January

by Gabrielle Lord

  ‘How am I supposed to handle my brother’s estate efficiently, Win, when I don’t even know about the arrival of a suitcase from Ireland?’

  ‘I would have mentioned the box to you if I had known about it,’ said Mum. ‘But after everything that had happened, I didn’t even want to touch that bag when it arrived. It’s not important, anyway. There’s nothing in it that would have any bearing on the estate, Rafe. Just Tom’s clothes and some personal items.’ Mum’s voice caught on the last few words.

  ‘But you mentioned a jewellery box!’ Rafe insisted. ‘Any jewellery should be inventoried!’

  ‘Well it can’t be,’ I said. ‘Because whatever was in there is gone.’

  Rafe shook his head and muttered something, then limped out of the kitchen, abandoning his cup of tea. Gabbi nudged me. ‘What’s his problem?’ she whispered.

  ‘He’s always been strange,’ I whispered back. ‘I guess all of this has made him even stranger.’

  363 days to go …

  I phoned Boges. I couldn’t wait to tell him what had happened. I knew he’d be blown away.

  Boges is my best friend, from school. We’ve been tight ever since he walked into my kindergarten class, ten years ago, with his weird hand-painted wooden lunch box and so-what? attitude. He’s Ukrainian and heaps bigger than me—heavier and more muscular—and everything about him is sort of round. We get pretty competitive with each other, but it always seems to even out. I’m lighter and faster on my feet, but he’s a total brain. He tops all of our classes, and even though he mucks up all the time, he gets away with it because the teachers think of him as some sort of eccentric genius.

  ‘Our house was broken-into,’ I told him. ‘The whole place has been trashed, but I don’t know if they even took anything. Nothing seems to be missing, and the one thing that we think is missing, might not have even been there in the first place.’

  I heard something crash on the other end of the line. Boges fumbled with the phone.

  ‘Just a sec,’ he called out.

  Boges cruises the council throw-outs, collecting things he can fix and recondition. He rebuilds laptops, computers, cameras, phones, and gets all sorts of small motors running again. Then he sells them all on eBay and makes a fortune. He must have been in the middle of working on something complicated.

  ‘Dude,’ said Boges, jumping back on the phone, ‘you’re not making much sense. Slow it down, hey?’

  I told him about the break-in and the empty jewellery box in the suitcase. ‘And Rafe completely freaked out about it,’ I said. ‘Like he knows something we don’t.’

  ‘Your uncle has always been a freak-out kind of guy,’ said Boges. ‘At least that’s what you’ve always told me. He’s not exactly calm when you need him to be.’

  He was right. Rafe was pretty edgy, and a loner, too—the opposite of Dad. Gabbi and I never had much to do with him until Dad came back sick from Ireland last year. Rafe had been on a holiday down south somewhere, but came back when he found out about Dad. I was starting to feel a bit guilty about my attitude again. I knew he was trying to help Mum, but I just couldn’t lose that bad feeling.

  I was about to tell Boges what happened after I last saw him, New Year’s Eve—the crazy guy, and the Treachery Bay disaster, but I was interrupted by the arrival of our neighbours.

  ‘Sorry, gotta go, Boges. Talk to you tomorrow.’

  Marjorie and Graham from next door came over and spent the afternoon with us, helping with the clean-up and getting our house back to normal. They ordered us in pizzas for dinner, and by night-time, the house looked pretty much the way it had when we’d locked it up last week. Mum couldn’t thank them enough.

  ‘That’s what neighbours are for, Win,’ said Marjorie, as Mum said goodbye to her and Graham at the front door.

  Rafe left to go home, too. I was watching him get into his car when I heard Mum calling me from the kitchen. ‘Cal, I want to talk to you.’

  Gabbi had fallen asleep in front of the TV, and I threw a blanket over her before sliding onto one of the stools next to Mum.

