Give Me Four Reasons

by Lizzie Wilcock

  I can’t go in there.

  I turn around and quickly walk away. My feet seem to know where they’re going, even if I don’t. They drag me, as though I’m sleepwalking, back down my street, around the corner and then up the street behind mine. They take me to a place where they know I’ll be safe. A place that is warm and dry and even has musty, smelly crocheted blankets in it.

  The place I run to when I’m not running away.

  29

  There are no lights on in Mrs Johannssen’s house. I walk quietly down her side path, past the prickly rose bushes. Her yappy dog, Snuffles, does not yap. He must be inside, asleep on the old lady’s bed.

  The cubbyhouse is right at the bottom of Mrs Johannssen’s yard. Lights from the two neighbouring houses flood the lawn, even at this hour. I dash across the grass and dive through the cubby’s tiny door. I pull the little checked curtains closed and climb onto the miniature bed. I pull the crocheted blanket over myself and close my eyes.

  Sleep is a long time coming.

  I awaken to the familiar sound of magpies chortling. For a few moments I think I am in my own bed. But then I try to stretch out. My head and feet hit the wooden ends of the cubbyhouse’s tiny bed. I fall out onto the floor and hit my head on the tiny table as I attempt to sit up.

  ‘Ow!’ I say.

  A plastic tea cup bounces off my nose. I feel like Alice in Wonderland after eating the cake that made her grow.

  My family must be frantic by now. I have to go home. I begin crawling out the cubbyhouse door, but then I hesitate. Mum will be furious with me for staying out all night. I must have worried her to death. And Felicity will be mad too, because she was supposed to be keeping an eye on me, and she would have had to admit that she went out and left me on my own.

  How can I explain to Mum what happened last night? She’ll be so angry that I left the house. She won’t like it that I went over to Dad’s on my own at night. And then she and Felicity will laugh at me for thinking Chloe was Dad’s new girlfriend. They won’t understand why I didn’t just come home again. I don’t even know why I didn’t come home again. I just couldn’t after everything that had happened yesterday. But they don’t know any of that.

  I need time to think.

  I crawl back inside the cubbyhouse. Then I pull aside the checked curtains at the back and peer out of the tiny window, through the palings of my back fence. I can see up the side of the house to the street beyond. Reuben’s car is still there! I close the curtains in disgust.

  After a while, my tummy starts to growl and I need to pee. I slide one of the side curtains across to check if the coast is clear. I figure I can scoot out of Mrs Johannssen’s yard, sneak to the park and use the toilets there. But, just as I am getting ready to sprint, Mrs Johannssen’s back door opens and her dog, Snuffles, snowballs out into the yard. He runs around in circles, chasing his tail and snapping at invisible butterflies. He yips and yaps and scampers around, sniffing at everything.

  Mrs Johannssen follows. She turns on the hose and starts watering the flowers. She moves slowly around the yard. The water sprays from the nozzle, showering the plants. She tugs on the hose and totters across to a garden bed along the back fence. ‘Ooh, my lettuce and tomatoes are looking a bit thirsty, Snuffles,’ she says.

  Snuffles starts sniffing the grass around the cubby. I pull the curtain closed as slowly as I dare and shrink back inside the tiny door. The dog sniffs at it and barks madly. Then he jumps up, scratching his claws against the aged timber. There is no latch or catch for the door. It swings inward. I gently push it closed again.

  ‘Shhh, Snuffles. It’s me,’ I coo from my side of the door, but this only excites him further.

  ‘What’s wrong, boy?’ Mrs Johannssen calls.

  I freeze. The dog continues to jump and scratch at the door. Luckily for me, he is too small to jump up at the glassless windows.

  ‘What are you doing, you silly dog?’ Mrs Johannssen says. Her voice is louder and clearer. She must be coming closer.

  The dog whimpers and whines and then starts digging at the grass outside the door.

  ‘Stop that, Snuffles. You’ll get your paws dirty. Come away now.’ Mrs Johannssen is right outside the little house. At any moment she’ll open the door.

