David had seemed quite keen, but now the minutes ticked by without any sign of him. Martin hung around in the entrance, then wandered back towards the desk, wondering if David had called and left a message, but the man just gazed levelly back at him, then pointedly raised his arm and looked at his watch.
It was time to give up. He walked home, feeling grumpy. When he called David’s mobile it went straight to voicemail.
As he put the phone down again, it rang and he grabbed it.
‘Dave?’
‘Is that you, Martin?’ said a familiar voice with a strong English accent. ‘This is Vicki Buckingham, Sam’s mother.’
‘Oh, sorry. I thought it would be someone else.’
‘That’s okay, love. I’m just trying to find Sam. Is she with you?’
‘No,’ said Martin. ‘I haven’t seen her since school. Have you tried her phone?’
‘Of course, but she’s not answering. I don’t really know her new friends. What about Andrea? Could Sam be with her?’
‘I suppose she could,’ said Martin doubtfully. ‘Um . . . Kitty’s not here, and I don’t know Andrea’s mobile. They haven’t got a landline at her house, but I can tell you where she lives.’
As he hung up, a key scraped in the lock and Kitty came bouncing in.
‘I’ve been to see Clarissa,’ she announced. ‘I gave her a painting I just finished, of the Tarcoola garden, and she loves it!’
‘Great,’ said Martin. ‘Listen, did you see Dave at school?’
‘No,’ said Kitty. ‘I really need to speak to him but he wasn’t on the bus today or yesterday, and I couldn’t find him anywhere.’
‘That’s funny,’ said Martin. ‘We were supposed to play squash today, and he didn’t show up. Maybe he’s sick?’
‘Maybe.’ Kitty’s eyes were wide. ‘I’m going to call Andrea.’
Martin tried to listen in without being too obvious. Kitty spoke in a low, intense whisper that was hard to make out, but he heard her say, ‘No, I know. You’d better try him at home.’ She hung up.
‘Everything all right?’ asked Martin.
‘I guess so,’ said Kitty. ‘Maybe he is sick. Whatever it is, Andrea will find out. Let’s just wait and see.’
At dinner time, their father insisted that Martin tell him all about the planned debate at the school.
‘I don’t think much of that Yu character,’ Paul O’Brien observed.
‘But don’t you think it would be great to have an Asian premier?’ objected his wife. ‘It’s about time.’
‘Not him, though. He’s smarmy. And anyway, it’s Joe Rozman who’s really running that outfit. Anthony Yu’s just a puppet.’
‘Who’s Joe Rozman?’ asked Kitty. Martin groaned to himself. If their father started to talk about politics they would be stuck at the table all night.
‘The reclusive Joe Rozman,’ said Paul. ‘Yeah, he’s one of those squillionaires who don’t like to show their faces, but he reckons he can run the country by hiding behind the likes of Anthony Yu. He’ll close down your school for a start, Marty.’
‘But his daughter goes there!’ said Martin.
‘Probably part of his grand plan. Anyway, she’s in Year Twelve, isn’t she? As soon as Yu gets in, Joe Rozman will have that land, you just wait and see.’
Thankfully for Martin, the conversation drifted away from politics and turned to the forthcoming school holidays.
‘Easter’s late this year,’ remarked their mother. ‘I hope this warm weather keeps up when it finally comes. I don’t fancy camping in the rain, the way we did two years ago.’
‘Camping?’ said Martin.
‘Yes, we’re thinking of going to Seal Rocks again,’ said his father. ‘It’s time we all had a break. You and I could do a bit of fishing, like last time.’
‘Actually,’ said Martin cautiously, ‘I was wondering about going to the Gold Coast with Sam.’
‘Where?’ asked his mother.
‘The Gold Coast. Sam’s mother invited me to go with them.’
‘Really?’ said his father. ‘The Gold Coast, eh? And how are you planning to get there?’
‘Well . . . Sam says it’s really cheap to fly.’
‘Does she now?’ chuckled his father. ‘And you’ve got the money for this really cheap fare, have you?’
‘Ummm . . . Well . . .I don’t know.’
‘Maybe Sam would like to come camping with us,’ said his mother kindly.