  ‘Not too many people your age have had to experience what you went through in the sea the other night,’ Mum said as we sat around the kitchen bench. ‘Not knowing whether you’ll live or die.’ Her eyes filled with tears and I let her tuck my hair behind my ears. Normally we fight over my hair, and during the holidays it had grown pretty long. She paused. ‘With the robbery and everything, we haven’t even had a chance to talk about what happened. I want to know that you’re OK, Cal. Especially after everything else … losing your dad.’ She sighed. Her face looked so sad and defeated. ‘I want you to talk to me if anything’s bothering you. Anything at all, OK? Now, let me have a look at that hand.’

  Mum undid my bandage and carefully lifted the antibiotic mesh off the wound. The swelling was going down already. She pulled a clean bandage out of her pocket, and looked at me, waiting for me to say something.

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ I shrugged. ‘I’m fine.’

  362 days to go …

  Boges was at the door. Today he had his wavy hair—which he hates—all pushed back.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, his smile quickly fading from his face as he saw mine, battered and bruised. He swore. ‘What happened to you? Were you in a fight?’

  Here we go, I thought.

  ‘There was a boating accident on the lake,’ I said, ‘and I nearly drowned.’

  Boges stared at me blankly.

  ‘I had to be winched out of the sea by helicopter. Oh, and there were sharks, too.’

  Boges stared at me blankly.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ he said, after a moment of silence. ‘My gran won 50 million in the lottery. And NASA’s picked me for the next moon landing.’

  He stood there laughing, awkwardly, waiting for me to join in.

  But it wasn’t funny. I unwrapped the bandage on my hand and showed him my bloody gash.

  Boges swore again. ‘How come you didn’t tell me about this when you called yesterday?’ he asked.

  ‘I was going to—but then … anyway, you know now.’

  ‘So it was you!’ Boges said, eyes suddenly wide. ‘No way! I saw it on the news—some kid having to be rescued off the coast!’ He grinned at me. ‘Man, you’re famous!’

  ‘Do I want to be famous for that?’

  Boges looked up at my house and the mounting pile of broken stuff near the bins. ‘How about a gangland robbery?’ he suggested with a grin. ‘Maybe there was gold bullion in your dad’s suitcase. And that’s been taken, too. How would you ever know?’

  ‘Gold bullion. Right.’

  We laughed. It was the first laugh I’d had in ages. I forgot my sadness over Dad, for a second, before it all came rushing back at me like the sharks.

  The phone in the living room rang. I ran to get it, and Boges followed.

  ‘Hey Theo,’ I said. It was Dad’s friend calling from the coast. ‘Do you want to speak to Mum?’

  ‘No, not really,’ he said. ‘I think she’s got enough on her plate. I’d rather tell you.’

  ‘Tell me what?’ I asked. Already, my stomach was tensing.

  ‘Cal,’ said Theo, ‘I’ve just been talking to the local constable at Treachery Bay. Your dad’s boat washed up a couple of kilometres north, early this morning. Near Swans Nest.’ There was a pause. ‘He said the boat had been sabotaged.’

  ‘Sabotaged?’

  I remembered the sluggish way the tinny had flopped around in the waves, and how quickly it had started to fill up, lying too low in the water.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so, Cal. According to the constable, someone made some very deliberate incisions in the metal. The buoyancy tanks would have slowly started filling up almost from the moment you two headed out.’

  ‘I wondered why the tanks weren’t keeping us afloat. But who would do that? We could have died out there,’ I whispered—I didn’t want Mum to overhear.

  ‘Anyone could have done it. It’s easy enough to get into the s
hed. Probably some drunken lout’s idea of a joke. There’s not much the police can do. I guess you can consider yourselves lucky.’

  After answering Theo’s questions about how we all were, and saying I’d pass the information on to my uncle, I put the phone down. I didn’t even bother telling him about the break-in.

  ‘What’s going on? Who was that?’ Boges asked.

  ‘Something’s really wrong,’ I said. ‘Something seriously messed up is happening to my family. Ever since Dad went to Ireland last year, everything’s turned bad.’

  I showed him Dad’s letter, and the angel drawing. He sat and took it all in slowly and silently. Then I filled him in on the sabotaged boat, my waterlogged life jacket, and the crazy guy and his warning about the Ormond Singularity.

  ‘The what?’ Boges asked.

