She hurried on, her chest heaving, every breath painful. Her knee was bleeding. All the way home she kept looking over her shoulder to see if anyone was after her.
DAVID was disappointed. He’d been daydreaming about the tunnels all day, and the bus ride home had seemed interminable. Of course he was pleased that he had got into a selective school, and so were his parents, but sometimes he wished he could just walk up the road to the ordinary high school with kids he knew. His new friends weren’t the kind to go mucking around in the park on the days when he still felt like breaking out and doing stupid things. Exploring that tunnel had been exceptionally stupid. He grinned at the thought of it. He would never have done it without Martin and Andrea to spur him on.
But there was no way he would want to go back in there with just Andrea. She was fun to be around, but he knew she didn’t like him. That left Marty – who was grounded. Never mind, he must be able to take phone calls.
It was Kitty who answered. ‘Hello, this is Kitty O’Brien.’
‘Is Marty there?’
‘David! You’ll never guess what I’ve found out.’ Kitty’s voice faded to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘I’ve met this lady . . . Haunted House . . . who the ghost is.’
‘What? Speak louder, I can’t hear you.’
He could hear Kitty’s mother’s voice in the background, then there was a long silence. At his end, classical music played while Moshe, his grandfather, rattled pots and pans in the kitchen.
‘Hi,’ came Martin’s voice.
‘Hi.’
‘Andrea told you?’
‘Yeah, she said you were grounded. What was Kitty going on about? I couldn’t hear a word.’
‘Tell you later.’ Martin’s voice was guarded. Clearly there were parents within earshot. ‘Did you and Andrea have another look?’
‘Uh – no, we both suddenly had other things to do. Anyway, when do you get out of jail?’
‘The weekend, with good behaviour. Let’s . . . umm . . . do what we were going to do then.’
‘Yeah, make it Saturday afternoon.’ Now it was David’s turn to drop his voice. ‘I need an excuse. My folks are at me to go to a residents’ action meeting with them.’
Martin groaned. ‘What is it this time?’
‘Oh, that housing development they’re trying to stop. Those meetings are so boring.’
‘Sounds gruesome. Well, I get back from soccer about one. Come over then, okay?’
‘Yeah. Great.’
David wandered into the kitchen.
‘Ah! Looking for a job?’ Moshe wanted company as much as a helper.
‘Well . . . ’
‘You can top and tail these beans, if you like.’
Resigned, David pulled out a stool and sat at the big central bench.
‘I mightn’t make it to that meeting on Saturday,’ he said as he worked. ‘I might have to help Marty study for a big maths test.’
‘Maths? Maybe I could help him,’ said his grandfather.
David rolled his eyes. ‘Moshe, we don’t do maths your way any more. We use, like, calculators and stuff. No offence.’
‘None taken,’ said Moshe philosophically. ‘I’m not so good at pressing buttons.’
David finished the beans. ‘How long till dinner?’
‘Quite a while,’ said Moshe. ‘Your mother’s working late, your father’s working late. We might have time for a game of chess.’
‘Are you sure you can take the humiliation?’ David went to the cupboard for the chess set.
‘Ah, the boy’s growing up! Maybe it’s time for me to stop letting you win?’
‘In your dreams, old man.’
As he exchanged knights and castles with his grandfather, David’s mind wandered back to the mysterious tunnel system and its secret exit under the old house, and he wondered how the others felt about it. Marty was excited, he knew, but it was hard to tell with Andrea. She probably couldn’t care less, he decided.
‘Hmmm.’ His grandfather’s voice interrupted his reverie. ‘I think you’ll find that’s checkmate.’
WHEN Kitty came out of school the next day, Andrea was waiting on the stone wall outside the gate. Rosa mumbled a farewell and retreated, running to catch up with another group.
‘Did you get out early?’ Kitty sat down next to Andrea.
‘Nah. We had sport, so I jigged.’
‘Did you and David go exploring yesterday?’ asked Kitty.
‘He didn’t stick around, but I found a way into the house.’ Andrea traced a pattern on the ground with her foot. ‘It’s really awesome, but I nearly got caught in there.’
‘No way! Was it a ghost?’
