I’m breathless by the time I arrive home. The bike crunches along the gravel drive, and I stop peddalling, slowing to a stop at the back of the house. I lean the bike against the stoop, tiptoe up to the kitchen door and let myself in. Jonah looks up at me. ‘Hi,’ he says. ‘Why so quiet?’
‘I fell asleep in the dinghy. I’ve got no idea what the time is and I thought you and the Minnow might be asleep.’
‘It’s only seven-thirty,’ says Jonah. ‘I take it there’s no fish.’
‘Nup. Sorry. Rascals took the bait.’
‘It’s okay,’ says Jonah. ‘I made just-in-case soup.’
I feel safe, if a bit rattled, and head for the shower.
Bill won’t come here. He is not completely stupid.
Jonathan, the Minnow and I are walking across the Mavis Ornstein car park when Betsy Groot almost runs into me.
‘Tom, dear, I need to speak to your grandfather.’
Jonathan has stopped walking. I realise he is waiting for me.
‘Tom, dear, it’s urgent,’ she says, almost shouting the last word.
‘It’s all right, Jonathan,’ I say, pretending to fuss with something on the side of the Minnow’s pram, ‘I’ll catch up in a moment.’ Reluctantly he walks ahead.
I wait until Jonathan’s out of earshot before I speak to Betsy. ‘Have you checked the veranda?’ I ask.
‘He’s never there,’ she replies.
‘What is it, Betsy?’ I ask. ‘Maybe I can help.’
‘It’s your grandmother,’ she tells me in a measured tone. ‘She has had another turn. It is a bad one this time, dear. She was calling for your grandfather.’
My heart does a weird lurching thing. ‘When?’
‘When what, dear? answers Betsy.
‘Doesn’t matter. Where is she?’
‘In her room, dear,’ says Betsy.
‘Sorry, Betsy, gotta go,’ I say, and start running.
My skin feels thick and heavy, like I’m wearing a coat of armour crossed with a wetsuit.
It’s dark, but my nose tells me I’m in the boatshed. I recognise the familiar mix of sweat, machine oil and wood smoke, overlaid with the scent of something delicious, which I can’t quite place.
I squeeze under the door and head outside. The food smell is coming from the woodpile at the end of the deck. I waddle over and burrow my way into a section of the stack. It seems relatively easy. Blocks of wood give way. Ants scuttle.
I head down the stairs and into the yard. I sniff around, decide on a patch of ground and mark the circumference with a scratch-line (about a metre-and-a-half long and a body-width wide). I then proceed to dig the whole section to a depth of about eight centimetres (waist-high in echidna terms). My front paws do most of the work, helped by my nose, which has a surprising strength.
When nothing turns up, I stop. After a bit of thinking time (spent walking back and forth along the length of the dig), I settle on a smaller section and resume digging, straight down. In less than ten minutes I strike something hard and metallic.
Complete excavation—of what turns out to be a long metal box—takes until dawn. There is no padlock. I open the lid:
Three rifles in separate calico bags.
One Leopold Mark 4 long-range rifle scope.
Five boxes of RUGER .204/5mm calibre ammo.
It is all up hill from the car park, so by the time I arrive at Nana’s room I’m puffed and sweaty. At least the Minnow enjoyed the ride; she thought the whole thing was a game.
Jonathan’s face is ashen. He nods to me as I try to enter the room. I can tell he has been crying.
‘What happened?’ I ask the nurse who is standing like a guard dog just inside the door.
‘And you are?’ the bulldog asks, stepping in my way and using her hand as a stop signal.
‘Jonathan?’
‘Let her in,’ says Jonathan, his voice barely above a whisper.
‘Down girl,’ I say, as I push my way past.
Horrible Caleb has turned up at school and Jonah is acting like a complete imbecile.
‘Don’t,’ I warn him.
We’re eating lunch down by the creek, and I can see Caleb moving towards us from the northern side of the two bunya pines. I know from the shift in Jonah’s attention that he has spotted him too.
‘Don’t what? ’ says Jonah, in a pathetic attempt at masking his anxiety.
‘Don’t lie to me, Jonah Whiting,’ I say. ‘You know exactly what I’m talking about.’
