Too Many Secrets

by Adele Broadbent

I stared out the window of the tree house as Nick climbed up through the trap door. The boy had gone. Oh my God. He’d been there all along and nobody knew—except me. If only Nick hadn’t followed me. He might’ve talked to me. Maybe not. He looked pretty freaked out.

  ‘What are looking at?’ Nick came over to the window. ‘Who were you talking to?’

  I spun to face her. ‘No-one, stupid! Why did you follow me? Why can’t you just leave me alone?’

  Yep. I did it again. She burst into tears, scrambled down the ladder and ran off bawling down the track.

  Wait until I told Mum about the boy. She’d be glad he was OK and I would be in her good books again.

  But by the time I got back to the shack Nick had blabbed about the tree house and me yelling and this time Mark was backing Mum up.

  ‘We asked you to look after Nick,’ said Mark. ‘It’s not hard.’

  ‘But I found—’

  ‘Yes, we’ve heard all about the tree house,’ said Mum. ‘Is that where you disappeared to on the first day? You probably wanted it for yourself?’

  ‘No, I was going to tell you—’

  ‘That’s enough, Becs,’ said Mum.

  ‘But, Mum!’

  ‘Stay away from the tree house until I’ve checked it out,’ said Mark. He disappeared outside and Mum went to talk to Nick in the bedroom.

  That decided it. If they weren’t listening, I wasn’t telling. The boy had been fine all this time, so why tell? His secret was safe with me. I spent the rest of the day ignoring my family and thinking about him.

  The more I thought about him, the more questions I wanted to ask him—if I ever saw him again. Why didn’t he leave with his family? And even worse, why did they go without him?

  He’d been alone for months, and sure he needed to wash his hair (yuck), but he looked OK. What did he eat? The trap! It must have been his. Mark would go absolutely mental if he knew he was still around.

  Other things clicked into place. The stinging darts I felt, my clothes chucked in the bushes, the broken pump. Had that all been him? I cringed at the thought of him throwing my underwear everywhere.

  Had he been trying to get rid of us? Of course! He would’ve been living in the shack before we arrived. And now I’d found his hiding place in the tree.

  After I apologized to Nick and told her she could have the tree house, things chilled out again. I figured the boy wasn’t going to go back and I felt a bit stink about her running off again. I didn’t know if there were any more traps out there. That was another question for the boy.

  That night, Mark lit the lanterns he’d hung from the kitchen rafters, then unrolled plans of Herrick House across the kitchen table.

  ‘Things are sorted here for a bit,’ he said. ‘I’m going to open up Herrick House tomorrow.’

  Despite myself, even I was excited. Well, maybe not excited, but definitely curious. We all watched as Mark pointed out the different rooms. An entrance foyer, main lounge and dressing rooms. How big was this place? If I hadn’t seen the photos, it would’ve sounded amazing. At least we were going to get started. If I really worked hard it might speed things up. There was no way I could stay away from my friends for eight whole months.

  I turned down our bedroom lantern and pulled my blankets up over my head. Where was the boy? Was he back in the tree house? No. The look in his eyes told me he wouldn’t risk it. Where would he sleep? Doubt niggled at me. Should I have told Mum?

  Chapter 16—Becs

  The next morning we piled into the ute, bursting to see the house. My ticket to Ascot. Mark’s dream. The whole reason for being there. It’d better be worth it, was all I thought.

  It only took a few minutes. Back down our road, then a sharp turn right onto a narrow gravel road I hadn’t noticed before.

  Mark stopped and climbed out to unlock a thick padlock and chain wound around a high, rusty, metal gate.

  Wide oaks towered above us on either side, with scrub growing thick between them. Mum had to hold on to the dashboard as we rocked and rolled our way through the potholes and high weeds in a long driveway, but we finally made it.

  We pulled up in a wide, open area, thick with pine needles and leaves. Herrick House blocked out the early morning sun.

  My family might call me ‘Drama Queen’ but Mark was definitely ‘Master of Understatement’. The photos of the house didn’t even come close.

  The top storey had a high gabled roof with tall chimneys sticking out each end. Roof tiles were missing and moss covered half of one chimney. The bottom-storey veranda had lost its fight with the bush.