‘Course not, Kitty. It was some kind of security guys. I only just got away.’ She frowned. ‘It’s a pity, ’cos I thought up this great plan. I thought I could run away from home and live there.’
‘Why?’
‘Maybe I could make a hidey-hole in the cellar and keep really quiet when they come round. Would you bring me extra food and stuff? You could leave it in the garden, and we could have a signal.’
‘But Andrea, that sounds awful. Why do you want to run away?’
‘Oh, I’m just sick of everything.’ Andrea jumped up and started striding along the street. Kitty ran to catch up with her.
‘What’s wrong? What are you sick of?’
‘Home. Mum. Celeste. School.’
‘Are you in trouble again?’
‘No, but we’ve got this really mean History teacher, Miss Tenniel. I don’t know why she has to pick on me.’
‘Miss Tenniel sounds nice. In Martin’s mid-year report she said he had an active imagination.’
‘Yeah, well, she’s going to write to my dad if I don’t do my assignment.’
‘So?’
‘My dad thinks I’m doing really great. I don’t want some stupid teacher telling him lies about me.’ Andrea’s voice cracked.
‘Why don’t you just do your assignment?’ asked Kitty.
‘I’m going to run away.’
‘What’s it supposed to be, your assignment?’
‘Don’t be boring, Kitty! I’m not doing it, okay?’
‘Just tell me!’
‘It’s some stupid thing for History,’ said Andrea impatiently. ‘Write about someone you know who’s – sort of – been in history. Someone old, I suppose.’
Kitty danced around excitedly. ‘But I can help you!’
‘Yeah? You’ll bring me things? You won’t tell anyone where I am?’
‘No, with your assignment. There’s this old lady. She actually lived in the Haunted House, and before that in Christina Street, near your place, and there was the Depression . . . There’s loads of history. She was in service, and the babies died. I’ve got my notes here.’
Andrea was shaking her head. ‘It’s too much work, I can’t do it.’
‘Yes you can!’ Kitty was insistent. ‘I’ll help you. Oh, come on, Andrea, it’ll be great. You’ll be top of your class! You can show it to your dad. How long have you got?’
‘I don’t know – a few days.’
‘Easy-peasy! Oh, this is perfect. We can go and see her now. Come on!’
‘Where?’ Andrea was obviously interested, in spite of herself. ‘Who is this person?’
‘Miss Gordon – in the Sunset Home. I’ve already interviewed her, but I’ve thought of lots more questions, and she’s really nice. Come on, I’ve just got to ask Mum, but she’ll let me ’cos it’s for school.’
Andrea frowned. ‘Did you say she lived in the Haunted House?’
‘Yeah, see? This is how we can find out about the house. Tarcoola, it’s called. Did you know that? She was the mistress of Tarcoola, but she was poor before that. But Cec says someone committed suicide in the house. He was a bigamist, you see. He’s just got to be the ghost.’
‘Hang on! Cec is a bigamist? How can Cec be the ghost?’
‘No, no, not Cec. Mr Wolf ! Andrea, you’ve really got to listen.’
Kitty quickly recounted her conversation with Miss Gordon, dragging her neatly written notes out of her schoolbag.
When they reached the O’Briens’ house Andrea, who was convinced Kitty’s parents didn’t like her, waited outside. Kitty flew in and out like a boomerang, announcing to her startled mother that she was off to the Sunset Home and would be back in no time. She was afraid Andrea might not have waited, but when she got to the corner her friend came slouching out of a lane, looking around nervously.
‘What about the tunnels?’ demanded Andrea. ‘Did the old girl say anything about them?’
‘No, but she rambles on a bit,’ said Kitty. ‘If we listen carefully she might.’
‘Maybe we could drop hints,’ said Andrea.
‘Well . . . maybe.’ Kitty had her doubts about Andrea’s hints. ‘Just try not to make her suspicious, okay?’
The Matron of the Sunset Home was in the entrance hall when they arrived.
‘Back again?’ she said.
‘Is it okay if I go and see Miss Gordon?’ asked Kitty politely. ‘The nurse said she likes having visitors.’
‘Hmm. I suppose it won’t hurt. And your friend?’ The Matron’s penetrating gaze swept over Andrea’s torn leggings and layers of shredded tank tops in different colours.