  I can barely breathe. Mrs Johannssen will die of fright if she finds me in here. I’d have to go home then and Mum will go ballistic. And Mrs Johannssen will think I’m some weirdo forever. She’ll spread the story around the street and everyone else will think I’m crazy, too. It’s bad enough that my family and friends hate me, without the whole neighbourhood hating me.

  Mrs Johannssen groans as she bends down and picks up the dog. ‘It’s going to be a scorcher today, Snuffles. You can stay inside in the air-conditioning.’

  Snuffles whimpers as he is carried away.

  I start breathing again.

  I wait until I hear Mrs Johannssen’s back door bang shut and then I dash out of the cubbyhouse, up the side path next to the house and onto the street. Then I head towards the park. Despite my urgency to pee, I walk along the street slowly, casually. People are up and about—watering gardens, jogging, driving kids to softball and cricket. But no one gives me a second glance.

  I stay in the damp, dark, smelly cubicle of the park toilet all morning. I’m still figuring out what to do next. I am so hungry I could eat the toilet paper.

  People come and go.

  When all is quiet, I drink heaps of water from the tap over the basin, almost gagging at its metallic taste. Then I poke my head out into the late-morning sunshine, desperate for a breath of fresh air and some food. I see a police car driving slowly past. I wait until it is gone, then I walk quickly across the park and hide behind a telegraph pole at the end of my street.

  I can see my house from here. Reuben’s car is still outside. I am determined not to go home while he’s there. So I walk quickly back to Mrs Johannssen’s house. The air-conditioning unit on the side of her house is cranking. I duck my head as I walk down the side path and back to the cubbyhouse. The sight of my family’s pool sparkling through the paling fence makes me homesick. But the thought of Reuben’s car out the front makes me heartsick, and that’s worse.

  Perhaps Mum thinks I’ve gone to see Dad. She might call the police if I don’t come home soon.

  I hope the police don’t search the area and find me in here. I won’t know what to say if they do. How could you explain to a policeman that you went out to find someone special to be your friend and ended up hiding by yourself in a child’s cubbyhouse? It sounds stupid, but here I am. I feel so sad, I can’t think straight.

  I lie down. It is like a sauna in here. The tin roof must be hot enough to fry an egg on. Eggs … yum. Scrambled eggs with cherry tomatoes. Yum.

  Tomatoes? Mrs Johannssen is growing tomatoes.

  I peer out the window at the vegetable garden. Two tall stakes are covered with curling green leaves. And poking out from those leaves are dozens of hard-looking, green tomatoes. You can eat green tomatoes, can’t you? I decide you can.

  I scurry out to the vegetable patch and pick the six tomatoes that have a tinge of red on them. I gather the tomatoes to my chest and dash back to the cubbyhouse. Then I eat them, one after the other. They are not very juicy, but it feels great to have some food in my stomach.

  After I eat the tomatoes, I lie on the little bed again. I fall asleep for a while, but I only realise this when I awaken to the sound of low-flying aeroplanes. The planes are dropping bombs on me.

  I sit up and fold my arms over my head. The rumbling and bombing continues and the curtains blow back. The sky cracks open with light. Seconds later, raindrops pelt down like bullets onto the tin roof. It’s not a battle after all, just a thunderstorm. The noise is deafening. Rivulets of muddy water stream in under the door. The cubby is soon flooded. I pull my feet up to my chest. At least it is no longer hot.

  The storm lasts for hours. I lie down and sleep. By the time the rain finally stops, it is nig
ht. I peer through the curtains at my house. The blinds to all the bedrooms are still closed, as though Mum and Felicity have slept all day. That’s strange.

  I try to look through to the street beyond, but it is dark. I can’t see if Reuben’s car is still there or if the police have arrived. Maybe you have to wait forty-eight hours to report a missing person.

  Suddenly a knife sears through my stomach. I double over in pain. It stops and I sit up again, panting heavily. But then it happens again. I clutch my stomach. The unripe tomatoes are rushing through my system like cannonballs. I’ve got to go back to the park.

  I sneak out of the cubbyhouse for the third time that day and dash to the park. There’s hardly anyone on the street. When I get to the park, a man from the council is hosing out the male toilet block.