  Mark saw our faces. ‘Don’t worry, girls, a bit of Roundup will do the trick.’

  Try an oil tanker full, Mark.

  ‘Come on. Have a closer look.’

  I wasn’t sure that was a good idea. The closer we got, the worse it looked. The paintwork looked like the pastry on one of Mum’s pies—flaky, and ready to blow off in a good wind. Mark banged the veranda post with his hand. I ducked, expecting the post to crumple, bringing down the porch with it.

  ‘Strong as,’ he said with a grin. ‘They built houses properly back then. No leaky home syndrome here.’

  I tried to look bored but I had to admit, Herrick House was impressive. Its size made up for things. Looking out over the front drive, I imagined a horse and carriage pulling up. (Did that happen or had I seen too many old movies?) The veranda took three strides to cross and you could’ve driven a truck through the double front doors.

  For a minute Mark couldn’t get the key to turn in the lock. I was surprised at the flame of disappointment I felt. But finally being there after all the plans and moving and hassle—it was exciting. I suddenly wished Caro, Lexi and Suz were with me—arms locked, giggling and ready to look together.

  With a heave, the door screeched open. ‘There we go,’ said Mark. ‘First job, oil the hinges.’

  ‘Wow!’ Nick and Mum said in unison, just inside the door. I followed their gaze upwards. The ceilings were miles away. Laced in layers of cobwebs, yes, but definitely wow!

  We shuffled in together, our mouths hanging open. The entrance foyer was bigger than the entire shack—lean-tos included. A wide, curved staircase stretched up to the top floor. I could see the wooden stairs through the moth-eaten carpet.

  I looked back at Mark who beamed like an idiot. We’d left footprints in the thick dust on the bare floorboards. ‘I feel like an invader in a shrine,’ I said. My voice echoed around the huge space.

  Besides the dust, it was empty. No furniture or curtains or anything on the walls.

  ‘Over here!’ called Mark, adding to the echo. He ran his finger over a door, tracing small, carved flowers and birds. He flicked the dust off his finger and heaved the door open. Inside was another huge room with windows overlooking the driveway. Well, they would have before they were boarded up.

  ‘This would be the main lounge,’ said Mum. ‘Look, these boards in this wall will be covering a fireplace.’

  Some fireplace. I could’ve stood up in it. ‘This is cool,’ I murmured.

  ‘What?’ Mark grinned. ‘Becs is impressed? That is cool.’ I shrugged it off. I’d have Mum saying ‘I told you so’ next.

  ‘We’d have to get the water sorted and a couple of rooms tidied up before we could move in,’ said Mark. ‘But for now, we’ll stay in the cottage.’ I just nodded.

  The next hour or so was spent exploring. We didn’t get much further inside the house because heaps of the rooms were boarded up. Mark found rotten floorboards on the top floor so we didn’t get far up there either.

  The outside buildings were boring, but Mark insisted on showing us most of them until we told him we had the general idea. I mean, who wants to see pig pens, greenhouses and plough sheds when there was so much more to check out inside?

  My mind was spinning all the way home. Heck! Did I say home? I meant the shack, which wasn’t my home. But Herrick House definitely could be. For a few months anyway. Way cool.

 
Chapter 17—The boy

  I watched from the cover of the bush, certain that the house would swallow the red girl and her family whole. Papa had strictly forbidden us from exploring the grounds of the big house. Even when my brother’s dog strayed onto the grounds he was not allowed to fetch him. Papa told him the dog was lost and to forget it.

  My brother was so pleased when it came back. Papa shot the dog anyway, saying it would be cursed after being so close to the big house. That was when I began to hate Papa.

  It hadn’t always been that way. I had stayed alone in the bush using the skills Papa had taught me when I was little. We would sit for hours waiting for a rabbit or pheasant to walk into a snare. He taught me to be still as a rock when I needed to be, or as fast as a tui flew. I would ride on his shoulders on the way back from a day hunt and he would mimic the birdcalls we heard along the way.

  He would laugh and sing songs from his hymn book when we were out in the bush, but as we got closer to home, he would fall quiet and take me down from his shoulders. But that was a long time ago.