  ‘The Ormond Singularity. Something connected to my family.’

  ‘It sounds dangerous, dude. Your uncle won’t be happy when he hears about the foul play,’ said Boges. ‘I hate to say it, but I don’t know about Theo’s “it was probably just a couple of drunks” theory …’

  ‘Theo? What did Theo want?’ Mum asked as she stepped into the kitchen. She started packing the dishwasher.

  Boges sat down uncomfortably.

  I didn’t want to worry her with the latest news. Not yet.

  ‘He’d been talking to the cops,’ I said. ‘The tinny washed up near Swans Nest and he thought we should know.’

  Boges had gone home and I was lying on my bed, trying to get some sleep. It was such a hot night. All my bruises were aching and my hands were stinging. I stared at the drawing of the angel, remembering the last days I spent with Dad in the hospice. His body was limp and rotting, but his eyes had followed me intently.

  ‘What is it, Dad?’ I’d asked.

  I’d felt he was desperate to tell me something.

  But by then, he couldn’t speak.

  358 days to go …

  My nightmare receded as I realised that the howling wasn’t coming from that dark and desolate place that had haunted me for years, but was just a passing siren.

  In the past week, most of my bruises had faded, and the gash on my hand was starting to heal. My mind was reeling with unanswered questions. I wanted to know why my life jacket failed, and who had deliberately damaged our boat. Had the danger Dad talked about in his letter followed me to the peace of Treachery Bay? The crazy guy’s warnings were haunting me, too. But I had survived the first week of the first month. 358 days to go.

  After my shower I went to the kitchen to get something to eat. I heard Rafe coming down the hallway and wondered what he was doing back at our place. He walked into our kitchen with a bulging canvas grocery bag and some mail under his arm. He pulled out a loaf of bread and some wholegrain rolls, and put them on the bench.

  Rafe passed Mum some mail as she came in through the laundry door. ‘These are for you, Win,’ he said. ‘They’ve been in the letterbox all night. But this one …’ He paused, looking up at me. ‘I’ll keep this. It’s for me. It’s from the hospice.’

  He was holding a large envelope that was thick and looked like it was filled with papers. As he slipped it into his bag I caught a glimpse of the address on the front. The envelope was addressed to me!

  ‘Hey, that package is mine,’ I said. It must have been Dad’s drawings, from Dr Edmundson.

  ‘Nonsense. It’s official business. You know I’m handling the estate for your mother.’

  ‘But it’s addressed to me. Look at it!’

  Rafe’s eyes, stern and steady, penetrated mine. ‘You’re imagining things, Cal,’ he snarled.

  I stared right back at him. He had intimidated me as a kid, but that was a long time ago. ‘It’s addressed to me!’ I repeated and lunged at the bag. Rafe violently snatched it away from my reach, then lost his balance on his bad foot and fell back hard onto the floor. Oranges spilled everywhere.

  ‘Cal!’ my mum screamed at me, rushing over to help him back up. ‘What in the world is wrong with you?’

  They both looked up at me in disgust. I didn’t mean to hurt him—the idiot fell over himself. I was just about to say so, but I knew it was no use. Rafe shot me a filthy scowl as he steadied himself, then he turned to my mother. ‘You don’t have to rush, Win,’ he said, ignoring me. ‘We’re meeting the solicitor at three. I need to run some quick errands and drop the rest of these groceries off at my place. I’ll catch up with you a bit later.’

  Rafe gathered up his oranges, tossed them back in the bag with the envelope, and left, letting the door slam on his way out.

  ‘Cal!’ Mum shouted at me again. ‘What is wrong with you? Why are you giving your uncle such a hard time? Do you know how difficult this mess would be for me if he wasn’t around to help?’

  ‘Mum, that envelope had my name on it.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘And why would the hospice be writing to you, Cal? All the bills and other communications come to either me or Rafe!’

  She paused and took a couple of deep breaths. ‘Look, I’m sorry Cal,’ she continued. ‘I know it’s hard for you, with Rafe doing all the things Dad used to do. But we can’t change what’s happened. No matter how much we don’t want it to be true. This is the way it is now. You can’t take your anger out on Rafe. We’re lucky we have someone looking out for us.’