‘Tom,’ Jonah says in his pleading voice, ‘I need to talk to him; I need to find out what happened.’
‘I keep telling you what happened. He showed his true colours. He was just using you, Jonah. Now he’s moved on.’
As we argue, Caleb gets closer.
‘Tom,’ says Jonah, turning to look at me, raising his voice a little. I imagine it’s for Caleb’s benefit who is only about ten metres away. ‘Can you give us a second?’
‘No, Jonah, I’m not moving.’
‘Fine,’ says Jonah, then leaps to his feet. I try to grab his arm but he is too quick for me. I’m feeding the Minnow, so I’m forced to watch, helpless, as my best friend bolts out of reach.
‘Jonah!’ I shout.
But he doesn’t turn around.
Victory spills across Caleb’s face as he witnesses my defeat. I can’t believe it, but in every way that matters, Caleb has won this round and there’s nothing I can do but sit and watch.
‘Please don’t do this, Jonah!’
A few year-nine kids stop what they’re doing, turn and stare at me.
‘What?’ I say, but the anger in my voice is enough to make them back off. I feel so frustrated I could scream, but I know I’m powerless to do anything but wait it out and hope Jonah comes to his senses.
Jonah returned before the end-of-lunch bell, and he and I ignored each other for the rest of the day. When the final bell sounded at three-fifteen, I pushed past him and left without saying goodbye. As the Minnow and I barrelled down the corridor, the school secretary stepped out of the principal’s office and almost collided with the pram. ‘Just the person I wanted to see,’ she said, and my mind did one of those frantic searches, trying to figure out why. ‘Your grandfather called and said he wouldn’t be able to collect you this afternoon. He said he is staying with your grandmother, that you would understand.’
‘My grandmother is sick,’ I said, not bothering to correct her about Jonathan.
‘Will you be okay to get home?’ she asked.
‘Yes, we can catch the bus.’
As the Minnow and I waited at the bus stop, I alternated between worrying about Nana and stressing over Jonah. I was so preoccupied that I forgot to get prepared and everyone had to wait while I traipsed back and forth, getting the Minnow and the pram and my bags on board. No one helped. Usually I would care. But today, I couldn’t give a shit.
On the way home, we passed Jonah on his bike. I strained my neck to look for Caleb, but he was nowhere to be seen. Nana would call that a small blessing.
When the Minnow and I arrived at our stop, I sprinted home. I grabbed the FishMaster and left immediately for the inlet. I didn’t leave a note.
An hour later and I was wishing I had thought about grabbing some food. My stomach was starting to growl.
‘I can watch the Minnow if you want to go get something to eat,’ said Papa.
‘Papa!’ I said, startled. ‘You’ve got to stop sneaking up on me.’
‘Comes with the territory, I’m afraid,’ he said.
‘Anyway, thanks for the offer, but I’m trying to stay away from the house.’
‘Trouble in paradise?’ he asked.
‘Caleb Loeb.’
‘Oh.’
Papa and I chatted for a while. He seemed to be at a bit of a loose end. I imagine Jonathan’s making him feel superfluous. I love the word ‘superfluous’. I heard it the other day but this is the first time I’ve used it.
Eventually, Papa left. No
thing was biting, so the Minnow and I packed up and headed off, too.
It is dusk by the time we arrive home. The Minnow is fast asleep and I feel a bit guilty that she has missed her bath and her dinner.
I don’t want to make any noise—just in case Jonah has crashed on the couch—so I leave the pram at the bottom of the steps, carefully lift a sleeping Minnow into my arms, push open the front door and tiptoe down the tiny hall to our room. As wet as the Minnow’s nappy probably is, I don’t want to change her and risk her crying, so I tuck her into her cot, covering her with an extra blanket to compensate. I wait for a moment to check that she has settled, then sneak out of the room.
The kitchen looks exactly as we left it this morning. This isn’t right—even for someone as domesticated as Jonah. There should be signs of the after-school feeding frenzy. But there is nothing.
I open the fridge. The pie from last night is missing. It seems as though Jonah arrived home and, just like I did, rushed out again as fast as possible. At least he had the sense to think of his stomach.