‘Huh?’ Kitty, who had clearly not been paying attention, raised her head with a look of alarm.
‘Maybe,’ muttered Martin, gazing down at his plate. He tried to picture Sam camping with his family, sharing a tent with Kitty, but had to give up. He just couldn’t imagine it.
12
THERE was still no answer on David’s phone. Andrea sat on the clifftop at the end of the park, hugging her knees and gazing out over the water. It was all very well for Kitty to tell her not to worry, but if David really had disappeared she had to do something.
She searched through her contacts list and found the number for David’s house. Moshe answered the phone.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Is David there?’
‘Ah,’ said Moshe. ‘Hmmm. David’s actually gone away for a few days.’
‘Away?’ She was dumbfounded. ‘He didn’t say anything.’
‘It was a bit unexpected,’ said Moshe. ‘Something came up, and he . . . it’s an uncle of his. They’re interstate.’
‘Have you got their number? I tried his mobile, but he didn’t answer.’
‘Well – maybe just leave a message on that,’ said Moshe. ‘Now, am I going to see you tomorrow? We’ve got a lot of work to do.’
‘Oh, sure,’ said Andrea. ‘Yeah, I’ll be there tomorrow.’
She hung up, put her phone away and got slowly to her feet, thinking about all the questions she had wanted to ask. Why would David go away, with the school holidays still weeks away? What uncle? She had never heard the family mention uncles who lived in other states.
Walking home, she went over the conversation in her mind. Moshe had sounded pretty normal, but there was a hint of sternness about his manner that suggested she should drop the subject. There was something fishy about the whole thing.
A blast of noise spilled out of the front door. Her mother Chris was there, for once, playing one of her old CDs. Andrea found her in the kitchen, chopping onions and singing along.
‘Hey, sweetie,’ said Chris, her eyes streaming with tears from the onions. ‘Is your friend with you?’
‘Who?’
‘Your new friend, Sam.’
‘She’s not my friend,’ said Andrea crossly.
‘Oh? Well, her mum was here.’
‘Sam’s mum came here?’ Andrea looked around the messy kitchen. ‘What for?’
‘Looking for Sam, of course. Someone said she was with you. She’s a livewire, that Vicki!’
‘Yeah?’ Andrea considered fleeing, but she was hungry. It looked as though her mother had gone food shopping, as she did occasionally when the mood seized her, and there was some nice bread on the table.
‘Yeah,’ said Chris, throwing the onions into a sizzling wok as Andrea started putting together a sandwich. ‘Don’t spoil your dinner, love. I’m making a kind of a stir-fry. It won’t be long.’
‘Great.’ Andrea sat down and took in the novel sight of her mother cooking.
‘Yeah, Vicki,’ mused Chris. ‘She’s English – got a really strong accent, like one of those comedies you see on TV. But she’s a real go-getter. Reckons she’ll be starting her own company soon.’
‘What sort of company?’
‘Not sure. It’s PR and events management, that’s what she does. When she really gets going, there might be a job for me.’
‘You? What would you do?’
‘You tell me, but she thinks I’d be a good organiser. I would, too.’
‘Mum, you’ve got a job.’
‘I don’t want to be a che
ckout chick for ever. I’m still young.’
Andrea stared at her, aghast. ‘You? Young?’
‘She looks good, Vicki,’ went on Chris, ignoring her. ‘You’d hardly even think she was thirty. I s’pose with all that money . . . She was married to that crook Harold Buckingham. He’s got troubles of his own, I hear, she mightn’t get much out of him.’
‘Mum, where do you get all this stuff?’ asked Andrea. ‘You always know the latest gossip.’
‘People talk at the checkout,’ explained Chris. ‘You wouldn’t believe it. Friends run into each other and they start gabbing on while I’m running their groceries through. I dunno if they think I’m deaf, or what. You wouldn’t believe some of the things they come out with.’
Her phone gave a merry little trill.
‘A message,’ said Chris. ‘Can you look at it, love? My hands are all oniony.’
‘All OK,’ read the message. ‘Sam home now C U soon luv V.’
Well, so Sam hadn’t been kidnapped. Andrea supposed that was good news. But what about David?