  I didn’t feel like breakfast anymore, so I got up and left the kitchen.

  I knew Mum’d be standing there by the bench feeling helpless, watching me walk away from her. I couldn’t expect her to understand, but I knew what I had seen. Rafe was going to drop his grocery bag, with my package inside, back at his place. Somehow I had to get my hands on what was mine.

  ‘So Uncle Rafe and I are meeting the solicitor at three o’clock this afternoon,’ said Mum, who’d quietly crept up to my door. ‘But I’ll be leaving shortly because I have other business in town. I should be home by six, Cal, but just in case I’m late, there’s some lasagne in the fridge. Can you please hold the fort here till I get home?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘We’ll be fine.’

  ‘Mum, I hate it when you’re home late,’ said Gabbi, having walked in on the last part of our conversation. She dragged her feet along the floor, arms out and head back like a zombie. ‘It’s so boooring here. Can I go to Ashley’s house?’

  ‘OK, but you’d better check with her mum first.’

  ‘I already have!’ said Gab with a flick of her hair.

  Great, I thought. Mum out of the way. No little sister asking questions. Perfect conditions for a couple of investigators.

  I phoned Boges.

  ‘I need your help.’

  Ashley and her mum had just picked Gabbi up when my mobile rang. I pulled it out and headed back to my room.

  ‘Is that Callum Ormond?’ a woman asked. I didn’t recognise her voice at all.

  ‘Yes. Who’s this?’

  ‘You don’t know me but I nursed your father at the hospice … He was a lovely man.’

  ‘You knew my dad?’ My stomach lurched. ‘You’re a nurse?’

  ‘No, I’m not anymore. Look, I know this might sound a little mysterious, but I really need to meet up with you. Your father gave me something to give to you.’

  Dad couldn’t even talk by the time he came home to the hospice. How could he have asked her to give me something? I hesitated. Who was this woman?

  ‘My father couldn’t speak by then,’ I said.

  ‘That’s true,’ she agreed, ‘but words aren’t the only way a person can tell you what they want.’

  What sort of language was she talking about?

  ‘What did he give you?’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to say too much—especially over the phone. Can you meet me tomorrow at the cenotaph in Memorial Park? Do you know it?’

  I knew Memorial Park. It was on the outskirts of the city, just over the bridge. I’d driven past it with Dad a few times and noticed the arched building at one end of it.

  ‘Yeah, I
know it.’

  ‘Could you be there at nine tomorrow night? I have to work the late shift and can’t get away till then. I won’t keep you long.’

  ‘Can’t we meet earlier? Another day?’

  ‘I’m sorry, but that’s not possible. And I can’t risk my job. I’ll give you my mobile number in case something happens.’

  ‘What do you mean, “in case something happens”?’

  ‘I just mean, if you need to contact me.’

  There was something odd in her voice, but I didn’t know exactly what. I took down her number.

  ‘What’s your name? How will I know you?’

  ‘My name’s Jennifer—Jennifer Smith. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Before I could say anything else, she’d hung up. I wasn’t happy about the idea of meeting a stranger in a park at night but if I wanted to get hold of whatever it was that Dad had given her, I had to meet her. I needed every possible clue to Dad’s secret.

  I was still thinking about the mysterious call from Jennifer Smith, wondering if that was even her real name, when I picked up my mobile and messaged Boges:

  r u ready for job at 3?

  i’m in!

  c u outside target’s place.

  ‘OK,’ said Boges as we stood outside Uncle Rafe’s place. It was a modern two-storey house that he moved into a few years back, after my aunty—his wife—died. He ran his drafting business there now.

  ‘Your uncle must be loaded,’ said Boges, looking around at the mansions of Dolphin Point. ‘So what’s the plan?’

  ‘I’m going to go inside and have a look for the envelope. I know it had my name on it and I’m sure it’s got the drawings in it that Dr Edmundson told me about. I just hope Rafe came by and left it here. We’ve got a good two hours at least—by the time they meet with the solicitor in the city and then make it home.’