‘Oh, well,’ I say, aloud.
I turn on the kitchen light, fill the kettle and put it on. I walk outside and collect Rumbly from his hutch on the veranda. He is happy to see me and he snuffles up under my neck. I push him onto my shoulder and wait until he gets his balance, then I walk back into the bedroom and change the Minnow’s nappy. She is dead to the world, so I give her a quick once over with some wet-wipes and change her into her pyjamas. The kettle starts to whistle as I’m tucking her in.
The kitchen feels different. Jonah and I hardly ever argue, and, even when we do we usually make up pretty quick. Today’s disagreement has left a space between us. A better word would be ‘chasm’.
While the tea brews, I make a cheese and tomato toasty. Once I’ve got everything ready, I sit at the table, trying my best to calm down. Nana says it is no good trying to eat when you’re already full, and of course she is right; anger is ruining my appetite.
Rumbly licks my neck and makes me laugh. ‘You little sweetie,’ I say, pulling him off my shoulder and holding him out in front of me. ‘So, Rumbly, what am I going to do about horrible Caleb?’
He doesn’t answer. Of all the guinea pigs, I pick the mute one.
I break off a piece of toast and Rumbly gobbles it up. I pour a little of my tea into the saucer for him.
After dinner, I wash my plate and wipe the table. Then I treat myself to a really long shower. Usually our showers are quick, but tonight I ignore the rules and keep the water running. The fact that Jonah is not here to rap on the door gives me some satisfaction.
I climb into bed with wet hair. But I’m too worried to sleep, so, to pass the time, I think up various ways of getting rid of Caleb. Unfortunately, short of murder, I can’t think of one that offers a permanent solution.
Eventually I decide that, seeing as I’m awake, I may as well do my homework. I get up, check on the Minnow and shade the cot with a quilt. Then I sit at my little desk in the corner and turn on the light.
I open my notebook and write today’s word.
Chasm.
Dr Frank has bad news: Nana has had a series of mini strokes.
Jonathan hasn’t left her side. He looks awful. Hazel has organised him a room, to save him driving home every evening. But even though he is happy to shower every morning and put on something fresh, he insists on sleeping in the chair at Nana’s bedside. He looks thinner.
‘Hi, Jonathan,’ I say. ‘Any change?’
‘Hi, Tom,’ he replies. ‘They had to bathe her this morning. She’d be horrified.’
He is right; she would. That this should happen to Nana, of all people, is hard for me to grasp. ‘What’s going to happen, Jonathan?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know, Tom. I don’t know.’
‘Cheer up,’ says Hazel, breezing into the room with a cursory knock. ‘You would think someone had died.’
Jonathan and I both turn to look at her. She looks straight at Nana.
‘Morning, Valerie,’ she says. ‘Just ignore the party-poopers.’ Hazel elbows Jonathan out of the way. ‘Scoot, the pair of you.’
I notice she is clutching a plastic bag. Oh, god no. Nana is wearing nappies.
‘C’mon, Jonathan,’ I say. ‘Let’s give Nana some privacy.’
Jonathan leans over and kisses Nana’s forehead, then follows me out. A second nurse enters the room as we leave. She closes the door.
There’s no sign of Papa or Betsy, so Jonathan and I walk to the clutch of chairs at the shady end of the veranda and take a seat.
‘Here, Jonathan, hold the Minnow for a moment and I’ll get the pram.’
Jonathan does as he’s told. The Minnow is wide awake and happy to go to him. It only takes her a second to work her magic and, as I walk to the common room, I can hear her giggling. No doubt Jonathan is pulling his squiggie face.
Jonah and I still aren’t talking. It has been two days. At breakfast this morning we moved around each other like well practised dancers—quite a feat in such a small space—and every now and then I bumped into him on purpose. Thank god it’s the weekend and the Minnow and I can visit Nana. I decide we should leave straight after breakfast as it’s quite a long walk.
Annabel is waiting for us at the gate. She does this sometimes. I’m not sure how she knows when to arrive; I’ve never asked.
