chase. The others watched her go, amusement written all over their faces.
Clem kept one eye on Bella as she pedalled and the other on the uneven surface. Track lines criss-crossed in all directions, and loose stones with sharp edges jutted from the ground between sandy patches that, at any other time, would’ve been fun to skid on. ‘Bella!’ Clem called again, but instead of stopping, Bella picked up speed.
You’d think she’d seen a rabbit or a fox, thought Clem, knowing full well that beagles were hunting dogs, bred and trained over hundreds of years to chase down game.
But Bella had picked up another sort of scent.
As Clem neared the busy part of the train station a guard called out to her, ‘Hey, you. Stop!’ Distracted, her front tyre clipped a pothole and she tumble-wheeled over the handlebars, landing heavily on her butt. The guard raced down the steps three at a time, and after checking left, right, left, jumped onto the track and ran over to Clem. Gingerly, she got to her feet and picked up her bike.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing!’ roared the guard, five centimetres from her face. ‘I could charge you with trespass, you stupid, stupid kid.’
Clem staggered back and winced, knowing that her bruise tally had risen alarmingly. ‘I was chasing my…’ she tried to explain.
‘Not here you’re not!’ The guard had hold of Clem’s bike and was half-wheeling it, half-dragging it along.
‘What about my dog?’ asked Clem; following, then ignoring the guard she called, ‘Be-lla-a-a-a!’
Woof!
They both came to an abrupt halt.
‘She’s in there,’ cried Clem, pointing to a siding that disappeared into a tunnel. She raced up to the entrance and baulked. The darkness was thick and impenetrable, the air chilly and musty. ‘Bell—Bella?’ called Clem. She pulled out a handful of dog treats and waved them around. At first there was a deafening silence, but then this was broken by a resounding crash that echoed in the empty chamber like the dying cries of a crow.
Bella yelped and shot out of the tunnel faster than a cannonball, straight into Clem’s arms, almost sending her flying again. But on the way, Bella dropped something.
‘This the culprit?’ asked the guard, glaring at Bella.
‘Yes.’
‘Should be on a lead.’
‘Here it is,’ said Clem, pulling the lead from the basket and clipping it on to Bella’s collar. She stared at the object Bella had dropped but couldn’t make out what it was. It looked like a dead mouse. When Clem moved, a sharp pain shot down her leg and into her heel. She winced, clinging onto the lead with a vice-like grip. No way was Bella going to take off again! She lowered Bella into her basket, attached the lead to the metal frame and pushed her bike towards the station ramp, realising that she’d have to go back onto the street and all the way around to meet the others.
Following the guard Clem detoured via the dead mouse, hoping it was dead and not half-mangled and needing to be put out of its misery. But when she squatted down to inspect it she got a surprise. It wasn’t a mouse. It was a doll’s head. Mouse fur turned out to be doll’s hair, and it was obvious that it hadn’t come from some old pile of rubbish. Except for the fresh Bella drool it was clean, and the hair was parted and plaited and tied with ribbons. Someone loved that doll. Clem wondered who it could belong to and how it had come to be in the tunnel. The guard began to hurry her again so she slipped the head in her pocket and followed him.
Halfway to the exit stairs they halted. One whole wall had been bombed with graffiti: tags and throw-ups, and one intricate piece that looked like a work of art.
‘Bloody kids,’ said the guard. ‘Vandals, that’s what they are. It’s wanton destruction, it is.’ He straightened up as he added, ‘In my day we never did such things.’
There were paint cans, caps and tips strewn across the ground.
The guard reached out and ran his finger down a tag. The paint was still wet to the touch. ‘Criminals,’ he said, then he sucked in his breath and spat.
Clem blanched at the spit at her feet and wondered who was worse: kids who defaced public property or unhygienic men. She stared at the letters, struggling to comprehend their meaning. All of a sudden her eyes widened. For on the wall, in a colour that was blue tinged with green, the colour of the ocean on a stormy day, was the word ‘PHREE’.
Chapter Five
Clem sighed a sigh from the deep. She worried that Bryce had gone back to his old ways, that he was in trouble again and needed her help, but she wasn’t sure whether she should ask. She knew how sensitive Bryce was on the subject, how he leapt down Darcy’s throat whenever it was mentioned, so she decided to stay silent. After all, lots of taggers could be called PHREE, couldn’t they? She trudged up the ramp and went to join the others.