Kitty could feel Andrea bristling a little beside her. ‘This is Andrea McKinley-Brown,’ she said hastily. ‘She’s doing some historical research for school as well.’
‘I suppose that’s all right, then,’ said the Matron grudgingly. Kitty and Andrea ran up the stairs.
Miss Gordon was resting on her bed, propped up with pillows and gazing out the window. Kitty approached her shyly.
‘Hello, Miss Gordon.’
‘I’ve had my tea, thank you, dear.’ Miss Gordon did not turn her head.
‘It’s me, Kitty.’ She gently touched the old lady’s hand. ‘I’ve come back to visit you.’
Miss Gordon turned, and her face lit up. ‘The nice little girl with all the questions!’
‘That’s right. You told me lots of interesting things. The only thing you wouldn’t tell me was your date of birth.’
‘The second of January, nineteen nineteen,’ said Miss Gordon promptly. ‘Right there in the front room at Christina Street, where Mother had all her babies.’
‘Umm, I’ve brought a friend to meet you,’ said Kitty. ‘This is Andrea.’
‘A friend?’ The old lady looked Andrea up and down, seeming to take in every detail of her appearance, from her oddly cut hair to her mismatched socks. ‘What’s your name again, dear?’
‘Andrea.’
‘You have beautiful skin, Andrea. You must look after it. Always wash your face in cold water, and no soap.’
She looked away again. The light from the window fell obliquely on her face, heightening the shadows of her cheekbones and softening the lines and wrinkles. Andrea looked at her for a moment, then started scrabbling in her schoolbag.
‘Andrea and I both have to do someone’s life story, for school,’ explained Kitty. ‘Would you mind if we wrote about you? Mine has to be local history, you see.’
‘Oh, you don’t want to write about me. I was just a poor young thing. I never had an education, though I learnt a lot from Mr Wolf.’
Andrea produced a tattered photograph from her bag and held it up. ‘Is this you?’ she demanded.
Miss Gordon took the photograph. ‘You found that old thing! Isn’t it dreadful. I never took a good picture. Look, I wrote my name on the back.’ She turned it over.
‘I couldn’t read that old-fashioned writing,’ confessed Andrea.
‘There’s not much left of it,’ said Miss Gordon. ‘Or maybe it’s my old eyes. But it says “Clarissa Gordon Wolf ”. That’s me.’
Kitty looked over Miss Gordon’s shoulder as she examined the photograph. It showed a young woman in a square-necked dress, her dark hair piled on her head.
‘Oh, Miss Gordon, you were beautiful! And what a lovely dress!’ She grabbed Andrea’s elbow. ‘Where did you get it?’ she whispered.
‘In the house,’ Andrea whispered back.
Miss Gordon was still looking at the photograph.
‘That was my cream silk. I had the finest clothes,’ she sighed. ‘I wonder what became of them? I suppose Mrs Wolf took them after the war. She took everything, then she let the house go to rack and ruin. Except my view. She couldn’t take my view.’
‘Who was Mrs Wolf?’ asked Andrea.
‘She waved those papers at me,’ said Miss Gordon. ‘She told me to get out, or she’d send lawyers. I know what Mr Wolf would have said to her lawyers.’
‘So she was Mr Wolf’s real wife?’ asked Kitty gently.
‘No! I was his wife. We had such a lovely wedding, and he took me to the Great Barrier Reef for our honeymoon. We went out on a boat.’
She sat up very straight and looked at them proudly.
‘He made me feel like a real lady. If only they hadn’t come, with the bombs.’
‘What bombs?’ asked Kitty.
‘You remember the bombs, dear!’ The faded blue eyes were wide. ‘What a noise they made, all night long. I tried to tell him we were safe in the shelter, but I couldn’t make him listen.’
There were tears in her eyes now. Kitty took the old lady’s withered hand in one hand and stroked it with the other.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘We didn’t mean to upset you. We’ll talk about something else if you like.’
‘That’s a good girl,’ said Miss Gordon. ‘You’re both good girls. You’re not from Tarcoola, are you?’
They shook their heads.