  Leaning forward, I watched for the ‘townie’ family, waiting for something to happen. They were inside for so long I was sure the house had taken them. When they came out laughing and talking all at once, I nearly forgot to hide again.

  I skirted around the house, staying hidden. They explored the outer buildings together and, one by one, emerged safe.

  Again I doubted Papa. Was he wrong? This house with our family name—was it not the bad place he’d raised us all to believe?

  Chapter 18—Becs

  As we returned each day to work at the house, the boy hardly left my thoughts. Once I thought I caught a glimpse of him at the edge of the clearing but it was probably just my imagination. He’s probably long gone by now, I thought. I sort of missed him, which was weird. I didn’t even know his name. But he would’ve made things more interesting.

  I knew he’d gone from the tree house, because Nick asked me where the books and blankets had gone. She must’ve gone back there alone. Little sneak.

  ‘I chucked the blankets on the fire Mark lit for the rubbish,’ I lied. ‘They were gross. I’m keeping the books. You got the tree house.’ Luckily, she just shrugged.

  Still, when Mark kept his promise and set up a camp shower outside, I was super paranoid about being totally covered when I came out. I didn’t know whether the boy was gone for good and I wasn’t providing a free perve, thank you very much!

  While Mark cleared the scrub and vines away from the house, Mum pulled the boards off the front windows. Sunlight streamed into the front foyer and lounge. Thousands of dust particles floated in the air. ‘Who wants to do the dusting?’ Mum asked with a laugh.

  I gazed into the sunbeams of dust, as Nick skidded up and down across the floorboards in her socks.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’ came a deep bellow from outside.

  We shot over to the windows. Nick rubbed a clear spot in the murky glass with her sleeve. An old guy wearing camouflage clothes and a black beanie stood near the fire Mark had lit. ‘You idiot! You’ll burn the whole block down!’

  Mark dropped his loppers and swung over the veranda rail. ‘No, it’s OK! I’m just burning the trimmings. I’ve got a permit.’

  Nick and I made for the door but Mum had other ideas. ‘Stay here,’ she hissed.

  ‘I don’t care what you’ve got,’ bellowed the old man. ‘I’ve lived here longer than most and I know it better than anyone. It’s too dry. Are you going to put it out or am I?’

  Mark hesitated for a moment before offering his hand. ‘You must be Oscar. I’m Mark. Mark Burgess. We’ve just bought this place.’

  The old man ignored his hand. ‘Don’t care who you are. Put out the fire.’ Without another word, he stalked off into the bush.

  Mum wouldn’t let us outside until she was sure he’d gone. ‘Aw, Mum,’ I cried. ‘Who does he think he is? I was going to give him a piece of my mind!’

  ‘That’s what I was afraid of,’ Mum said. ‘He looked mad enough, thank you, without the Becs spin on things.’

  ‘Nice to meet you too!’ I yelled into the bush. Grinning, I turned back to the others. ‘Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.’

  Mark frowned as he dampened down the fire. ‘I’ve finished this for the day, anyway. Welcome to the neighbourhood, eh?’

  Chapter 19—The boy

  I followed Oscar back to his place. Usually he made less noise than the flit of a fantail, but he’d thundered through the bush like a charging boar. I hung back off the track, deciding it would be a good idea to keep out of his way for a while.

  I’d slept in Oscar’s skin shed after fetching my blankets from the tree house. It wasn’t as comfortable but I was grateful. Oscar had been good to me.

  When my family left, he’d taken me on night hunts and kept me busy every day until I was too tired to think about them. He never mentioned them again, like he had never known them. But I think he missed them too.

  Oscar had been around since I was small and he had always been the same. When my sisters called him ‘Mr Grumpy’, Mother would smile and whisper warnings that Papa would scold them if he heard.

  Papa and Oscar would sit outside and talk for hours while us children would play in the clearing. When I tried to sit with them, they would shoo me away, saying I was too young. But by the time I was old enough, they weren’t speaking to each other any more.

  Oscar’s orange tree was sagging with fruit, so I picked a couple and fled back along the track to the big house.