  I creep past him and into the female block. I’m relieved to see that the floor is wet. The cleaner has already been in here, so he won’t disturb me.

  I stay in the cubicle long after I’ve flushed. It makes a great change from the cramped cubbyhouse.

  Suddenly I hear the cleaner bang the gate shut and click the lock.

  ‘No, wait!’I cry out. I burst out of the cubicle and run to the gate. But it is too late. I hear the cleaner’s ute squelch off over the soggy grass.

  ‘No,’ I cry again, shaking at the bars of my cage. This time tears come. Tears of anger and frustration. I can’t be locked in a toilet block for the night! I can’t be stuck here, hungry and alone, whilst Reuben is at my house with my family. No one knows I’m here. No one knows.

  And then my tears change. They are not hot and spurting any more. Now they’re cool and constant, like a waterfall streaming down my face. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop them.

  Suddenly, squeals peal through the bars of the gate. The voices sound familiar. Young, laughing, slurring and screeching. The kids from last night.

  Last night? Was it only last night? It feels as if I’ve been living in Mrs Johannssen’s cubby for years.

  ‘Help!’I cry out to the kids. ‘Please help me! I’m locked in the toilets! My name is Paige Winfrey. I’m stuck in here!’

  But they can’t hear me. They’re too far away and they are making too much noise.

  I sigh and look around the toilet block. It is clean. It is almost dry. It is protected from the rain and wind. And it has running water. There is even a long wooden seat against the wall that I can use for a bed.

  So I wash my hands and face, dry myself on paper towels, zip up my jacket and lie down on the bench.

  ‘Four reasons why Paige Winfrey is locked in a public toilet,’ I whisper.

  But as I make the list, I realise that there are a lot more than four.

  30

  I am woken by the sound of clicking and clanging. The gate swings open. Freedom at last. I wait until I hear the cleaner’s ute driving away, then I rush outside into the sunshine. I scamper and prance around like Snuffles does after being locked inside all night.

  It was a scary night. After the kids had gone, there were other noises in the park. Snuffling noises. Shuffling noises. Moaning, groaning, muffled noises. I don’t know what animals are in the park at night but I’m glad I didn’t find out.

  I walk across the park and along to the corner of my street. I want to go home so much. I want to walk in the door and see Mum and Dad and Felicity. I want to call Elfi and Rochelle and Jed and invite them over for a swim. But I can’t. Everything’s changed. Maybe our motto should have been, ‘Destroy every relationship you really care about.’ At least then nobody could accuse me of not living up to it.

  Reuben’s car is still parked outside our house.

  I groan. I don’t know what to do. I can’t go home if he’s there. Not now. I don’t know how to make everything good again. I walk past my street and keep walking until I get to a petrol station a few blocks away from my house. I bow my head and step through the automatic glass doors. I need food.

  There is not a huge selection of nutritious food, and I only have nine dollars and twenty-five cents to spend. I pick up a loaf of bread and a small packet of cheese slices. I take them to the counter. The old man behind the till scans them.

  ‘Eight dollars and eighty-five cents, thanks, love,’ he says. He barely looks at me. His eyes keep flickering back to the small TV he is watching. I can’t see the screen, but I can hear the murmuring chitchat of voices.

  I rummage through my pockets for the coins. ‘Two, four, six, seven dollars,’ I say, laying out the gold coins on the counter. I dig further. The man looks at me impatiently.

  ‘Eight dollars, and twenty cents,’ I say.

  Suddenly the man swings his chair closer and peers at me. I continue digging through the bottom of my pockets.

  ‘Forty, sixty, seventy, eighty … eighty-five … Here you go, eight dollars and eighty-five cents.’ Relieved that I have found all the coins, I push the money across the counter at him.

  The man is still staring at me.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ I ask.

  ‘Would you like a bag?’ the man asks slowly.

  ‘No, thanks, it’s fine,’I say. I grab the bread and the cheese, turn away and walk out of the petrol station. The man stares at me through the glass shopfront.