‘They’re good girls at Tarcoola, mind, but not very . . . I’m sorry to say this, but they’re not very clever. If that Molly lets the stove go out she just cannot light it again. And I’d never let poor Lydia dust my room.’
Kitty rolled her eyes a little, but Andrea wasn’t paying attention to her.
‘That big room upstairs is yours, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘With the view across the garden?’
‘Don’t go back there,’ said Miss Gordon harshly, looking directly at her. ‘That’s not the place for you. Don’t let the wolf boy catch you there.’
Andrea gasped.
Miss Gordon leaned forward. ‘I’ll tell Kitty where it is before I die,’ she said in a hoarse whisper. ‘We won’t let the wolf boy get it. Kitty will look after it for me. Won’t you, dear?’
Kitty felt tears prickling her eyelids. ‘Yes! Yes, of course I will.’
‘Good.’ Miss Gordon lay back on her bed. In shadow, her face was gaunt. ‘So nice to have seen you, dears.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Kitty jumped up. ‘We have to go now.’ Andrea opened her mouth to protest, but Kitty frowned fiercely at her. ‘I’m sorry if we’ve tired you,’ she added.
‘Not at all, dear.’ Miss Gordon took Kitty’s hand and held it. On an impulse Kitty leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
‘I’ll come again soon,’ she said.
Andrea approached the bed shyly and took Miss Gordon’s hand. ‘I’ll come too, if I can,’ she said. ‘Should I leave the photo here?’
‘No, keep it, dear. It’s yours.’ Miss Gordon touched Andrea’s cheek. ‘Goodbye. Be careful.’
‘I will.’
The Matron was still in the hallway, deep in conversation with a balding man in a light-coloured suit. He turned to look as the two girls ran past and out into the sunlight.
‘Well?’ demanded Kitty. ‘Do you see what I mean?’
‘She’s so sad!’ said Andrea. ‘So sad and so beautiful. And people were really mean to her.’
‘People were strange in the old days,’ agreed Kitty. ‘But don’t you think she would be great for your assignment?’
‘But she went a bit gaga at the end,’ frowned Andrea. ‘Can we believe the things she says?’
‘I don’t know about the bombs and stuff, and she seems to go loopy when she’s tired. But surely we can find out about M
r Wolf, and if he really killed himself.’
‘Oh yeah. How?’
‘I don’t know, but I’ll think of something,’ promised Kitty, her eyes alight with the thrill of the chase.
SATURDAY arrived at last, and David slipped out of the house straight after lunch, leaving his mother on the phone making last-minute arrangements for the residents’ action meeting. His father and Moshe were washing the dishes.
There were no cars outside Martin’s house. David looked at his watch. It was not quite one o’clock.
Instead of sitting on the front step, he meandered along the street and around the corner, past the abandoned factory buildings. He strolled along the cyclone-wire fence, dragging his hand, feeling the ripples. A little breeze sighed in the trees by the old house.
David squinted at the development notice attached to a post in the grounds of the factory. It seemed a silly place to put a public notice, where it could hardly be seen from the street. He remembered his mother talking to people on the phone about the meeting. She had been describing something like this, talking about underhand dealings and saying that the Council ought to be investigated.
It struck him that this might be the development his parents had been droning on about. He racked his brains to remember some of what they had said. Yes, they had mentioned an old factory. And a lot of houses to be built – forty-something, maybe. The thought of the Haunted House surrounded by forty smart townhouses was ludicrous.
The factory gate was half off its hinges, with plenty of space to squeeze through. David ran down the rickety steps onto the glass-strewn asphalt and peered at the notice. It showed the site as an irregular shape divided into rectangles, each one presumably representing a house block. David looked around, trying to get his bearings. It would help, he thought, if the plan showed the Haunted House, or at least showed the direction of the park and the water. As it was, he couldn’t make much sense of it.
The whole thing made him uneasy. If they cleaned up the factory site and built houses on it, would they leave the old house and the overgrown garden alone? Wouldn’t the people who moved into the smart new houses complain, and want everything neat and tidy? He liked the garden the way it was, with its tangled undergrowth and hidden corners, snakes and all.
The Tunnels of Tarcoola Page 4