13
FIRST period was nearly over when Andrea slipped into the school grounds the next day. She had lain awake half the night, then slept uneasily, images twisting through her head of David, Sam and even Kitty tied up and trying to scream, their mouths covered with gags. When she woke up it was well into the morning, and the house was empty and quiet.
Once at school, her best option was to wait in the girls’ toilets for the bell, then join her classmates for second period. She fingered the copy of Seven Little Australians that had been lying for days in the bottom of her bag and considered reading a few more pages before her session with Moshe after school. But there was someone at the washbasins, the last person she wanted to see.
Sam was leaning over, running water through the ends of her long blonde hair. She looked up and caught Andrea’s eye in the mirror.
‘Is there any on my back?’ she demanded.
‘Huh?’
‘Paint. Is there any on my back?’
Andrea had a quick look. ‘No. Listen, Sam, how come your mum thinks you’re hanging out with me? She came to my house. last night, looking for you.’
‘She said your mum was really nice,’ said Sam. ‘Boy, was I in trouble when I got home.’
‘So how come you—’
‘I went to see my dad, in his office.’ Sam squeezed water from her hair and started trying to dry it with paper towels.
‘What for?’
‘I sort of . . . I wanted to find out if he was mixed up in anything . . . you know, if someone might really be trying to kidnap me? But he wouldn’t . . . H e just yelled at me, and he said Mum wasn’t . . . He said she was an unfit mother.’ Her eyes filled with tears.
Andrea shifted uncomfortably.
‘That’s really done it,’ said Sam savagely. She splashed water on her face and scrubbed at her eyes.
‘Did your father . . . ’ Andrea started reluctantly.
‘Which is sort of silly,’ went on Sam, attacking her hair again. ‘My mum’s super-fit. She’s always at the gym.’
Andrea felt a tightness in her chest. She had once overheard someone describing Chris as an unfit mother.
‘Anyway, his PA sort of half apologised to me as I was leaving,’ said Sam. ‘She said Dad’s under a lot of pressure because he’s got some deal that’s about to fall through.’
She threw a wad of wet paper towels in the bin. There were little flecks of disintegrating paper in her damp hair and her eyes were red and swollen.
‘Do I look all right?’ she asked.
‘Uh . . . sure.’
‘It doesn’t matter how I feel, as long as I look all right,’ said Sam.
‘Well . . . ’ Andrea leaned forward and touched a lock of hair that was sticky with blue globules. ‘There’s still a bit of paint here.’
Sam burst into tears again. She grabbed more paper towels and pressed them to her face, shaking with sobs. Andrea hung back.
‘What is it?’ she finally asked. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Your friend Tammy,’ said Sam savagely. ‘She hates me. They all hate me.’
‘Aw, surely they don’t . . . ’
‘You know they hate me.’ Sam gazed levelly at her in the mirror, calm now. ‘She flicked paint all over me and they all cracked up.’
‘Here, I’ll get that bit out for you.’ Andrea worked on the sticky hair. ‘Come on, it’ll be all right.’
‘Why?’ asked Sam, teary again. ‘Why do they hate me? I tried so hard. When I got picked to do the flowers for the Premier, I thought surely then they’d . . . but it’s worse than ever. She was calling me names.’
‘Maybe you . . . ’ Andrea searched for words. ‘Maybe you could be a bit more . . . low-key?’
‘I’ll try.’ Sam washed her face again. ‘My mum always says, just be yourself, but it doesn’t . . . Whatever I do, nothing works.’
‘It’s not that bad,’ said Andrea. ‘What about when you told that story, about Arachne? Everyone was listening, it was great.’
‘Yeah?’ Sam brightened a little. ‘I’ve got a gorgeous book at home with all those stories. You should come round some time and I’ll show you.’
‘Oh, sure.’ Andrea wasn’t really listening. She was thinking of her first year at high school, and how she had found herself trying to live up to some crazy image she had created, doing the most outrageous things she could think of and getting into trouble with the teachers, just so . . . So what? So people would like her? She couldn’t remember now. Maybe it was so they would respect her.
The bell rang and Sam dried her face one last time. There were voices outside, and general sounds of people moving around.
‘Listen, Sam,’ said Andrea as they headed for the door. ‘If you want to impress people, just . . . just don’t try to impress them, okay?’