‘Finally,’ said Darcy when Clem appeared. ‘We were about to send out a search party.’
‘This guard stopped me and escorted me to the gate. Dirty old man.’
Darcy’s eyes flew open. ‘He didn’t hurt you, did he?’
‘No. Nothing like that.’ Clem’s face scrunched as she said, ‘He spat.’
‘And you’re such a lady.’ Darcy rolled his eyes, then laughed as he added, ‘Not!’
Tong interrupted. ‘What Bella want, Clem? Why she run?’
‘This.’ Clem held up the doll’s head, swinging it by the hair, aware of how macabre it looked.
‘Some kid’s probably dropped it,’ said Darcy. ‘They’re running around cradling a headless dolly, like some sort of Goth.’
‘What a got?’ asked Tong, the strain of trying to follow the conversation showing on his face.
‘Not got. Goth. With a “th”.’
‘Got.’
‘Did you find anything else?’ interrupted Mio.
Clem bit her lip. She mulled over whether or not she should mention the graffiti, and decided that she would. She told them about the wall and the empty spray paint cans. She told them about the caps and tips. Then finally, she told them about PHREE.
Immediately Darcy whirled on Bryce. ‘You didn’t, did you?’ It sounded more like an accusation than a question.
‘No!’ Bryce gulped, his face pale under a sheen of sweat. ‘You know I wouldn’t go back to graf.’
Darcy’s eyes narrowed as he taunted, ‘Wouldn’t you?’
‘No!’ Bryce reared up. Now his face flooded with colour.
Mio placed a cautionary hand on Darcy’s arm, saying, ‘Bryce doesn’t do that stuff any more.’
Darcy turned from Bryce to Clem and asked, ‘You said the paint was wet?’
Clem nodded. ‘So what?’
‘So, Bryce could well have done it.’
‘Except that I didn’t.’
‘Except that we can’t be sure,’ said Darcy.
‘What’s your problem?’ hissed Clem, rounding on her brother. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘Last night,’ Darcy continued, ignoring his sister. ‘When you didn’t make it into our carriage,’ his voice dropped even lower, ‘did you miss the train on purpose?’
Instead of answering, Bryce turned away.
‘What sort of answer is that?’
Bryce’s fingers clenched as he turned back. Anger screamed like a siren in his stomach.
‘It’s perfect,’ went on Darcy. ‘You pretend to see something so you miss the train. You’re at the station, long wait on your hands, thinking, how’m I gonna pass the ti
me?’ Darcy’s voice needled. ‘What’s a little paint between friends, eh?’
Mio found herself holding her breath and waiting. Whether it was for the two boys to go head-to-head or whether it was because she needed to hear Bryce’s answer and convince herself it wasn’t true, she wasn’t sure.
‘What is it with you?!’ shouted Bryce. ‘Always riding me. And for what?’
‘Yeah, Darcy, for what?’ demanded Clem, her face rigid. She knew that being the oldest of six kids made Darcy act like a prize rooster sometimes, but the Darcy she knew was also kind and gentle, with endless patience for their little brothers. So what was going on? Clem decided to do what she’d seen her mother do many, many times. She held up her hands towards Darcy and Bryce saying, ‘Stop it, you two. Grow up. Now shake on it and quit acting like babies.’
‘Why should I?’ asked Bryce. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong.’
Darcy slumped at the familiar words and his anger defused. ‘You’re right, Clem.’ He thrust out his hand saying, ‘Sorry, Bryce.’ But his suspicions had been aroused, and it would take more than a denial from Bryce to make them go away.
‘So you should be,’ said Bryce, holding Darcy’s hand far longer than was necessary in a death-adder squeeze. The two locked eyes, and Darcy returned the pressure. Bryce was the first to break. ‘I’ve got to go,’ he said, pulling away. ‘It’s getting late and Cara’ll be chucking a mental.’
‘How is your step-mum?’ asked Clem.
‘Alright, I guess.’
‘She must be getting big.’
Bryce nodded, then hung his head so his fringe flopped into his eyes. ‘Baby’s due in two weeks.’
‘Two weeks. That’s when the bike trials are on,’ said Mio.
Bryce gave a wry smile. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t let you down. I’ll make them, even if I have to deliver the baby before I get there!’