Her hair is wet and hanging loose down her back. She is wearing a T-shirt over her swimmers and a towel is wrapped around her waist. The back of her T-shirt is soaked and she is barefoot; a pair of sandals hang from the last two fingers of her right hand. She looks relaxed, beautiful. As I turn out of the drive, she smiles at me and falls into step. It is often like this. We rarely speak.
At the bend in the road, just before the gravel reaches the tarmac, Annabel squeezes my hand and I stop. She leans down and speaks to the Minnow, then turns to leave.
‘Give Valerie my best,’ she says. Annabel always calls Nana by name.
‘Will do,’ I answer.
As I enter Nana’s room, the scent of honeysuckle is unmistakable. A nurse is sitting in the chair next to Nana’s bed. She stands and straightens her uniform. Before I can ask if there has been any change, she nods a curt hello and heads for the door. I guess that answers my question.
Jonathan must be showering, so I have Nana to myself for a little while. I manoeuvre the pram and position the Minnow as close as possible. Then I walk around to the other side of the bed, turning the chair so that my back is to the door, and try to get comfortable.
Once settled, I reach for Nana’s hand. She opens her eyes and looks at me. ‘Hi, Nana,’ I say. I feel a flood of emotion. ‘I was going to say it’s good to see you, but I hate seeing you like this.’
She opens and closes her mouth. Then she sticks out her tongue, runs it along her top teeth. I’m not sure if she is thirsty or trying to speak.
‘Nana,’ I say. ‘You’re freaking me out.’
Her eyes don’t leave me. I stare back at her, waiting for her to say something, but the best she can manage is an ‘ahhh’. Eventually she gives up and rests her head back on the pillow. She gives my hand the slightest squeeze. I squeeze back. It takes everything not to cry.
Minutes pass. I get up from the chair and climb onto the bed, snuggling down against her chest. I pull her right arm over and rest her hand on my face.
She smells like lavender soap. So familiar and wonderful.
‘Nana,’ I say. ‘Jonah and I aren’t talking.’
I stay with Nana until nightfall. The Minnow has had her evening feed and is tucked up in the pram. Jonathan says he’ll drive us home. When I object he tells me he needs to do some washing and get a fresh set of clothes, and he reminds me that Jonah’s house is almost on his way. I’m relieved. I didn’t fancy another walk home in the dark. I think Bill has been shadowing me. It’s nothing I can put my finger on exactly, just a feeling. And I’m positive he was skulking around at Mingin’s when I was there last Tuesday.
Jonah had been talking about fixing some cup hooks in the kitchen and I decided to organise it and surprise him. I hadn’t been to the hardware shop with the Minnow and I’ll admit I was feeling a bit nervous.
Mrs Peck wasn’t happy to see me—or the Minnow— but I pretended not to notice and trotted down to fixtures and fittings, aisle three. There was a whole section devoted to hooks. As Nana would say, I was spoilt for choice.
I ended up choosing the white plastic-covered variety as I thought they would be Jonah’s preference. They were also quite cheap.
Mrs Peck was waiting at the register, arms folded, impatient.
She looked awful. She had puffy bags under her eyes and her lipstick was running off into the creases around her mouth—bleeding, Nana calls it—and her cardigan was inside out.
I put the hooks on the counter and handed her a ten dollar note. As she gave me my change, there was a loud crash at the back of the shop.
Mrs Peck flinched.
I was about to say something sarcastic, but Mrs Peck looked straight at me and shook her head. It was the tiniest movement, but she meant for me to see it. Then she walked the Minnow and me to the door.
It was very strange. Mrs Peck has never done anything like that before.
I realised we had something in common.
We are both afraid of Bill.
Jonathan looks tired. He drives more slowly than usual, and I keep checking on him to make sure he is awake.
‘Wasn’t that cute when I popped the Minnow in bed with Nana for her afternoon nap?’ I say, breaking the silence. We swerve to miss a pothole.
‘They’re bringing a specialist over tomorrow, to run some tests,’ he says.
‘Oh, okay.’
‘I want you to know, Tom, that even though your grandmother and I are not yet officially married, I will make sure she gets the best care.’
‘Okay.’
‘And I’ve hired a private nurse.’
‘Yes, I met her,’ I say, not sure where this is heading.
The Minnow Page 16