‘Okaaaaay.’ Sam turned a serious face towards her then was gone, swept away in a current of girls.
The day dragged on. In Maths, Mr Carter announced that they would be switching to geometry, and Andrea stared in disbelief as he drew numerous triangles with funny markings on the whiteboard. She hunched up as small as possible so he wouldn’t notice her and ask questions, and she decided to put off telling Moshe about this new development.
On the way to David’s house her phone rang.
‘What’s happening?’ It was Kitty.
‘There’s something weird,’ said Andrea. ‘Moshe says David’s gone to visit some uncle in another state. Have you ever heard of an uncle?’
‘Only one in Bellevue Hill, or somewhere like that. Did he tell you anything else? Why would David go off in the middle of term?’
‘Yeah, exactly. I kind of got the idea I wasn’t supposed to ask. Do you think we’re too late, and he’s been kidnapped?’
‘But wouldn’t Moshe tell you?’
‘Maybe not, because the kidnappers always say you have to keep it secret, don’t they? Don’t tell the police, or anything, or they’ll kill the person.’ She heard Kitty gasp. ‘Anyway,’ Andrea went on, ‘I’m going there now for coaching, and I’ll see what I can find out.’
‘Oh, Andrea, he can’t have been kidnapped! That’s terrible! What would they do to him?’
‘Don’t even think about that,’ said Andrea. She clenched her fists and felt her fingernails digging in. ‘We’ll find him, we have to. We’ll do whatever it takes to find him.’
14
MOSHE seemed to be his usual cheerful self. Andrea watched him carefully to see if he was putting on an act. Neither of them mentioned David, but his absence hung in the air like an unspoken question. Andrea kept gazing around, looking for clues, but everything in the house seemed normal. She tried hard to concentrate on the lessons Moshe had prepared, and when they had finished she proudly showed him her copy of Seven Little Australians, with the bookmark showing how far she had got into it.
‘So, who’s your favourite character?’ he asked.
�
��Well, Judy, of course,’ she said. ‘But I bet I know what’s going to happen.’
‘You do?’
‘Yeah, she’s going to turn into a goody-goody at the end.’
‘Hmmm. Well, you’d better wait and see.’
‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘I do like the book, even though it’s old-fashioned.’
‘Good.’ He was pleased. ‘I think we’ve got a few more from that vintage. A couple by Mary Grant Bruce that Linda always loved . . . ’
‘Yeah, maybe when I’ve finished this . . . ’
‘I’ll just have a quick look.’
He darted towards the stairs. Seeing an opportunity to snoop around, Andrea followed. The house was quiet and still, with nothing obviously out of place, and the door to David’s bedroom was shut. Andrea found Moshe in a small, narrow room. Apart from a bank of cupboards at one end, the room was completely lined with laden bookshelves, going right up to the ceiling. There were even bookshelves above the door and the window.
‘Wow!’ said Andrea. ‘This is like a library.’
‘That’s what it was designed for,’ said Moshe, ‘also a spare room. But then I moved in, so now it’s mine. When guests come, they have to sleep in the living room. Now, let me see.’
There was a ladder hooked onto an upper shelf and he moved it around the room, searching.
‘But if it’s your room,’ said Andrea, ‘where do you sleep?’
‘Have a look at this.’ Moshe went over to the bank of cupboards and pulled a handle. A bed hinged down from the wall, filling the end of the room under the window. The bed was made up ready to sleep in, complete with pillows.
‘Cool!’ said Andrea. Moshe flicked the end of the bed and it floated back up. He went on searching, then pounced on a couple of musty old books.
‘I love your room,’ said Andrea, ‘but why don’t they just buy a bigger house?’
‘Buy a bigger house?’ Moshe looked flummoxed. ‘You kids think things are so easy. Have you any idea how much money they would have to borrow?’
‘Oh, sorry,’ said Andrea. ‘I thought they . . .I mean . . . ’
‘You thought they were rich?’ Moshe chuckled. ‘Maybe you heard that lawyers make a lot of money. Well, they’re not complaining, but Linda does a lot of work for people who can’t pay, and the organisation Alex works for operates on a shoestring.’
Crooked Leg Road Page 5