  I walk down the street, clutching the stuff I bought to my chest. It begins to drizzle, so I take shelter at a bus stop. I tear open the packet of cheese and unwrap a slice. I stuff it in my mouth and chew as I fumble with the plastic tie at the top of the bread wrapper. Then I make myself a cheese sandwich and gobble it down. Eating takes my mind off everything. But after I’ve had three sandwiches I am full.

  And tired.

  And scared.

  A bus pulls up and I think about hopping on it, hiding down on the back seat and letting it take me to wherever it’s going. But I shrink back in the bus shelter as I remember I only have forty cents left.

  A man gets off the bus and tosses a newspaper in the garbage bin beside me. I wait until he’s gone before I reach in and grab it. I like the horoscopes. Maybe today’s forecast will help me decide what to do next.

  As I unfold the paper, I can’t believe my eyes.

  My smiling, chubby, fringeless face stares back up at me from the front page.

  Police Fear for Safety of Missing Girl, says the headline.

  I feel sick.

  I begin to read:

  Police are concerned about the welfare of missing Juniper Bay girl, Paige Winfrey, after a police hunt has failed to turn up any clues.

  Paige was last seen on Friday night while attempting to buy a bus ticket to Sugar Harbour. It is thought Paige was heading for Bloodstone Beach, a small seaside village on the north coast where she spent the Christmas holidays.

  ‘She didn’t have enough money for the ticket,’ said Bus Transit clerk Helen Kilroy. ‘She only had about nine dollars on her. She got very nervous when I asked her for ID.’

  Taxi driver John Heathcote had picked up the young girl earlier in the night from her home and taken her to a Juniper West address. ‘I found her wandering the streets a short while later, so I offered to drop her back home again, but she insisted on going to a friend’s house near the bus station,’ Mr Heathcote stated.

  An extensive search along the Ocean Highway on Friday evening and all day Saturday has failed to turn up any evidence of the young girl.

  ‘As time passes, it becomes less likely that Paige has had an accident or is playing a prank,’ explains Detective Senior Sergeant Ken Macphee. ‘If she is not found soon, this inquiry will cease to be a missing persons inquiry and become an abduction investigation.’

  ‘Paige is a good girl,’ wept her father Ian Winfrey at the family home late last night. ‘She’s had a few problems settling into her new school this year, and some family stuff to deal with, but she’s a great kid and we love her very much. We want her to come home safely more than anything in the world.’

  Police are urging motorists who saw anything suspicious as they tr
avelled along the Ocean Highway from Juniper Bay to Sugar Harbour on Friday evening or Saturday morning to contact them immediately.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. There must be some mistake. But when I open my eyes again, my photo is still on the front of the paper.

  I trace my fingers over the picture. No wonder no one has recognised me over the last few days. I look nothing like the girl in the photo any more. I’ve lost a lot of my puppy fat. My clothes are different. And my hair isn’t so mousy brown.

  In fact, these days I probably look more like Felicity or Sidney than like the girl in the paper. That’s too weird to think about. Both Felicity and Sidney are so stylish and their hair is much lighter than mine is.

  Stylish.

  And fair-haired!

  A stylish, fair-haired girl will bring much happiness to your life … but her misunderstandings will cause you and your loved ones much pain and sadness.

  Claire, the Queen of Clairvoyance, was talking about me. My misunderstandings have caused me and my loved ones much pain and sadness. She doesn’t know how right she was.

  ‘When did everything get so screwed up?’I moan. I look at the photo again, and suddenly I know when everything started to crumble. When I opened my Passport on the last day of school and found it was empty. When I used to look like that girl. When I was that girl and no one knew who I was.

  Everything from that moment on has got out of control. I ruined Felicity’s party. I made Dad leave. I’m the reason Mum took us on holidays so she could forget. I dissed my old friends in favour of my new ones. Then I messed things up with my new friends as well.

  And now I’m sitting alone in a bus shelter, while the police are out looking for me and my parents are worried sick.

  Come and get me, I want to scream to the world. Paige Winfrey is here.

  But who is Paige Winfrey? Am I the girl in the photo? Am I the one Claire says is stylish? I don’t know any more.