  There was no sign of the townies and the fire was out. I stared at the house with Papa’s warnings swirling in my head. After a lifetime of pretending it wasn’t there, I wanted to explore. After all, nothing had happened to the townies.

  Chapter 20—Becs

  Over dinner that night (Mum must have mastered the wood fire because there were no burnt bits in our lasagne), we talked about Oscar’s ‘welcome’.

  ‘It seems to me,’ Mum said, ‘he’s not happy about us being here. Maybe we were right to blame him for the broken pump.’

  Mark nodded, stuffing in more salad.

  ‘I bet it was him,’ said Nick, stabbing a piece of pasta. ‘He thinks he owns the whole forest!’

  Keeping quiet (totally not normal for me), I still wondered. Sure Oscar was a bush caveman as far as I could see, but I knew someone else who wouldn’t like us any more than Oscar. Yay, our own fan club.

  ‘Whatever happens, just stay away from him,’ said Mark. ‘If you girls come across him in the bush, be polite…’ He paused and stared at me. ‘…and keep moving.’

  No argument from me there. ‘When can we see the rest of the house?’ Now that we’d started, I wanted to see more. Then I’d ask Mark again how long it was all going to take.

  Nick wriggled on the seat. ‘Yeah, Dad. Can we open up more tomorrow?’

  ‘A bit at a time, eh?’ Mark said with a laugh. ‘I don’t want to bite off more than we can chew. There’s lots more work to do where we are.’

  Groaning in unison, Nick and I slumped over the table. I grinned at Nick. She’s learning, I thought. I’ll teach her to be a drama queen yet.

  After only a week in the bush, I was amazed at myself. The powdered milk on my breakfast didn’t make me want to throw up any more. I didn’t jump a mile when a bird squawked right behind me on the bush tracks. And I was even getting used to the long drop. Sort of. Mark had dug another one—‘state of the art’, he called it. But really, a long drop is a long drop.

  When we first arrived I thought I’d die after a day—but I was still alive and if I kept thinking about Ascot and wrote to my friends heaps, I might just survive the whole nightmare. Mark had been posting my letters but hadn’t brought any back yet.

  One day Mum disappeared off to ‘town’. ‘Thanks for telling me,’ I said to Mark. ‘I need to go to the shop.’

  ‘She won’t be long,’ he said. ‘She’s bringing back a surprise.’


  I plopped into a chair at the table. ‘Yay,’ I muttered. The last surprise had been vege seeds for the garden and some old tyres for the worm farm. Nick might jump up and down at that but I could think of much nicer surprises.

  The truth was I wanted to use the shop phone to call my mates. The rural post was way too slow. They probably thought I’d died or something.

  I heard the ute pull up and Nick raced outside. When I heard her squeal, I wandered out to see what she was on about.

  ‘Look, Becs!’ called Nick. She held up one of the chickens. It flapped and squawked and she tucked it back under her arm. Poor thing. I had to admit, they were cute.

  I actually volunteered to help Nick (don’t laugh) to look after them and feed them and stuff. I figured if I didn’t, Nick would hug them all to death. What would my friends say? Chicken Queen instead of Drama Queen? Whatever.

  Mum told us while she’d been in town she’d been speaking to someone about correspondence lessons too. Woohoo! Not.

  Working at Herrick House was boring but necessary if I was ever going to get out of the shack and into the house. It would save hiking back and forth from the shack and things should get done faster.

  I slogged my butt off each day. Mark wanted to take everything back down to the original rimu finish. I’d done so much sanding, my fingerprints were gone. Well, nearly. Mum was right about one thing—bringing us out in the sticks brought us together. We ate breakfast together, worked all day together, ate dinner together and all trudged off to our bedrooms about the same time each night.

  Finally Mark opened another of the rooms off the first lounge we found, but it turned out to be a long narrow hallway. ‘Aw come on, Mark,’ I pleaded. ‘Hallways don’t count. Can we please open another room?’

  ‘When this one is cleaned up,’ he said.

  I couldn’t wait any longer. I wanted to see more. When the others were busy I sneaked around the back of the house. Would I have a room on the bottom floor or upstairs? Most of the windows were still boarded up. There were only three on the bottom storey I could get to after Mark had cleared scrub away from them.